Beautiful Morning
It thrilled Stephanie to know that with the power of her pen and the article she was writing for the Arts and Leisure section of the "New York Times" she could help to usher Nanette de Jesus to celebrity status. Stephanie was a huge fan of Miss de Jesus and wanted her feature story to bring light to the fading Broadway star.
De Jesus was nearly 70 years old and could dance like she was 18. She spent her life performing as merely a stage prop for theatre legends like Josephine Baker and Cab Calloway, but was not fortunate to have a good press agent during her career which spanned more than five decades.
The dance legend may have passed up her chance to become a household name, but at 70 she didn’t seem to care. That’s why Stephanie felt compelled to tell the truth in her article– she wanted the public to know how the Melvin Eulenspiegal Dance Theatre Company was stolen from one of Broadway’s most beloved stars.
Stephanie decided she would talk to Mike about her ethical journalistic dilemma when he awoke from a deep sleep in the tent. It was nearly 8 a.m. and Stephanie had been writing for three hours although she had completed only one sentence.
She was hungry and couldn’t wait for her lover to wake up and make her breakfast. She loved his over-easy eggs and sausage. He even brought a grater and a bag of potatoes on camping expeditions in the desert. He cooked on a Coleman grill and created a meal fit for a queen. His hash browns were the best potato dish south of Idaho.
Stephanie put down her pen and walked away from the campsite to an area where the ground was soft with fine grain sand.
She lifted her leg by grabbing her ankle. Soon she was standing on one foot with her toes pointing perfectly straight three inches above her nose.
The energy of the desert felt splendid to Stephanie’s as she worked out a few kinks in her flexible body. The morning silence was interrupted as Mike zipped up the tent door and stepped outside into the morning sun.
He was wearing a U.C.L.A. sweatshirt with nothing covering his lower torso.
His red hair shined in the morning desert sun like the feathers of a rooster. To Stephanie, Mike’s tall lanky body and large hanging penis resembled an inverted cactus.
She quickly let her leg down in fear of more encounters with Mike’s prickly fruit.
"Good morning madame! May I cook for you while you read me your poetry?" suggested Mike.
"No, I’m cooking today, dear! I need you to write a story for the Arts and Leisure section of the Times," demanded the blonde while bending down to touch her toes while showing off the best piece of ass north of the border.
De Jesus was nearly 70 years old and could dance like she was 18. She spent her life performing as merely a stage prop for theatre legends like Josephine Baker and Cab Calloway, but was not fortunate to have a good press agent during her career which spanned more than five decades.
The dance legend may have passed up her chance to become a household name, but at 70 she didn’t seem to care. That’s why Stephanie felt compelled to tell the truth in her article– she wanted the public to know how the Melvin Eulenspiegal Dance Theatre Company was stolen from one of Broadway’s most beloved stars.
Stephanie decided she would talk to Mike about her ethical journalistic dilemma when he awoke from a deep sleep in the tent. It was nearly 8 a.m. and Stephanie had been writing for three hours although she had completed only one sentence.
She was hungry and couldn’t wait for her lover to wake up and make her breakfast. She loved his over-easy eggs and sausage. He even brought a grater and a bag of potatoes on camping expeditions in the desert. He cooked on a Coleman grill and created a meal fit for a queen. His hash browns were the best potato dish south of Idaho.
Stephanie put down her pen and walked away from the campsite to an area where the ground was soft with fine grain sand.
She lifted her leg by grabbing her ankle. Soon she was standing on one foot with her toes pointing perfectly straight three inches above her nose.
The energy of the desert felt splendid to Stephanie’s as she worked out a few kinks in her flexible body. The morning silence was interrupted as Mike zipped up the tent door and stepped outside into the morning sun.
He was wearing a U.C.L.A. sweatshirt with nothing covering his lower torso.
His red hair shined in the morning desert sun like the feathers of a rooster. To Stephanie, Mike’s tall lanky body and large hanging penis resembled an inverted cactus.
She quickly let her leg down in fear of more encounters with Mike’s prickly fruit.
"Good morning madame! May I cook for you while you read me your poetry?" suggested Mike.
"No, I’m cooking today, dear! I need you to write a story for the Arts and Leisure section of the Times," demanded the blonde while bending down to touch her toes while showing off the best piece of ass north of the border.
posted by Charles George Taylor at
7:24 AM
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