The Hapless Romantic
By
Crème Brulee
Oh, man. She just *had* to go on and do it. Again. And with no "Ooops" of forewarning, either. (Okay, so maybe I was asking for it, but so what?)
Handcuffs.
Shiny leather boots.
Mirrored sun-glasses.
Have you ever witnessed a woman jelly down to her knees into a pathetically happy-looking puddle, with a long drawn out "Aaaahhhhhh" leaving her lips? It’s not a pretty sight.
Not when your boss thinks you’re reviewing important quarter-end documentation, it isn’t. See, context is everything.
Which, mind you, is exactly what happened to me when I realized what Brulee’s latest offering is all about. Granted, so yeah, she did warn me about the uniform part. I was ready. I was willing. But, by god, I wasn’t ready for the heavy artillery. I guess I should be thankful she didn’t put Officer Little on a Harley. As it is, the mental image presented in the story is enough to make me consider indulging in little white-collar office violence in hopes of being restrained and… disciplined.
But, worry not, I shan’t. I’ve seen the security types downstairs. Ain’t worth it.
The story:
Uh, we have a cop, tall and in love. We have an FBI agent, shorter and in mourning. And we still manage to have sex.
…
Well, not *we*, per se, but you know, them. They do. That’s what I meant to say. Ach, forget it.
On with the review – Brulee’s writing style is out in full force again, and I just have to admire someone who can write a short story and still develop characters as she does. We don’t know a lot about them, by any stretch. But we do know enough. And, coming from that woman’s head, we can already guess that they’ll be smart-asses. Don’t let Crème (I wonder if she got a beating as a kid due to that name. Heh. Crème – beating – get it? Heh.) fool you with her disclaimer either – though indeed a bit angsty at times, this story will still make you laugh out loud.
Repeatedly. Till you really can’t laugh anymore, no matter how much you want to.
Right. Did I mention we have a cop and an FBI agent as protagonists? You know, I’m not a fetishist, really, I’m not. *However* (I love that word), that said, I will shamelessly admit to fostering that most ingrained of all lesbian stereotypes – our love of all that’s female and uniformed. With me, well, I took the stereotype a step further, now it’s bordering on a knee-jerk-inducing, drool-causing kind of obsession. Pathetic, really. It’s gone so far I’ve actually considered joining the force myself, just so I could look at the uniform hang in my closet. Then, thankfully, I remembered how during my brief but very informative stunt as a waitress, I shrieked unabashedly when someone popped a champagne bottle behind my back. Being a cop was not such a good idea.
But, mind you, until I get frisked by my very own tall, dark and brooding, here’s Brulee to help tide me over.
Oh, and just in case you were wondering – yes, she is a tease. Though heavily implied, nothing graphic happens in the story. Sigh.
Go, enjoy.