writing lines

So I’m in full bore fanfic mode, again, and my senses are completely scraped raw by anything with even a hint of a sexual flavour.

Get on the bus, and a black woman in her twenties with a triangular face and a nimbus of glorious dense brown curls blows onto the bus a couple of stops later, like a spring zephyr with a saucy bounce and a big round lollipop. She proceeds to sit behind me, like 18 inches behind me, and suck, and I mean suck with intent and fervour, on that lollipop the entire way down to the Skytrain. The two guys sitting at the front of the bus, where they could see her, starting looking kind of haunted. They literally looked everywhere but at her.

Then she follows me onto the elevator, and she’s breathing this sweet vanilla clove scent on me, and I’m like STAAAAHP.

Get on the Skytrain, running like the hammers from the elevator, laden with my gear for the Victoria trip, and the first thing I see is a tall, dark, bespectacled and pasty young man with a forelock that is either supposed to be a unicorn horn, or possibly something else, and he’s chewing on his lower lip and pulling his forelock to its full and locked position, possibly, for the sake of argument, around six inches, and I nearly burst with the effort of keeping my resting bitchface intact and run like the hammers to the front of the train and sit down.

STAAAHP.

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Allegra

Born 1958. Not dead yet.

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