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Stewed, Screwed & Tattooed. Disclaimers, the characters and story are the
sole possession of the author and may not be reproduced ...
Submitted by chamberlaindavid on September 27, 2006
Category: Miscellaneous
Words: 9391 | Pages: 38
Views: 114
Popularity Rank: 68,066
Average Member Grade: N/A (Add a Comment / Grade this Paper)
Disclaimers, the characters and story are the sole possession of the author and may not be reproduced, posted or sold without the author’s permission. So there! If for any reason real or imagined your are uncomfortable with graphic descriptions of consenting adult women in a loving and sexual relationship then do not read this story or anything else I have ever written. If for any reason it is illegal for you to view this material, go away and do not return until it is no longer a crime.
A special thank you goes out to my beta reader Mountain Girl.
As always this is for Heather.
Stewed, screwed and tattooed not the most elegant expression, but Sailor Jerry, a.k.a. Jerry Collins the infamous tattoo artist, wasn’t known for his charm, just the artwork he created for most of the sailors during world war two. He also created a very fine rum which is at the crux of my present situation. Apparently, thanks to a bottle of Sailor Jerry rum which is smooth with a slight hint of cherry and ninety-two proof, I lived out one of his infamous tats. The above-mentioned bottle of rum explains the stewed portion of my previous evening. The petite brunette sound asleep in the bed of the strange hotel room I am standing in would explain the screwed part and the painful burning from the image of Tigger, which magically appeared on my inner thigh, would explain the tattooed portion of the evening.
All of these things make sense because of the large quantity of alcohol I had consumed last evening. The only thing that doesn’t fit with Jerry Collins original tattoo was marriage. I am standing in the middle of a hotel room, which I can only assume is located somewhere in P-Town since that was where I was last night, and I am holding in my hands a marriage license. Another assumption I am making is that the snoring brunette is Glenda Murdock which according to the document I am staring at is the name of my bride.
My heart stops as the snoring suddenly...
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