Um,ok, Cindy...what kind of outfit am I thinking of? My clothes vocabulary isn't good.

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Here's the latest version
“What’s wrong with you tonight?” John asked. “Not to be crude, but I wasn’t down there for my health.”
Suzanne, his beautiful girlfriend, looked at him with those big blue eyes, sighed and said “No, no, it’s fine...it’s nothing.”

”That’s what every partner loves to hear. “That’s great, dear. So beautifully adequate. You’re the grilled cheese of love.”

“No. You’re great. We’re great. Better than great...mostly. I just don’t feel like it now, that’s all. Not since Tuesday.”

Not something you’d expect from Suzanne,whose unexpected and quixotic ardor had gotten the couple removed from Starbucks, Baskin-Robbins, and, most recently, the window with the return slot outside Blockbuster Video.(That last one still struck John as unfair, as they were barely edging toward an R rating at the time of the banishment, but that argument seemed to strengthen the rat-faced manager’s resolve. He thanked a God he wasn’t sure he believed in for Netflix, although he had to admit it made him feel like an outlaw to get kicked out of places. He finally felt right about not buying that Harley, at long last.

“What’s wrong? Supervisor giving you hell again? Say the word and I’ll beat him up for you.” He took her hand, moved in to hug her, and it wasn’t like she didn’t respond, more like she allowed him to touch her, if he insisted. There were times when a gentle brush of his hand across the small of her back seemed to make her insane. What was this? West Nile Virus? People with deadly mutant meningitis probably didn’t feel too hot either, except for their raging fevers. He touched her hand. Still cool. He thought maybe he would kiss her forehead, in the time-honored fever-detection method of mothers everywhere, but lately she’d been sensitive about their age difference so he figured he’d better not.

“ That is so sweet of you to offer, but, no, it’s not that. I can’t stop thinking about what happened in Florida, honey.”

And she got up and put on one of his shirts, which was long enough to leave her both frustratingly covered and tantalizingly undressed, and stood by the bedroom window. “Was this about that Spring Break where you and your roommate stood on that balcony drunk and flashed people for beads because you had so many rum runners you forgot you hadn’t gone to New Orleans?”

“No, but you can never tell that story enough...” Even in a relatively dark room, he could still see she was flushing. She got modest at the strangest times. He thought somebody who once used chocolate sprinkles as a sexual aid on Free Scoop Day was beyond such considerations.

“You know, if there’s anything you wanted to tell me about that night...aftermath, deleted scenes, whatever, you can, confession being good for the soul and all.” He smiled. Maybe this night could be salvaged after all.

“I don’t understand why the media didn’t cover it more strenuously,” she said thoughtfully.

“ Now, sweetie, we both know your breasts are nationally ranked...perfect size and shape. Lovely nipples, which I didn’t think I cared about until I met you, but I hardly think they rate much national coverage.”

“Be serious for five minutes, John, please.The election. You know I’m busting my butt writing that mystery, right? Well, if I were writing this election, I’d have to know something was up.”

” And yet, you fail to notice what’s up right here.”

“I was talking about something important.”

“No, that wasn’t emasculating at all. Thank you for asking.”

“Anytime... let’s think about this, ok? I think we can all admit by now that something happened in Florida in 2000, right? And it turned out pretty well for the President that the most hotly contested state also had a Bush in the governor’s chair. I couldn’t even write that as a coincidence, babe. Not even in fanfic. The hard-core fans would eat me alive.”

“If I agree, can we get back to what we were doing? God, you’re sexy when you get political.”

”OK, thank you. But Bush (continued...)

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( continues...) isn’t even a very smart criminal, right? Because when he wants another bite of the apple, he goes back to the same place. The biggest braindead on the street would know better than to do that. And it’s so *obvious*...three counties do a complete political about-face? Come on.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do all night...you’ve been watching that show again, haven’t you?”

”What tipped you off?”At least she had the grace to look embarrassed.

“Braindead. But that doesn’t account for Ohio, or for the fact that it seems the whole country is taking a hard swing to the right.”

”Ugh. Don’t remind me. If we keep talking about that in here, I’m never going to want to again... I’m just warning you. You might want to stock up on comics till the next election cycle...but, on second thought, I’m not even sure how true that is...the swing thing. There weren’t that many states where the statistics were all that impressive...he’s no Reagan. Speaking of unsexy thoughts.”

“ Margaret Thatcher...I’m just saying. There’s a face to give kids nightmares.”

“You are such a geek! Or is it wonk?”

“Whatever gets you naked faster, sweetheart.”

“ Think with your big head for a while, could you?”

“ But that’s why you love me...because I can do two things at once.” “Only two?” And she chuckled deep in her throat, which felt like an all- clear. He wasn’t going to have to think about long lines at Ohio polls tonight. But then, it was like a thought struck her, which normally he enjoyed, but he had the sick feeling it wasn’t the same kind he was having. It was true. She started pacing and counting off things on her fingers.” Motive. Means. And opportunity.”

“Ooh, Miss Marple, I think you’re trying to seduce me.”

“Moment’s over, Johnny. Try to be part of the reality-based community for me would you?’

“I can see why they get like that. Reality can suck. Or fail to.”

“Motive: Continued leadership of the free world, with new improved access to the Almighty’s paging phone, at least in his head. If I thought I could get that by killing you, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” She said it so seriously, he shuddered in spite of himself. “I’m just saying, what’s a little theft?””

“ But the Bible...”Thou shalt not steal.”

“Yeah, well, it also says the meek shall inherit the earth, another part that Dubya obviously skipped and skimmed over....I’m really gonna hate looking at that monkey smirk for another four years. I may not survive.”

He didn’t really want to continue dissecting voter fraud as a detective story, but it was better than hearing Suzanne sound so dispirited, so he said “Means: handy-dandy electronic voting machines, with added crooked bonus. And no receipt...I always get a receipt when I go to the teller.”

”Then why aren’t they always in the book then? How hard is it?”

“We shouldn’t turn on each other...that’s what They want, you know.”

“ But it takes five minutes...you get the little paper thing and fill it in your register.”

”You carry your register...the hottest woman I’ve ever been with balances her checkbook...now I know the world is ending.”

”Opportunity...The CEO at Diebold goes to your fundraising dinner, at kiss-my-ass dollars a plate, and *promises* to deliver Ohio for you. It wouldn’t be hard to convince him to put a ribbon on it, would it, just between friends?”

“It is such a turn-on when you act devious. Remind me not to cheat on you though.”

“This was an option for you?”

“Not anymore. Not since you’d kill me to be President.”

“Opportunity: A voting system undone by complacency and zealotry. And a populace too used to hearing “The computer is down,” as an excuse.” John offered.

“Brilliant. And I was suspicious hearing about those voter drives...how hard is it to find fat old white guys? And Condi Rice and Clarence Thomas.”

“Are you sure you don’t...”

”Yeah. I’m sorry. Unless you can think of some way to make a (continued...)

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( continues...) RICO case or something, I still won’t feel like it for a while...my detective could get a confession. She’s good at it.”

“We could play Hostile Suspect.”

“Maybe next week.”

Later that night, as he listened to Suzanne breathe(figuring out what’s wrong with democracy must be exhausting, he figured) John felt he had a reason to hate Bush and Company even more personal than John’s GPA not being quite enough to get him into Yale. It was visceral now,no question about it, they came between him and his loved ones. Just as surely as if...no, buddy, rein it in, he told himself, a few nights of missed carnal pleasure does not equal a hitch in Iraq. Maybe, if they slept apart for a year, it would begin to feel equivalent. Minus the fear, of course, he would always be(fairly) sure of where she was and what she was doing. She just wouldn’t be doing him. Think of all the reading he could get done. Considering the Democrats wouldn’t get another shot at Congress until 2006, he might even consider pulling Infinite Jest out of its lair under the bed, but the idea of an extended metaphor of pleasure and addiction at such a time depressed him. He wasn’t sure he understood it anyway, but he had read that celibacy was supposed to give a person great mental clarity, but that was probably a satisfied person’s consolation prize.
He would join the fight. He definitely had the energy.

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erika?

I stone love this.

NOW you're cookin' with gas, honey: breakdown, flow, continuity, closure.

I'll check it over for minor stuff later, when I stop grooving on it for five minutes, but right now, I'm in love.

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What deb said. That is fantastic, erika. I need to revel a little, first.

>Um,ok, Cindy...what kind of outfit am I thinking of? My clothes vocabulary isn't good.

I don't know, because I had to google "tube dress" to make sure my objection was sensible, and not just on account of my low-fashion brain. I wear jeans and sweaters in the winter, and shorts and t-shirts in the summer. But you know what, erika, now you have this:

And she got up and put on one of his shirts, which was long enough to leave her both frustratingly covered and tantalizingly undressed, and stood by the bedroom window.

which is probably better. You're writing it from his POV, and he's not likely to be sure what kind of dress it resembles either, beyond 'hawt'.

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That's one of the things that nails it into place: the masculine POV. She's the usual horndog, she's now serious about the election theft, he's now watching her puzzling it and getting the resentment.

It's a beautiful turnabout.

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Ok. A painful one, for me at least, on Teppy's breath theme:

Undamaged, as it Happens...

The two doctors stand there, talking.

"So, damage extent? I'm betting paralysis - certainly some shortening of limb. You?"

They aren't bothering to lower their voices. Why should they? I'm five years old, with polio; they're sure I'm going to die.

"I doubt she'll pull through. But I'm betting severe bone impairment."

My head, the only thing not encased in the iron lung, wants to swivel toward them. I want to be able to tell them to drop dead.

Instead, I decide to survive unimpaired, just to annoy them. Around me, the machine shifts pressure, forcing my lungs to function.

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Damn, Deb. I can't relate exactly, but in a way I can. And,ION, I still don't know what word I was fishing for, but some night it 'll wake me up or be on television.

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And another memory, which deserves a longer piece, but is getting this one, which is still a bit long for the 100-word rule:

Self-Defense, 1972

I'm visiting a friend in western Marin county when the call comes from the dialysis lab.

Something's gone wrong. I don't understand the technical jargon, but the message is clear: if I don't get to San Francisco fast, I may not see him alive again.

The friend's car is dead. I thumb a lift, taking the first ride offered: a small man, driving a Buick, sympathetic. I explain the situation.

Five miles from nowhere, he pulls the car offroad. Seems the nice man is a would-be rapist.

The last thing I remember, before the red mist of murderous rage settles over my mind, is the look of horror on his face as my fingers close around his trachea, and his breathing shortens and stops.

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