Dear friends —
Closing out June with a familiar story, with a slightly new angle…..
I just wish someone would kill my boss.
I wish someone would just throw him against a wall until his slimy guts pour out with whatever blood he’s got in his disgusting little body.
Yeah, I love him that much.
So, I tell him to hang out in the water. Well I don’t tell him, so much as plunk him right down in the muddy swamp that’s outside the spa where the princess lives. It’s actually kind of the recycling area. Yeah, it’s a bit rank, but do you have any better ideas of how to get him in there?
Why that princess?
I dunno. She’s one of those tiny types, and they just piss me off. I mean give me a girl I can put my arms around and FEEL something, not one of those 70-pound debutantes.
But he likes those.
So what are you doing to do? He’s my boss, and I love him, and if I can’t have him, then someone should (although… we did have an amazing trip once out to the desert, and we climbed rocks and did mushrooms, and we had sex of course, because we’re modern people, not caught in the gender binary). Well, I’m not. He is more, shall we say, uptight? But then he’s a King’s son, and the 1% are not generally as open sexually as you think. Privilege does not guarantee erotic openness, although it does generally suggest you’ll have awfully nice teeth.
And… not only do I love him, but I’ve got these iron bands around my heart.
No stupid, not stents. Those go INSIDE, and I’m 25. Not 55. When the evil enchantress changed him, I got the bands on me, because you always get shat upon when you’re hired help and you aren’t union..
So, I plunk him in the recycling swamp.
In the meantime, that princess girl is playing with her beach ball, because she’s a deb who likes toys in the spa hot springs — which infuriates the rest of the clientele but since she’s a princess she does whatever she wants. So…. she’s playing with her beach ball and it’s some custom Louis Vuitton job that’s got solid gold something or other, and so she’s rolling it, and she turns –
And I throw it in the swamp.
Then of course the rest is history.
My boss gets the ball and balances it on his face, which is pretty flat, and then he follows her into the hotel and tries to eat from her plate, and sleep on her bed, and she throws him against the wall.
Just to be clear: she DOES NOT kiss him.
He returns to his original form.
So that’s cool.
But you know what? This time … he doesn’t look as handsome to me as he once did. He still looks a bit green around the gills no pun intended.
But it’s all good — they ride off to get married, and crack crack the iron bands fall off me.
And there are so many lovely bodies around watching the parade. women and men, and interesting looking people who could be either, both, or neither that I think to myself I don’t need to be in a relationship right now with some spoiled boy, but I sure will tell my boss I need a vacation, and I’ll head off to that spa. throw a beach ball around, and see what happens next.