---

 

This writing was accepted for publication in the 84 page perfect-bound issue of cc&d (v242) (the March / April 2013 Issue) You can also order this 5.5" x 8.5" issue as an ISSN# paperback book:

Order this writing in the book Guilt by Association cc&d 2013 collection book		get the 374 page Jan. - June 2013 cc&d magazine issue collection 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

Aidan

Marilyn June Janson

    October 9. 2:30 AM Mountain Standard Time. Good Morning Chantal! You have 1 new message.
    PasteBook Message            Aidan Wilson            Today            2:00 AM
    She clicks on this message.
    Hello Chantal,
    I am penning book IV to my series, The Lighthouse Crimes, and would like to know if a woman’s hands are large enough to strangle a man during an attempt to kidnap her. After all, women do have smaller hands than men. And her strength is not a factor. Please weigh in. Looking forward to hearing from you.
    Aidan
    Hummmm. Thinking. Thinking. Clicks black lacquered nails on the laptop. Is he for real? Could be a scam.
    Clicks on the Internet. Taps in P a s t e B o o k. Logs in.
    Username: HotBaby    Password *******
    Chantal keys in A i d a n    W i l s o n
    Aidan’s PasteBook page comes up.
    She studies his photo. Brown, sun bleached hair, shoulder length. Brown eyes. Light stubble, rugged, outdoorsy tan. Nice!
    Residence: Endearment, CO. Hometown: Bratterwick, WI.
    Bio: Self-employed author, writer, and photographer.
    Status: It’s complicated.
    Born: January 6, 1962
    Friends: 275
    Sports: Hockey
    Music: Rock and Roll, Heavy Metal
    Book Photos: The Lighthouse Crimes, Barry Marshall Mysteries, Book I, II, and III.
    Write a comment:
    Hey Aidan,
    Intrigued by your message.
    I live in Robinbillyville, about an hour from Endearment. It’s a hick town. You’ve probably never heard of it. Would you like to meet? My answer to your question is way too involved to write it here.
    Looking forward to hearing from you.
    Chantal

***

    The next day.
    Chantal is sitting on her couch. She presses the computer’s on button.
    Booting up.
    October 9. 11:00 AM Mountain Standard Time. Good Morning Chantel! You have 1 new message.
    PasteBook Message            Aidan Wilson            Today            10:00 AM
    She clicks on the message.
    Hi Chantal,
    Aidan
    Write a comment:
    Hey Aidan,
    Sounds great! See you tomorrow. No pics of me. Be surprised.
    Chantal
    She pushes send and powers off. Ummm. Sounds like fun. What to wear. And my hair.
    Chantal hurries over to her closet. Rummaging through, she moans while caressing her slippery silk and lace bustiers, teddies, and camisoles. She holds her nose against each garment, delighting in the musky, sweaty scent of each guy’s manhood. <>ISo hard to choose.

***

    The next day. Evening.
    Chantal arrives at the Pigs ‘N Knuckles.
    Patrons notice Chantal and whisper to their dining partners. All eyes are on her.
    “How many in your party?” the hostess asks.
    Chantal looks around the restaurant for her date. There he is. She smiles and waves to him.
    He grins. Sweat leaks out of every crevice in his body.
    Without turning to the woman Chantal says, “I found him.” She sashays over to Aidan’s table.
    He stands and hurries around the table top. With hands hot and drenched in perspiration, he pulls out the chair for her.
    “A man with manners. I like it.” She sits down.
    Aidan stumbles and drops into his seat as if he completed an Iron Man Triathlon. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and mops his hands.
    A waiter comes to the table. “May I take your drink orders?” As he watches Chantal’s huge breasts strain to escape from her lacy camisole, the server smacks protruding lips.
    “I’ll have a Manhattan,” she says.
    “Sir?” The pencil slips through the waiter’s moist fingers. He bends to pick it up.
    “Uh...the same?” Aidan chirps. Flushed with heat, a bulge forms in the crotch of his beige Khakis.
    Standing, the waiter clears his throat and leaves.
    Chantal says, “I’ve been thinking about the e-mail you sent me.”
    Aidan stares at her.
    “Just because women have smaller bones and muscles then men, does not mean that we can’t fight back.”
    The waiter appears and serves the drinks.
    “Today, many women take Martial Arts instruction and self-defense classes...Aidan? Here I am rattling on and have not given you a chance to talk.”
    He grabs his drink and gulps it down.
    Facing Chantal, the waiter says, “Are you ready to order?” A droplet snakes its way down from the top of his head and drips in the server’s eye.
    She licks wet, Vampire Red painted lips. “I’d like to finish my drink. Aidan, you can order.”
    “Ummm.... I’m...not...” he responds. “Let’s get out of here. I live a few blocks from here.” He covers his crotch with a napkin.
    “Down, boy.” She winks at him showing turquoise eye shadow.
    “I...I... Did I say something wrong? Maybe I...”
    “Chill. We have all night.” With a black and red lacquered nail, Chantel toys with the lipstick stain she left on the glass.

***

    Aidan’s apartment. Late evening.
    After hours of titillating sex, Chantal sleeps in her lover’s king size bed.
    Standing over Chantal, Aidan’s lips turn into the grin of a satisfaction. Crossing to his closet, he opens it with tender, elongated, fingers. He reaches for the special velvet and sapphire encrusted box belonging to his beloved mother.
    As tears moisten his droopy eyes, he pulls out long strips of fine, satin material. Trembling, he thinks about the endless hours he spent bound up with his mom.

***

    Same evening. One hour later.
    A muffled voice struggles to be heard from behind the electrical tape wrapped around the mouth and head. Wrists fight against plastic ties to free themselves. Legs, locked in chains, beat against the floor. The chair makes rocking sounds. It moves a miniscule inch.
    “Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’re safe with me.” Chantal sits on the soft, suede, deer pelt spread out before the fireplace. She thrusts a few marshmallows onto a double-pronged fork and roasts them in the crackling fiames. “Don’t you remember me? Many years ago, you were married to my older sister. You rejected me. Now, you have to pay!”
    His weary eyes pop out, like a patient receiving Electric Shock Therapy.
    She picks up a propane lighter from the fireplace, turns it on.
    Tears pour from Aidan’s eyes. He throws his head back.
     “Uh, Uh, sugar,” Chantal sings in a creepy melody. She singes Aidan’s chin with the torch.
    Swoosh!
    Face glowing in a riot of yellow, orange, and blue flames, his skin melts away.
    A skull emerges.

Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.

Problems with this page? Then deal with it...