trippin 41

When I awoke Sunday, I had an urgent need to sit on the toilet.  I did that off and on all day.  Most of the time nothing happened.  I had no memory of what caused my problem, but I did know that I had gone to a party for broad minded people.  My guess was that it had something to do with that.  

I knew that only because I had an entry in my journal, explaining that I was planning to attend the party.  I had no memory of having done so.  I  had a pretty good idea that if I kept my mind open to it, someone would give me enough hints to figure it all out.  I had learned a lot about figuring out what happened by other people’s reaction to events.

Since I knew that it wasn’t anything serious, and I had nothing planned for the day, none of the secondary effects of the party were of any real significance.  I did a lot of thinking and research.  I was trying hard to find something to occupy my mind without the office.  The office, since the boat ramp thing, hadn’t really been mine.  Sam was really the one who did everything, I just parachuted in to put a rubber stamp on things.  I wanted more than that.  I wanted to look back at what I had done the day before, and know that it was something real.  It was well after lunch before I picked up the sheath of papers from the 2nd Chance Thrift store,  I took them into the bathroom for something to do, rather than just sit and wonder if I had fun the previous night.

I found a section of the hand written book that was more worn than the rest of it.  It was all about how to make homemade liquors.  There were instructions and recipes.  I got up long enough to find my laptop, so that I could do Internet searches of related information.  I found that if I wanted to test the antique recipes, I could but it was illegal.  I also found that the penalty would be minor, as long as the output was minimal.

I gave serious thought to becoming a moonshiner.  The war on drugs and tobacco seemed to be the most important items on the government’s list in those days, so it sounded like a fun thing for me to do.  Even on the small scale it could be easy to get caught, so I needed to be careful.

First of all I needed to buy or make a distilling machine.  A water distiller could be used to distill anything.  It was my first choice, but it was also easier for the ABC agents to track.  So My second choice was to build a small still.  A still seemed to be basically a large pot in which to boil the ingredients.   The vapor from the boiling contained alcohol and water.  The trick was to capture the vapor and let it condense.  The condensed vapor would be both alcohol and water.

If I understood it correctly the first vapor contained the highest percentage of alcohol.  It became less and less alcohol and more water as it boiled.  It was going to require some trial and error to figure out exactly how to do it.  I could really use the advice of a real moonshiner.  The notes were fine, but talking to someone would be much better.

I couldn’t leave the house all day.  Every ten minutes I had the urge to sit on the toilet and it was undeniable.  Since that was the case I ordered pizza and stayed in doing my homework.  I drew a plan for a still then put it into a folder called, Moonglow.  I know not very original but there you go I’m pretty boring.

My design called for an pressure cooker.   I planned to use an electric hotplate for heat at first.  The whole idea was to experiment, not produce enough liquor to sell.  The pressure cooker I chose was a small home canning type that held up to two gallons.  I placed the order on line through one of those shopping sites.  It would arrive before the end of the week for sure.

The mad mechanic, who built my trike would be my first field trip, just as soon as it arrived,  I needed the pressure valve on top removed.  That needed to be replaced with something to condense the vapor from the boiling mash.  I decided that I would call it my canning mixture.  

Sam was definitely cool and not friendly at all, but he was pleasant enough.  I continued to check out the things I would need to substitute for things no longer available.  Well they might be, if I were living on a Virginia plantation.  Sam left the cruiser in the parking lot, since he had already decided that he was no longer part of the firm,  At the moment the firm didn’t need it either.  I didn’t want to sell it since anything was possible.

I got a call from an unfamiliar voice that said he had been told to say Mercury first thing.  I quickly did a search for a folder called Mercury.  The folder had one file, so far, and it was a summary of the encounter with Bobby Ashe the artist.

“Sure Bobby, how are you?” I asked.

“I am fine, I wondered if you would let me draw you again?” he asked.

“If you do me a favor in return,” I suggested.

“I don’t see why not, what can I do for you?” he asked.

“I’ll explain later.  Trust me it is all legal.  You won’t get into any trouble,” I admitted.

“So would you come meet me somewhere?” he asked.

“You are the boss,  I’m just the model,” I replied.

“Then why don’t you meet me at the Avery Theater lobby?  They have some beautiful spaces there,” he suggested.

“When and what should I wear?’ I asked.

“How about 5 PM and wear a dress,” he requested.

“That’s fine,” I said in agreement.  It was a short ride on the trike from the office to  the downtown theater.  When we finished it would be only two blocks back to my condo.

“Since we don’t have anything that I need to be present to handle, I am going to leave at four.  I wanted to stop for dinner before I met with Bobby.  I chose to grab a quick bowl of soup at the downtown cafe.  The soup of the day that afternoon was a cream potato soup.  I had never heard of it, but it was possible that it was the most popular soup in the country and I still wouldn’t know what it was.

I arrived at the theater at exactly 5pm.  The door was locked, so I knocked.  When the security guard came to the door, there was a young man behind him.  I didn’t remember, but I guessed that it was Bobby.  “Hello Bobby?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said to me.  “See officer, I told you she was on the way.  So follow me Mrs. Ayers.”  He turned and walked away.  I followed him into the theater then onto the stage.

“Bobby what the heck is going on here?” I asked.

“I’m going to draw you here,” with that he gave a signal.  Bright lights came on to illuminate the stage.  On center stage there was a large packing create with several travel stickers.

“Oh we have props,” I said laughing.

“Not for long,” he said spreading a black cloth over the box.  “I hope you don’t mind, I have invited my classmates to draw you as well.  Everyone was fascinated by your look.”

“I guess not, but this is going to require more than on favor,” I suggested.

“That is fair enough,” he said smiling.

“So is this outfit alright,” I asked. “I didn’t get a chance to go home to change.”

An older man came onto the stage.  “I’m professor Phelps.  I couldn’t help overhearing.  I need to ask you, would you consider posing nude.  Nude models are impossible to find around here.  Especially ones with any special look about them.  They all want to look like Heidi Klum.”

“Hell I want to look like her myself,” I said.  “To answer your questions I don’t model for a living, so I don’t have a reputation to tarnish by posing nude.”  With those words I removed the knit top and then my jeans.  When the jeans went to the floor, my panties went with them.  I was standing naked.

“Well Bobby, she is your model,” the professor said.

“Would you please sit on the box for us?” Bobby asked.  

“Of course,” I replied sitting very primly.  My legs were pressed close together.  My small breast were sagging slightly.  My nipples were hard which might have compensated for the sag.  I could not see the audience, which was probably a good thing.  When Bobby and the professor left the stage it was as if I was alone in the room.

“Would you cross your legs, and lean back propping yourself up with your arms please,” Bobby said.

“You know, I do want one of the drawings.  The professor can choose which one.” I said.

“I will select one from each artist and you can choose,” the older man’s voice informed me.

“Since I am no art critic, don’t make it the best from them anything will do,” I replied almost in a whisper.

“In that case let’s allow them to choose and you choose the one you want,” he suggested.

“Fair enough,” I said.  I had no idea how many sketches they made but I posed for two hours.  I know that I was exhausted when the sketching was finished.  Even though I was ready to leave, I had to choose my drawing.  

The professor spread seven drawings on the box where I had sat.  From them I chose the most haunted looking sketch.  My face was not clear in any of the images but one of them stood out as almost ghostlike.  I could not believe how much I liked it.  “This one,” I said.

“Of course,” he agreed.

“Bobby, I said, “Be at my office tomorrow after lunch.  I have a chore for you,” I said as I wrote corn into my journal of things to do the next day.  Beside it, I wrote Bobby.

When I got  home, I looked at the TV news and found that it was already Wednesday.  I had lost a couple of days.  Since I had no memory of the day before, I wasn’t surprised.  I lay in bed later that night, and realized how much I had enjoyed posing for the kids.  I knew at that moment that I was an exhibitionist.  I did not know if I had always been one or if it was new.  It would explain the party thing.  I seemed to also have no inhibitions judging from the condition of my body on Sunday. as noted in the journal.

I found the note about Bobby and corn in my journal, so I was expecting him when he showed up in my office door.  I had retained the memory of how the security chamber worked so I was indeed building new memories, but they seemed to require some mechanical manipulations and lots of repetitions  Even so there was hope that it was coming along.

“So what exactly is this chore?” he asked as he drove me to the farmers exchange in the Cruiser.

“We are going to buy some feed corn.” I suggested.

“Why?” he asked.

“I am going to feed the ducks in the park with it.” Bobby seemed to accept that.

We bought a fifty pound bag of deer corn for five bucks.  I didn’t press my luck by having him buy sugar for me.  That and the yeast, I could pick up on the trike,

Bobby left the cruiser in my parking lot and I left the corn locked in the back.  After he left I found that the UPS man had come while we were gone.  I had the pressure cooker, so I opened it and removed the top.  I loaded the lid onto the top of the trike’s batteries, and tied it down good.  I rode off to my mad mechanic to do some conversions.  

When I left the mad mechanic’s lair, I had the pressure valve removed from the lid of the cooker,  I had twenty feet of heat resistant plastic tubing rolled around a two foot long wooden post.  All of that was made just from crap the MM had laying around his shop.

About cindypress

sorry it is a mystery.
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6 Responses to trippin 41

  1. Shooter says:

    Lucy will need a water bath for that condenser she is trying to build. If she had stiff tubing, she could remove the wooden post and get a 360 degree coverage of the water bath on the tubing. (Not that I know anything about constructing of or the use of a moonshine distillery.) Her trouble will start as she needs to grind the corn and then ferment the mash. The odor of fermenting mash is easily discernable if one is not careful.

  2. jack says:

    One of my neighbore had a still when i was a kid,, fond memories of sampling his home brew.

  3. cindypress says:

    I never knew anyone who make liquor even though I am from the south. Most of my family did I’m sure they just kept me away from it.

  4. KO says:

    More interesting twists and detours in Lucy’s life, thanks as always.
    Had a friend that brought and shared some of his Dad’s moonshine. Had a SMALL sample and from what I recall it was clear as spring water, smooth but strong as all gitout!

    • cindypress says:

      There should be some intersting twists moving down the road with this story line. None of them are likely to last too long as I tend to forget what my point of view is after a few thousand words.

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