Take 2 Condoms and I'll Stay Till Morning

Hi All

What's a fabulously creative unemployed mind to do all day? Obviously write about theoretically wonderful lives (thank goodness for imagination) though mine is in fact a Fantasy Tale. Here are (2) samples of what I can produce in 10 minutes flat.

Submissions will reflect a good jewish whine, and an array of my writing talents, but always guaranteed to be entertaining. You'll have to read each day to see what you get. Last comment - sexy is deep routed in the mind.

Hope you enjoy my,
Fantasy Tales

To Fuck or Not To Fuck
By www.thefantasytales.com Copyright 2005. All Rights Reserved.

I am standing at the bar with 2 girlfriends. We are all the ordinary type. One is a slightly overweight gal in pharmaceutical sales, 5'-8" of half Hispanic descent. Despite her miniature garments and largish breasts she is clearly not the prettiest of us three. Another is a tiny Asian girl, born here, who unfortunately inherited her dad's square Korean face and her mom's hugely wide nose. She works in a trendy Soho boutique so she is popular in the area. Then there is me; a classical pear shaped, brunette standing 5'-5'' in my heels (not Manaolo Blahnik's 'cause I don't like shoes without adequate soles to protect my princess feet nor the price tag) of Jewish descent who tries to make a living as a dental hygienist. None of us is doing too badly but the cost of living in the city is a constant drain on our wallets. We are drinking chablis.

My theory in hanging with these girls is that I must look best ‘cause my proportions are in the range of normal and my face prettier than either of them. I can not explain why some men prefer exotic looks but none of us complain as it seems we each have something redeeming which causes enough men to make their way over. I catch a photographer. I am bummed. He's cute ‘cause he has a nice face but he is quite lean. I wonder if he is a starving artist. Also he is tattooed over almost all of his body. He explains he is a work in progress. That worries me too. Certainly my parents would have difficulty accepting his politics since they still talk of the holocaust; one reason I have hidden the tiny butterfly I have near my butt crack, a place I believe they will never see. We chat up a good deal. He is entertaining and up on his politics. Thankfully he is not trying to engage me into any discussions of sports. I couldn’t care less how crappy the Yankees are doing. I agree that there is too much Hollywood in politics and everything else, I add. The evening is passing and I am beginning to find that I am more at ease with the photographer most probably as the alcohol is having the desired affect, numbing all my senses including common sense. I look around the room. The crowd is beginning to thin out. My Hispanic girlfriend is pulling on her ear, as if she has an itch, which is a hidden signal to me that she is feeling comfortable to leave with the man she is chatting with. I do not know if she will have an escort or a lay. Usually we meet up in the bathroom before departing to get the logistics down. I look around until I spot my other girlfriend. She is rubbing her arm, a signal that she wants the dude she is talking with to hit the road and would love it if one of the two of us would interrupt. I have to decide: to fuck or not to fuck? The photographer is attentive and kind of cool. Do I feel safe and comfortable? I decide not or at least not yet. I excuse myself and make my way to my Asian friend grabbing her arm and heading off in the direction of the bathroom. In this club I poke fun at the signs on the two doors which identify the men’s and women’s restrooms for there is little resting going on inside. I prefer to call them the sex and unisex rooms. We are now inside and I already know my Asians friend wants to go back out to the crowd to see if she can find a better guy to chat with. I tell her that I am not sure about the photographer. She sticks her head out the door to check him out and to sort of spy on his behavior behind my back. She reports he is standing alone obviously waiting for me to return. What should I do? I make a public service announcement. I call out to the other gals, grooming themselves in the mirrors, asking if any would like to take home a nice photographer. A few look out the door. None agrees. I decide that is a good consensus and reason enough to plan out my escape. My girlfriend uses the toilet and washes her hands while I wait for her at the counter. She looks intently at herself in the mirror and then quickly at me. Before I have a chance to start devising my plan she tosses back her hair and struts out the door calling out to me that she will call my cell phone in about twenty minutes. That may be too much time. I head back to the photograph ‘cause my Jewish upbringing forces me to be polite. I proceed with the small talk knowing that he is further encouraged. I look at my watch. I feel for my phone. Where is she? It's time to make my escape. It's an awkward silent moment when the photographer finally asks if he can bring me home. Thankfully the phone finally rings out. I excuse myself while I answer the phone. My girlfriend has struck out and ready to leave. She wants to know what I am going to do. Fuck or not to fuck?
I tell her to meet me out front in three minutes. I apologize to the photographer and explain that I have to take my friend home as she is too impaired to do so alone. I think I have managed to wiggle free. He offers to help and follows me to the door. I get there first and whisper to my girlfriend to act very drunk. She does a good job as she contorts herself making it look as though she can not balance on her heels. He grabs hold of one of her arms while I grab hold of the other. She strikes up a conversation with the photographer, albeit slurred. He laughs ‘cause he finds her provocative. So do I except that I am not laughing. We arrive at her apartment door. The photographer and I free her. She fiddles in her bag for her keys and then finds them. In a quick flash, she turns and looks at me and winks before grabbing the hand of the photographer and asking him if he can help her inside. He is a bit stunned but before he can reply she turns to me and asks me if I can get home alone ok. I look the photographer over one time before I realize that since I did not want him I had to accept that he was fair game. I tell her I'll be fine. The photographer and my Asian friend say goodnight and then disappears inside. I am left standing alone in the dark and dingy hall with my jaw still hanging. It’s time to go. I hailed myself a cab and while inside I begin to ponder, to fuck or not to fuck; was that even the question or had I just fucked up?

Take 2 Condoms and I’ll Stay Till Morning
By www.thefantasytales.com Copyright 2005. All rights reserved.

Another week I am sitting home alone in my studio apartment facing a blank white brick wall across a small courtyard. Fortunately there is only one window two stories down in that wall. Sometimes when I am extremely bored when the winter is dreary I sneak a peak into that window where the she-male dominatrix doesn't mind much if she commands a slight audience. Only one time I had to think hard if I should call the police when she was hanging a john out the window. I decided to keep quiet, like much of my life.

My friends call me to go out each Friday. Each time I have to ponder if spending $50 is money well spent at my regular juzzling joint. Letterman and my vibrator is not my idea of a hot date so I can be cajoled every so often. If I haven't gone out on Friday night, by Sat. eve I am in dire need to break out and venture the 4 flights of stairs on my journey to freedom. It's almost 11pm and the club is filling up.

First the regulars come in. I have gotten to know them quite well over the last few years. I look around and spot Ellen a dumpy white girl, thirty-something, who has dropped 10 lbs. in the last month due to not finding any freelance film work. Even Craig's list did not bring her any relief. She smiles and pats on an empty bar stool besides her ordering herself her usual, beer on tap. Typical small talk ensues; the weather, current projects (I have none to report since being a collection agent is not typically exciting), neighborhood gossip until she lands her bombshell.

She takes a sip of her beer and then announces she has decided to become a nun. I look at her with a grin. I comment that we all have been cooped up too long but that she need not get radical. She explains her position with greater conviction. She says that she has no doubts that the sisters are not as lilywhite as their habits and that she would find the comfort of their affection a welcomed relief. She quotes some article about the percentage of promiscuity stating with fervent belief that the recent unveilings of rampant pedophilia is just one in the Pandora box. She grins and says that even if it's not so she figured free room and board was not a bad trade off and did not deny her the use of her vibrator when no one was looking. Her assessment was that she had nothing to loose including her virginity.

I asked her what she meant. She looked at me quizzically and remarked that there was not even a shred of possibility that I could in fact be the last living bisexual virgin within the city. I gave her back a mortified look. I told her that, yeah, I had some lines that I would not cross ‘cause it did not interest me at all. She laughed and said that anyway I wasn't missing very much since with the coming of metro-sexuality it was all pretty much the same thing. We agreed that what was lost was not the virtue of virginity but a sense of lasting affection. Of course we both then began to wonder what that was; lasting affection. We deliberated whether or not we had experienced such a notion since leaving the so-called safety of our parents' home both which had been broken before we were even old enough to know what cohesive and supportive meant. We questioned whether we had it at all or ever would.

As we clanked our glasses and began to make a toast in praise of freedom and lack of commitment two young men decided to join us. I knew of one of them who was an upcoming rap artist with two cd's under his belt. His friend, it turned out was a DJ. The guys bought us a few rounds before they quite patiently made their move asking if we wanted to get warm and cuddly. We smiled and played along, it was instinct and survival. The rap artist became a bit more suggestive when during one round he remarked that white girls typically like to taste the dark meat and to see for themselves how big and bad it is. I slyly looked at his shoes making a mental note that his most likely size 10 feet did not necessarily guarantee his hype. None the less my curiosity had been raised. Ellen did not wait a second longer as she jumped from her chair and grabbed the DJ's belt telling him he had a challenge on his hands to convince her not to join a convent. My date laughed and put his arm around my waist and gave me a little squeeze. He asked what I was into. It's a good question I thought as I finished my drink, replacing the empty glass back on the counter, and asked him for his drivers' license.