OFF LIMITS. Authorized Personnel Only.’ It read.

Leila drew a deep breath and pushed the curtains aside. ‘You’ve come this far, so might as well…’ she thought. She smoothed her skirt, not wanting to think ahead. Then, she walked on, swiftly turning her back as she heard footsteps in the hall. Quietly turning to make sure the coast was clear, she then quickly found the door and pushed it open. There they were.

She grabbed a plastic cup and joined them. The TV was on; on one side some women were giving each other manicures. But it was this table she wanted to sit at. It was their one night when they forgot about the measly pay or the grouchy bosses. Or in her case, the perpetually drunk boyfriend of 8 years who liked to hit her a little too often.  The head cook, Roma, knew she might fall into more than just a little trouble with this set-up in the pantry. But Roma knew what it meant to the women.

‘Was this punch spiked? Oh, what the hell!’ Leila chuckled, for all we know, the bosses could be at wits end and looking for them. Soon someone would notice the women secretaries, clerks, all disappearing for breaks at the same time for an hour. But till then, this was their haven. And this table, her guilty pleasure – the Wednesday night poker table. Who said it was a men’s game, again?

Posts on this prompt:

OFF LIMITS by Three

Behind the Post by BandE

Crossing Over by Aniket

“Dude, tell me again, why are we doing this?”

“Because, we’ve never done anything illegal in our lives. We’ve no stories to tell to our kids, assuming that we somehow manage to produce kids. After all, there is that essential ingredient called ‘woman’ missing in our lives.”

“You could try adoption… but that’s not the problem we have at our hands… I get it. We need to get women in our lives.”

“Exactly! Chicks dig illegal stuff too. This will help us score at-least a couple of points with them.”

“And that’ll take our total score to what 3? Dude, we need a lot more than a couple of points.”

“We have to start somewhere, right? So stop being a wuss and cut the wires.”

“I still don’t think trespassing into an abandoned government facility is what chicks have in mind when they think sexy-kinda-illegal stuff. But I’ll follow you coz you know, you’re my best friend.”

“I think I’m gonna cry… what are you a 14 yr old girl… stop saying shit and get to work.”

“What do you think is on the other side?”

“My research tells it’s one of the possible locations for Area 51.”

“Your research?”

“I did a lot of googling last night.”

“Fair enough. Could there be aliens there, then?”

“Could be. And considering how many women they’ve impregnated so far, I guess they believe in free sex. We could be in for a treat.”

“Dude! That’s gross. I don’t want anyone or anything trying to impregnate me.”

“That’s not what I meant, dude. I meant if the males of their species love sex so much, it’s only logical to assume the females would too.”

“You’ve got a point there. I guess, we do have a better chance of scoring with alien-chicks than the human ones.”

“Things are going to change for us tonight.”

“I just hope they look good.”

“I’m counting on all of them being hot like Seven of Nine.”

“Seven of Nine was a ten of ten. Let’s do this thing”

“Atta boy.”

Interview with Dwight Oswald Twistleton,  model featured in latest Prompt, “Off Limits”,  pictured above.

How did your modeling career in this unique genre begin?

I wanted to be an actor from a very early age. Unfortunately, I was told that my expressions were so one-dimensional , that I could never be believeable in any part.  I was offered a chance to be a crash test dummy and worked steadily for several years till I was injured in a freak air bag accident.

I suppose that gave you pause?

Dang right!  Gave me a big headache too. Took ‘em a week to get my head back on straight.  During my recuperation I heard that sign models were in demand. Sounded like a piece ‘o cake.  That summer, I broke out with a “No Diving” sign. Everyone said I looked really cute in my Speedo.

I notice that your left profile is always featured in your work. Any reason?

Well, obviously it’s my best side. In fact, truth be told, it’s my only side since that nasty air bag incident.

Ouch! Well, anyway, do you have a favorite sign that you were featured on? Something really memorable?

“Slippery When Wet” without a doubt. Shot that one in Thailand. Boy. It was so hot there that the soapsuds kept drying on my body.  So they brought in a couple of pros who kept  soaping me up till the director got what he wanted.  Nice ladies though. Couldn’t understand a word they said, ‘cept something about “happy endings”.

I notice you always wear black when you work. Any reason?

My friend, Johnny Cash, told me to do it. Said it always gave a guy presence-suggested a bad boy sort of image. ‘Specially when you do something like a”Toilet” sign. Don’t want nobody messin’ with you while you’re standing there next to the sign.

Anything special coming up for 2012?

Well, speaking of up, I’ve got an escalator job in the works. It’ll show me in profile, natch, riding down on an escalator, so these mall morons don’t try to go up on the wrong one. You should also be looking for a special signed, limited edition of “Pedestrian Crosswalk” the Department of Transportation is having me do. It’s going to have an Abbey Road kind of vibe to it, ‘ cept it’s just me in place of the Fab Four. The back of each sign will be stamped DOT, so I’m hoping everybody will think those are my initials.

Time’s up now, Dwight. Any parting advice for those who read this drivel to the very end?

Like my bosom bud Madonna said to me, get out there and strike a pose!

[a.k.a. Celestial Lessons 002, a stand-alone narrative]

Another morning. Another day. I have to face it. Face her.

As I walk slowly towards the bedroom – her bedroom – I curse myself silently, at my accelerating heartbeat. It was actually louder than my footsteps. She might’ve woken up already, because of that, if not for the smell of her favourite morning coffee, bacon and eggs in the air.

Maybe it was the coffee. Have to stop taking coffee before seeing her.

OFF LIMITS. Read the sign on her door. A warning to me, I feel. Every morning. Do I heed it?

I don’t even bother to knock anymore. She couldn’t care less anyway. College life does that to you, I guess. I turn the knob and enter into a mess of a world, her world, clothes and bags, all over the floor, books and bras…

And there she lay. On the bed. Made for a queen. Tangled up in a heap of pink blankets, sprawled like a lazy cat, thick blonde hair covering her face, bare long legs dangling off the edge…

Curses.

At least she could’ve worn some clothes.

“No…” she groans, groggily, through the golden mane hiding her beautiful face, muffling her soft, husky voice. “Please tell me it’s not time already.”

“I can’t lie to you,” I lie, “you’ve got a seminar presentation this morning.”

“You’d make a terrible roommate, Kieran,” she replies, slowly getting up, folding her lithe catlike body into a sitting position, hair magically parting, emerald green eyes shining through, right through me like a laser beam – I have a thing for piercing green peepers – blanket strategically covering all that was needed to be revealed.

It was just pure torture. Just watching her. Skin the colour of peach glistening in the sliver of the morning sun rays sneaking through the curtains. Such a celestial body. Even the sun wants to take a peek at her, to wake her up, to touch her. What more a lowly being like me?

“I wouldn’t be your roommate even if you begged me to,” I lie again.

She smiles ever so lightly. Another laser beam shot right through me. I think she knew.

“I would’ve stayed at my dorm, if everyone there wasn’t trying to brutally murder me,” she explains, in that groggy intoxicating half-whisper, threatening to rip me apart, and those bedroom eyes, threatening to incinerate me with their laser power.

More excuses. The things I have to put up with.

Calm down now. Breathe. Keep your distance. Stay detached.

“Once more, your breakfast is made ready by yours truly…” I say as she flashes another smile, a brilliant one this time, more brilliant than the sun. It was only gratitude. And I just lose the words, whatever it is I was saying just now.

Stop this. Now.

One last look – I always keep vowing to never look at her this way again – and keep breaking that vow, every morning – I turn my eyes away from her beautiful face, as I say, “Mom’s gone like a ghost again. To work, I think. I’m gonna have to rush off, too. Got a killer Physics exam.”

Turning, walking away from her door, I hear her soft voice fading off, “Good luck, brother…”

I wish she could just stop calling me that.

[Also see: Celestial Lessons 001]

Posts on this prompt:

The End of Santa? by LLGibson

BeachNicks by BandE

Post not-on-prompt:

My Lamprophony by Helene Myko