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Free Writing

I’ve always been more of a free-writer, than somebody who sits down, and carefully executes what I’m going to write. I don’t even like proof-reading!

But after re-reading my novel: “Body For Sale”… I’m going to need to proof-read and edit a TON of the pages. It’s reading way too simplistic, I meant it to read as the main character’s thoughts… But after reading a book that provided the same… I cannot stand it! But here’s a piece of the book that holds a certain kind of… omen… if you will!

“I swish the dress around a bit more feeling feminine and cute, when the door opens rather abruptly and standing there is one hot dude.

“Having fun?” he flashes me an insanely hot smile, full of charm and obvious confidence.

“uh-uh.” I think I reply rather stupidly, but I have never seen such a hot guy turn on the charm for little ‘ole me.

I finally pull my lips back up from the ground and give him an appraising look. It’s like he was written out of the book on “How to Make a Bad Boy Look Good”. I instantly write the title in my head and instantly regret it.

He’s at least 6’4” with broad shoulders, long, masculine arms, and wide hands that look like they could break my ribs with a squeeze. I shiver indelicately.

He’s also got heart-breakingly dark green eyes and dark black hair. His skin is a nice tanned color and he probably works out three hours a day. I can almost imagine his flawless abs underneath that way too sexy dark gray suit he’s rocking to impress me with.

He wins.
And on one of his hands, I can see a tribal tattoo coming out from underneath the wrists of his suit jacket. “Yum”.

He smiles at me again and I notice one dimple pop out. I’m a goner for sure now.

“Like what you see?”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, you’re staring rather unabashedly at me; I think I have the right to ask.”

“Well, you’re not supposed to be in my dream, so please step out.”

“Your dream?” he looks rather surprised. I smile triumphantly; I managed to trump him on a technicality. But in all reality, he isn’t supposed to be in here, I only dream of cute guys I can get. Not unrealistically hot guys I will never touch. Although he is so obviously close and easily touchable within this distance, that I’m finding it hard to focus.

Snap outta it! I shake my head and look back at him, trying to ignore the obvious sensation of losing the feeling in my legs when he smiles. Damn him!

“Yes, my dream. See, you’re too perfect; you should be too short or have a serious physical impairment to your otherwise perfect looks. Sorry! You do NOT belong in my dreams. Ta Ta!” I wave my hands at him in a goodbye motion knowing in my dreams he’ll just disappear because this is MY world and what I say goes. Unless it’s a nightmare, than I have no absolute reign, but in a dream where I have sex with a hot stranger, this guy is definitely under my power.

But after waving my hands at him in different ways for probably much too long, he’s crossed his arms and is waiting patiently for something to happen.

“I’m not dreaming, is the obvious question to ask now, huh?” I finally say out loud.

“No, you’re not.”

“Ah, ignore the perfect comment and we’ll be dandy.” I give myself a mental smack to the forehead over the use of dandy; trust me to use a word long-since dead. But now he’s smiling again.

“Haven’t heard dandy in a while.” He uncrosses his arms and almost seems to relax; I’m in dangerous waters now.

“Well, isn’t that just… dandy.” I end rather lamely. I am SO bad at flirting without alcohol to help and it occurs to me that if I was in a dream, I would be suave and smooth and effortless at making this guy head over heels nuts about me. But if this is real life, then I am in other words, screwed.

“Wait, if this isn’t a dream, how the HELL did I get here?!” since I cannot be suave and smooth I might as well scare the living shit outta him with my bad Irish temper.

“You’re in hell, so to answer your question correctly, hell got you here.” He pauses, smiles again. “Well, technically, I did.” He smiles one more time I’m going to administer the Glasgow smile torture to him, and see how he likes it!

“Ah, let me get this straight, you brought me here. Why?” I decide reason is the best way to go, save up my voice for some truly ear-splitting shrieks and save myself at a better time. I look past his muscular body for the door and in the outfit I’m in I doubt I can wrestle him and get out.

“You said ‘Body for Sale’, I am just taking you up on your offer. Well, it’s actually for a client of mine.”

“I see.” I pause slightly. “Listen buddy, I am SO not into rape, and I definitely was not talking about sex with a random stranger, I was drunk and upset and definitely not fully awake. It was all a joke! Ha ha ha!” I start laughing lamely at the end to make my point, and he doesn’t seem too amused.

“You said “For Sale.” I am afraid you clicking on my reply e-mail means you’re interested in finishing the transaction. Am I missing anything?” he walks away from the door and sits down in his chair and when he does, the room lightens up and looks now like a prestigious law firm complete with law books lining the back wall, a humongous twelve foot window, and lots of comfy seating. The room has also managed to get larger and I now notice I am a lot farther away from the door, my escape route has taken a very interesting turn. I vaguely wonder if those drugs I took with alcohol put me into a Wonderland of my own making. It has an auspicious start.

“I didn’t even read an e-mail before ending up in this place!” he gives me an admonishing look. “Fine, in YOUR hell.”

“Well in the fine print of the personals ad you placed, it simply said for sale. Not that you were thinking about it, or joking about. I have to admit, I was slightly affronted by your bad grammar and spelling and horrific use of vocabulary but I figured you were somebody without access to a proper education and I was not going to blame YOU or take points away from you based on that. I would like to conduct this transaction and send you on your way if you do not mind.”

I know I am probably staring at him incredulously. How does he think that I would SELL my body to him?

“So, I just say here ya go? And my body walks over to you and it’s done? What the fuck kinda thinking is that!?”

“You know, after reading your file and knowing the extensive vocabulary you have, I am rather disappointed in the words you use to litter your sentences with. Really, cussing at your age?”

Again, he’s managed to make me feel like a kid sitting in front of the principal with a guilty look on my face.

“Fair enough.” I say rather numbly. My file? It’s sitting right there on his desk, it’s huge, not like grad school huge, but like my entire life huge, like every word I’ve uttered, every bad thing I’ve done, written in black ink, encapsulating my life in its whole.

I’m proud to think to myself that I’ve managed to use a big word in my head, but also realize he cannot hear my thoughts. Or can he?

Now I’m scared, if that’s my life on paper right there, does every action I portray now become forever printed in its pages? Before I know it, I’m right by his elbow, and my hands are straying dangerously close to the book named Amy Louise Bryant.

It has my birthday on it in a lilting green script that looks almost like my own cursive handwriting. I am so close to touching it; I don’t even notice his hands are reaching out to me.

Our hands touch and the static electricity courses through me in one painful shock.

“Ow!” I rub my hand where his hand touched mine and he stands up quickly.

“I’m sorry!” he winces, reaching out and I feel the electricity spark again. I back up and nurse my throbbing hand.

“Jesus, Sparky!”

“Afraid he’s not here.” And there’s that disarming smile aimed my way again, I turn my back to it and suck on my hand like a five year old.”

It continues to go on… of course, but I figure I’ll stop there! 🙂

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