Masks XXVIII: Old School

by

Rodford Edmiston

Part Eight

I has only planning on doing one story but I kind of got the writing bug so decided to write more. It is still a what if series so none of these events actually happened just what I predict would happen next. The story carries on the morning after the last story

“Time for a lunch, girls!” said Mommy two days later. “Are you coming, Lexie?”

“Of course.” I was already hungry. And the only one here besides Mommy – the other three women were today at the annual health check.

Cory gets an unexpected offer which could dreatically change his life.

This novel is written in the near future where many of the actual problems with climate change and the future of humanity have happened. A collapse in civilisation is does not show humanity at its best, but from seeds, seedlings grow. This a story where hope emerges from chaos.

I'm human and I'm falling
But you tell me, I'm flying
But it's building, and I can't breathe
Wanna feel the way that I used to be

We spent the next two days finalising our preparation for the match against St. Mary's. The county cup was an 8 team tournament, meaning that this was a quarter final match. Win, and we'd be in the semi finals, and another win there would put us in the final.

Despite my heroics in the first training session, where I'd scored a hat-trick and felt unbeatable, I was beginning to see how playing in the girls team would be no walk in the park.

Me and My Mus

The other day I was loafing in front of the TV when Andrea, my muse visited me. It had been some time since last. We had spent our vacations at different locations. Don’t get me wrong, I like Andrea but we have no need to crowd each other. However, I like chatting with Andrea even when I’m not going to write a story. That is what happened the other day. I like female companionship. As everyone knows all muses are female.

As we were talking Andrea happened to mention “when I was a little boy …”. Ooops!

Andrea coloured up. The cutest pink imaginable.

CHAPTER 35
It was a twisty road getting to meet the real Alys, for while she had known herself as long as she had been self-aware, the rest of us had to dismantle almost everything we had known or assumed we knew about her, and her fear of rejection kept its teeth in her for so very long a time. It was hard work indeed, but that metaphor of bends on a road became my mantra.

Chapter 5

When I got home and turned on my computer, I had an email from the Islington Inspector. He wanted me to pop in and pick up my communications on Friday. I answered that I would be there. I looked for the Saturday weather on the computer and saw that it would be cold.

Winter was arriving at last. I looked in my wardrobe to see what I had to wear, seeing that I didn’t want to be recognised. I chose a red shirt and a long black winter skirt, which I would wear with leggings and long boots. I had a heavy greatcoat that I could use.

Photo by Anna Shvets: https://www.pexels.com

Preface

Every so often I check the Retro Classics Page here at BC just to see if I missed a good story. Today there was an entry for Emma Ann Tate's Software Update. Since this story continues my own Reprogramming Your Life, I was interested in the comment.

Now, naturally I couldn't just read the one comment, so I read them all. One by Patricia Marie Allen that included the phrase that inspired and became the title of this piece. When someone asks me 'where do you get your ideas?' they don't know what a can of worms they might be opening. Thanks to all of you for the inspiration.

Miss Snell dropped me off just outside the local bowling alley at around 5pm. I asked her if she was joining us, but she said that this was just for the team and she didn't want to 'cramp our style'.

"Enjoy yourself, and I'll pick you up later. Just give me a call when you're ready." And with that, she left.

Part Five

“You’ll wear your panties all weekend. They were a gift to you, remember? And like I just said–when you wear something, they’re yours.”

“I’ll wear my panties all weekend,” Chris echoed. He mirrored the emphasis in an attempt to show that it didn’t bother him, but couldn’t help but lightly blush at the possessive phrase nonetheless. It sounded worse out loud than it did in his head. And the fact that he was bottomless save for the pink, feminine underwear didn’t particularly help when it came to playing it cool.