Young Writers Society

Winslow clung to the wall as he saw a staring contest beginning between Rosemary and Maxwell. It was clearly a situation they had been in before, not minding the spy as an observer to their little bout. He carefully took the cap off the bottle of whiskey, taking a long drink, and sinking down against the wall.

Maybe he would have to be content with staring into the sunset while a silent-

“Well Rosemary are you just going to stand there or are you going to introduce yourself Mr. Smith by explaining that you’re an exotic dancer when company is around?”

They shifted a bit in their sharp heels, the miniature kilt swaying just slightly in the wind. Rather than answer Maxwell, Rosemary turned around sharply and offered their hand to Winslow. He took another drink of the whiskey, offering the bottle to Rosemary as he took their hand. It took Winslow a minute to steady himself and stop the room from spinning once he was up. And he could feel that other parts of him were up too.

In a slick Southern drawl he said, “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Rosemary.” His voice hitched for a second as he hesitated to make a bad joke by saying, “I-I like your kilt.”

“Your suit is nice too, handsome,” Rosemary remarked as they took a sip of the offered whiskey. “Is there a mirror in your pants though?”

From the distant patio chair Maxwell asked, “Why the fuck would there be a mirror in his pants, Rosemary? Why is that the way that you’re starting your flirtation with him?”

The mini kilt wearer didn’t turn around to answer Maxwell. Their steady gaze remained on Winslow as they repeated their line.

“Well is there a mirror in your pants or not? Because I sure can see myself in them.”

“I think that they’d look better on your bedroom floor than actually being on you.” Winslow paused as he held back a laugh and then continued, “I think I would prefer to be the one on you.”

He could see the light bit of blush rising in Rosemary’s cheeks and he thought about what he might do if Maxwell wasn’t present. It was getting harder and harder to remember that Maxwell was present with every swish of Rosemary’s hips. In fact, he was reminded of the young Scot’s presence as they were asked, “Hey! Am I allowed to have any of that whiskey? Or are you two just going to make eyes at each other?”

“No!” They had answered the young Scot in unison, and Winslow blushed a bit himself when he continued to exchange looks with Rosemary. He was trying to be a responsible adult in Maxwell’s life and soon realized the kid already had one.

“No I can’t have any whiskey? Or no you two aren’t making eyes at each other?” asked the smirking Maxwell.

To avoid answering that question Winslow stepped back inside to steal a glass, which he soon filled and presenting to the young man lounging about on a patio chair.

“It’s too bad that Scotland doesn’t allow me to invoke Fifth Amendment rights.”

Maxwell sighed at Winslow’s joke but Rosemary asked, “What wouldn’t you want to say in front of my brother?”

“There’s just some things I don’t feel comfortable saying in front of the sibling of such a beautiful woman,” Winslow paused to move across the patio and whisper in her ear. “I might get carried away with my flirtations and have to show you how much I appreciate your body.”

He stepped away from Rosemary to get the whiskey bottle back from Maxwell. Winslow filled up his own glass and made one for the lady as well, still unsure how they liked to refer to themself. Granted that was a detail that he could ask once they were on their way to bed, instead of the awkward glances and sighs that they were dealing with right now.

“A little bit of whiskey can help to calm your nerves, Rosemary. And you look just a little bit nervous,” Winslow commented as he passed the glass over.

His own lips trembling with a touch of nervousness as he took the first sip of the new glass. Maybe it was too much too soon to whisper his dirty thoughts into Rosemary’s ear. Their combined amount of blushing was a deeper red than the tomatoes back home. In light of the growing stress on his pants, Winslow moved his thoughts back to the memories of his home. There were plenty of vegetables and animals and crops to think about from back on the farm. Images of cows being born though sent his stomach into the other direction, where the spy was more tempted to throw up. He quickly turned around and bent over the balcony, coughing as vomit came out of his mouth and he sent out a silent prayer that no one was below.

“Are you okay?” Rosemary asked once again, with her sharp fingers curling around his shoulder. “Winslow, is there anything I can do to help you?”

Once again he found himself holding back all of the smart remarks that came to mind. He was trying to relieve the pressure in his lower regions without relieving the pressure inside of someone. It could be just a quick fuck with Rosemary but he didn’t want to mess up her makeup - he knew how much time it took to apply all of that masterpiece. And from the first second he had looked into those wonderful eyes Winslow had been wondering if this could be something more than a blow job in a maid’s closet.

“No, I’m quite alright,” Winslow answered as he was choking on his own breath. No more of his comments could escape his lips before the stomach acid was burning his throat once again.

After the combined coughing and vomiting spell had ended, Winslow turned about on his heel, wiping his lips with the handkerchief in his breast pocket, and he quickly took another sip of his whiskey.