Geedubya's Blog

March 28, 2013

50 shades of shite

Filed under: Uncategorized — geedubya67 @ 10:17 pm

She sighed.

That fucking book had so much to answer for. She’d lost her husband, pissed off her kids and even her Mother had sided with Jeremy.

‘50 shades of Grey’ she mused, 50 shades of fucking shite more like.

She thought back. It was Sally who’d insisted she’d read it. It was because she’d been moaning to Sally about the lack of ‘yahoo’ in her sex-life. Jeremy was unadventurous, perfunctory and brief and she wasn’t getting any thrills, but to be fair, she was just as unaware of some of the, errrm, more daring moves that she’d read about in the book.

Then began the coffee-machine flirting with Steve. He was taller than Jeremy, and was a cheeky sod. He’d spotted the book poking out of the top of her handbag and had teased her incessantly about it ever since. He kept making outrageous suggestions but yet again it was Sally who’d egged her on. Sally had suggested that Steve might help her ‘blow away a few cobwebs’ and eventually she thought ‘fuck it, I’m going to call his bluff’. And she did.

Only Steve wasn’t bluffing. Steve was quite serious. Steve agreed to wine her, dine her, and then he ‘69ed’ her. And it was fan-bloody-tastic!

It was so good that she soon decided that Jeremy had to go. So she wrote him a ‘Dear Jeremy’, packed her bags and moved out. Mum gave her such a bollocking. It wasn’t leaving Jeremy so much, but leaving Stefan and Elisabeth was ‘unforgiveable’, and deep down she knew it was too, but she was having fun for the first time in, well, ever…

Until now.

The handcuffs were too tight. The gag was uncomfortable and she couldn’t spit it out. The smell of sweat and rubber was making her feel quite sick but the gag was stopping her from doing anything.

She couldn’t move, couldn’t use their safe word, couldn’t scream, couldn’t even whimper and she was struggling to breathe.

And Steve wasn’t paying any bloody attention to her. He was no help. He was fucking dead on the fucking floor.

Dead. And she was trapped.

He’d tripped over one of the handcuffs and smacked his head on the sideboard on the way down. The trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth and the glassy sightless gaze told her all she needed to know.

So her predicament was looking serious – a dawning realisation that she might not make it through the night and would be found bound, chained and gagged in all her glory was an inglorious way to go…

50 shades of Grey. She harrumphed again. I wonder if they’ll carve that on my head stone?

Not the epitaph she’d have picked for herself.

February 24, 2013

New beginnings

Filed under: Uncategorized — geedubya67 @ 8:49 pm

He’d often thought about writing a short story. Same as a blog really, he’d thought about that too. Trouble was his thoughts felt jumbled. Confused. Chock full if too many ideas.

The desire to write was palpable in him. Did he need a theme? Should he write abstract thoughts or along a more cohesive narrative on something important to him?

The wrestling with the answers to these questions exhausted him and in doing so sapped his will to commit theoretical pen to theoretical paper. But this was new.

A vehicle to put down only 500 words. Surely he could commit to that?

He sat in silence, only the gentle pad-pad-pad of fingers on the screen of his iPad and the gentle snuffling of his breath as he inhaled and exhaled. His excitement was growing, a frisson was becoming a tumult. It’s only 500 words! But not for him, it felt like crossing the Rubicon!

Once he started the words flowed freely. His chosen subject was an easy pick and it came from his heart. It was daft really, he knew he was good with words but doubted deep down whether people would like to read him. He knew he was living contradiction – he described himself as shyly gregarious, even under his social media alter-ego he withheld opinions for fear of offending people he’d never meet! But in part this was because 140 characters was not enough to explain his thinking processes…

But a blog or a short story might give him the room to elucidate. Could he write 500 words and hold the readers interest? The self-doubt returned. Not ‘returned’, it bubbled up, like a Witches brew. Should he finish? Should he scrap it and start again?

He decided to plough on. He was going to finish what he’d started even if it was only the beginning of a journey. The idea of 500 words seemed doable, giving him an achievable target, something he’d like to do more than just once. He felt that the autobiographical meter suited him for now, although whether he’d continue on this path only time would tell.

So, he read back over his first attempt, smiled wryly, and contemplated once again the button. Should he? Should he? But what if it enlightened? He paused, summoned up his courage and threw caution to the wind.

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