Foggy Weekend Ch 01

Foggy Weekend 01

Hello people, I'm Leon, (chuckles) I am not Neon Leon as my best bud, Jake, likes to refer to me as sometimes, I'm 23, I'm a home renter who is trying to figure out how to financially purchase the place that I currently live in because after almost two years, the house totally suits me and my single life needs. It has a place where I can over-cook or under-cook my meals, it has a front door where I can receive my take-out food orders because of my aforementioned kitchen skills, it has a spot for a sofa where I can sit or lay down to watch my sports, a place to mount the TV that broadcasts my sports, a spot for an armchair where my best dude, Jake, can watch sports with me and a couple of bedrooms to sleep in, so, what's not to like about the place, right? It's perfect for me.

But here's the thing. The outskirts of the city of Middleton where I live sits in a shallow valley of the low lands and that means for those mystical meteorological and atmospheric reasons, when we get the fog banks rolling in, I mean, they roll in fast, they roll in pretty thick at this time of the year and sometimes it's very eerie and spooky and sometimes it's just enough to slow things down for a few hours and my way of handling the eerie fog is to step outside and say to myself "oh, it's looks quite eerie out tonight, so it might be best to stay in and off the roads and watch sports on the TV and then, that's what I do.

Now, I'm not sure who coined the term 'thick as pea soup' fog when it's much more of a creamy white color like my Auntie Lynn's creamy homemade Baked Potato soup, but that's not important right now because what's really important right now is that as foggy as it might be after the sunlight fades this weekend when the moist air sets in, like the weather people on TV are calling for, the late season pro and college football games will still be rolling across my flat screen and that's what really matters.

Or for short, since my story starts early in the afternoon on a Friday before the fog set in, there was absolutely no need for alarm since my weekend plans were to continue to test my sofa couch out for its couch potato status and there was more than plenty of time to roll my butt up and off of the couch and then slow roll down to the grocery store for foggy weekend supplies anyways because...

[...Breaking News Alert -- This a TV3 Breaking News Alert -- Breaking News Alert...]

"Hi everyone, I'm Breezy Friday from TV3 News, taking a moment to introduce myself as the newest member of the meteorological weather team here at TV3 News and I'm breaking into your normal broadcast programming of your trashy novel daytime soap opera to remind and warn all of you viewers that the fog is coming in this weekend and it's coming in as hard as your hubby's used to do when the word 'hard' actually meant something and before he went rogue on you. I don't mean to alarm all of you viewers, but the fog that is rolling in this weekend is expected to be thicker than our station's retiring weather anchor, Gale Storm's aging thighs, which make swishing sounds these days when she hobbles around in her dated pantyhose as TV3 finally and rightfully pushes her out into the cranky old lady retirement pasture (giggles), but..."

"[Off camera] what did that fucking young skinny chickadee with the big and perky boobs just say to my old viewers? Harold [thigh swish, thigh swish], where's my walking cane?"

"[Off camera] shut it, cranky! I don't camera operate for you anymore! Now, give the TV camera a twirl Breezy Friday, work it for my camera and spear hook your new fan base viewers, Breezy."

"...(giggles and twirls) but I am saying that driving will be dangerous starting later this evening and all weekend, dangerous like most of my outfits, so, if you need groceries and alcohol, well, housewives, grab your car keys, grab the single stud guy next door, if you're one of those housewives who has a hubby that hangs out down at the Transmission Shop, mm-hmm, hike up your skirts and get down to the Middleton Grocery store for your foggy locked down weekend while there's still time to drive safely and let the stock boys pack your groceries and alcohol from the rear! Um, ahem, I mean pack your bags into the rear of your vehicle..."

Well then, as I was just saying, folks, time is running out and I should get off of my butt right now and get rolling with it because it's better to beat the rush at the grocery store for weekend survival supplies because driving in fog that's as thick as the retiring Gale Storm's thighs can be and will be dangerous, especially since...

"...also, housewife ladies [twirls again for the camera], you're welcome for getting your non rogue hubby's back to the dinner table at 6pm [takes an amazing peek show curtsy bow]. I'm Breezy Friday from the revitalized and modernized TV3 News weather team, signing off for, but I'll be back on the air just as soon as we hear back from the city about their official city services shut down schedule for the weekend due to the incoming 'thick as a 61 something's pantyhose smothered thighs' fog bank storm [cut Harold]."

"[...we now return you to your guilty pleasure trashy soap opera program, where Dr. Luke has just finished testifying to the medical board that the clinic ran out of tongue depressors and how important it was to depress Mrs. Jenkins' tongue with his personal tongue depressor during her hangnail surgery and it's all just a misunderstanding...]"

Oh, I mean, sometimes I just have the TV on in the background as distractive noise as I mill about the house on Friday afternoons and that's all because I'm a dude and real dudes don't watch trashy novel soap operas on the TV (chuckles), so, shut it. And that's not even important right now because what's really important is that as one of the younger next door neighbor dudes on the street, I mean, it would be sinfully shameful of me to not check in with a few of the neighbors to see if any of them also needed any foggy weekend survival supplies, right? I mean, that's the kind of helpful guy that I am because...

[...Breaking News Alert -- Breaking News Alert -- Breaking News Alert...]

"(Giggles) hi viewers, it's me again, Breezy Friday, breaking into your background TV noise excuse to get all worked up over your sexy soap opera program to say, come on guys, I can handle whatever naughty and dirty dime comments that you want to drop on my social media accounts, you know, since you guys have literally blown up my social accounts in the mere two minutes since my last broadcast, mm-hmm, but please guys, please guys, be a little more respectful, okay? I mean, I am a married woman and all, so..."

I mean, shoot, they are always married, am I right, folks?

"... so (giggles) well, I'm a married woman who is also an engaged woman at the same time and I might be a married woman while being an engaged woman, who has a great boyfriend in the wings, but still guys, cut in half, okay? I'm Breezy Friday (giggles), aka, Sleazy Breezy Friday, signing off and hoping to see all of you down at the grocery store where little ole me will also be wandering up and down the food and alcohol aisle's while making sure that my bushy ponytail bounces [side twists to show off her bushy ponytail] just enough so that all of you lonely housewives can judge me [cut Harold]."

[...we now return you to your normal legit daytime porn viewing programming where Dr. Luke has been given the choice between three years in hoosegow for patient tongue depression sexual misconduct or one year sweeping the floors down at the Transmission Shop...]

Oh, well then, um, I mean, I need bread and sliced lunch meat and beer and snacks and chicken wings and a backup engagement ring and some other things before the fog settles in and...

"[Knock, knock, knocking at the front door]"

"[The front door slowly creaks open] oh, Mrs. Remington, the Pastor's wife from across the street, what's going on, huh? Have your front porch light bulbs burnt out again?"

"[Fills the opened front door with her Pastor's wife body] um, hi, Leon, um, no, the front porch light bulbs are still burning brightly, you know, since that day last weekend when you went single guy crazy on me and dry humped me, mm-hmm, the Pastor's wife, from behind me and through my yoga tights with your hands locked on my hips as I bounced on my tippy toes to twist screw the new light bulbs in place, mm-hmm!"

Well folks, you see, at first, I thought it would be a very difficult position, but then, it wasn't. Especially once Mrs. Remington helped out by rising up on her tippy toes and then lowering back down on her flat feet to create an amazing saw blading motion, mm-hmm!

"[Gazes upon the holy moly blessed chest that filled his doorway] oh, Mrs. Remington, I guess we're just going to ignore how it takes two to Tangle then, hmm? And are you going on a tropical vacation since you're wearing such a colorful and tropical orangish blouse, huh?"

I mean, there are not too many people in the land locked city of Middleton that wear orangish tropical shirts or blouses on a normal day, so that's why I asked that because...

"[Reaches for and releases the top button of her tropical orangish blouse] no, no-no, Leon, I'm not ignoring anything, especially since I only sinfully pushed back and shamelessly twisted back to firmly lodge your thick as thighs fog horn firmly in place between my holy roller light bulb globes because that's where you wanted it, mm-hmm, firmly lodged in place between my under-used and plump light bulb globes, Leon, mm-hmm, firmly set dead centered between my Pastor's wife cheeks! And I moaned and groaned a couple of times for you since I liked it so much, so what? My sex life has been basically nonexistent for the seven years since my hubby, Pastor Jim, began preaching his sermons down at the Transmission Shop three evenings a week, so?"

LOL, her response made it seem like I was complaining or arguing back, right? I was not. I was just admiring the view and waiting to see if the second colorful blouse button was going to be released to expose a tad more of her blessed tax deduction fake congregation holy moly chest because I'm a dude and dudes like blessed chests. And because I was still day dreaming about that evening under her bright front porch lights, where, that's right, there was a gap and I filled that gap and that gap closed tight back, mm-hmm. Or, LOL, I was giving the neighborhood spies a chance to capture and record that the Pastor's wife was at my front door to pray for me against the dangers of the incoming spooky fog.

[Afternoon sunlight glass lens reflection flashes from multiple busy body and lonely housewives using binoculars with built-in cameras, reflection flash, move, zoom, click snap, reflection flash, click snap]

Besides, they say there's a place for everything and everything should be firmly lodged into its place, am I right because...

[The Pastor's wife begins to unbutton the second button of her orangish floral blouse right there and then, mm-hmm, on Leon's front porch, in almost plain view to the neighborhood spies, mm-hmm.]

"[Button #2 popped open] but I am a little mad at you, Leon, about that evening because you didn't just whip my yoga tights down and off of me and then whip out your fog horn right there and then have me and take me from behind right there and then because sometimes a sex starved and lonely Pastor's wife wants it like that and I promise you that I would have sung holy praise be it, Leon, mm-hmm!"

Oh, um, I mean, well, I was pretty busy keeping my head on a swivel since, you know, the porch light bulbs were new and bright and with the number of housewives on our street that either use military grade binoculars or body cameras that can be mistaken for a family brooch pinned to their sundresses or to their blouses, I mean, one of us had to keep an eye out for the spies, right? Besides (chuckles), it worked well enough for me as it was, especially since yoga tights are not nearly as thick as Gale Storm's thighs.

[The top two orangish floral blouse buttons became undone and the Pastor's wife slowly started to work on the third button of her blouse, mm-hmm, right there and then.]

"Well, Leon, are you going to save me from the lonely housewives spies on our street and invite me inside, hmm? Especially since I can already sense that I'm not only centered in your front doorway, I also sense that I'm in center camera focus right now as well, hmm? I mean, even with my back to some of these older ole biddy ladies on the street, they can still tell that I'm probably fiddling with my blouse buttons and they wouldn't miss the chance to capture a photo of me seducing you with my holy roller blessed chest by magically loosening my colorful blouse in front of you, so?"

Oh, I released my grip on the door knob alright and then I side step shuffled to allow Mrs. Remington plenty of room to slip past me. I mean, my eyes were locked harder on her magical blouse unbuttoning fingers than how hard the fog was going to roll in soon, but I would have been in great remorse if I denied her request of entry, right?

[Mrs. Remington makes the best of her entry sashay by closing the gap between them to basically zero, which always begs for and demands a little hand play. Grip, rub, squeeze, squeeze, yep, rub.]

"Mm-hmm, Leon, I can also tell right now [grip, squeeze, grip, squeeze] that you caught the breaking news weather alert about the impending fog storm from that smoke show of our new weather girl, Sleazy Breezy Friday from TV3 News just now and I'm not even mad about you popping a boner over that boner popping machine with her perky tits because I'm here to holy moly roller cleanse your soul and she's not [squeeze, rub, grip, rub, rub], can I get a hallelujah and an amen?"

Well, Mrs. Remington is the Pastor's wife and all, so, hallelujah and amen! And one more hallelujah and amen because she kept fiddling with her floral blouse buttons and my fog horn at the same time, hallelujah and amen!

[The third blouse button is released, even though the front door is still half open.]

"Oh, Leon, you and your cartoon googly eyes seem to be distracted then, um, is it because of how I'm still fiddling with my blouse buttons, Leon? Should I stop fiddling with my blouse buttons, Leon? Or maybe your cartoon googly eyes are making you wonder if my colorful lingerie [a tad of color begins to peek out of her still opening blouse] is or is not appropriate for a Pastor's wife to wear, hmm?"

I mean, my eyes may have been googly alright, but my index finger still managed to part the red sea. Or in this case, the beginnings of her orange sea of cleavage since her colorful lingerie was slowly, but surely coming into focus. And for some unknown reason, I mean, somehow my index finger got caught in the center of the crease that her orange bra created and for some other unknown hallelujah reason, I couldn't get my index finger unstuck. I mean, I blamed the incoming fog, so.

"[Distracted googly eyes] I mean, Mrs. Remington, I'm not complaining and I'm not judging what is or what is not appropriate lingerie wear for a Pastor's wife to wear, but I can clearly tell that your bra lingerie is orange and very bright orange at that and not that Velma style burnt orange and I'm all about that, especially since my fifth favorite football team wears orange jerseys, so, um, just how many more blouse buttons are there to go then, hmm?"

[Click snap, click snap, click snap, well, well, well, if it isn't the tax deduction fake congregation wifey Ho, Mrs. Rena Remington, sniffing around the only functioning cock on the street, mm-hmm, stripping and gripping all at the same time, click snap, click snap, click snap.]

"[Reaches down for another fog horn grope and squeeze] anyways, Leon, circling back to your original question about why I stopped over for a visit during our pre hours of safety from the eerie fog storm, um, you need saving, Leon and I'm here to bless this house [rub, rub, mm-hmm, Leon is blessed too!]"

Well, I mean, I never heard of the fog threatening a house before, but who was I too argue back about that, especially since my index finger was still firmly lodged in her cleavage crease because we already talked about how lodging something firmly in place is important, right?

[Ahem, and the front door is still half open.]

"[Finger sawing Mrs. Remington's cleavage crease] I mean, Mrs. Remington, I'm more than happy to help you increase your tax deduction refund for your hallelujah and amen house blessing performance on behalf of your (fake) holy roller congregation and all, but shouldn't we scooch it further inside of my living room and away from the open front door because..."

"[Unbuttons her fourth blouse button] shush and don't jump ahead, Leon, because if I'm to bless this blessed house with my blessed chest, which the holy roller spirits above blessed me with way too soon in life because the fake holy roller spirits are all big horn dawgs, then let the blessings begin, mm-hmm! And I'll pay back a hallelujah and an amen by not depriving that old bitty, Mrs. Paulson the Librarian [pops open the fifth blouse button], a good clean photographic shot at my back as I fill your front door [pops the sixth blouse button], so, Leon..."

Well, I would have added "that old bitty, Mrs. Paulson the Librarian, the only woman on the street with bigger boobs than mine", but I guess Mrs. Remington forgot about that. Also, I'm still learning about a few things and it's possible that I should have said "fuller boobs" instead of "bigger boobs", so, um, yeah, it's a grey area to me because...

"[Unbuttons the seventh and final blouse button, you know, in the open doorway] and don't worry, Leon, about releasing your finger from between my boobs cleavage because your snapping fingers will be right back again real soon because as you should be able to clearly tell, my bright orange bra is a front clasping bra, which will keep your snapping fingers busy again in just a moment, can I get another hallelujah and an amen?"

I mean, duh, of course I noticed that her bra had an odd plastic thingy located in between her smashed boobs, I mean, I already said above that I'm a dude's dude, right?

"(Giggles) it's so cute that you're pretending to not know how a front closing bra works, Leon, but if this is foreplay, I mean, I like the way your trembling fingers are tickling me (giggles) and I'll play along since I haven't even experienced foreplay in longer than I've experienced sex because..."

Excuse me! Blurt, blurt, blurt, Breaking Story Alert, blurt, blurt, blurt, I mean, I knew exactly what that little orange piece of plastic was in between her holy grails, the end, we know return you to Sex Ed 101.

[Blurt, blurt, blurt, we once again interrupt your normal viewing programming for a weather update]

"Hi viewers, it's me again, Breezy Friday, advising you that it's just into the newsroom from the city that for citizen safety since our updated weather models now have the baked potato soup thick rolling fog banks as off of the charts, um, the city in closing everything down! And housewives, that includes the Transmission Shop (wink, wink), so get what you're going to get right now or start looking for a street lamp on the corner since the fog will be so thick that nobody will be able to see who it is getting down and dirty outside of the house! Also, Mayor Mookie Mootz released an apology statement to all of the housewives who will be locked down all weekend with their questionable hubby's because they will be locked down with you all weekend, so..."

Huh, that breaking news update caught Mrs. Remington's attention, but probably because she had to think that her hubby might go looking for a street lamp pole himself because...