A Woman Named Sally - Part 2 - End

Trigger warnings: Gore for humor's sake and/or mild violence for humor, text descriptions of nudity.

Photo by Ben Hussman.

Frank kept his eyes locked on her as he strolled across the bar like he owned it, which wasn’t true, because it was owned by someone else, but due to some background, he happened to have saved this bar from some evil corporations, which the author believes can be a universally accepted foe (as opposed to good corporations. #NotAllCorporations). The author’s main point for all of that was being the savior of the bar lent special privileges to that savior, which is displayed by the conveniently placed outdoor style shower inside the room, placed in the corner, which this new character had requested. 

It was frosted from the waist down so that as he stripped only his perfect buttocks were visibly as he stripped and tossed his clothing over the side and manfully soaped his bulging 10 pack abdominals down with soap, cleaning off an honest day’s grime, the evidence of the work washing down the drain from his body… of work. 

He made his way to the nearby dressing room, modesty barely preserved, for whichever ways can be imagined by the reader, but if you don’t have that imagination due to the reader’s boss giving the reader a hard time today, the reader may choose to imagine a towel held firmly yet flowingly from a strong clenched grip, fluttering with the movement of this character’s movements, bouncing around to show a lot of skin, but never the penis. 

Some time later, enough time to show that he didn’t slack off with preparations, but not so long that it made you wonder what was taking so long, which should be a pretty clear indicator of how good a lover he would be, this perfectly sculpted man of a man stepped back into the room.

When he emerged he was well put together again, in a tailored Italian cut suit, navy in color, a bespoke checked Italian shirt underneath the perfectly fitted jacket. They clearly were of some money to show he knew the value of quality and buying to keep clothing for a long time with good maintenance, but not so much that he appeared a dandy.

He strode over to Sally confidently, who by now was sitting at the bar and strangely not surrounded by the typical frat boys and dudebros that would normally populate this kind of bar if it was in the wrong kind of city (which this was not), and looked into her eyes, communicating to her with a single glance the confidence and experience that only the most worldly of men can, indicating that he knew they would be drawn together with possibly frivolous reasons in a torrential affair for the ages or at least a few hundred pages. He also communicated through Sally to the audience that he was no Frank Funburthers, but instead a much more audience pleasing, improved Frank.

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Dieselwang. Frank Dieselwang.”

She looked down and licked her lips, her nipples pressing hard against the thick but clear plastic of her worn umbrella.

“You certainly are.”

*No guarantees that you experienced no discomfort, but the author has hope.

**That something is sex.