ok ... so it isn't politically correct and it isn't "fresh" ... it is/was mine.
this is what happens/happened when I let the muse talk in the wee small hours of the night.
Lester’s Helpful Response to the Exciter’s Challenge
As
told to Alfonsina
“Alf, Alf, Alf.
What am I going to do with
you? You look like hell, again,”
came the all too familiar voice.
“Lester, I always look like crap when you
get me up in the middle of the night to ‘talk’.
I actually do need my beauty sleep and the older I get the more beauty
sleep I need,” I said. “Thanks
for wearing the red Speedos though, the girls on Perfectly Plum will love that
picture of you in them.”
“I would have posed for it a long time ago
if you wouldn’t keep making me clean up the pool,” he said.
“You keep your mind clean and don’t leave a
ring around the pool and you won’t have to keep brooming it,” I said.
“At this rate, I’m gonna develop calluses
and you’re gonna have to start to take me for weekly mani-pedi’s at the salon,”
he said.
Lovely, my muse, one of the more popular of
Merry Men, is not only vain and demanding but gets more expensive each passing
week. I’m gonna have to take another job
just to keep up with his grooming habits.
At least he isn’t asking that I have his hair professionally highlighted
each month, I do a good enough job at home that he isn’t complaining too
loudly.
“What ya listening to?” he asked.
“I was listening to Santa snore, but now
I’m listening to you,” I said letting out a deep breath.
“He
still doesn’t know you call him ‘Santa’ does he?” Lester winked and damn if it wasn't cute.
“No and you aren’t gonna tell him. If you
do, we’re going to have to send you to live on the horse farm in upstate New
York with Deb and you’ll earn your keep there by mucking out horse stalls, she
already has one muse that actually works.”
“Jeesh. You’d think I never did anything
for you,” he said. “I was going to help you answer Trish’s challenge – you know
the one.”
“The one for the Big Chill and using the
Exciter’s song Tell Him?”
“Yeah.”
“Never heard of it. Will you let me go back to bed now? I finally got a job and even though I don’t
have to dress to impress, they aren’t going to be impressed with my Snoopy
nightshirt which is what I’ll wear if you don’t let me go back to bed.”
“Grumpy much, Alf? Jeesh.
I mean, come on. You used to
listen to the radio, Motown, movie soundtracks and all that. Now you just listen to Batanga.com on the
radio and it has made you incredibly boring,” he said.
“So basically what you are saying is that
you are tired of listening to ballads and boleros and you want something you
can dance around to or at least lip sync?” I asked.
“Yeah. You know I want to take your hairbrush
and sing in the mirror:
I know something about love. You've
gotta want it bad If that guy's got into your blood, go out and get him If you
want him to be the very part of you That makes you want to breathe, here's the
thing to do...”
“Tell you what, I’ll buy you your own
hairbrush and you can listen to whatever you want to on the radio when I’m at
work,” I said. “Sing your little heart
out, Les.”
“Can I cruise the internet and look up
pictures of hot babes while you are at work?”
“No.”
“Why not, Santa does it when you aren’t
home.” He had the gal to stick his tongue out at me.
“Lester, I’ve made you my muse and I’ve
decided that maybe Vince would make a nice muse. He’s low maintenance, likes to clean the
man cave and knows how to do dog massage.
In a lot of ways he’s much better than you are. Plus he’s not constantly hitting me up for
condoms or money for fun and games after work.” I punched the pillow, but I knew it wasn't going to make a difference.
“You know, you haven’t been any fun at all
since you started to work again,” he said.
“Lester.”
“Yeah, I heard you. Vince could take over my bedroom at any
minute. From the way you’ve described
Vince he’ll be a lot like you. BOOOOORING.”
“Lester.” I used my best ‘bad dog’
voice. Too bad it didn't work on him any better than it worked on the dog.
 |
| Not the real Santa - but close enough |
“Fine.
You aren’t boring, but Santa is.
Hell, even the dog is more fun.”
“Do you want me to take you to the local
S&M bar tomorrow night? It is
country western night.”
“I didn’t know you were into that kind of
thing, Alf.”
“I’m not.
S&M means Stand and Model.
I’m planning to take you to Apollo’s,” I said as I turned the pillow over for a third time.
“No.
You can’t,” he said. Panic was now replacing boredom and smugness in his
voice. Good.
“Can and will, Lester. Can and will.
Hector can be your date. You can
expand your horizons, just a little.”
Apollo’s is a gay bar in Phoenix and I
would have no compunctions about dropping him off in his little red Speedo for
the night.
“I’m
too pretty for Apollo’s,” he said in a whisper.
“They’ll never leave me alone.”
“Will you quit waking me up in the middle
of the night to write challenge responses for you?” I asked.
“Probably not,” he said.
Lovely. “Ok, will you quit reminding me just how
awful I look when you wake me up?” I asked.
“Probably not,” he said. At least he was being honest with me.
“Then I don’t have a lot of motivation not
to have you take Hector to Apollo’s tomorrow, do I?” I asked.
“I could start to work,” he said quietly.
“You mean, you might actually provide some
more ideas for Nothing But Time on My Hands?” I asked. I’d reached a roadblock where things could go
several ways and I wasn’t sure how to take the rest of the story.
“No.
I was thinking more like I could help you write a Merry Man fic staring
yours truly and it could be just awesome.
You could start to write smut, and not just tantalize people. You could describe things from my point of
view. You could ...”
“Lester, either you are going to let me go
back to sleep,” I said. “Or else
tomorrow you, Hector and I are going to spend the evening at Apollo’s and
you’ll have to go into the bathroom by yourself.”
“If you’re gonna be that way about it,” he
said. “I’ll let you go back to
sleep, but you really need to start to use moisturizer or you’re gonna start to
look your age pretty soon.”
“Final warning Lester. Go back to sleep or oil your leather, assless
chaps for tomorrow.”
“Good night, Alf. I’ll be in the kitchen making warm milk just
in case you wake up again tonight,” he said.
I rolled over again and tried to get the
voice out of my head. Then again, he
wasn’t in the kitchen, Lester was standing in the bathroom adjacent to the
bedroom singing into my hairbrush:
Tell him that
you're never gonna leave him
Tell him that
you're always gonna love him
Tell him, tell
him, tell him, tell him right now
I can’t discipline the blonde dog, how am I
ever going to discipline my muse?
It was turning into a very long night.
