I had just moved into my Historic Heritage Hill "Shot-Gun Bungalow." It was the first home I ever bought.
This type of American Architecture is called that because if you stood at the front door and shot a cannon, the ball would go straight on through and out the back door.
They are most common in New Orleans and were built from 1850 to 1910.
My Shot-Gun, was called a "double wide," built in 1872--24' wide--12' wider than usual, and 50' long.
She was basically a plain working class home with good bones. Her best feature being a narrow front porch that ran the entire width of the house.
The dirty mustard paint that covered every inch of her well preserved body, porch columns, ornate pilasters and gingerbread trim was her biggest glaring fault. She was begging for a cosmetic makeover.
I saw myself stroking her body in oil with a horse-hair brush in a bright barn red, and everything else on her, including the porch, inside and out, in pure white oil, symbolic of her basic innocence.
I did this often enough in my mind, that I think it's what finally sold me on her.
I felt she needed me and I needed her. That we were sisters--both overdue for restoration--she because of old age and a bad paint job and me because of youth and a bad family life that had left me to fend for myself.
Even though I was very young and didn't have many skills, I was determined to turn the little house known as "Plain Jane" into
As a child who'd always wanted better than what I had, I was experienced at improving whatever environment I found myself in.
I wasn't good at much, but I was good at making something out of nothing. I was sure I could do it with this place too.
Structurally the place was sound, the hardwood floors and cherry woodwork, truly beautiful and in good shape.
There were no sinks in the bathroom or in the kitchen, but there was one big one at the back entry off the kitchen. I figured I could live with that for a while.
At least the bath had a sexy tub on curvy legs that was in good shape. Figured when the time came, a picture of me in it covered with bubbles would make a fun house warming card. A coming out if you will.
To raise fix-up money, I had a big yard sale and ended up with enough cash to buy wooden shutters, scalloped screen doors and gallons of red and white paint.
From a garden catalogue, I ordered a coach lantern, a wrought-iron "grape" chair and matching mail box.
At a salvage yard I found a cross buck wooden storm door with black antique hinges and latches to replace the old beat-up aluminum one that made her look like she wore braces.
A friend of mine gave me a big graceful fern in a large masonry pedestal urn. I placed that next to the door on an oriental runner in a red and grey paisley. The rest of the tongue and groove porch floor I did in grey enamel.
Looking at the front of the house I realized it needed shrubs to hide the foundation and a tree planted in the front strip that ran along the city sidewalk.
The barren back yard had a good traditional grape-arbor that provided shade, but the rest of the yard was dreadful and barren. It needed trees--eventually.
I had no sooner finished painting the entire house when my Uncle Harry called and said they had sold their nursery--to come on over--that there were still a few bushes left and they were mine if I wanted them.
Not having a truck, I put the top down on my old Mustang convertible and drove out to their place on the edge of town. With Uncle Harry's help, I dug, wrapped, and loaded all the little shrubs I could onto a tarp in the back seat.
As I went to leave, I pointed at their beautiful Weeping Willow and said, "I sure wish I could take THAT home with me."
Laughing he pointed to his son and said, "I planted that 10 years ago, when Junior here was a baby."
"Gosh, it's so big, I would have guessed it was much older."
Reaching up he broke off a branch saying, "Hey, stick this in the ground and keep watering it and you will soon have one of your own."
"Are you kidding me!"
"No, I'm serious. Take as many branches as you want. The bulldozer's coming tomorrow and leveling everything for the shopping mall."
Before I left I had 30 huge leafy branches piled in on top of all the shrubs.
I took off down the busy road in total bliss imagining the beautiful little forest I'd soon have in my own back yard.
Drivers and pedestrians alike, honked their horns, smiled and whistled.
Usually I never drove around with the top down. Now, between the breeze blowing my long blond hair all over my head, my wild looking sunglasses, skimpy tennis dress, fuck me high heels on the dash board, and all this unaccustomed attention from strange men, I found myself feeling like quite the hot stuff.
Conceited as it sounds, my self-confidence soared and I was feeling all woman.
As I drove down the north-south belt-line I smiled, waved, blew kisses and flirted shamelessly with every man in sight. I didn't really think of it as flirting, I was just happy and feeling my oats.
No doubt about it. On this beautiful summer day, all of my senses woke up--my hormones were working overtime--and I was loving my moment on stage, of being what seemed like the center of attention.
Before long, a sheriff's car pulled up behind me and put on its flashing lights. A hunky good looking officer in a brown uniform motioned for me to pull over.
Approaching my car he looked me up and down and said nothing.
"What'd I do wrong officer?"
"Young lady, you're creating a disturbance on this road. You're what I'd call an 'attractive nuisance'. By the way, is that your purse sitting on the trunk?"
"Oh, my gosh, thanks so much. It has all my money in it, I must have laid it there when I was at my Uncle Harry's getting these bushes."
"Well, you're lucky. It's a miracle it didn't fly off as you drove. Didn't you hear everyone honking at you--pointing to it? Tell you what, I'll give you a police escort in the name of public safety."
Thirty minutes later I pulled up in front of my house with the sheriff along side of me. "Be good now, and if you change your mind, let me know." Winking, he waved goodbye and sped away."
I got busy right away and planted one of the willow branches in front of the house, watered it and then soaked the rest of them in wash tubs in the back yard before taking off down the street looking for a neighbor kid to help me dig holes for the shrubbery.
In a few hours they were all planted and effectively covered up the ugly foundation.
In the Model-T barn out back I rummaged around through junk the former owners had left.
I was happy to find that, as agreed, they'd left me their darling 3' tall Travelocity Gnome. A painted concrete statue of sorts.
The neighbor boy and I dragged it out front and and we stuck him in the ground next to the willow tree. Then with field stones we found laying among the weeds in the alley, we made a flower bed around the tree.
By supper time the place looked like a fairy tale cottage out of Hansel and Gretel.
As I was finishing up planting the flowers, several neighbors stopped and told me how adorable the place looked.
Then to my surprise, the sheriff who'd helped me earlier in the day, pulled up along side the curb, rolled down his window and said, "I see you are creating an attractive nuisance--again."
Noting he had traded his police car in for a British Green MG Roadster, I walked over, bent down, and said, "And you my friend, must have been impersonating an officer."
"Do I look like the kind of guy who'd do a thing like that? By the way, I'm your neighbor too, I live only five blocks away. Just got off work. Thought I'd check up on you before I went home . . . your improvements make the place hot."
"How nice of you to say that . . . "
"I've been watching the progress--ever since you first moved in--when you started painting it."
"Really. Guess I won't have to show you any before and after pictures. It's gratifying to see it start to shape up. Thank you."
He winked. "No problem sweetie, I'll stop by next time I see you outside working. Maybe I can talk you out of a cup of coffee."
"Sure," I said,"anytime." I wasn't about to discourage him. He was nice. Besides, I loved his looks and his voice. I felt attracted to him, a chemistry.
By the time he pulled away, my heart was beating fast and I felt flushed. I wondered if I'd ever see him again.
I half hoped I would, half hoped I wouldn't.
It was great to be single again and wanted to stay that way, man-less. Foot loose and free. Happy, with no one to answer to but myself.
Three nights later, I came home from work to discover my flowers up rooted and my darling gnome gone. So was my white wrought iron garden chair. I sat on the front steps, and cried.
My sweet little "Fancy Lady" had been
Drying my tears I was about to go back in the house when the sheriff drove by, went around the block, came back and pulled up along side the curb. "Hey sweetie, what happened to your elf, your gnome?"
When I told him what'd happened, he shook his head and said, don't worry, I know where to find another little guy and a garden chair too."
"Are you serious? Where at?"
"Never mind. I'll bring them back later tonight and fasten them down for you. So they won't get stolen again."
True to his word, he brought me a nearly identical gnome--secured it to a piece of railroad tie and buried it in the ground with dry cement mix and gravel.
Next he took out the iron garden chair from his trunk, and bolted it together. It was exactly like the one stolen.
Going under the porch he drilled a hole, ran a cable through the legs and then lag bolted it to a cross beam under the porch.
"The thief's screwed now," he said with a cocky grin on his face.
I was so excited and grateful, I threw my arms around him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you so much. You made my night."
"My pleasure, I better get out of here while the getting's good, before I can't stop myself from kissing you back. And NOT on your cheek."
With that he grabbed his jacket and quickly put it across his arm to hide the obvious bulge in his jeans. On the way out he picked up his toolbox and gave me a quick little hug goodbye.
"See you around kid," he said, "It's been fun."
The next night he pulled up along the curb while I was re-potting geraniums for the side window boxes and sipping on a can of O'Doul's.
"It's looking good young lady!"
"Thanks so much," I told him.
"Ya' gotta another one of those O'Doul's in your fridge?"
"Sure! I'll get a cold one for you. Come on up on the porch and visit me if you got the time."
"Got a little while before work, but not long."
On the porch steps we sat and talked about life and why he'd re-located from Ann Arbor. He was comfortable to be with and I felt like I had always known him.
As we laughed and talked he told me he worked part-time as a deputy sheriff, and at nights, for Lowes. "Just until I pass my bar exam," he said, "then I plan to join a local law firm or open my own practice."
"That's wonderful . . . Now, tell me, where did the gnome and chair come from?"
"Oh that, I picked them up at work tonight, from Lowes Nick and Dent Bargain Corner."
I tried to pay him but he refused saying, "No, absolutely not. I wanted to do it. Consider it a gift. It's my way of taking care of the neighborhood's newest "attractive nuisance."
After a year, 13 of my Weeping Willows had died, but 17 of the beauties were alive and doing well.
My gnome and chair remained untouched by thieves, but sometimes I wished they'd be stolen again, especially when I'd look out front and recall Sheriff's kindness and my big crush on him. Then I'd feel sad, miss him and wonder where he was. Was he dead or alive?
Each time I drove on nearby streets, I'd look in driveways for his car. And every man in a brown uniform turned my head.
Finally, I called the sheriff's department, it was then I realized I'd never even asked the sheriff what his actual name was.
The dispatcher said there was guy who worked for them last summer who sounded like him but the last anybody knew, the guy was being a legal aide for a U.S. Embassy somewhere in the mid-east. They wouldn't tell me any more than that.
Why I even gave a damn was beyond me. If he's alive I thought, he obviously had long forgotten me, and if he was dead, I didn't want to know.
I never saw the sheriff again. Not until over a year later in the fall when he knocked on my door one chilly night with a Domino's Pizza, a twelve pack of Bud Lite and six O'Doul's.
"Could I talk you into sharing this with me?" he said, cocky as ever, "or should I stand out here on your porch and yell POLICE--OPEN UP?"
"Wouldn't want you to do that Sheriff, let's indulge ourselves."
"Is that a yes?"
"Sure why not," I said taking the beer from him, "I'm real hungry. Could use a beer too."
It was obvious he had already drank part of that twelve pack. He smelled of booze and was tipsy.
Plopping himself down, he lit the candle in the middle of the table, reached up and snapped off the hanging chandelier, and popped two beers. One for me and one for him.
Opening the pizza box he placed a piece in front of me and asked, "Hey, how come you never replied to my letter?"
"What letter, you talking about Sheriff?"
"The ONE you got, the ONE that YOU signed for," he growled, reaching for another beer.
"I received no letter Sheriff, but I DID write one to YOU, just didn't know where to send it."
Reaching up to the letter holder on my kitchen wall I waved the sealed letter in front of him that said, "For the Sheriff."
Grabbing it out of my hand he sat there and threatened to read it, all the time watching the reaction on my face.
I could see he was intent on either teasing me, or trying to pick a fight with me. He wasn't about to let me have the envelope back.
Biting my tongue, I opened a second beer and thought, what a presumptuous jerk. I was about ready to send his sorry ass right on out the door and tell him since he'd stayed away this long, he could stay away for good, but at the same time, I reminded myself, he owed me nothing.
"Just give me the letter back Sheriff, it's nothing, I was just playing around one night when I wondered what had happened to you . . . "
"Well, I'm glad to know you thought of me," he said sarcastically. But, I'm not leaving until I read it, so shut up and sit down before I handcuff you to the refrigerator."
As he started reading it, tears flowed down my cheeks. I sat there frozen to my chair, too shocked to protest and no longer caring what he thought good or bad.
Clearing his throat he squinted at my long hand in the candle light, and read aloud:
Where did you go? I keep hoping someday you will pull up in front and I will see you again. I even thought about stealing my own gnome and chair to get your attention.
I liked you so much. Sure wish you'd come back, tell me you're safe, that you've had amnesia, something, anything believable.
Remove this sadness from my heart. Hold me, just hold me, take away this pain. Tell me you want me too, every bit as much, as I do you.
You haunt my days and nights, I see your face before me, your hunky body close and I imagine how it would feel to be with you for real, in your arms, your hands all over me, your body like a rock rolling on to mine.
The very thought of you turns me on. I want to get up and dress for you, pretend you'll arrive any minute now, be as crazy to see me as I would you.
I shower and dress up for you, slip into my favorite panties, their crotchless and bright red. I know you'd love them. I put on a matching Merry Widow, that hugs my breasts and leaves them groaning to break out. It's barely covering my ripe nips, begging for attention from your busy mouth.
I look at myself in the dresser mirror to see what you would see, think of the look in your eyes, how you'd react and touch yourself, touch me. I open the drawer and reach for a favorite toy, a piss poor substitute for you, but it'll have to do.
I seek relief between my trembling legs, satisfaction for my throbbing mound, where puffiness beckons you to gaze, where my panties crotch does not exist, where my wetness can evaporate and fill the air with its sweet perfume for your senses to enjoy.
You gather me in your arms and pick me up. I wrap my legs around your waist, pull myself into you, smother your chest with wet kisses as you pull my hand down your front fly.
I hear the rasp of your zipper and see you pull out your big long thickness, hear you tell me it's all mine, to wrap my fist around it and slowly pump. I hear you gasp then groan and softly moan, my heart soars and my body tingles all over hearing you like this.
I tease you, nibble at your neck and threaten to go down on you. I whisper in your ear, ask you when your last time was
. . . the last time you got laid.
You tell me it was the time you were with me . . . in your shower . . . fucking me hard in your wildest dreams, feeling I was truly there with you.
Your admission makes my puffy kitten purr, and I whisper I want to kiss you all over, lick you up and down, make you feel good, anyway you say.
You tell me not just yet, you wanna make this last, you turn yourself upside down on me, aim your manhood at my lips, nestle your head between my aching thighs, for starters kiss my throbbing mound, while up above I take you in my mouth and swirl my tongue around you, taste your sweetness and kiss your tip.
Carnal lust wants to rush you but you take your time and soon my legs fall apart, all resistance gone and with no regret or second thoughts.
Your tongue toys with my clit, and then dives over and over again deep into the depths of my wetness while I call out between my sucks on you, to keep on doing that and never stop, it feels so goddamn good.
I hear you tell me if you'd only known it'd be this good you would have laid me down and taken me on top of all the shrubs and willows on the first day we met, that planting them could've waited but no way could have you.
You tell me I need to let you shove your rod in me, have you pump me hard, that then we'll cum together.
You flip me over on top of you, you rub the head of your stiff dick down my belly to my clit, you massage my little rosebud gently, listen to me moan and groan, beg you enter me.
You tell me I look good up there looking down at you, you tell me to stay put, stay on top, ride you hard, don't hold back.
On my knees I work my fingers in between my legs, pretend it's you, meet the power of your upward thrusts, slam down again and again, yelling out to my imaginary you just how good you make me feel.
I picture you and dig my finger nails in your back, feel you turn me over, then face to face we thrust, lovers possessed, animals joined, humping wild and free.
You tell me I am beautiful and Jesus, oh so fucking tight . . . you bury yourself to the hilt . . . then you back out to tease me and plunge me again, repeat your pleasure, over and over to rock my world again and again.
I let you know you are soooo good . . . you say to tell you more . . . I tell you to keep pounding me and that you're the best fucking lay I've EVER had. . . .
I feel your muscles tighten, and hear you say cum with me NOW.
My world narrows and I know for sure, I've never felt this good. I wrap my legs around you tightly and hear you swear again.
Thrust for thrust my climax builds, earth shaking thunder rumbles through me, your lightening hits me hard and together we ride out the perfect storm, see that rainbow on the other side, to at last collapse in each others arms content.
Come back to me my darling, come back,
I don't care why you've stayed away. I promise to believe you, if only for tonight.
Hugs and kisses,
Taking hold of my hands, Sheriff gently brought them down off my eyes and tenderly kissed my tears away.
Picking me up, he carried me in to my bed growling, "Don't you think it's time you knew my name?"
Putting me down on the bed, he laid down beside me and murmured, "Maddy, I've been in prison all this time . . . a prisoner of war . . . overseas . . . in a third world country. There was no way to let you know. You'll see my release papers, then you'll know my hands were tied. Do you believe me now my love?"
"Yes, Sheriff, I do. In my heart I knew you cared and wanted me."
"Maddy, I'm gonna love you like nobody's loved you before, be YOUR attractive nuisance for a change. One you can't resist."