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Palimpsest
A Thursday Prompt story
© 2021 by Walter Reimer
Prompt: delete
I shoved Mary behind me and faced down the herd of does. The cervines conferred among themselves and one of them, no doubt elected to be the spokesman, stepped forward. "Pardon me," she said, "but Lucy's getting mated, and we're having a hen night. Can Mary come along?"
I glanced behind me to see the ewe thinking it over. Mary shook her head and I told the does, "Frankly, my deer, I don't give a dam."
***
The tip of a riding crop tapped me on the shoulder, and I turned around to see that my Muse had decided to grace me with her presence.
Well, his, actually. The Muse, as I’ve related, changes aspects as it sees fit.
The beaver looked over my shoulder and said, “Hm. Doesn’t read very well.”
“I know,” I said. “I wrote it some time ago, but couldn’t find a story to go with it.” The riding crop tapped my shoulder again. “Stop that.”
The Muse, now a feline femme wearing a corset and nothing else, lowered the crop and tapped it against her thigh. “You’re no fun today.” She stepped back a few steps and took a few practice swings with the crop, grinning at the swishing sound. One must admit that my Muse does stay in tip-top condition. A lifetime of mental exercise and occasional visits to the Room of Infinite Monkeys will do that for you.
I confess that I think evil thoughts to keep myself looking young. It also keeps my skin supple.
“Stop talking to the audience,” the Muse said.
I shrugged. “It’s a fair cop.”
“Society is not to blame here,” the slim and comely vixen declared as she tossed riding crop over her shoulder. She sidled up to stand behind me and rested her paws on my shoulders. “You need . . . inspiration,” she said, bending over and sliding her paws down across my chest until her head settled onto my right shoulder.
Mm, vixen musk. Makes my tail wag every time, and she knows it.
“Perhaps,” she ventured, “it’s something in the sentence construction.”
“Have to be careful of the word order,” I said, “because it’s a pun. The narrator’s a sheep.”
“You can get hopelessly jammed up over word order,” she chided. Pretty gently, too; I haven't been thinking that much in an adult vein recently, so she’s hoping to nudge me in that direction.
Been a while since I had a ‘proper think,’ at that.
“Maybe,” I allowed, “but you have to be careful. Remember what Benny Hill said – “
“I know,” she said, and recited in the late comedian’s voice, “If text says ‘He was bent on seeing her,’ you have to say ‘He was bent on seeing her’ and not ‘The sight of her doubled him up.’” She giggled, as did I.
The shared moment limped by. “So?”
My finger found the Backspace key, and held it down until the text vanished.
“I love it when you get inspired,” the vixen sighed.
end
A Thursday Prompt story
© 2021 by Walter Reimer
Prompt: delete
I shoved Mary behind me and faced down the herd of does. The cervines conferred among themselves and one of them, no doubt elected to be the spokesman, stepped forward. "Pardon me," she said, "but Lucy's getting mated, and we're having a hen night. Can Mary come along?"
I glanced behind me to see the ewe thinking it over. Mary shook her head and I told the does, "Frankly, my deer, I don't give a dam."
***
The tip of a riding crop tapped me on the shoulder, and I turned around to see that my Muse had decided to grace me with her presence.
Well, his, actually. The Muse, as I’ve related, changes aspects as it sees fit.
The beaver looked over my shoulder and said, “Hm. Doesn’t read very well.”
“I know,” I said. “I wrote it some time ago, but couldn’t find a story to go with it.” The riding crop tapped my shoulder again. “Stop that.”
The Muse, now a feline femme wearing a corset and nothing else, lowered the crop and tapped it against her thigh. “You’re no fun today.” She stepped back a few steps and took a few practice swings with the crop, grinning at the swishing sound. One must admit that my Muse does stay in tip-top condition. A lifetime of mental exercise and occasional visits to the Room of Infinite Monkeys will do that for you.
I confess that I think evil thoughts to keep myself looking young. It also keeps my skin supple.
“Stop talking to the audience,” the Muse said.
I shrugged. “It’s a fair cop.”
“Society is not to blame here,” the slim and comely vixen declared as she tossed riding crop over her shoulder. She sidled up to stand behind me and rested her paws on my shoulders. “You need . . . inspiration,” she said, bending over and sliding her paws down across my chest until her head settled onto my right shoulder.
Mm, vixen musk. Makes my tail wag every time, and she knows it.
“Perhaps,” she ventured, “it’s something in the sentence construction.”
“Have to be careful of the word order,” I said, “because it’s a pun. The narrator’s a sheep.”
“You can get hopelessly jammed up over word order,” she chided. Pretty gently, too; I haven't been thinking that much in an adult vein recently, so she’s hoping to nudge me in that direction.
Been a while since I had a ‘proper think,’ at that.
“Maybe,” I allowed, “but you have to be careful. Remember what Benny Hill said – “
“I know,” she said, and recited in the late comedian’s voice, “If text says ‘He was bent on seeing her,’ you have to say ‘He was bent on seeing her’ and not ‘The sight of her doubled him up.’” She giggled, as did I.
The shared moment limped by. “So?”
My finger found the Backspace key, and held it down until the text vanished.
“I love it when you get inspired,” the vixen sighed.
end
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species German Shepherd
Size 120 x 92px
File Size 38.5 kB
Listed in Folders
Fair warning, the vixen is this one: https://www.furaffinity.net/view/31077802/
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