http://www.writerq.com/mobile/Will/ Latest updates from Willoughby Joy http://www.writerq.com/mobile/library/951/my-fireplace/ http://www.writerq.com/mobile/library/951/my-fireplace/ Mon, 04 Feb 2019 05:20:43 +0000 Willoughby Joy http://www.writerq.com/mobile/library/949/dildos-part-2/
The END.]]> http://www.writerq.com/mobile/library/949/dildos-part-2/ Fri, 06 Oct 2017 04:12:58 +0000 Willoughby Joy http://www.writerq.com/mobile/library/942/errand-at-the-pink-mustache/ Yeah right—like any of my friends would be caught dead at this end of town anyway. You see, sweet lady, I assured myself, there are all kinds of reasons to relax about this. You’re all grown up—no more bullshit. You can do whatever you want. Mrs. Paralegal. Mrs. Partner of the Firm. Go burn your bra! Besides, who cares about what other people think anyway?! You just experiment all you want. You go, girl! You go! Meanwhile keep your friggin' head down;—the place was just ahead, the plan being to get the hell in there and get the hell out. Only, I wanted to be casual about it, too, rather than seem like some virginal idiot who’d never been in a shop like that before, even though I had never been in a shop like that before. But I was on a mission. And what was the mantra? Take it easy—but take it.
Cigarette afterwards.
The facade impressed as nothing more than any small boutique, with its narrow bay window and even, indeed, one large pink mustache artfully painted across the glass. If I weren’t looking for the place I might never even have noticed it. Inside the showcase was a scant collection of paperbacks, each novel elevated upon a single wire fixture as though relevant or important; but pulp fiction mostly, the covers faded, the spines all cracked. It was obvious they'd been put there to wilt forever. Decoys. I get it. Not really for sale. Discreet, though. And this made me feel better. Although in a few seconds when I pushed into the place-—easily, cautiously—a large clanging bell overhead announced my arrival. I winced, thinking, Oh, great—everybody look over here now! Jane Downing is in the house (as it turns out just as kinky as the rest of you losers), look at the pleasure-seeking slut! Then coming to my senses I realized I could always pretend I was after a bottle of wine for my husband’s birthday—“Oh, this isn’t the liquor store?” No, that was two doors down. You know, this marriage thing could make for great excuses.
Now immediately I saw the quintessential fat slob behind the counter who, as he erased a word from a crossword puzzle, didn’t even bother to look up at me. I supposed he was gay given the shop moniker, or rather hoped he was gay; then hoped instead that he were a woman—straight woman, let’s be clear; reason being that I wanted nobody checking me out while I shopped, thinking me sexually accessible. I mean, all this naughtiness was already awkward for me, not to mention that my self-consciousness kept insisting I was some kind of whore just for stepping into the place.
Albeit the sexy librarian type, I immediately righted—if I do say so myself. And I smiled, suddenly glad for the ol’ girl witticism (thanks, Jane, indeed, for showing up).
Ah, well. At least the place seemed safe enough, I decided, and as long as it remained empty enough, which was more important, I may as well enjoy the odd novelty of it all, if only for the surprising daring in my own nature. I took a deep breath and ventured into the smell of rubber and plastic; the occasional strobe and neon ambience. In fact, quite casually I sallied along the racks of hanging, clear-plastic packages in which were plainly visible a multi-variety of the same fleshy and purposeful implement, each boasting a specialized adequacy. They were all sizes, too—and many which I admit were quite realistic, both in color and detail, if not sometimes downright intimidating; with names like Plummer Johnson and Big Hank the Yank (each branded, it seemed to me, as though a disembodied, but independent and living entity; lined up at attention now as any mischievous orphan eager to be chosen to a new home).
I stopped for a minute and fished in my left breast pocket for the crumpled paper I’d put there earlier, on which was written a very specific “Rocket 2000"—the very object of my mission. So far, though, I’d seen nothing with that name. I did cross a section of smaller models, though, which included one finger-sized gizmo at whose name I had to stifle a laugh: Moby Dink. And then plainer, very basic one next to it simply called “Dick” (now how could you get a trademark on that!). At last passing by a nook in the wall, a subsection with a placard that read “House of Girth”, I was accosted—practically tapped on the shoulder—by a ridiculously large.....grotesquery, really, that looked more like an appendage than any member I could believe possible of the human species; one that had been given the dubious distinction of Rama-Lama-Ding-Dong. But still no Rocket 2000 in sight.
In fact I never found the Rocket 2000 but instead an apparatus of similar description, and even somewhat, I admit, to my own liking; one that at least promised a trip to the moon. I asked the fat slob, “Does this one vibrate?” He said, No, that part would be up to you; and after I let that pass I assured him it was just a birthday present for a friend of mine; to which he returned an accusatory nod and a smile. After paying for the package and receiving the item in its plain brown wrapper, as I was on my way out the door, he called after me. “Tell your girlfriend I said happy birthday.” —intending another smarting little dart, I know, but this was a notion that had never occurred to me. I left without a backward glance and quite satisfied the joke was on him. The fat fuck wasn’t nearly sophisticated enough to guess the gift had been requested by, and intended for, my husband. I hugged the damn thing closer to me in its crinkling brown bag, and picked up my step—nervous about tonight, I confess, but giddily so. Life is fun, isn’t it?]]> http://www.writerq.com/mobile/library/942/errand-at-the-pink-mustache/ Sun, 22 Feb 2015 01:11:30 +0000 Willoughby Joy http://www.writerq.com/mobile/Will/ http://www.writerq.com/mobile/Will/ Sat, 20 Sep 2014 20:41:45 +0000 Willoughby Joy