sam, i love u

I LOVE YOU, SAMANTHA

Une Sonnette D’Amour

By Izzy Ess Of Happiness

Samantha I do love you, dearly.  I

Love all of you.  Your winning smile and dimples

Do light up my life whenever you

Are near.  Your wit is charming.  Your perky

Breasts and pretty pink small nipples to

Your rippled stomach and your bush of bright

Red pubic hair which matches that upon

Your head and reaches down to your cute derriere,

I do adore.  Your legs encircle me

And hold me oh so close when we make love.

I love to kiss your luscious lips, the ones

Above, and those below.  I love it when

We are united, and you hold me close,

And murmur, “I love you, too!” the most.

THE END

© izzy sommers, md., Welland, Canada, December 17, 2013

peter&connie

PEDRO AND CONSUELA

This Is A Fictional Short Story Of The Successful Meeting Of Two People Who Are Loving And Sharing.  It Would Make A Good Operetta Or Madrigal Sung To The Music Of Joachim Rodrigo’s Guitar Concertos Such As “Fantasia Para Gentilhomme.”

By Izzy Ess Of Happiness

Pyotr Vladimir O’Bramovitch wrote blogs and was sometimes censored by his government because of sexuality.  Born in St. Petersburg in Russia, he lived in Buenos Aires, Argentina, and had published poetry extensively in collections that sold modestly.  So, he found out how to publish in the USA by using a popular website, Blogger^®, built by Google^® of the USA.  There, he met no real resistance to his blogs which often centred on those three big categories that all of us had learned to never openly discuss in mixed company, religion, politics and sex.  Of course these are the most interesting of the subjects to discuss, he found, with kith and kin and passing strangers and with women, eh?  Pyotr had long ago turned off the criticisms of his kin.  His first wife had remarked that she expected him to be struck down by lightning!  Perhaps it just was wishful thinking on her part since she was planning a divorce as soon as he was making enough money for it to be advantageous to her.  His second marriage only lasted six months before his wife ran off with a younger, richer man.  Senor O’Bramovitch taught English as a second language to the mainly Spanish-speaking students at a local Catholic, all girls, Concepcion Inmaculado Junior college, in the centre of the Capital.

Pyotr, renamed Pedro by his students, ogled all the nubile quite young women that attended his small classes at the College.  The women noticed his attention to their features, especially their breasts, and they dressed appropriately so that he would gaze at them quite hungrily.  A lot of them wore see-through blouses or very tight, bright sweaters.  They would smile so knowingly when he would stutter or forget his Spanish when he spotted something startling, like a tiny hardened nipple peeking out between the threads of yarn on a loosely knit tight sweater.  Consuela Martinez wore such a sweater that she herself had knitted just especially for her handsome Pedro.  Consuela also wore the shortest skirts in class without a stitch of underwear.  She would sit in the front row and spread her thighs to give her Pedro a quite clear view of her natural black bush of pubic hair as well as both her lower lips and upper, inner thighs.  Her class-mates did applaud her bravery, and were secretly just mostly envious.

Consuela was a little older than the others as she had taken a two year break in schooling to take care of her sick father when he had a massive heart attack when he was having oral sex with her.  Consuela loved her father dearly and had learned from him the father-daughter customs that were customary in her family.  Her mother was quite passive and she had learned about her sexuality from Consuela’s ancient grandfather who was still alive, and had come to Connie for some oral sex when Consuela’s father passed away.  Consuela’s mother was relieved of her responsibilities and expressed her thanks to her own loving daughter.  Connie was extremely bright and excelled in academics at her all-girl Catholic schools whose teachers were mainly the nuns of a convent which had built the college she was now attending.

When Connie was a twelve year old, a young priest had taken her for his confessing angel and had arranged to have her come to his own chambers for private Catechism lessons and a special confession every weekday afternoon.  Monsignor Juan da Franco was quite handsome and looked like her own father.  He would lift his robe and asked her to confess while on her knees and underneath his robe.  She understood her duty to her Holy Father who possessed a manhood that she could feel was quite substantial, much bigger than her father’s and her grandfather’s and her older brother’s, Jorje and her Jesus.  She liked his bag of balls, and fondled them while she took Monsignor Juan da Franco’s huge, hard, throbbing masthead deep within her throat.  Consuela felt quite blessed and internally anointed by the huge amount of semen that she swallowed hungrily.  It moistened her young honeypot and she lay supine upon the floor and offered it to Holy Father’s new erection for some special blessing.  He complied and straddled her young shapely hips.  Consuela, still beneath Monsignor’s robe, lifted up her private parts to make her lubricated honeypot easily, though snugly, receive the inner blessing and anointment he delivered religiously with, “Dios!  Dios!” on his lips.  Connie saw the stars and singing Angels as she did experience the Kingdom of His Heaven, here on Earth!  The weekday afternoon confessions ceased when Connie graduated from her elementary classes and as Valedictorian had one last blessing from her handsome Holy Father, Juan da Franco, still wearing her new graduation robe with nothing underneath.

The ancient priest, receiving the young high school level student’s cool confessions, was too old to think of sex, apparently.  One young teaching nun, in grade XII, did like to exchange fondling after classes.  Consuela found it only mildly stimulating as they rubbed each other’s nipples and each other’s private parts.  She missed her own loving father and her former Holy Father, Juan da Franco.  She excelled again in all her subjects and was again Valedictorian and wore her graduation gown with nothing underneath.

Connie liked her Pedro from the start.  She wanted him to make his move before she did make hers.  She knew that her shenanigans were having an effect.  She yearned to consummate the strong attraction that was obviously there.  She scored so highly in his classes and perhaps that was inhibiting the handsome teacher, but she decided he was gun-shy, presuming his experience with women had been quite unsatisfactory, up to this date.  She wanted badly to change his attitude.  Finally, he asked if she would stay right after his last class and discuss her future as a writer.  He had already indicated that she was quite talented and felt she should attempt to publish her great poetry as soon as possible.  She received an A+ grade for the sonnette she had written just last week:

“I yearn to drive you to distraction, my

Dear Pedro.  You are like a sports car, sleek

And strong.  I want to settle my turned on

Posterior in your expensive leather

Bucket seat and feel your strength surge through

My body from my toes to nose.  I want

To grab the knob of your slick gear shift and

Manipulate your gears and feel the charge

Of your great energy, as you accelerate.

I want to deeply lubricate your rod.

I yearn to feel your pumping steadily.

I want to feel the plunge of your thick piston

As it thrusts and then withdraws in beats

That match my own.  I want to hear your Keats!”

Our Pedro was obviously nervous as he sat as his big desk reviewing her essays and her poetry, her short stories and her clever short novellas.  She was really talented, he remarked to himself.  Her descriptive prose was excellent and deserved the high marks that she received.  Consuela stood beside him, reading over his shoulder and put her hot hand on his biceps as a friendly gesture.  She didn’t want to scare him, she thought.  She was wearing no underwear underneath her see-through blouse and extremely short, homemade, pleated mini-skirt of Black Watch woollen tartan.  She had open sandals on her pretty feet.  He and she both noticed that his groin was bulging and started throbbing.  Consuela made her move.  “Is there something I can do for your reaction to my writing?  You are reading my short story of a man who loves his daughter and wants to educate her about what would please a man.  May I please you?”  Pedro looked directly at her big brown eyes and tried to speak but was really tongue-tied and stuttering.

Consuela put her finger up to her lips to indicate that words were not necessary.  She reached down to his fly and did unzip it to release a masthead that was flushed and throbbing.  She thought it was magnificent.  She kneeled between his knees and took his masthead right into her luscious mouth and let it slide down into her waiting throat.  Pedro let his semen fly as he grunted and then suppressed a squeal.  Consuela gulped the semen hungrily while tonguing his manhood expertly.  He put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her head into his groin.  She moaned and felt her honeypot begin to lubricate profusely.  She stood and pushed her breasts into his face.  He tore her blouse with his teeth and took her nipple and her breast into his mouth and licked the nipple until it was extremely hard.  Consuela’s juices started running down her shapely thighs.  She turned and pointed her quite gorgeous derriere directly at his renewing manhood.  She sat and let it slide right into her own juicy honeypot.  She started having waves of wonderful feelings and started having spasms of her honeypot.  Pedro started pumping with an accelerating vigour.  He exploded once again and screamed with delight.  Connie squealed and felt the waves of pleasure taking strong control of her body.

When they disengaged, they cleared the desk and undressed completely.  Pedro lay supine upon his desk, his masthead pointing, throbbing in the air.  Connie straddled him and mounted her great Pedro, front to front.  He massaged her breasts with both his hands and murmured, “You are wonderful, my darling Connie!  I have your key to happiness prepared.  Please, darling, put your lock around it tightly and we shall reach Nirvana, once again!”  She complied and they did reach Nirvana once again and many times again that night.

And, they reached Nirvana and beyond so many times, forever after.  Pedro moved all his belongings into the ancient Casa Martinez.  Monsignor Juan da Franco married them in the sexiest ceremony ever done in Argentina.  Connie’s mother was delighted and she loved the manhood of her new son-in-law and was stimulated to do oral sex with Pedro as often as she could.  She even tried her honeypot, again, for the first time in a long time.  Connie was delighted at her mother’s sexy renaissance, thereby.  Her grandfather was delighted to have Connie and her mother back, available again for oral sex and any sex he might desire.  Jorje and Jesus were also happy to be able to have social and sexual intercourse with their sister, once again.  They also did admire the grand equipment that Pedro did display and often brought their girlfriends home to try it on, or in, for size.  Some girlfriends also liked to fondle Connie who was wont to just reciprocate.

In the evenings, frequently, Consuela and her Pedro did do readings of their prose and poetry.  One such sonnette was composed by both of them:

“Two star-crossed living lovers, not our Romeo

And Juliette, but our grander

Pedro and our quite statuesque Consuela,

Who did share their love with everyone

At Casa Martinez.  Our kith and kin

And strangers, all are welcome, eh?  From Timbuktu

To Xanadu, from Mandalay

To Hudson’s Bay, from Tokyo to Toronto,

From Argentina to the Dardanelles,

There is no finer Kingdom of Nirvana

Here on Earth.  When Pedro and Consuela

Do make love, the Angels play their harps

Above the Upper Firmament, with larks,

And children play so happily in parks.”

Our Pedro and Consuela published most of what they wrote on Google’s Blogger, eh?  It was highly successful and increased its readership exponentially.

AMEN AND HALLELUJAH!

THE END

© izzy sommers, md

Welland, Canada

December 18^th 2013

elizabeth&shirley

THE CHRONICLES OF

ELIZABETH & SHIRLEY

This Is A Short Story About Two Emancipated Women Who Seek To Have Some Sex And Much Frivolity, Wherever They Can Arrange It, Eh?  This Could Make A Good Movie, Or A Provocative Operetta, With The Music Of Ravel’s “Bolero,” Or Richard Strauss’ “Also Sprach Zarathustra,” Or Modeste Muzorfski’s “Pictures At An Exhibition.”

By Izzy Ess Of Silliness

Elizabeth Homestead-Jones was forty-two and on a cruise with her husband, Thomas Jones, a successful CEO at US Steel.  The transatlantic cruise was a bonus gift of US Steel for its top executives in 1999.  There were twelve recipients of the bonus given for that year.  All the executives and their wives had boarded in New York City, after being flown in mainly from the Pittsburgh area.  Elizabeth had known this group for over fifteen years.  She did enjoy the company of Mrs. Shirley Applebee.  They were neighbours and often would have coffee at each other’s homes in the afternoons before their husbands did come home from working at the US Steel headquarters in the business corridor of Pittsburgh.  Their children were now off to colleges around the country and their daytime hours were free to follow some old hobbies and amusements.

Shirley and Elizabeth had enjoyed some shopping trips to NYC and would often go to see a matinee on old Broadway.  Besides the coffee, there was a tendency to have a cocktail, or two, or three, each afternoon and each felt more relaxed in the evenings with their long-time husbands.  They often talked about how interesting it might be to have a fling, or sex affair, but it was only talk.  They sublimated with some kissing and some feelings up when somewhat tipsy, but this, too, was very tentative and not at all intensive.  They mainly laughed about their minor dalliances, while talking about how a serious affair might be exciting and a break from their routines.  It never happened, even once.

On the transatlantic trip, Elizabeth and Shirley did continue titillating speculation about some wild affair which might spice up their lives.  They seemed, they thought, to be approaching something big, but nothing did occur.

One afternoon, the ladies, walking on the promenade, were approached by a young man from Istanbul, who asked if they played bridge.  In fact, Elizabeth and Shirley did play bridge in Pittsburgh, at the Steeler’s Golf and Country Club, each Wednesday afternoon.  The young man, Abdul Moamar, then invited them to join their table in the lounge where they were playing bridge with other passengers in a kind of tournament.  They accepted and followed young Abdul to a long passageway within the upper deck.  Suddenly, another Turkish man, jumped out from one of the cabins and grabbed Elizabeth quite roughly and wrestled her to get her on the floor of the passageway.  Abdul had grabbed Shirley and wrestled her to the floor, as well.  Both women were so startled, they were unable to scream for help.  Both women were dragged into a fair-sized stateroom, gagged, blind-folded and tied with their hands behind their back.  Their clothes were ripped off and they were unceremoniously raped.  Another two men appeared and raped them.  Then, the four men left the room, turning off the lights and locking the door.  Shirley managed to wriggle over to Elizabeth and found her hands behind her back and untied them.  Elizabeth, her hands now freed, untied her friend, who, then was able to untie her ankles and stand up in the dark.  Both women groped around and found the door knob to the front door and turned the latch to unlock it.  Cautiously, they checked the passageway which was lit up, and, naked, they ventured out to try and find the promenade to get some help.  They did find the promenade and screamed for help.  A steward did respond and found some blankets for them and led them to the infirmary where the ship’s doctor and nurse checked them and took samples for sperm and DNA.  The steward paged and found the husbands and brought them back to the infirmary.

Elizabeth and Shirley told their husbands what had happened and both cried, unabashedly.  Sedatives were dispensed and the women calmed down a little.  The husbands led their wives back to their large staterooms where they donned their own pajamas, crawled into their respective beds and fell fitfully asleep.  Both women woke in the middle of the night and demanded that could see each other.  Elizabeth’s husband unlocked the connecting door between their suites, and Shirley came into Elizabeth’s room, crawled into her bed and hugged her.  The husbands tucked them in and left to find a late night snack and cocktail in a lounge for other insomniacs.

The women tried to make some sense of their experience.  They cried and hugged each other fervently.  They decided that this was not the adventure they had been looking for.  Nonetheless, they found themselves excited and turned on in a perverse sort of way.  They admitted that while they were being raped, they were turned on and lubricating.  They did fondle each other’s breasts and private parts and turned each other on with some enthusiasm.  Then, they started laughing, uncontrollably, and decided, as adventures go, this was one for the books.  The next morning, they docked at Torremollinos, an island off the coast of Spain, where they were scheduled to stay in a luxury, tourist hotel for the next two days.  There were large white beaches with beach chairs and large colorful beach umbrellas.  It was relaxing and luxurious with lots of gourmet snacks and potent cocktails.

The foursome of Shirley, Elizabeth and their husbands, stayed together, in a not so subtle, protective way.  When the foursome returned to their cruise ship, the steward sought them out and asked them to come to the captain’s quarters for a conference.  The captain did inform them that the sperm and DNA studies run by an official lab in Spain, identified the perpetrators of the gang rape, as notorious stowaways from Turkey, who preyed on unsuspecting women passengers on the transatlantic cruises.  He said that the cruise ship company would cover any losses that they had of jewelry, clothes and other valuables, inasmuch as robbery was a part of the Turkish gang’s modus operandi.  He said that the women should submit an accounting of their losses, even if it was only clothing.  The captain was profusely apologetic and offered special upgrades in their accommodations plus, special places at the captain’s table for all their meals.

On schedule, the cruise ship docked in Haifa, Israel.  A luxury hotel, the Fontaine Bleu, had been booked for everyone.  Our foursome had adjoining penthouse rooms on the twenty-first floor with a magnificent view from their balcony of the sea, the beaches and the old and modern city.  Tours had been arranged and there was plenty of time for swimming and just lounging on the beach.  Elizabeth and Shirley thought they recognized Abdul, who was waiting on them, and reported him to the concierge, who said he would alert security.  Otherwise, the Haifa stop was quite enjoyable.  Elizabeth and Shirley slept together and slyly told the husbands they were free to just amuse themselves.  They suspected that their husbands might have hired some high class escorts for the night.  Enthusiastically, the two women did enjoy each other’s charms and private parts and felt quite loving, eh?  They realized that they were having quite a love and sex affair and accepted it, as if it were predestined for them, and forgot about affairs with other men, for the time being.

The next stop was Beirut, Lebanon, still the Jewel of the Middle East.  So drunk, one afternoon, they decided to hire themselves two high class male escorts for the evening and told their husbands, who laughed and gave them the “permission” to proceed, with the attitude that they did surely earn it.  The concierge arranged for two extremely tall and jet black male South Africans, with extremely large manhoods, to visit the women in their rooms for a splendid, foursome night of sex and great frivolity.  The next night, with their husband’s permission, they hired two black women to entertain them, and it was a blast.

The cruise ship, next, made scheduled stops at Athens, Greece, the Isle of Capri, and its famous swallows, Venice, Italy, and Genoa in Italy.  The last docking was Marseilles, in France, before they passed through Gibraltar and its famous monkeys, heading back to New York City, USA, where they would get flights to Pittsburgh.  At home, Elizabeth and Shirley restarted their routine of afternoons, with cocktails and great Lesbo sex.  They liked to turn each other on with tales of their adventures on the cruise and the stops along the way.  They indulged in weekly, secret afternoons with well-paid escorts, male and female, who engaged them in exciting sex and much frivolity.  Their very wealthy husbands were aware of their peccadillos, and encouraged both their wives, presumably, to be quite free to indulge themselves with high-priced prostitutes.

At the Steeler’s Golf and Country Club biennial Golf and Bridge Tournaments, Elizabeth and Shirley won first prizes in both golf and bridge.  They claimed the special time with golf pros and the lifetime Master’s bridge players and cornered them in the Ninth Hole Lounge for sex and much frivolity.  Elizabeth and Shirley had gained their notoriety in the high societies of Pittsburgh and were invited to many private sessions with the socialites for sex and much frivolity.  They did rub elbows and other body parts with the Mayor of Pittsburgh, the local congressman and both the Pennsylvanian elected Senators, in their respective oval offices.

Suffice to say, dear readers, this has gotten out of hand and my imagination suggests Elizabeth and Shirley aimed quite high.  They had their eye on the President of the USA and his first Lady, plus the Cabinet Secretaries and their mates, and would have scored a triumph if I had not stopped my silly writing, here and now.  I may write a Shirley and Elizabeth bold sequel but for now, this is

THE END

© izzy sommers, md

Wetland, Kanata

December 19, 2013

amanda&gerry

AMANDA AND GERRY

A Fictional Story Of Two People Who Met And Had A Family In NYC And Married.  It’s Not Dramatic Enough For A Movie Or Operetta While It Might Make A Good Madrigal To The Music Of Dave Brubeck And His Family, Or Perhaps An Interesting Amanda’s Tale, As Part Of An Epic Poem Like Canterbury Tales, The Decameron Or Les Cent Nouvelles To The Music Of Bach, Ravel, Muzorfski, Copeland Or Debussy

By Izzy Ess Of Happiness

Amanda Salmon sensed some danger when a stranger entered her apartment when the door was open to create a breeze.  The stranger said, “Oops, I have the wrong apartment.”  He looked at the front door and said, “I must have gotten off the elevator on the wrong floor.  My apartment is just above yours and I neglected to look at the numbers.  I’m very sorry.”  The handsome stranger was tall and dark and spoke his English with a British accent.  On impulse, Amanda extended her hand and said, “My name is Miss Amanda Salmon.  If you’re the guy upstairs, I have to say that you do play the sweetest music on your stereo.”  The stranger smiled and took Amanda’s hand and shook it gently but very firmly.  “Hi, my name is Gerry Brooks.  Yes, I do enjoy my music and I must be turning up the volume when it’s really good.  Would you like to come upstairs and listen to my stereo?”  Amanda smiled and said, “Why don’t you come inside and tune my radio to your favourites and we can listen here?  Have you had supper yet?”  Gerry Brooks took off his jacket and threw it on an easy chair.  “Supper sounds super!  Whatcha making?”  Amanda smiled.  “It’s already made.  I tend to use my crock pot and let it cook all day.  It’s ready and it’s beef and pork and veggie stew.”  She pointed to her stereo and said, “How about some music, Gerry?”  Gerry walked over to the stereo and turned it on.  He tuned it to a station which played good jazz all day.  The sound of Dave Brubeck was on the air and Gerry turned the volume up.  Amanda liked the station and her head was bobbing to the beat.  Gerry’s head was bobbing, too.

Amanda served the stew and they both sat down at the small ornate kitchenette  table.  Gerry’s knowledge of good jazz was good and they talked about Dave Brubeck and his music.  Gerry liked the food and complimented his new friend, Amanda.  She had a little Chianti left and they sipped it slowly.  During a big band number of Glen Miller, they got up and did a jive step in the small place in front of the old fireplace which did not operate.  Amanda felt romantic and so did Gerry and they kissed and hugged after doing their old dance.  Sitting down again, they finished off the stew upon their plates and the rest of the Chianti.  They cleared the dishes off the table; Gerry washed while Amanda dried.  It felt so right to retire to bed and make some love which really was exciting.

The romance and the sex, the suppers and the wine continued nicely.  They alternated their apartments and switched off on the cooking and the buying of the wine.  They started telling each other stories of their work and families.  They laughed easily and frequently.  The music was always on and seemed to be the lubricant for their growing closeness and intimacies.  The sex was great as they admitted to themselves that there was love in the air.  Their outings were always fun and they enjoyed movies and bars and bistros.  Sometimes they’d stay overnight in a small hotel and sometimes, they’d rent a car and go into the countryside for a long weekend at a small inn or bed and breakfast.  They loved the quaintness of the places in the Mohawk valley, like Geneva, Avon and Elmira.  Sometimes they’d even cross the border into Canada and enjoy some old Québec, Québec, or Kingston, Ontario.

Eventually, they started visiting family in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and Baltimore, Maryland.  Eventually, Amanda discovered she was pregnant.  They made the decision to have the baby and not get married.  They did look for and rent a bigger apartment with a sunroom which could stand in as a nursery.  Amanda delivered a healthy little girl during which Gerry was allowed in the delivery room and assisted in the birthing process.  Gerry and Amanda shared the household duties and the picking of the antique and used furniture for the old-new place.  Together they invested in a new-old stereo with new and old components which filled the new-old apartment with wonderful easy-listening music, mainly good jazz.

Gerry was an options dealer on the NASDAQ.  His salary was substantial and was mainly small consistent profits from trading wisely.  He had a knack for picking long and short term options to great advantage and was amassing a lot of money in securities, bonds and futures contracts.  Amanda was an executive secretory of a J. P. Morgan branch bank and drew a large salary and benefits which helped the coffers of the new family which was expanding as Amanda again became pregnant and expanded appropriately.  She had become an MBA candidate and was in line for a big promotion and more executive types of positions.  The happy couple combined their financial assets for great advantage with regard to taxation and investments.  College funds were started for the children.  Financial security was assured.  And, witnessed by family members from both sides, they were married in NYC’s St. Peter’s Basilica, after which they had a small reception for kith and kin atop the Empire State Building.

Amanda was found to have a malignant papilloma on her cervix and needed to have a complete hysterectomy.  Microscopic sections on the tissue removed showed that everything was removed.  There was little chance of recurrence of the malignancy and no chance for another pregnancy.  Our Gerry developed an acute leukemia which required chemotherapy and radiation.  He lost all his hair and the hair that grew back was thin and white.  On the positive side, his malignancy was brought under control and no recurrence would be seen in the next five years or the next five years, thereafter.  The two children, a boy and a girl, flourished and were enrolled in magnet schools for both drama and academics.  They were to do very well, excelling in both theatrics and academics.

Mr. Gerry Brooks was killed in a freak accident when a huge piece of a wall of a building being demolished fell from the jaws of a crane and came crashing through the covered sidewalk and crushed poor Gerry to death before any passers-by could start CPR.  The EMT paramedics were too late and he was declared dead by the hospital physician who saw him in the ER after the paramedics brought him there.  An autopsy showed that he had died as a result of massive injuries to the brain and spinal cord as a result of the 500 lb. piece of wall that had fallen on him.  Amanda was called to claim the remains.  She arranged for cremation and his ashes were put in an ornate vase for her.  Her in-laws and out-laws from Pittsburgh and Baltimore came to the memorial at Amanda’s apartment.  Amanda was invited to stay for a while at her in-laws in Baltimore and she accepted the offer.  Gerry’s will and insurance provided for her, and the children, for a lifetime.

In Baltimore, there was a proud community nearby which had excellent schools and community projects for fair treatment of minority groups as well as logical layouts for housing and community buildings and meeting places for folks to congregate and co-operate with regard to schooling, housing, welfare and garbage collection.  It was an award winning community called Colombo and it attracted Amanda and her family to see it would be suitable for them.  it was and they moved.  Amanda had quit her job with J. P. Morgan and was living off the substantial inheritance left by Gerry for herself and her children, as well as her own wise investments.  Within a year, Amanda met a divorced man that looked a lot like Gerry.  He had his two children living with him.  It was as natural a match for Amanda and she went for it.  The man, a Steven Weinstein, made more than adequate room for her and her two children at his larger than usual condominium townhouse.  They developed some great romantic attachments and she and he lived happily together for the rest of their lives.  Amanda and her new husband lived into their late eighties, happily and comfortably.  All their children were eventually married and moved to various parts of the country to pursue their dreams and goals of careers and families.

THE END

© Izzy Sommers, Md

Welland, Canada

12/12/13

The Last Of 12/12s

For A Year

While 12/12/12

Won’t Appear For

A Long Time.

insane santa

INSANE SANTA

This Is An Evil Slant On Santa Claus, Eh?  Please Delete If It Displeases You.  Please Laugh If It Amuses You.  This Will Never Make It As A Christmas Melody, But It Would Be Nice With The “Bald Mountain” Tone Poem Of Modeste Muzorfski

By Izzy Ess Of Evilness

The insane Santa, the dual personality behind the bright persona that is jolly, always laughing and just giving out the gifts, is one who eats his reindeer if they disobey and, instead of giving gifts, he robs the little kids of their own toys and keeps them for himself and the quite sexy mistress that he has sequestered in his private den in Hollywood, much warmer than the North Pole cabin that his wife maintains, the dumpy woman who doesn’t turn him on at all.  Au contraire, the dumpy Mrs. Claus is prohibitive about just handing out her sexual favours to him while she does do fondling of the female elves.  So, Merry Christmas everyone from Jolly Santa and Merry Pagan Celebrations of the Winter Equinox from Evil Santa, and sequester a cute mistress in a warmer place than the North Pole where you and she can walk around quite naked and diddle with each other, frequently, and with some kinky stuff, at times.  And, they both wish you some Ho-Ho-Ho, and Hee-Hee-Hee, and Hoo-Hoo-Hah, eh?

AMEN AND HALLELIJAH!

Seasons

Greetings,

Everyone!

THE END

© Izzy Sommers, MD

Wetland, Kanata

December 12, 2013

Only 13 Days To Buy

Your Gifts And Only 14

Days To Give Them Back

here and now

HERE AND NOW

An Essay On Some Influences

I Have Had About My Canadian

English Accent And My Attempts

At Imitating Great Writers.

By Izzy Ess Of Unexpectedness

In 1970, I was invited to Atlantic City, New Jersey, to present my research findings concerning the effect of quinidine on the transmembrane action potential of living cardiac fibres.  The conference was OK, and except for a power failure which meant I couldn’t show my slides, the presentation went well.  What sticks in my memory is that on the way there in an American Airlines Boeing 707, from Chicago to New York, during which I read two books, Ira Levin’s “Rosemary’s Baby,” on the way there, and Vladimir Nabokov’s “Marouska,” translated from Russian as “Mary,” on the way back.

There was another memorable moment that involved accents.  I was born in Hamilton, Ontario, Canada, and spoke Yiddish as my first language, at home.  When my parents didn’t want me to understand what they were discussing, they spoke Polish.  I learned “street English,” on the street in my impoverished neighbourhood, and I learned “school English,” at Hess Street Public School, about three blocks from my house on Caroline Street.  The accents that were immediately present for me to learn, on the street, were “Italian English,” “Afro-Canadian English,” Afro-American English,” “Native Canadian English,” “Canadian-Yiddish English,” and “Japanese-Canadian English.”  In high school, I learned “Parisian French,” “Berliner German,” “Classic Greek,” and “Classic Roman Catholic Latin.”  At the Faculty of Medicine at the University of Toronto, I learned “Scientific English,” and “Scottish English,” “British English,” and “Irish English.”  In Denver, Colorado, I was exposed to “Southwestern American English,” and in Chicago, Illinois, I learned “Geetchy English,” an “African-American-Chicago Ghetto English,” “Hispanic-Chicago-Mexican English,” and a “Midwestern American English.”  In Switzerland, I learned and used, “Italian Classic and Swiss-Dialect-Italian,” “French-Swiss-Dialect-German,” and “German-Swiss-Dialect-French,” along with all the other foreigners that lived in Switzerland who spoke “Swiss-Dialect-British-English,” to get by.  My best “teachers” where the Swiss Medical Students who often asked me to their Salami-Beer-Chess parties for an evening, as well as the staff of the Physiology Institute of the University of Berne, Switzerland, who liked to challenge me by speaking to me in Bernese Swiss-German, “Bern Du’tsch,”

After my presentation in New Jersey of my experimental findings about quinidine and transmembrane electrophysiology, a Professor Kay from Philadelphia approached me to ask a question.  He said, as I recall, “I didn’t understand a word you said but I loved the way you said it.”  I understood him to mean he liked my accent.  I asked, “So, where do you think I learned to speak English?” thinking that he would never recognize my original English, since I was exposed to so many Englishes, he said, imitating me, “You’re from Hamilton, Ontario, eh?”  I asked how he picked it out and he said, “I have a niece from Hamilton who speaks English the same way you do!”

George Bernard Shaw’s play, “Pygmalion,” had a lot to do with British accents and how one can be fooled by them when deliberately changed to change the way people react to hearing certain accents.  My dear reader, a phrase I learned from Nabokov’s “Lolita,” I apologize for being so wordy.  I was trying to emphasize how I deluded myself in thinking that my English had hidden my humble origins and there it was, an unmasking by a dialectical genius.  I’m fair at picking out accents and their origins while this Kay professor hit mine bang on.  He must have taken lessons from the fictional Professor ‘Enry ‘Iggins, eh?  who could tell what street in London one lived on from his accent.

Nabokov’s original novel, “Mary,” left me dumb-founded, literally open-mouthed speechless.  I re-read the last page more than ten times before I was sure that I hadn’t misread something or missed a detail that would have given me a clue to the mysterious ending of the novel.  That the train didn’t stop was extremely dramatic.  I already knew of my aspirations to become an author, even a published author, but I realized that I didn’t come close to the drama that Nabokov had created in a single short novel.  I could guess that Nabokov had a really good feel for a foreign language, in that he was Russian and writing in German, the new country for him.  He was later to become an American and in all his novels, he succeeded in manipulating English and American English for his own dramatic ends.  In my mind he used the words and phrases extremely artfully to communicate his philosophies of life.

In “Ada,” a full-length novel of the love affair between a step-brother and his step-sister, Nabokov wrote a prologue with his explanations which make a lot of sense to me.  He wrote, accurately, I hope, there is no other time except “now!” and there is no other place except, “here!”  The past has forever disappeared and the future is a fantasy.  The novel was written and gave the feelings that the time and place of all the events of the relationship described, were insignificant, otherwise, except for “here” and “now.”  Stephen King and Ray Bradbury write with a similar philosophy, it seems to me.  The events of their novels are, seemingly, always surprising and unexpected, similar to the way Nabokov’s novel’s events are.

I believe that Russian writers, and others from other countries, tap into the evil, manipulative aspects of one’s own psyche to show that one’s greatest enemy is oneself and one’s insecurities are one’s own downfall.  The authors who come to mind are Dostoyevsky, Ibsen, Sartre, de Sade, Kafka, Huxley, Orwell, King and Levin.  In “Rosemary’s Baby,” Rosemary’s husband deliberately talks her into having sex with the Devil, himself, in order to become pregnant with a male child who would have become the “Son of Lucifer,” the Antichrist, in the same allegorical manner of Gabriel supplying “the Virgin Mary,” with the “Holy Ghost’s” genetic semen to make Jesus the Son of God.  The dramatic and surprising movie version was well acted by Mia Farrow as Rosemary, the ingénue, and by John Cassavettes as her evil conniving husband, the Devil’s emissary and his co-conspirator.

Well, dear reader, I apologize in advance for having made any errors in names and places, so, here and now, this is

THE END

© izzy sommers, md

Welland, Canada

December 12, 2013

sam stern

SAMANTHA STERN

This Is A Fictional, Allegorical Story Of One Woman’s Quest To Be The Matriarch Of A Population Which Would Become Israelis By Having Children By A Solomon, Or Two, Or More

By Izzy Ess De La Grande Vitesse

Samantha Stern almost always dreamt of being Queen of Sheba and having an affair with Solomon, King of the Jews.  She dreamt of getting pregnant and thus having babies that would be a different colour than the Jews of Palestine and the Negroes of North Africa.  She did awake in throes of ecstasy just pouring out her inner juices on the bed creating a big puddle for her dog, Shlepper, the German Shepherd, who was wont to licking her small wee-wee in the night and lapping up the puddles she created.  Sam had Jonathan, her boyfriend, who was less aggressive than her Shlepper.  Jon seemed much more interested in her dog than he was in her.  Our Jonathan was just dismissed one night and told to never come around, again.  Jon bought himself a furry puppy and was satisfied.

At Michael’s Bar and Bistro, Sam was hustled by a William Davis who grabbed her breasts and tweaked her nipples at the bar in front of everyone.  William said his middle name was Solomon.   Samantha got turned on and took William home to her apartment for the night but had to fight with Shlepper for the licking rights to her own wee-wee.  William did succeed, but not before our Shlepper got his licks in.  William had to push the dog aside quite forcefully to get his end into the hot-to-trot Samantha who started fantasizing about Solomon as soon as William Solomon succeeded in slipping in his large and hardened manhood and stimulating Sam’s already lubricating honeypot.  She became delirious with pleasure and squealed and grunted with delight.  Our Solomon made huge deposits of his semen right inside Samantha and began a pregnancy that Sam had always dreamt about.

In the morning, Bill excused himself to take a flight to Israel for business purposes and said he didn’t know when he’d return.  Samantha knew immediately that she was pregnant and didn’t care what William Solomon, the Davis, was doing in the Palestine of her own dreams.  William was a secret agent of Massad, the fighting force of Israel and they had planned to take back Palestine to vindicate the struggles of the Jews while under Solomon’s command.  Bill was gunned down by an ancient Persian from Iran and died immediately.  The Palestinians, with Russian weapons, were no match for the Massad with home-made Uzis but the Israelis were pushed back to Haifa and the Sea of Mediterranean.  The Americans did intercede and pushed right back but only to the Sea of Galilee, where Baghdad had a standing army waiting and quite ready to push back.

Samantha watched the CNN news coverage but didn’t realize that Bill was killed until they flashed his picture showing a big hole between his eyes.  Samantha was amazed that she felt nothing but remorse for having let Bill go the other night without informing him of his new state of fatherhood.  Nonetheless, her dream of having a new baby as the patriarch of a new nation was fulfilled.  As it turned out, the baby was a girl which made her matriarch of a new nation.  Sam was looking forward to the next phase of her dream of Matriarchy.  She started bringing back to her apartment a whole string of men to get her pregnant once again to try and breed a patriarch.  Not all the men were interested in her dream and some refrained from sex with her.  No matter, she succeeded once again and this time got herself a patriarch.

Samantha’s kith and kin did disapprove of her behaviour and they ostracized her.  Sam paid no attention but her cousin, Solomon was interested in her dream.  Solomon and Sam were happy to experiment with sexual behaviour for the purposes of history.  Sam showed Solomon, a teenager, how to get her turned on and receptive to hot sex.  Solomon was young and had a man-sized member, with which our Sam was very happy.  Sam and Sol spent hours together, enjoined and intertwined, and her German Shepherd had to find another dog with which to do his thing.  In the meantime, Sol and Sam were doing horizontal dances frequently and impregnating Sam became an easy task.  They succeeded in thus making ten cute healthy babies in just less than five whole years by having triplets and quadruplets.  In toto, Sam now had twelve matriarchs and patriarchs, in under eight whole years, and that was six of each.  As planned, our cousin Solomon then immigrated and attacked the Palestinians, to get enslaved.

Samantha made her plans to follow Solomon by joining a Kibbutz in Israel.  All her children joined the army at thirteen and some became Massad.  Some succeeded in a brokered freedom for their father, Solomon, who was happy to be just re-united with his darling, Sam.  They had a dozen more cute offspring before Sam did lose her uterus when it ruptured during delivery of their last child, a budding patriarch.  It didn’t stop our sexy Sam from entertaining Solomon and any other teenage man who wanted her.  She taught a lot of young men how to please young women and the older women who were interested.  Her reputation was becoming famous and she was always called upon to please the visitors and dignitaries of the area, including matriarchs and patriarchs.  She lived to be an hundred twenty and was still quite active, sexually.

Sam did not fulfill her dream exactly as she fantasized but did come close to pleasing every Solomon in Israel.

AMEN AND HALLELUJAH!

THE END

© izzy sommers, md

Welland, Canada

December, 2013

pierre et al

MEMOIRS OF PIERRE

This Is My Attempt At Humour In The Face Of Horrors Of The War In Europe, During WWII.  My Apologies To Everyone For Mangling All The Names And Places, Purposefully

By Izzy Ess Of Unhappiness

Major David Cunningham was just relaxing in the mess for officers when Major Susan Billings entered.  She was wearing nothing but her four inch spikes and walked across the mess to sit upon the lap of Major Cunningham.  “It was a cunning stunt,” said Sergeant Stewart Potts, explaining that the female major had unzipped the fly of Major Cunningham so subtlety before she sat upon his lap and fished his manhood out to rest upon.  Major David’s manhood had slithered into Major Susan’s private parts and disappeared.  Major Susan had lit up her imported cigarette and ordered two Martinis for herself and downed them quickly.  “’Twas amazing that the majorette who served the drinks undressed completely to reduce the tension in the room, which had increased quite exponentially.  The majorette retrieved two flaming, twirling, golden rods, to twirl to take the pressure off the male and female majors who started grunting rather loudly.  A four star general, the General Store Manager, filled his bucket with cold water and he emptied it upon the pair of majors which doused the spirit of our Cupid and wilted all his arrows, eh?  The majorette did tackle the four-star general, but it was much too late to help the majors.  The majorette discovered that the General Store Manager was hard and throbbing down below his waist and she took full advantage of her nakedness and unzipped the fly of Manager.  She parked herself exactly right to get her derriere exactly centred on the Manager’s staff and took it gracefully right up her derriere and made it disappear.  This was stimulating to the majors and they began to grind and grunt, again.  With all the grunting of the majorette, the general and both the majors, it sounded like a pig sty during summertime.”

The three-star general, Pierre de Mille, was writing his own memoirs and had changed the names of all the personnel to guard their privacy.  In company of Lulu Belle, his girlfriend, he felt he had a book to publish which would be a great success if someone used it for a movie, eh?  Our Lulu had already published her great memoirs of a field whore who had helped to win the war by keeping generals from getting overheated by dousing them with vodka and massaging all their mastheads.  She had massaged Pierre de Mille’s great manhood and he had returned the favour by massaging both her breasts and private parts which resulted in a union that was extraordinary.  Our Pierre was smitten and he smite our Lulu, too, with love and admiration, for her part in winning WWII.  De Galle had honoured her by pressing a big medal on her ample breasts and then upon her private parts where she received a purple heart, a rosy heart and a tremendous heart of gold.  Lulu had reciprocated and had done her trick with Charles de Galle in front of God and everyone, while she was given salvos of erections just with which to deal.

Pierre was merely kissed upon the cheek and then his other cheek when he received his medal.  He could not duplicate the actions of his Lulu Belle.  However, he did whisper to de Galle that he would do his wife for free if he approved.  De Galle had smiled and offered our Pierre his wife and triplet daughters for initiation into rituals of sex, once proposed by Marquis de Sade while he was in the nearby Institute for Craziness, in Clarendon, a suburb of Paris.  Pierre de Mille was so outstanding with Madam de Galle and her three daughters, Constance, Mary and Adele, that the General awarded him another medal for his attention to his duty, in the line of fire!

Pierre continued with his memoirs:

Major Samuel de Weinstein was a devil in disguise.  He appeared to sabotage his unit by inviting Nazis to partake in wild and woolly parties in the meadows just outside the trenches dug for war.  Recruiting lots of field whores, Samuel distracted all the Nazi Generals with sex and mayhem to take over Paris for the French and give it to Americans who wasted all their money in Casinos, eh?  Americans were truly mystified by women of Paris who asked the US soldiers to take them home to USA and marry them!  A General Menachim Smythe took three, one for each of his naïve teenage sons, Midrash, Simon and Abendego.

The Guns of Nazarene were Mideast fighters for the French.  They were very serious and fought the Germans and Italians and Austrians face-to-face with fearlessness.  The Scots and Turks were likewise serious and fought the members of the Axis, surprising them in the face of death with such ferociousness that the Axis members did surrender in the trenches even with machine guns blazing everywhere in all directions, eh?  The Wimps of Texas, old New York and Peoria were taken prisoner and disclosed their secret plans for invading Normandy instead of old Calais.  Luckily, Der Fuhrer was not convinced and felt it was a ruse until the morn of D-Day did arrive and show that Normandy was truly where the Allies were making beachheads and their castles in the sand.  Were it not for baseball heroes lobbing new grenades at nests of gunners, the Normandy assault would have surely failed.  Eisenman and Field Marshall de la Marshall won the day and night and lived to fight another day, or two, while all the while, the RAF, the FAF and USAF did command the air space for them.  The slaughter on both sides was awful.  Our Frenchmen were outstanding as they could provide some women for the nursing and massaging of the prisoners and victors on both sides.

Pierre put down his plume and kissed his Lulu Belle on all her cheeks.  Lulu understood he needed some massage and she laid him supine on the floor.  She massaged his front with expertise and lubricated her own honeypot for better tranquilizing treatment.  Pierre was mesmerized by Lulu Belle and couldn’t tell if she were just joking or confabulating wildly when she screamed because of pleasure spasms in her inner private parts.  Pierre relaxed and disengaged and returned to his own memoirs of the war in Europe:

Herr Rommel ditched the French in old Morocco, new Algeria and uncommitted Libya, before his Fuhrer and his former friend accused him of conspiracy to murder Hitler and take over Axis policy and military movements in the WWII.  My Frenchmen were so glad that Hitler had just murdered his old friend by forcing him to chew on cyanide.  The French could then claim victory in North Africa.  They were free to liberate the women of the area and enlist them in the grand old manner acting as the hostesses for midday dinners and the pleasantries of sexual encounters on the battlements.  Even prisoners were given pleasantries.

Toward the end of WWII, the Allies, led by Frenchmen and Frenchwomen, captured only buxom women and they killed the buxom men in Italy.  Italians turned on Mousseline and strung him up for all to see his puny manhood and his buxom derriere.  The occupation of all Italy was then completed when Italian beauties everywhere embraced the members of the Allied forces and massaged their derrieres and frontal areas.  Many allied soldiers took home prized Italian beauties for themselves and all their children back in France, the USA and England.  All were happy with the servicing that the Italian women would provide.

Pierre put down his nom de plume again and asked his Lulu Belle to service him.  She complied and he felt better, instantly.  He never did complete his memoirs and gave it up for servicing by Lulu Belle.  The three daughters, Constance, Mary and Adele, of De Galle, were frequent visitors and helped out Lulu service our Pierre.  Pierre died of apoplexy when he was but forty-five.  Lulu lived to be an hundred, servicing her favourite good Frenchmen, including M. de Galle.

THE END

© izzy sommers, md

Welland, Canada

December 13, 2013

Friday the 13^th, eh?

mendelssohn-safari

MARY MENDELSSOHN-SAFARI

This Is A Fictional Story Of A Woman Who Did Live A Life Of Love And Happiness With Her Great Family And Neighbours.  She Loved Her Brother Dearly.  An Operetta, Movie Or A Madrigal Would Be Appropriate With Incidental Music.

By izzy ess of happiness

Ms. Mary Mendelssohn-Safari was but three when she just fell in love with Johnny Mendelssohn-Safari her twelve year old cute brother, who was approaching puberty.  She was still on mother’s milk and cookies and her brother liked the milk and cookies, too.  So did her father, Mr. Samuel Safari who took a whole half hour to drink up and eat his oatmeal-raisin cookies, eh?  Our Mrs. Sarah Mendelssohn was very beautiful and had large bulging breasts just full of mother’s milk.  Her nipples were so large and brown and so attractive that their neighbour, Morris Samuelson, came by daily after work to admire them and to take a drink of mother’s milk and eat his chocolate chips in oatmeal.  Lately, he had had a yen for Sarah’s honeypot and been encouraged by his friend and neighbour Samuel to go ahead and plumb her depths because it made our Sarah squirt out mother’s milk which Samuel and Johnny could drink up.  Samuel partook of his own wife’s great honeypot just weekly, while Morris was quite willing to partake in it, just each and every day.

Mary had two uncles, older brothers of her mother, Peter and her Donald, professors at the University, in Sociology.  They came by on Saturdays for supper and a glass or two of wine.  For dessert, they had their sister’s mother’s milk and her own oatmeal-raisin cookies.  As youngsters, they were quite inseparable and would frolic in the meadows in the summer and in the snow in wintertime.  While Samuel did watch, they’d partake in Sarah’s lubricated honeypot and everyone would watch our Sarah squirt out mother’s milk for everyone.  Professor Peter liked to get his hardened manhood into his own sister by the derriere while his own brother, the Professor Donald liked to do it from the front.  Both professors would explode and make their sister grunt and squeal with pleasure just as she had down when they were only teenagers.  Then the entire family would sit around quite naked and watch a hockey game in winter or a baseball or a football game in summer and in fall.  Our Mary liked to snuggle with her brother, Johnny and play with his small wee-wee and watch it grow and shrink.  Sometimes her own father would put his finger on her private parts and make her tingle, but that was rare.  Johnny made her tingle with his finer in her private parts and with his tongue on her own tiny nipples.

When Mary was but eight, her brother was a teenager and had passed his puberty.  His wee-wee was much bigger and our Mary had a lot of fun with it.  If she stroked it tenderly, it could squirt and jerk and she liked to lick it and to eat the salty stuff that would squirt out.  Johnny tried to push it in her private parts but it was still too small to take his bigger wee-wee.  Sarah’s mother’s milk was still available and her honeypot was open anytime for Peter, Donald, Johnny, Samuel or their own neighbour, Morris, who was still partaking daily, after work, of her own honeypot, mother’s milk and oatmeal-raisin cookies.

When Mary reached the age of thirteen, she had passed her menarchy and could use her small, tight honeypot to great advantage,  Her brother’s bigger wee-wee fit right in and could excite her so tremendously.  Her pretty perky breasts were getting rubbed by all the males and she could pick and choose with whom to share her honeypot.  She almost always picked her brother, Johnny, whom she so dearly loved.  Her mother, Sarah, still had mother’s milk because she always had some guy, or other, drinking it.  Besides, Mary, and her brother Johnny, were still so glad to drink the milk and eat the cookies after school and in the early morning after breakfast, eh?  Moreover, bedtime milk and cookies were the custom, still.

At eighteen, Mary moved her clothing into Johnny’s room and then the mother did move in with them when Mary’s daddy died of apoplexy, eh?  He suddenly went stiff one night while trying valiantly to get into Mary’s honeypot and then he turned a purple-blue and then an ashen white and died without success at penetrating Mary’s private parts.  So Mary now had two big bed-mates, her own mother, Sarah and her brother, whom she dearly loved, big Johnny, eh?  Johnny was now very good at satisfying both his mother and his sister that Morris was left out and only Sarah’s brothers, the Professors from the University would join them each and every Saturday night.  On those Saturdays, Sarah and her daughter Mary would get all the men involved in moistened honeypots of which Johnny, Donald and his brother Peter said were wonderful and delectable.  Sarah with her bulging breasts always did provide the bedtime mild and cookies and Johnny always got the final poke at Mary, his enthusiastic sister.

Mary did get pregnant in her eighteenth year and she wasn’t sure who the father was.  It really didn’t matter.  In nine months, she was lactating and the mother’s milk abounded from her and her mother, all the time.  Her baby was a little girl who loved to giggle, endlessly, when she was fondled by her uncle and her great uncles, the professors.

When Mary reached the age of twenty-one, she did get married to her brother when she again quite pregnant.  It was another giggling baby girl who could get her mother’s milk from either woman in the bed.  Sarah did get pregnant that year and she had a giggling baby boy.  Mary was delighted, for now she had another little wee-wee with which to play.  Peter and his brother, Donald, loved the little wee-wee, too.  Mary was now statuesque and had huge breasts filled with mother’s milk.  Her honeypot was always lubricated and prepared to take her Johnny’s manhood deep within her inner private parts.  Morris started coming after work, again, and really yearning for young Mary’s honeypot.  She gave it to him freely and supplied some mother’s milk and cookies, just like Sarah used to do.

At thirty, Mary did take over matriarchal duties in the family.  Sarah’s mother’s milk had dried up and Mary’s was the chief supplier of the mother’s milk and cookies.  Johnny had a wandering eye for other women, including Morris’ cute wife, Ms. Jezebel, and her own sister, Annabel.  Mary was a little disappointed but she had her schedule full with her two uncles, the Professors of the world of Sociology, and Morris, the eternal lover of her honeypot and mother’s milk and oatmeal-raisin cookies.

At fifty, Mary milk dried up and she became depressed.  She needed hormone therapy and did feel better on it.  She missed her brother Johnny’s love and sexual attention while she sublimated with her uncles who were now retired and able to spend a lot more time with her and her own mother, Sarah, who also needed hormone therapy to prevent depression.  The children now were all grown up and had a lot of friendly neighbours with whom to play and frolic.  Jezebel and Annabel were super baby-sitters, which helped a lot.  Morris did get impotent but still liked cuddling with his little Mary, now his favourite.

At sixty, Mary Mendelssohn-Safari wrote a book which did become a movie.  Her success assured her of security in her later years when Johnny did come back to her and kept her company at night.  Mary felt that Johnny was her soul-mate and she lived with him until she died at eighty-four.  Johnny died soon after.  Sarah had expired when she was seventy-seven, eh?  She was happy and quite peaceful in the end.

THE END

© izzy sommers, md.

Wetland, Kanata

December 10, 2013