My lovely didn't look her typical lovely way on the stairs looking down over me sitting over Gertrude, who hadn't said a word since I emerged and rested her down with my upper back and shoulder muscles and ascoted her mouth with the ascot via my muscles that are typically quite impeccably toned but due to recent events such as my lovely's arrival and subsequent upstairs dormancy are not to impeccably toned, as it's become very difficult for me to even earn the money I so sorely need to entice such lovelies into their upstairs dormancy let alone find time to expand my deltoids vis å vis my training regimen. I do not know for sure what made that face on my lovely's face, but seeing the ascot stuffed deep in our neighbor's gob was my first guess. I grant that. It is rare, even for me, to see an ascot deep into anyone's throat, but I promised myself to promise her that I would make amends by taking her out for a treat to make certain she knew I would not fault her for any of this…
With our departed Gertrude not making amends I turned my attention to resuming where I left our flavorful naughtyparty, which in case you didn't know was not quite finished. It being a naughtyparty, that is, etymologically, a party best qualified by the number/non-number/entity zero, which as mathematicians will tell you, causes several additional problems when working out the party's primary purpose. I'll tell you from my experience that the number zero has very little to do with the party and is only brought up to appease the valedictorians of our audience who would be unsatisfied by being fed the simple colloquial definition of:
naughtyparty (n): any occasion involving two or more people without personal connection with the outside world over a period of at least eleven days.
It really doesn't need to be so specific.
I guess I'm proud to say my skills and dexterous handiwork exhibited in subduing Gertrude Stein's one true doppelganger saved me and replenished my lovely for the moment, though in all honesty, corpses really ruin all parties, not just naughtyparties. I asked my lovely what she felt and she shook her straight black explosive hair in an "I'm not very interested in talking" kind of face with her mouth opening into a large moaning O. It was bizarre to not hear what came out because she clearly was having a very hard time expressing herself and seemed to be trying excessively hard, but these noises were failing somewhere along their journey from her to me.
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