I don’t know how many are gardeners, but I just love the springtime! I’ve always had a garden of some sort. When I was growing up, my father always put in a large garden. He raised the best sweet corn that I have ever had. Gardening is a great way to ensure that your food isn’t laced with pesticides, it saves money at the grocery store, and you can guarantee the freshness of your food.
For a writer, there is a form of gardening as well. I call it my ideal garden. I have a folder that I keep ideas in, and a notebook or two. After sending my manuscript off to my beta readers, I went through my idea garden. In it, I have various projects that I’ve started over the years. Some have collected dust for years. I opened the folder, reading through my list of projects to find the one that I wanted to devote my attention to next.
A couple of these are partially developed stories that I have more or less abandoned. Do I try to salvage them or do I hit the delete button and call them a loss?
The following is an excerpt from one of these abandoned stories. I’m debating what to do still, maybe you can help me decide – revise or toss. Throw it out as a weed or water it and let it grow?
The weather was not cooperating. I wanted to make a good impression, not show up looking like a drowned rat. I’d spent two hours at the salon being fussed over to get my hair and makeup just right, and now it was nothing more than wasted time.
The light shower had quickly turned to a sudden deluge about a block from my hotel. A gust of wind turned my umbrella inside out, rendering it useless in the downpour.
I made my way through the throng of people, being careful not to touch anyone as I was completely soaked. I set my bag on the counter in the small restroom and dared a glance in the mirror. It was worse than I’d thought. Damn! My hair was plastered to my head, water dripping from the ends. My makeup was all but gone except for my coral lipstick and waterproof mascara. Thank God for waterproof! At least the lipstick hid the blueness of my quivering lips. I let out a huge sigh.
Why do these things always happen to me? Maybe I should just hide out in the bathroom, and beg off our meeting tonight. I could make up the excuse of having travel sickness, or jetlag, or . . . My mind raced, but my conscious wouldn’t allow the lies. Besides, I was too anxious to actually meet you.
Another sigh. I peeled my jacket off dropping it with a wet, squishy, plop on the counter. I hoped there wouldn’t be much traffic through the ladies room as I tore off handfuls of paper towels, drying the rivulets of water running down my legs, and peeling off my soaking wet clothes. I stood in my bra and panties, which were sheer from the soaking rain, trying to gain some relief from my shivering from the small amount of heat the hand dryer offered.
Two women entered the bathroom eying me suspiciously, then entered the stalls. It figures! I sigh again. Well, there’s nothing to be done about it now! I glance back to the mirror, the sheer fabric hid nothing. Since I was essentially standing there naked, I figured it was a good time to at least dry them off. I slipped my panties off, using another paper towel to dry myself as I held the panties up to the hand dryer. I could hear the two ladies whispering to each other.
They must think I’m incredibly daft. I wondered if perhaps they thought I was a hooker. I’m not sure why that’s the first thing I thought, but it was.
Please, please, please dry quickly! The small fortune I’d paid for the matching set seemed of little significance now to the immodest position I found myself in.
The first woman moved to the sink, gave me a once over then offered the obvious in a wonderful British accent. “Get caught in the rain, did ya luv? Should ‘a had your brolly.”
“I did, the wind grabbed it and turned it inside out.” I sheepishly offered back, taking in everything about the woman; her hair, her figure, her flattering clothing and some very nice jewelry. She was of medium build, a slender boyish figure, with small breasts. Her sandy blonde hair cut in a swing bob, flattered her face well. She had a small slightly upturned nose and gorgeous green eyes, with a little too much eyeliner for my taste.
“Oh! Ye’re a yank! What brings ya ‘ere?” She shared the hand dryer for a moment as her eyes fixed on my pebbled nipples.
I blushed and swallowed back the sudden heat as I answered. “I’m meeting a friend for the first time. We’ve chatted over the internet for a while, and this is our first actual meeting, and, and.” My lips tight as I fought back the tears. “Everything’s just gone horribly wrong.” My lip quivering as the internal battle between sneaking out the back or going through with this while looking a mess waged within my mind as tears welled in my eyes.
“A friend yer say?” She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the sink.
“Yes, we’ve chatted several months and it’s” I chewed my lip nervously. “I was going to meet him. An actual date.” A nervous laugh escapes. What in the world am I thinking, even speaking it out loud sounds ridiculous. I swiped my eyes at the tears that were forming there. “Maybe I should just go, slip out the back and make up some excuse. I don’t want him to see me like this.” I motioned down meaning being soaked, but realizing I was nearly naked and if things went as planned you would indeed see the naked part. My blush deepened.
“Tell yer what.” Her friend came to the sink, trying to hide that she was looking at me through the mirror. I felt very self-conscious, worrying about the extra pounds I carried. Worrying again that my hips were too large, my butt too large, my breasts too large, weight had been a constant struggle for me. Despite the hours I spent in the gym, I still carried extra weight although most of it was toned and muscled. Not like a bodybuilder, but there was definition in places. “Why don’t you let us help? I know the owner and we could get some towels. Better than those.” She motioned to the brown paper towels I’d been using to try to dry off. They were fairly useless on hands, and pretty worthless for what I was trying to use them for.
“Megs, do you have yer makeup bag?” The first girl asked.
Her friend set the purse on the counter. “Course!”
“Sure we can ‘elp, if ye want.” Megs offered, crossing her arms over her chest as she blatantly looked me over. “’arry’s got some extra clothes in the back. I’m sure we can find some to fit ya.” She was taller than her friend. Her firm breasts strained against her cotton shirt. Her eyes were dark brown again with too much liner. Her long dark straight hair hung to the middle of her back. She looked exotic, and mysterious. She could have easily been a model.
I glanced between them. “Really? You’d do that? But you don’t even know me?”
“This is Meggie and I’m Leah.” She extended her hand. I accepted it gratefully, my hands like ice.
“You’re like ice Stephanie!” She nodded to her friend . “Get some towels from ‘arry.” Megs pushed her bag to the back corner of the sink, and hurried out the door. Leah leaned back against the sink again her arms crossed then crossed her ankles. “Where you from Steph?”
I continued to dry my panties as I answered. “Chicago, Illinois.”
“And you’re here to meet yer friend?” If I wasn’t mistaken, Leah was checking me out, staring at my breasts. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks.
“Yes.” I blush at the images playing in my mind of some of the intimate chats we’ve shared.
“It must be serious, to come so far.” Leah pushed herself up to sit on the counter top, her legs dangling, holding her hands on the edge. I couldn’t help but notice her nipples standing out against her snug top. What was wrong with me? Here I was checking out chicks in a bathroom. I think it was how excited I was to see you, but I was wondering what it would be like to actually be with a girl.
I chewed my lip, a bad habit I have when I feel nervous. “It’s , well, . . . it’s complicated.” I turned the hose and panties around in my hands, as I dried them. “We’ve been chatting see, and exchanged pictures. I don’t know, I sort of feel like once he sees me in person that will be it. He’ll be polite and all, but I won’t hear from him after this week, you know?”
“Did he say that to you?” Her expression was one of shocked incredulity.
I laugh nervously. “No, of course not. He’s too much of a gentleman to actually say it, even if it’s true.”
“Why on earth would you want to travel so far to meet ‘im if you think he’ll dump you?” The lilting accent tickled my ears as she stretched out ‘you’.
I shrug my shoulders. “It was rather impulsive of me.” Tears threatened again, as I thought of just how foolish I was being. My voice quavered. “He’ll see that I’m not attractive and overweight and be courteous, but then beg off. I hope not, but we’ve shared” my voice trailed off until the last was barely a whisper “and I love him.”
“If he does that he’s crazy! Any man would love to get his hands on tits like those. Not to mention other parts.” Leah motioned with her eyes.
I blush; my puckered nipples peaked through the sheer fabric.
“’ere, let me help you.” She jumps down and steps behind me, unfastening my bra, and easing the straps down. “I’ll dry this for you.” She moved to my side brushing her arm against my nipple.
“I wish my tits were like that. Thought about getting some implants.” She turned the bra over rubbing the fabric under the dryer.
“I think they’re nice. At least yours are tight and perky.” I tell her as I glance at her small firm breasts.
“Pish! Get on wid ya! That’s exactly what Megs says. Envious because they’re perky.”
“Besides, not everyone likes big tits.” I smile at her.
“And that ass of yours?” She glances behind me.
My breath catches as she dared to address one of my biggest fears.
“I know women that would die to have curves like that, mainly me.”
I turned, looking in the mirror. What could she possibly mean? I’ve always thought it was too plump, simply too much everywhere. “Yeah, well I don’t see it.”
She side steps me and turns me, my rear to the mirror, her in front of me as I turn my head watching the mirror. She steps close, pressing against me our breasts touching; she reaches around me and squeezes my bare cheeks. “If this guy doesn’t think so, doll, I’ll make you forget all about ‘im.” She pressed against me, then drops her head taking my nipple in her mouth.
I gasp at the sensation. A million thoughts raced through my mind. I should pull away. I shouldn’t be getting turned on by a woman, but I was. I should be focusing on getting dry and meeting you. Then I thought about the promise I made to you this morning on the phone.
I said I would keep an open mind to experiencing new things. This would definitely qualify as a new experience.
Megs came through the door carrying a stack of towels. “Hey no fair starting without me!”
I look nervously between them.
I know it would need a lot of work to make publishable, but I’ve put a lot of work into it already. I guess this is the writer’s version of being a packrat.
Opinions are welcome and needed so that I can either direct my attention to this project or choose another.
’til next time!