arnold and the dirty blonde

So Arnold was telling Georgia,
“Georgia, I doubt
I can handle all these attendees.”

Arnold’s glasses felt the tremors
tease Arnold’s nerves
and he almost didn’t catch them
as they almost fell off his nose
– assumed they’d not wanted
to really escape a man
too nervous too often.

Georgia said, “Arnold,
you are not serious! All of these
attendees? Three or so
dozen coeds? Doubts?
About dispensing what you know
about the latest dilemmas?”

“Doubt about dispensation is
– were we in a less vacuous
hall….and I think dispersion is better.”

In these wings Arnold could and did
peer around the red curtain
to again read the attendees
who chatted and popped bubblegum
as though they’d be content to chat
and pop bubblegum here or down
at the downtown diner.

But the podium stood
in the middle of the center
of the stage and a pale
yellow beam dust demons lost
no time crashing proclaimed
the podium would not much longer
stand all alone but be joined
by some fashion of speaker,
that speaker being Arnold
whose glasses just then tried to jump
off their bridge again and fidgeted
in his hand before he
returned them to their place.

“Dispersion, dispensing,
I’m not the special speaker.
You are. And you are on.”

The chatting and bubblegum popping of course
did not cease as soon as Arnold
was at the podium
and he had to admit to himself
that once he was out there the vacuous
hall wasn’t – he could’ve used a moment
to muse on the first time he did
a high dive into a pool,
how the idea birthed fear
but once he did it he wanted to do it
all the time. But that was years ago
and life events placed barriers
to pools for most of those years.

Even he was surprised at how his voice
boomed confidence when he said
no more than, “I wish to thank you all
for taking time to come for this
presentation which I think is crucial
as I intend to provide insight
from many a night in close
and deep study of this very subject.”

He calmly let his gaze travel over
the attendees but tripped
over one in the front row,
a dirty blonde whose skirt
was checkered and short and her legs
were crossed and she was fervently
bouncing one and from his vantage
he could see the muscles
squeezing as far as the skirt
let him see to her upper thigh.
He tried to break what felt
like an invisible cord
but it was like the glasses
had taken control so
Arnold could not break the bond.

Arnold almost dispensed
with committing to memory
as much of his presentation
as he could and right now
he was really glad that was one
dispensation suggestion
he’d not heeded. Because he had to keep
his lips and tongue moving and the vocal
cords distracted because the glasses
had taken the essence
of the dirty blonde so she took up
almost all but the most
necessary breathing space
within Arnold’s conscience.

Except the conscience
he stood in wasn’t
the conscience
he recognized
and he wasn’t alone
in it because the dirty blonde
was getting up from the floor
and dabbing her chin with a tissue
and Arnold felt full of conquest zest.
Except some of the zest fizzled
and a voice knew why
some of  Arnold’s conquest zest
suffered the fizzle and said
through the earpiece
hooked to the glasses,
“told you to pay attention.”

The dirty blonde
stopped with her tissue
about two pinkies from her face
and it wasn’t the face Arnold
wanted to see as he realized
there was a sensation kissing
his penis like he’d just pulled it
out of a lime which the dryness
of his briefs accented so
the dirty blonde’s frown cut even deeper.

“You missed it? I break off my date
– I break up with my boyfriend
over – over this! And you missed it!”

“Look I’m new
at this – this is my -”

“You’re gonna tell me you missed
the cheerleader session? Bad
cheerleader? Over your knees?
Pulling my blue panties down?
Corrupting me? You missed that too?”

Before Arnold could register much
the dirty blonde spun
and stormed out and he heard a screen door
slam and high heels almost break
three wooden steps and a haunted
stillness pervaded his conscience.

The glasses almost fell off his nose
and he adjusted them
and was about to conclude
when he caught sight of the dirty blonde
in the front row, whose leg
no longer bounced so to squeeze
her thighs; and the glare
she steadied straight at him pierced him
so his voice lost the beautiful boom
and he blanked on what to say
and nothing else existed
except the dirty blonde’s steady glare.

“And – and that’s pretty much what I came
– came here to – to say. Thank you and…”

The hall emptied.
Except for the dirty blonde
who’d stomped straight to the stage
and stood in front of him like
she could explode and without one speck
of ritual she slapped him
with her open hand so his glasses
flew off his nose and landed
on the stage about ten feet away.  

Georgia feeling charitable
spared Arnold from having to decide
whether to fetch his glasses or to try
to patch things up with the dirty blonde.
Holding the glasses like they didn‘t matter,
she said, “what are we going to do with you?”

Dirty Blonde said, “this”
and slipped a collar around
Arnold’s neck and with a yank
set him on his knees, and told him
his only chance for redemption
would be to bury his head
under her skirt and she used
the podium for comfort
and stability and thus began
his new topic of nightly study.

Georgia helped herself
to a front row seat and marveled
at the hall’s acoustical way
with the faintest of sounds.

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About Timmy the Scribbler

Love to write all kinds of stuff I love writing so many different kinds of stuff it is a constant struggle to narrow the focus to a manageable handful and let the others go. But a few years ago I dipped my fingers into a poetry pie and of all my uncertainties, one thing that is no uncertainty is that it is one passion that must remain, so maybe that's the one. I do dearly delight in chopping up fictional works into stanzas and syllables.
This entry was posted in erotic, flash fiction, poetry, roughly sketched, stanza-para-strophes and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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