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by Francis U. Kaltenbaugh
In mid-town, the sun's brazen harshness was reinforced, as

it glared from a glass and ivory colored office building towering towards the heavens, stiff and erect in stature; symbolism oozed from its solar-heated shaft, as an unnoticed conversation unfolded ensconced near the tip of this man-made erection of glass and steel.

"Stop squirming. You'll die for what you did," Bert threatened.

"You'll never get away with this," I lied. "There are others, who 

know I came here for you."

"You stole my woman; you're gonna pay," Bert accused.

"What woman? I don't have a woman -- not me. I'm to enter seminary 

next month. I'm celibate," I babbled.

"Sell a bit!  What the hell ... a polite way to say pimp or 

whoremaster?" he implicated. His eyes were bulging – matching the bulge in my genes.

The situation couldn't get worse.  
On the roof of his office building, near the ledge, my hands bound -- 

there was little hope. Bert had gone over the edge and wanted to see me there – too.

"I can help get your woman back." I entreated.

"Ha. You took her from me!" he inculpated.

"Bert, I couldn't take her from you. I'm your friend. I could never 

harm you. It'd be against my vows," I acquiesced.

"To your death," he sentenced.

"But, what of your lover...," I proffered.


"Your *LOVER*! I arranged those meetings. It was ME! You, an 

attorney," I sighed, and gushed on, "I brought you two together. I responded to your personal ad. Yes, it was ME, who sent all those love letters you answered. There never was a woman. I dressed in drag to meet – you. I'm your inamorato," I gushed imploringly.

"Darling! Do write again, but be brief," lawyer-like, he taunted,

while holding me in his arms and nearer the edge, a sardonic smile etched his lips.

I thought, "_He's smiling. He wants me. We'll live happily ever 

after, no children, but no dirty diapers; more time for us._"

The situation got worse.  

I went over the edge -- literally!        

Copyright 1993 Francis U. Kaltenbaugh ————————- # # # ———————————- Francis is one of those kinds of authors. I'm still trying to figure his/ her political persuasions. One never knows does one. Writing for escapisim is a way of life, and sharing is a reward in itself, reports Francis.

/data/webs/external/dokuwiki/data/pages/archive/stories/bern.txt · Last modified: 1999/09/08 06:10 (external edit)