MRS. HENRIETTA APPLEBEE
A Tale of Tail, Told in Iambs
By Izzy Ess
of Greediness
Delivery of drugs to Mrs. Henrietta Applebee was always
hazardous because our Henrietta was a cougar and aggressively approached young handsome
men who brought her packages from Saltzman’s Corner Pharmacy, in Bonn. She’d lure them into her small parlour where
she’d offer them a schnapps or whiskey or a foreign beer, like Lowenbrau or
Heineken. She’d smile and say, “One
moment, please, I have to get my purse.”
Returning to the parlour, almost always, she’d have lost three buttons
on her blouse revealing to the world that both her breasts were ample and her
nipples were inviting. Almost every man
she did this to would start to drool and ogle her great body, dramatically revealed
by slits in her tight skirt that opened to her lush and bushy pubis. She knew she had him when his groin began to
show a bulge. With practiced moves, she
lay down on the couch and let her leg drop off the edge, revealing everything
below her pubic curly hair. She’d say, “I’m
sure you’d like to take a closer look,” and most young men bent over to examine
her and find a lovely clit, already throbbing, and two lower, luscious lips
which opened to reveal the opening between them which was deeply coloured
reddish purple. She’d so surreptitiously
would slide her hand upon his thigh and find the throbbing object of her
quest. She’d fish it out and hold it
tight and start to stroke it, up and down.
Some men were so excited they would squirt their sperm at her and she
would laugh. “My dear young man,” she’d
say. “I think you missed my warm
receptacle. I’ll guide you to my inner
sanctum.” And, of course, she would have
taken down his trousers and positioned him above her lower regions. He would, likely, thrust his manhood home and
start to pump. She would laugh and move
to match his thrusts until they both would scream with ecstasy. Some disengaged immediately, grabbed their
trousers and would bolt out to their tiny trucks to get away, while some would
linger for an afternoon of great delights.
And, some would stay the night.
For every victory, our Henrietta would record a notch in her own bed
post. All the notches numbered o’er an
hundred, since the death of Mr. Applebee from apoplexy, several years ago. I think, at 63, she’s still quite active with
the men who dare to bring her groceries or medicines, some sundries or the
Evening Globe and Mail. She has at least
a dozen regulars who visit her, with or without, those packets, to deliver, in
their hands. The notches in her bed
posts are too numerous to count. I’m
sure I’ll see her every Thursday, from now on, because we made a dating
deal. I bicycle to her house wearing PJ’s
and she’s always pulled my string.
Perhaps, she’ll pull my string on Sundays, Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays
and the weekends, too. On Fridays, I make
love to Isobel, my ex, from Tennessee.
She drives a hundred miles to visit me, and brings the kids, and I can’t
turn her down. Ms. Henrietta, I love
you. I hope you love me, too.
THE END
© izzy
sommers, md
Welland, Canada
July 23, 2013
No comments:
Post a Comment