Free HOPE FOR CHANGE... But Settle for a Bailout by Bill Orton

a button with a
chimney icon. When Larry pushed it, the light under the button
glowed as, across the room, a flame in the fireplace sparked into
ignition, blues and yellows suddenly dancing with other colors.
Larry pushed the illuminated button again and the fireplace
self-extinguished.
    December’s tone sharpened and she picked up
speed in her talk with Lori.
    “Maybe you wanna work out and if you don’t
go out, fine, but me and your hunny are gonna pay the bills,” said
December, her arms and hands in full motion. “I can set you up with
a sizzling hot two-piece, or you can have the kitchen table area,”
she said, waving possessively, “but the fireplace and this area is
for show time.”
    “Whatever,” said Lori. “I got some thinking
to do.”
    .
    “ With Adlington sidelined and the Gill Sisters
trading in open-water river swims for their first Olympiad, it was
36-year-old Lori Lewis, of Long Beach, California, who gave England
a run for the gold. Absent on the winners platform in women’s
freestyle swimming were the American teenagers and 20-somethings
who sparkled in Omaha, and instead this former army sergeant
astounded everyone by showing that age really must be just a
number. Originally on the American team only to swim in the
grueling 800 meter freestyle and the 10K open water event, Lewis
picked up slots in four freestyle event and the
four-by-one-hundred, due to the late-season flu, and immediately
won silver in both the 50 and 100, chasing Baljinder Gill, who
scored gold in each for England, with baby sister, Jazz, taking
bronze.”
    .
    “If I am gonna move around, dere is too much
furniture,” said December, sweeping her hand with an air that
suggested she would not lifting anything. “We can lose all the
chairs, and doze tables.” She pointed to the leather recliners.
“Both of deze, too.”
    “No,” said Larry, quickly. “You’ll wanna
keep those.”
    “Okay,” said December. “I’ll go with
dat.”
    .
    The leather recliner was back in its
furthest position. Larry, holding a camera, was on his back, about
a third of the way slid down the chair. December, her feet
straddling him, counted from four, and, at one, said, “and… go.” A
green light on the camera went red.
    December moved her hands under her breasts,
lifting them; to the sides of her breasts, pressing them together;
across her breasts and back down under, gripping and shaking them,
before resuming the circular pattern. She slipped her thumbs under
the low-cut neckline of her clingy top and pulled the fabric down
such that each breast slipped out of her top with a silent
‘pop.’
    Larry, on his back, aimed the camera up to
Miss Milkshakes, hovering and swaying above him. He filmed.
December writhed and wobbled. She sat squarely onto his stomach
and, able to leverage the couch with her knees, used her elbows and
arms more freely to squeeze her breasts together. She leaned
forward and hoisted each breast to the camera, and then leaned in
so her breasts hung no more than a foot above the camera. She swung
and jiggled, then only swung, and alternated back to jiggling, as
Larry took in more and more shallow breaths, until, at last, he
began to cough, causing the camera to jiggle. “Turn off da volume,”
said December. Larry just coughed. December reached to the side of
the camera and disengaged the sound.
    December leaned forward, her crotch now
pressing into Larry’s torso, as he gasped for breath. He slowly
released his grip on the camera, his eyes rolled back and the
camera slid to the floor. Larry passed out.
    Lori slid her key card and opened the front
door to the suite, where Larry lay limp and lifeless under a
barely-clad December. Lori rushed to Larry, quickly handing the
camera to December, so she could kneel next to Larry. December set
the camera on the desk next to the computer, its light still
glowing red, as Lori checked Larry’s airway and breathing, placing
two fingers against his neck. She lifted him to lay