dancinggirlpress: January 2010

Monday Male

Meet Michael aka Otin, a 44 year old Construction Foreman who spent his youth in New Jersey and lived in different parts of the state. After graduating high school, he started working in a restaurant for a number of years until he decided to take a job with the family construction business. Internal family problems drove him to move to North Carolina where he has lived for 14 years. Michael recently started using his pen in addition to his sledge-hammer and started writing about eight months ago. I love visiting his blog to read his short stories. He also enjoys boating and fishing in addition to his writing and blogging. "You may agree or disagree but I hope you'll at least be interested". Michael enjoys taking Road Trips to meet his fellow bloggers. Go and visit his blog Wizard of Otin and read some of his wonderful writing.Michael especially composed an original story for this weeks Monday Male.You're a sweetie, Otin! Thanx again.OPPORTUNITIES MISSED (Copyright)Phillip had always been all about advancing his career and doing his best to build a business that would provide for his family. He departed the house each morning before the sun came up and often did not return home until eight or nine in the evening.He had missed a lot in the past twenty years. Anniversaries and birthday celebrations were not very high on his priority list. Vacations and family get togethers were always put on the back burner, usually for business reasons. Eventually the children grew into adulthood and the house became just a place for him and Maggie.Maggie did not ask for anything special from Phillip. She knew that he worked hard and that he did it for her and the kids, but she had always hoped that he would do something spontaneous. Maybe buy her some flowers, or a pretty necklace, or even just tell her that she was loved.Maggie felt very neglected in the love department. There was no romance, no affection, and very little in the way of sexual pleasure. There was almost nothing. She never stopped hoping. Maggie had many pportunities to stray into the arms of another man, but never acted upon her womanly desires.One evening, while sitting at his desk and going over the same redundant paperwork that he had been going over for the past thirty years, Phillip began to gaze out of his office window. There was a whole big world out there. A world of glitz and entertainment. Maggie was right, life could not be all about working. He left the papers on his desk and grabbed his coat. For the first time in so many years, he would leave a project incomplete, and it felt kind of good.Phillip stopped at the florist and picked up a dozen roses. He had to make one more stop and then he would head home and work on trying to plan a family vacation.He parked the car, grabbed the flowers and made his way through the front gate and up the walk. He laid the flowers at the foot of the headstone which read: MARGARET SANDERS Loving Wife and Mother.Sorry Maggie,” Phillip said out loud, the tears rolling down his cheeks. “I should have listened to you years ago. Can you ever forgive me?”He felt a warm breeze caress his body. Maybe it was just a coincidence, but he took it as a yes. Phillip drove home and called his children, who now were grown up and had their own families. They were all up for a family get together.Maggie was happy now. Phillip had brought her flowers.

I could make living from My Dreams...

Yeah, I have weird dreams, epic dreams, dreams were I’m the director of casts of thousands and I call all the shots. Wishful thinking? Affirmative.My dreams are extremely vivid and I can remember my dreams most mornings when I wake up. I look forward to going to bed at night so that I can have another weird and wonderful adventure.In my dreams I can fly, I can ice-skate, I’m a rock-star and can sing my little lungs out. I dance like Ginger Rogers and can woo anyone with my sensual violin playing. One wiggle of my hips and all the women want to be me and all the men want me. I can pretty much do anything my warped little mind concocts in my dreams.I don’t need to use recreational drugs to be transformed into a wicked world of complex plots that are all shot in full colour, panning the surroundings with wide angled lenses. I simply close my eyes and lay my head on my plump duck-down pillow.I’ve blogged about this before.Remember a while ago, I told y’all that my favourite part of the day is when I get into bed at night and I rest my head down and start drifting? I love those dozy last seconds before you fall into slumber and then my bonus it when I get whipped off on all sorts of thrilling quests - all over the world - and beyond.

Last night, I was a famous Gymnast performing in the Olympics. I was super skinny and ultra fit with dozens of cute figure-hugging sparkly lycra unitards in my tog bag. There was not a dimpled butt cheek in sight. My abs were like a wash-board and my bum shaped like a cute little peach, which a bullet could bounce off of.

I was strutting and prancing around the Olympic stadium knowing that I was going to win. Watching the crowd watch me. Everyone went silent as I walked past and I knew that my competition had nothing on me. I’d been training for this moment since I could remember. I was a fine tuned machine.

I took to the beam, spinning and leaping through the air like a butterfly, so graceful and strong. The crowd went ape-shit when I finished and I was standing their back arched, hands in the air, so smug and totally satisfied by their wild applause. My attitude reminded me of those popular girls at school we all hated – you know that ones....the pretty girls that no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t penetrate their posse. I loved and hated myself at the same time oozing confidence.

Waiting for the results to appear on the score board, I smirked to myself knowing I would get the perfect score and get the Gold. When, the numbers appeared on the score board my mouth hung open in shock. I was stone last!

Did the judges not watch my performance? Did they not know I was the best? Did they not see my cartwheel to a handstand, full turn and then double somersault dismount off the beam? Were they all fekking blind and stupid? I was livid! I couldn’t contain myself. I started ripping the place apart, flinging chairs, hurling cups at the judges and stormed out of there only to fall down a flight of stairs and literally snap my ankle at the bottom.So here’s just one of my adventures that I live through every night. Wanna come with me?By the way. Why do people say cats are clean animals? Aren’t they covered in cat spit?