Hooray! My friend is visiting, having just returned from a sim called the Grubby Talk Lounge. He knows I'm writing a blog and 'cos I'm sometimes stuck for a topic, he's helping me out with a few ideas. Nice of him, isn't it? Albeit Squashy's been trying to get him onto a blue pose-ball for the best part of an hour, and if she keeps it up I swear I'll kick her ass.
Ahem. Let me show you what I have so far:
Upon teleporting, he was deposited in grassy area with a large arrow painted on the ground. He followed this for some distance until he came to a rickety bridge. Crossing the bridge, he suddenly found himself in the middle of what appeared to be the 'Talk Lounge, where he ...
"I want to go!" interrupts Squashy, breathlessly. "It sounds REALLY luxurious!"
I kick her in the shin, not caring if it leaves a bruise. "Shut up and don't be so stupid! It's not the Hilton Hotel; it's a smut place for goodness sake. A sh*tty little smut place".
Squashy rubs her leg and eyes me warily. I note a flicker of interest, quickly extinguished.
"Yes. And you can wipe that look off your face straightaway. You're not going and that's final".
I turn to my companion. "I'm sorry about this. She's just being rude because you won't sit on a pose-ball with her. Take no notice and with a bit of luck she'll get bored and go away". My recalcitrant avie continues to sulk like the stroppy little slut she is. My handsome friend (yes, he's handsome; why do you ask?) leans back on my (sex)bed and admires my decor. That's décor, not décolletage, Beeswing! I raise an eyebrow and she scowls back at me. I scribble a few lines on my pad, brow creased in concentration but not too much in case I look like a hag. (That will never do).
"I'd really like to hear about the Grubby Talk Lounge", I say, sucking the end of my pencil in a provocative manner. "I want to write a review for my blog. I haven't written anything in ages and I need something to write about." I glance at squashy and she sticks her tongue out at me.
"What the hell for?" she smirks. "No-one reads it anyway."
"That’s not the point”, I counter. "I write for myself and I don't give a toss whether anyone reads it or not. Anyway, I know a couple of people who do. Well--- one, anyway. Look, just STFU, will you?"
I toss my hair and turn back to my companion (he's handsome; did I forget to say that?)
"Well, I wouldn’t really describe it as a 'lounge' at all', says my friend. 'It's more of an open space with some scruffy old sun loungers and a few crappy chairs that you fall through the middle of as soon as you sit down. There's always lots of confused looking avies standing around as though they’re waiting for something to happen – only nothing ever does".
"'Gormless looking' is more like it", mutters Squashy from her hunched position on the 'female masturbation rug'. I make a mental note to throw the revolting thing out and replace it with a 'normal' rug as soon as possible. Why must she always show me up?
"So tell me about the ‘voices’ ", I say, assuming my sexy secretary posture, intelligent and enquiring.
"Yes, yes, tell us about the dirty voices!" interjects Squashy. I can see she's getting excited and it annoys me. If i don't do something about her she's going to become completely unmanageable.
My friend shrugs, as I boot Squashy’s pert little ass into digital limbo.
"Well, I could only hear *one* person speaking”, says my friend, “and that was the host. There were some off duty hosts -- or maybe they were working -- I couldn't really tell. It was like listening to a really annoying DJ on a bad 'talk radio' show, d'you know what I mean?”
"Yikes! Didn’t anyone else speak? I mean, I thought the whole point of that place was voice interaction? Sexy voice interaction?"
"Well, a few tried, but they got talked over by the hostess so they gave up. You'd have given up too, if you'd been there. She had a voice like a scalded cat ---"
I stare at him.
" …. with a helium balloon in its teeth. Erm. Where did you say Squashy went?"
"I didn’t." I retrieve my pencil from under the duvet and assume a mantle of brisk efficiency. "We were talking about the Talk Lounge, in case you’d forgotten. The Grubby Talk Lounge. You were saying that no-one seemed to join in?"
"Well, no. There were a couple of stupid games, sure, but no-one wanted to play them. Plus a couple of folks kept talking all over them and got kicked out. That was pretty funny, actually."
"It sounds a bit of a shambles if you ask me." I lean my head against his chest, catch hold of his arm and fold it around me. His fingers are a mere millimetre away from my breast and we both know it. The air between us is charged with possibility. He settles himself more comfortably on my (sex)bed and runs his fingers gently through my hair. I can’t help but compare my silky curls to Squashy's choppy, ginger mane and those (let's be honest about it) hideous freckles. My friend moves his hand a little and I wriggle a little and we collide somewhere in the middle, with my 'article' scrunched up between us like chip paper.
"Well, I didn't stay too long after that. Some guy was touching himself with his mic open, and I couldn't listen any more. It was gross".
"Hmmmm. You know, Squashy would've loved to have heard that guy jacking off. What do you think?"
My friend goes quiet for a moment. I can sense his brain working and it isn't located in his head. "Well, I could always chaperone her if you like; make sure she behaves herself."
I struggle free of his enfolding arm and entrap the end of his rather well-shaped nose between the top joints of my middle and index fingers, twisting just a little.
"So tell me: Were the hostesses really sexy?" I glare at him.
"Sure they were."
I twist harder. "Are you sure about that?"
"Yes! No! But not as sexy as you, though. Not even close!"
I let go of his nose, and snuggle in close. "I need a title and I don't have one. Something snappy and not too long. Any ideas?"
"Well, you could always call it, 'How not to run a voice lounge.' "
I lick his cheek. "That's not a title, that's a 'will this do?' And I don't want to get into trouble with those people. I want to say something positive if I can."
My friend studies me quietly. I decide to treat him to one of my 'specials' and begin inching my way down his body. Taking my time. Making it good. His fingers twist and tangle in my hair.
"Hey! What about your article?"
"Oh, SOD the article. I just wanted to get you here and USE you a bit. Have you got your SKYPE turned on?"
Yes, he did. And, yes, we did. And no, we didn't need to visit any 'voice lounge', either. :-P
I never did find out what happened to that article.
*****
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