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Dan Holden's Creative Writing

Like Jiminy Cricket

By Dan Holden
This morning, I’m sitting on my yacht about a mile off the Cayman Islands coast, taking in the warm rising sun and watching dolphins play around the bow, and I find myself feeling a little sad.
One of my girlfriends comes up beside me, leans on the rail and asks what’s wrong.
I stand up and look around, at the pure whiteness of the ship’s exterior, the fine teak floor, the polished instruments and the plush captain’s chair, the blue sky and sparkling Atlantic waters.
I says I don’t know. I says to her, something just isn’t right.
She looks at her bikini top as if her tits are showing and, when she realizes they aren’t, she asks me what I mean.
So I says, “Here I am, having a great time with my three best girlfriends, all the blow and liquor we will ever need, a great sound system, the sun is shining, the sea is calm, freedom from every possible worry…but I feel so…I don’t know…wrong.”
She says, “Baby doll you are doing everything right,“ and she puts her hand on my crotch and she’s playing with the family heirlooms, right?
I give her a half smile and continue my train of thought.
“It’s not that,” I says, “It’s like the whole fucking thing is wrong. This ship shouldn’t be mine. None of this should be mine.”
“Why not?” she says, “You still got money, right?” She lets my balls drop.
“Yeah, yeah of course,” I says, “but you know, that money used to be somebody else’s.”
“Well, but it’s yours now and that’s all that counts baby,” she says, coming closer. “Finders keepers.” And she licks my cheek.
I like this bitch.
Anyway, so I says, “Yeah, but if you knew how I got it…”
“You didn’t kill anyone did you?” she asks, more interested than worried. Like she’s prepared to hear a crime story.
“Nah, at least, I don’t think so,” I says. “Mostly it was just a matter of timing. You know, timing trades.”
“Well that’s good right?”
“Yeah, when it works. And the systems I have to work with, well, nothing is faster, so it always works.”
“Well that’s nice,” she says, becoming noticeably bored. She takes off her bikini and lays down on the lounge chair beside me, butt side up, glistening in the sun.
A couple of minutes go by and then all the sudden she says, “So why does that bother you?”
At first I think maybe somebody else asked me that. She seemed so disinterested before.
“What?” I says.
“Why does that bother you?” she asks again, scratching her ass. I can see her little pooper from where I’m standing.
I think about it for a minute. Why does that bother me?
Maybe because I’m making deals my clients don’t know about. Maybe because with every second, I’m making about 325 transactions and each one of them is bringing in the bacon, first to me, then to the firm.
I look at her ass again. That’s some firm Asian bacon right there, I think, sizzling in the sun.
“I guess it doesn’t bother me so much,” I says.
“You sure?” she asks. “You look so worried.”
About that time Red comes up from below, wearing nothing but a white cotton bathrobe open all the way. She’s got fair skin and freckles and green eyes under all that wavy red hair. She drops her robe and puts an arm on my shoulder, kissing me as she wraps a leg around mine. I can feel her heat on my thigh.
“Good morning, Captain,” she says, smiling ear to ear.
“Good morning Red,” I says quietly.
She senses I ain’t playin’ just now, so she goes over and slaps Mia on the ass and plops down on the lounge beside her. Mia gives her a kiss and lays back down again.
“He’s in a mood,” she says to Red.
“Oooh what’s the matter did you make his drink wrong?”
“No, I think he’s developing a conscience.”
“A what?”
“You know, like Jiminy Cricket.”
“Who is that? Are you partying already Mia” asks Red, laughing.
“Aww Christ,” I says, turning around again to look at the sea.
There’s a bunch of seagulls off the starboard bow, about 30 yards out. They see something in the water and about half of them dive to the surface, battling each other for the scrap. They’re yacking away, biting at each other, hitting each other with their wings. More of them fall out of the sky and attack the first group. Then it’s over, one of them ate whatever it was and they all fly off again, scouring the water for more.
I try not to think about clients, or their clients, or the little guy who’s throwing down a good chunk of his every paycheck for a hope that his company is going to rise again, go somewhere, beat the market. Most of them never will, I know this. But while I have their money, I can make some sweet deals of my own. While I have my databases and my schedules and supersecure servers, I can move millions of transactions every day. I don’t even need my $350K salary. I make that in a month.
“Baby!” says Red, not to me, I know, she calls Vanessa her baby. “Bring us some drinks!”
After a while Vanessa emerges from the hold in a fluorescent orange bikini, her smooth Latin skin so dark already that she doesn’t even need to tan. She’s got a bucket with champaign on ice and glasses for all.
“Ooh what’s the celebration?” asks Red.
“Don’t you know?” says Vanessa, and I know she’s looking my way. “We pass the billion mark today.”
“We what?” asks Red. She really is a stupid bitch.
“Mikey here becomes a billionaire in about 10 minutes, right Mikey?”
“Yeah,” I says, without turning around. “A billion dollars at 10:52am.”
“Well how can you do that?” asks Red, “You’re just fucking around with us on the boat.”
I stand up and look at her. For dumb, she asks some good questions.
“That’s how billionaires make their money,” says Mia smiling at me. “Just fucking around.”
Ignoring the whole line of conversation, Vanessa pops the cork off the champaign bottle. The sound makes a couple of gulls in the forward area squawk and take flight. She fills the glasses and passes them around.
“To family,” she says, holding her glass high.
“To family,” we all say. The girls interlock arms and drink, like a bunch of college kids. It’s nice that they all get along. But then, money has a way of making everybody fast friends.
Red puts her drink down and lays back on the lounge, shooting a smile at Vanessa, who takes the hint and grabs a bottle of sun tan lotion. She straddles Red and rubs the lotion all over her, unstrapping her top and playing lovingly with her lilly white tits. Mia watches hungrily.
I turn to see a trawler going by. He’s already pulled his nets in and the men are working the catch. I can tell because there’s hundreds of gulls trailing the ship for a mile or so behind, diving into the water for the bits of fish gut and assorted suckerfish the men are throwing overboard.
“That’s enterprise,” I’m thinking. “That’s a whole ecosystem out there. Men and the sea and everthing in it and over it.”
I watch this for a while, slowly becoming aware that the girls are giggling and moaning behind me. I can feel my dick beginning to take notice.
“Come join us baby,” says Mia. She’s the only one who calls me baby.
Then she’s behind me, on me, one hand down my pants, the other unbuttoning my shirt, kissing the back of my neck.
My eyes are closed. I take in the fullness of her activity, her hands, her body, her heat, her breath, her lips and her tongue. She’s very good.
I turn my head, then my body. She slides around me artfully, like a Thai masseuse. Kissing my neck and my lips, grabbing my pecs as if they were Red’s tits.

I’m thinkin’ I’m just gonna tell them all to take off, go to Burmuda or something…
I open my eyes and she’s not there, and neither is Red, or Vanessa, or the lounge chairs or the ship, or the ocean or the trawler or the gulls.
It was all just an April Fool’s Day joke.


4 comments on “Like Jiminy Cricket

  1. DEBBY White
    April 1, 2012

    As always, I read with delight, and as always, you leave me hanging, wanting more.

    • siliconcowboy
      April 1, 2012

      Wow thank you so much! I really didn’t know where this one was going for a while…it does seem like it could go on, couldn’t it?

  2. DEBBY White
    April 1, 2012

    I have read every one of your stories. You have never disappointed. I m just waiting for that day, when you write a novel. You tease us with your short stories, but, maybe that is how you write. Any novels for the future.

  3. Pingback: Dan Holden’s Best Creative Writing of 2012 « En Vidrio

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This entry was posted on April 1, 2012 by in Creative.
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