Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Out Of The Blue

This just came to me last night, and I had to write it down.
Buxley Fuller had the perfect job and the perfect life. It was his job to decide which network shows aired in which time slots. Taking in to consideration which demographic would watch TV at which hour and buy from which sponsor, was sometimes complicated, but it was a far cry from what anyone would call hard work. For completing this task on a regular basis, he was paid a more than generous seven figure salary.

His life was indeed perfect. His suits were silk Armani. His shoes were Italian leather. His TV was sixty-eight inch wall mounted plasma. Whatever he owned it was the best, he had no need to buy anything but the best. The best part of all, was the fact that he lived alone. There was no one to eat his food, scuff his furniture, or make him wait for the shower.

While Buxley lived alone, he never needed to wake up alone if he didn't want to. Companionship, like any of life's other pleasures, was simply a matter of proper shopping. If he wanted a companion to share his bed for the evening, he'd take himself to an upscale club. It didn't matter which club, as long as the drinks were expensive and the parking was valet.

Upon entering such an establishment, the pulsing of the music and the smells of liquor and sweat would flood his senses, practically giving him a hard-on on the spot. He'd composed himself though, he had to be composed and in control at all times, and begin the selection process.

The first order of business was to find the pretty people. True, such places were typically lousy with pretty people, they were practically sexual smorgasbords. Yet, there was always that one cluster of truly pretty people which stood out like the cream rising to the top of fresh milk. He'd migrate toward that cluster, nonchalantly at first. He'd introduce himself by offering to buy the next round of drinks, an offer which was never rejected. One round would turn into two, two would turn into three. A few meager hours later he'd be their best friend, supplying them with entire bottles of Dom and even nose candy upon request.

Everyone in the group was had beautiful bodies, so once his gifts produced their desired effect, it was simply a matter of selecting the female who was least in control. He'd take her back to his perfect home, enjoy a night of carnal delight, pay a taxi to deliver her home the next morning, and that would be that.

Since all that was the norm, why was his mind so fuzzy and his eyes so blurry this morning? Who was this gal lying next to him? She was a redhead, and judging by the trickle of drool running from her glossed lips to her pillow, she was still fast asleep. Why couldn't he remember bringing her... Wait, this wasn't even his home. He'd gone to her place? He'd never done that before.
That's all I've got so far. It just came to me all at once, and I have no idea where it's going IF it's going anywhere.

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