Pauley's Tavern and Pool Hall

Daydreams to cope with sometimes take on lives of their own....

al·le·go·ryˈ (aləˌgôrē) noun

plural noun: allegories

   "A story, poem, or picture that can be interpreted to reveal a hidden meaning, typically a moral or political one."

   “An Allegory is a form of extended metaphor in which objects, persons and actions in a narrative, are equated with meanings that lie outside the narrative itself.

The underlining meaning has moral, social, religious or political significance of abstract ideas as charity, greed and envy.

Thus an allegory is a story with two meanings, a literal meaning and a symbolic meaning.”

   Yes, I looked it the f*ck up and with that you know what is needed to be known to understand what the Pauley’s Tavern and Pool Hall book series is about.

  Oh I should add that the censor is pretty much off most of the time. PG this story is not. PG13 neither. R yes; but beyond that?

Shhh....

Now some background info on the place ”The R*tards" go to play.

(Pauley’s term of endearment for his patrons that don’t act their age, especially when sh*tfaced.

Think about what "r*tarded" means, then how it's used in every day language to be an insulting description.

Just like calling a child a "b*stard", some words should be questioned as too f*cked up to use like they're whatever.

"Wh***" is another one with an edge, and yes these words among others will be questioned, but you as readers decide the fate of these words as they apply to your personal vocabularies.)

   Pauley’s Tavern and Pool Hall is a sort of 'speak-easy' name for The Iron Horseshoe Tavern established back in 1974 by Paul "Pauley" Kelly.

It’s called this to keep what are now known as 'hipster' invaders away, and its whereabouts only known by word of mouth.

Is it elitist?

Perhaps.

Or it is about self preservation and preventing as long as possible, their haven from being taken over by those that do not honor tradition, nor would uphold Pauley's Code of Conduct.

  New folks are welcome, as long as they can respect the School House Rules and don't complain when Lucy gets unplugged; otherwise foos are getting their a*ses expelled!

   Over the years The Tavern has become a home away from home club house for old timers and mostly blue collar roughneck man children with its latest motley generation currently in their 30’s, give or take.

Some married with children or divorced with visitation on the weekends.

They have bills to pay, money to save, jobs to not f*ck up in order to do both.

Occasionally these a*sholes may brawl and Pauley’s shotgun Grace taken out to dance, with Jukebox Lucy playing the soundtrack; but overall the place is mellow on a weekday afternoon.

   The crowd that made The Tavern its watering hole is loyal and there is a sense of kinship between the boozer drunks.

Stories this tavern has no lack of thanks to the antics of the patrons, which also include my own.

   I wrote myself in as a character using my real name because all this stemmed from a daydream I had, to keep me company while I went for long walks with detours, in my new town of residence;

Boyle Heights, California.

   Though home for me will always be my beloved

East Los Angeles, Califas

   One day I thought of a man that didn’t exist to help me move on and let go of the past, by focusing on the existing hope of the present and lessons learned.

  Perhaps it was my way to prepare myself mentally for the future because I don't have much to my name other than my imagination.

 “Mikey, Jacob, Bobby, Joe, Paul, Davey, Alex, Dennis and Lou”

   Names of made up men that are a close knit pack of pals I will never forget.

They all represent an aspect of the men I have known, both in the good and bad; but they are human, even if fictional.

They are part of the details to the symposium full of zanies.

   This story experiment at times is a sort of open love letter to men that have shown their integrity even as they also try to get things right.

These men are strong but also weak.

Happy but still stressed.

Hopeful but discouraged at times with what they feel is out of their control.

It’s a mix we all endure, but with them; I feel how unequal men still are when it comes to expressing their feelings on it all.

How do I know?

I'm a daughter of one that expressed them regardless.

   The women in this saga also are shown going through their own life roller coasters and attaining their triumphs for they too are strong and capable.

It’s just with them, the way their stories are told is different.

How different?

The goal is to show we could use a little bit of understanding from the fellas.

With their stories, I hope to tell men that not all of us are their enemies or psychos, that more often than not, there was an issue with communicating and emotions go on edge.

We can be worthy of trusting and also respecting.

I hope to tell, we can have our bad days too, even if our hairstyles look nice; and we don't always know what the f*ck we're doing either.

We do know we could be wrong also.

No really.

Women are capable of knowing they can be wrong. Getting us to admit it, now that's something else.

*cough*

I want to show the men I was able to reach through to, women can be their friends as well, and shoulder part of the old burdens that say a man must bare these alone.

Even as women, we can relate and be more than arm candy hood ornaments, "Honey can you bring me a beer?".

  But this is to reassure the males that are willing to read, they'll have a place in what is usually considered female terrain.

  Yes this is a quirky soap opera Spanglish novela, for a subculture of those that bought in to what a friend called:

"The Rockabilly Retirement Plan for Punks, Skins and Goths".

And what was surprising, the guys did get in to it as much as the gals. I mean, how can I write an open love letter to men, if I don't include what matters to and interests them?

  From the serious like Erectile Dysfunction or even the car not starting and being already late for work.

To the "Are you f*cking serious!?!" and the latter said in two manners.

One with enthusiastic glee like they scored, and the other in BOHICA despair.

Espeakin' of which....

This is a bedtime story dedicated most of all to Our Troops and 'Docs' green side or civilian; for I do know the power of a reality break, if not reading oneself asleep.

And this because I want to "Play It Forward" and yes I do mean play.

  The man I would spend countless silent moments, wondering about his happiness and safety; he was the life lesson I needed to get me out of a bad place; even as I felt helpless knowing which bad place he was headed back to.

This Army Coptor Doctor ridding one of Anansi's spiderweb threads, tied to the foot of a Dragonfly Dustoff back in Stan; reminded me why being able to control your focus, makes dealing with difficult things, easier to cope with.

The chaos will still be there, it's how you allow it to affect you, that makes a very important difference.

You either learn how to hold on and fight or you don't. That "don't" had been my concern for him.

There was a reason his story began to stand out to me.

"Yet for me that also came from the desert, compassion I also knew how to show...."

  Eyes like his and lack of smile, you don't forget.

He had the face of many that aren't returning all that well; but his face comforted me when it would look silly; but haunted when it was a stoic with unintended, resigned grace.

  So this allegory that aims to be a cult classic, does have its soul, as that odd daydream of mine, found a life of its own.

And it became a Shoretale Fable of Therapy in Motion and thinking up the answers that become the solutions.

It's all just rhyming for the reasons, that carry us through the seasons of change.

Suggestion: Look up Grandiose, Ostentatious, Pretentious, Narcissistic, Delusional, Self Absorbed Motor Mouth, but most of all Ironic Catharsis. Thank you.

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Copyright ©2017 Rev. Mother L. G. Flores. All Rights Reserved.

Heaven Please Bless All That is "Pauley's...." and May No Harm Come To This Therapy In Motion, Adult After School Special, What Happens Cuando Nos Ponemos Las Pilas, Mark In Miles Stones, for This Dreamer and Music Maker Shake, Rattle n' Roll!

Amen.

"Siempre Fiel En Lagrimas Y Sangre"

"Nameless" Preview 2

Book #1 PRC

"Nameless"

By L.G. Flores

(Continued from Preview 1)

“You thinking?”

I shake my head but speak anyway. “I’m just follow the leader, and rolling along myself.”

“Do you want to go back to the bed and pick up where we left off?

“I got to think about it.” Saying it quite pensive in my face for duality.

  He takes me by the hand and pulls me to sit on the edge on my bed with him next to me. We’re sitting and sitting. Where’s the build up to tonsil hockey? He reclines back and rests his head under one of the throw pillows. I twist to see what he just did. Should I take this as an invitation to lie back as well?

  F*ck it.

  I lay on my side, pulling in my knees, being vulnerable fetal and I scoot in close. He has his eyes covered by his scally, hands folded over his belly. I pull his scally off his head and put it on mine. He sits up and does it again.

  He tilts it a bit down and to the side. Pulls back to examine and says “Now you look decent.”

  It’s a running gag, that’s pretty cool. He sees my soft brown waves of curls, cascading through the bottom of his cover. Then I do something strange. I unsnap the top two buttons of my shirt showing a glimpse of contrast from my vibrant teal colored bra to my black, Wally World, western Johnny Cash shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He’s seen more of my milky white skin and the colors permanently inked in to my chest. The shirt would still be on, completely closed up to the point I can still breathe… but it’s open. Will Mikey slide in to second or is he exiled to blue balls Gilligan’s Island?

  I’m thinking to myself we’re starting to strip even if nothing has technically come off. My shirt was opened exposing me first and he’s getting to know the pale skin I cover to the rest of the world. He’s guiding this. I’m following his lead, but the moment it gets rough I want him off me! He began to pull off his t-shirt, I stop him.

“This is a little too fast for me.” He pulls his shirt back down.

“Is it cool if I unbuckle my belt and undo the top button of my jeans? It’s uncomfortable, sorry.”

He feels a little restricted in his trou, but he knows the fly stays up or it would be rushing me if he popped out.

“Yeah it’s fine but don’t unzip the fly.”

  He feels relief as soon as his belt was unbuckled and the top button was undone. He had to adjust himself and I’m feeling him on my thigh and I’m measuring in my head; to get a rough idea of what I could expect. He feels like he’s above average. I’m arousing myself with thoughts of grinding and pretending as we are practicing for when there are no layers of garments between us. There would be contact. There would be a hotter temperature, there would be textures, and there would be moistness. It really has been a while, I feel passive, but I’m afraid to get aggressive or it would move too fast.

  He climbs over to lie on top and I part my legs and feel that pressure of something solid pressed up against my own trou. He starts to slowly buck and I am feeling more turned on with every covered push. He is kissing my neck and above my bra, I feel my chest heaving. It’s like my breasts are sensitive and any brush against them sends a shiver of goose bumps to cover my skin.

   I’m contemplating letting him cup my breasts above, then below my bra. Then I think of him pulling the top down and suckling. Why more men don’t want to relax a woman with sensual breast play, really are selling the chicks short. It may make them more responsive, her body more prepared. It’s early evening, there is light in my room. We would be visible if our clothes came off. Am I ready to be nude with another man again?

  Well let’s cover the basics:

  I have condoms in regular and magnum sizes in the top drawer inside a pouch, with warming and cooling lubricant. There is a little silver bullet with a package of fresh cell batteries, and the latest edition to my ‘Just in case I hook up.’ kit, is the tingle gel that does help me. It has been a while. What do I stand to lose if we have sex right here right now?

   It would be over too soon. I don’t mean his endurance to hold back. I mean chances are I won’t see him after. If there is a build up, maybe I would want him so much just thinking about him touching me makes me breathe deep and try to hide my mind was aroused. He would want to play tease for a while longer.

   If he leaves me thinking of sex so I can just replay it over and over in my head, he’s bringing me out of my shell. I manage to get a break before I see him and my body already prepares for him to get closer. I’d like to try out extended foreplay and the responsible thing is waiting to get back the STD test results. I wonder if he’s circumcised.

  I am not sticking my hand down his shorts to feel him up and find out. But I do hope so. I feel I would have to learn to get past the foreskin since I think it’s more common for a guy not to be snipped. I’ve run in to a few that last few times.

  What can I say?

   I like guys clean cut. I think of the sandworm from DUNE when it’s not pulled back. I guess it’s being greeted with a hood on.

  He’s kissing my cleavage and then I feel him bite me through my bra cup. I felt the little surge from what felt like more of a gentle, playful pinch. I liked it. {Balance it out.}

“Could you do the same for the right?” I softly request.

  He does kiss his way over, doing wet little licks and blowing slowly over his trail, cooling as it contacted with the moistness. He rubs his face right above my right bra cup, and then does the same with biting enough to feel the pinch from underneath the cup. He’s making me want to take his shirt off.

I need a break to slow down.  It’s too tempting to speed up. I feel like a **** tease. Mikey, nothing personal, it’s the holding back triggered anxiety.

“Time-Out!”

“Are you thinking of him?”

“Honestly no. But now that you brought him up, let’s not do that!”

“Sorry.”

  Michael slides off me to lie on his side between me and the throw pillows.  He touches my hair, strokes then gathers a bit to loosely twirl around his fingers. I’m lying on my back, closing my eyes and not listen to whatever is telling me to cover myself up, snap back up the buttons of my Johnny Cash shirt. I want to clear my mind of all thoughts long enough I can focus someone I want to be close to me, is. Michael turns on his side to be on his back and scoots me to the edge. I’m thinking my twin bed shouldn’t be a day bed right now.

   I don’t know where to place my hands and my elbow not jab him or cause me to fall off my bed. My hands decide to speak. My right hand, I place the palm against my heart and my fingers hold on by a caress. I feel the lace of my bra in the middle of my hand.

  My left hand I lay down, straightened to touch my thigh. I feel the texture of the thread weave of the fabric of my trousers. His eyes were half open to see me move my left hand. He had his hands crossed on his chest. His left hand in a limp fist over his heart, and his right hand held his fist. He moves his right hand down to reach for my left and I first feel the skin of the side of his little finger. Our hands speak to each other. Our other hands speak to us.

  Listening to the fan on, our hands tell each other things we could only guess at what they say. His limp fist, calm and resting on his chest, over his old dog tags. My other hand says it’s holding the rhythm of what is my heart beating.  We remain still, in this comfortable silence or clearing our thoughts and listen to what are hands speak before we understand.

  I turn on my side to face him. There was one thought I was clearing my mind to make space for. It didn’t need further rehearsal.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He says with his back to my bed. He still had his fist limp over his heart. It did not move. He turns his head to face mine.

“Feel like going for a walk?” he asks.

“You don’t want to make out anymore?”

“I do but you need to get out and get some air.”

{Follow his lead and roll along.}

 

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Copyright ©2018 By Rev. Mother L.G. Flores. All Rights Reserved.

Heaven Please Bless All That is "Pauley's...." and May No Harm Come To This Therapy In Motion, Adult After School Special, What Happens Cuando Nos Ponemos Las Pilas, Mark In Miles Stones, for This Dreamer and Music Maker Shake, Rattle n' Roll!

Amen.

"Siempre Fiel En Sangre y Lagrimas"