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Message-ID: <50180asstr$1105521003@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: PJcocoa@aol.com
Subject: {ASSM} NOT A KNIGHT In Shining Armor... [ASTEMF] {Gary Jordan} (nosex, voy, RP) 
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Date: Wed, 12 Jan 2005 04:10:03 -0500
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Reposted for Alexis Siefert's *The Earth Moved* Festival.
Originally posted for The Virago Blue Challenge.

NOT a Knight in  Shining Armor...

by Gary Jordan

I admired the new piece of  furniture my boyfriend had bought me while
I prepared for a bath.  A  lovely piece, one of those things that's
half-drawers, half closet.   He'd picked it up at a movie lot auction. 
It had an impressive  history.  "Best Little Whorehouse", "Shakespeare
in Love" (though that  scene was cut) - it had even been used in a Jack
Nicholson horror  movie.

I thought of Billy when I looked at it.  A strange piece of  furniture
from a strange, if thoughtful, beau.  Someone needed to rescue  him
from his impulse purchases, and more and more, that looked like me.   I
smiled as I removed my panties.

I carried all the soiled clothes to  the hamper, and checked the tub.
Plenty of hot, bubbly water.  I closed  the faucets and eased myself in
and down.

The woman who invented the  bubble bath should be immortalized in song
and story.  Nothing on this  earth beats the caress of the hot water,
the silky feel of the bubbles...  Billy's tongue is a close second,
maybe even a tie (and now I have the mental  image of Billy and me in
the tub together - shivers.)

Wait, those  weren't my shivers -

Earthquake!

My mind leapt into high  gear.  Wasn't the bathtub a good place to be
during earthquakes or  tornadoes?  Fuck!  Only if it was a cast-iron
tub, not a flimsy  fiberglass job like mine.  Cracks were already
appearing in my  sixth-floor walls.  I needed to move!

Climbing from a tub full of  soapy water during an earthquake is best
described as Charlie Chaplin and the  Three Stooges meet the Marx
Brothers.  Pure slapstick and  pratfalls.  but somehow I managed it and
made it to the doorway as the  exterior wall, including my tub,
disappeared in a deafening roar.  As if  that wasn't bad enough, the
doorway began to distort and more cracks appeared  in my bedroom floor.
I feared I was on the wrong side of the fault line and  dashed into the
bedroom.

The ground-driven tremors had stopped, but  the building continued to
disgorge enormous chunks.  I freely admit to  terror as most of my
corner apartment fell away.  I found myself  standing wobbly-kneed on a
narrow jagged ledge abutting an interior  wall.  All that survived of
my apartment was a reproduction of a Robert  Wood painting, Billy's
dresser thingy, and me.

Straightening the  painting may not have been the sanest thing to do
under the circumstances,  but it helped to calm me.  Looking out
through the settling dust, I  could see the tenants of adjacent
apartment buildings rubbernecking through  their windows and sliding
glass doors.  Some of the bolder (or stupider)  ones came out on
balconies.  I waved at them frantically.

I  finally got someone's attention.  She held up a cell phone (or maybe
a  cordless), put it to one ear and yelled and waved back.  Thank  God
someone knew I was here.  From what I could see, I doubted that any  of
the tenants above or below me survived, unless they weren't  home.

My neighbor disappeared briefly, to return with a large drawing  tablet
and a magic marker.  She wrote, "HELP ON WAY," in large bold  letters. 
Then she flipped the page, scribbled and held it up again.  "Y  U
NAKED?" it said.

I looked down.  Oh, Shit!  A girl tries  to relax in the tub and ends
up showing her goodies to the whole world.   Who'd believe this?  And
pretty soon, every camera, camcorder and  telescope in the facing
buildings would be trained my way.  When help  arrived, they'd be
accompanied by television crews.

There was only one  thing to do, and I signaled my intentions to the
Samaritan across the way,  and she wrote back, "I TELL 911 WHERE YOU
ARE."

And that's the story  of my night in "Shining" armoire.

The End

Copyright 2002 by Gary  Jordan.



Gary Jordan
"Old submariners never die, but they have  their ups and downs."
"This communicating of a man's self to  his friend works two contrary 
effects, for it redoubleth joys, and cutteth  griefs in half." - Francis Bacon, 
Essays 
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Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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