Suck On This

A hilarious parody of every hot and romantic book, this is the unfinished story of Roland Smith, a vacuum cleaner salesman and his romantic and sexy encounter with Natalie Winters, a rich aristocrat.

            The sun was beating down on the back of Roland Smith, causing his ridiculously large muscles to perspire seductively. In a desperate attempt to cool himself off, he flipped his long dark brown hair through the air in slow motion a few times, but to no avail. He was hot. Really hot.

            It would be cool soon, of course. The sky was turning that purple color that indicated that the twilight hours of the day would soon be over. If Roland had to name the color of the sky right now, he would probably have gone with something like Sugarplum Purple, or Spiceberry, for Spiceberry was the gayest of all the shades of violet.

            Roland loosened his fire-red tie and adjusted his suit. Just one last house--one more sell!--and he could finally return home, to his lonely bachelor pad, for another night of writing romantic poetry and exercising while listening to classic literature on tape. At least that’s what he thought. For how could poor Roland know that today fate was going to shake up his plans like an obnoxious prankster shakes up your coke then gives it to you just to watch the foam spray all over your face then points a mocking finger and laughs.

            Roland approached the door to the tall white gabled estate. It was an expensive house that reeked of sensuality. It was as if the house was trying to say “Yeah, I leave the garage door open a little just to watch the high-rises sweat. What of it?” Roland loosened his tie a tad more, pulled his vacuum cleaner up to the doorstep, and knocked three times on the inviting wooden door.

            The door cracked open, and a single blue eye and a handful of raven colored tresses peeked out.

            “Hello?” Answered a sultry voice.

            “Hello. I’m Roland Smith. Could you spare a moment of your time, Miss…?”

            “Winters. Natalie Winters.” She cooed. She eased the door the rest of the way open, and Roland almost dropped his briefcase. Natalie Winters was hot. REALLY hot. So hot she made the Gobi Desert look like a snow cone and the surface of the sun like a naked walk in the park in December. Her hair was cut short and was as black as Michael Jordan at midnight. She wore a low-cut white top and a high-cut black skirt, and she had such big, round, perfectly shaped…eyes. They were like crystal balls in the care of a gypsy that constantly washed her hands. And she was so young! She had the round face, the pouty lips, and the dainty waste line of a woman no older than nineteen. And those legs! Long, smooth, radiant! She was absolutely--

            “Are you going to try to sell me something, or are you just going to stand there with your mouth open all day?” Natalie asked. She had a slightly foreign sound to her voice. It sounded slightly Russian, or perhaps French. Roland didn’t know which. He had never paid attention in Geography nor his foreign language class, hence why he sells vacuum cleaners door to door. Not knowing the origin of the buxom young woman‘s accent, Roland decided that she was from Sexytania, a country he had just made up, and that was the end of his conundrum.

            Roland cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I was just slightly taken aback…by your garden.” The woman smiled.

            “Yes. It is lovely isn’t it?”

            “Yes, it’s a very sexy garden.”

            “What?” demanded Natalie.

            “What?” Roland countered innocently.

            “Never mind.”

            “You’ve got a good selection here, too. Are those petunias I spy?” Roland asked, not entirely looking at the garden.

            “Huh? Oh yes! I have many different types of plants. Lets see: there are roses and tulips--”

            “Yes, I love your two-lips.”

            “--and sunflowers and tomatoes and melons--

            “Your melons look very ripe indeed.”

            “--and in the front I’m growing pussywillows.”

            Roland opened his mouth, but then seemed to think better of it.

            “Anyways,” the girl said, her eyes leaving her precious garden and returning to Roland. “What exactly are you trying to sell me?”

            “Hmmm? Oh, yes!” Roland snapped back to attention and pulled his eyes away from anywhere on the woman that might be incriminating. “As I said, I’m Roland Smith and I sell vacuums and other cleaning supplies. I would like to see if you are interested in purchasing a brand-spanking-new vacuum cleaner, strait out of Seafern Industries. Miss Winters, allow me to introduce to you Turbomaid 9000 and ½!”

            Natalie put a very alluring finger to her lips as if contemplating whether she was in need of such an item. She eyed Roland over like a slave she thought she might purchase. Finally, she smiled.

            “Alright. Please come in, Mr. Smith.” Natalie said, giving Roland a secret look. Their eyes met just for a second before she pulled hers away and turned to enter her home, but in that short time, a message was exchanged. Give me your best shot. Her eyes said. Game on. Roland’s responded. Well, it was either “Game on” or “I’ve got a snake in my sock.” I’m not really sure which. My Eye-anese is a little rusty…But let’s hope that it was the first one. If not, lets hope they weren’t poisonous.

            Roland boldly entered Miss Winter’s manor, leaving his hat and coat on the ornate wooden coat rack by the door. Miss Winter then motioned him to another door, still wearing her mysterious smile.

            “This,” She said, gesturing about, “is my Parlor!”

            Much like Miss Winter herself, the parlor was pretty to look at and Roland couldn’t wait to get inside of it. It was decorated lavishly with succulent red velvet and white tiger pelts whose monochromatic stripes ensorcelled the irises of onlookers. In the center of the room a monumental flat screen TV stood erect and tall, an old-timey fireplace complete with a crackling fire portrayed on the screen. The digital fire was what really brought the room together, its flames burning like a bunch of lava-skinned strippers dancing on a pile of fallen trees. Sexy fallen trees. But of course, a lot of things looked like strippers to Roland, including mailboxes, lamp posts, penguins, pencils, and the country of Denmark. Just thinking of Denmark made Roland drool a little.

            Miss Winter sat down in a wooden arm chair and crossed her legs in as fetching a manner as possible. “So,” she said with a smile playing on the corner of her lips, “Show me what you’ve got.”

            Roland strutted into the room and lay his briefcase down on the floor by Miss Winter’s feet. He opened the case, and Miss Winter’s eyes got wider.


**Writers Note: That was all I wrote so far. Maybe I'll write more later on, but I never really had much of a plot in mind; It was mostly for fun.

Author's Note

Tell me whether or not it made you laugh, cause I thought I had written a pretty hilarious piece.

Reviews

[Robert Lindsay]

Funny - and I'm just guessing it is observant of the genre, since I haven't read that kind of stuff. It did crack me up as very corny and cheesy..

[Detective Watts]

Sexy and exciting. Its sexciting.

[M.A. Van Dyke]

My damn house leaves the garage door all of the way open. I have twelve sheds now. They take up the whole back yard.

[Vyctm]

I just now got the title. I feel like a blonde right now.