Note to readers:
The Chronicles of Bliss is a series of journal entries written by Kelly Kavanagh about her alter-ego, a self-proclaimed superslut named Bliss.
It's highly recommended that the reader enjoy The Chronicles in order and from the beginning.
In the first entry, The Origin of Bliss, Kelly explains how she got the nickname and why she uses it to highlight the contrast between her unremarkable life as Kelly and her unbridled existence as Bliss.
Kelly is not schizophrenic. Bliss is just a tongue-in-cheek nickname that she uses to help define herself. She does it that way simply because she enjoys it.
She's a modern-day Mary Poppins of naughtyness and all of us are her darlings.
Any and all constructive feedback is highly appreciated.
I hope you enjoy Bliss as much as I do.
Thanks for reading!
*****************************
I don't love the gym but I love coming home from the gym. I spent almost an hour on the treadmill thinking about this journal. I wish I was smart enough to begin writing these things down years ago. I'd love to read the entry my younger self might have written the day my slightly heroic and slutty side was named Bliss.
I've decided I'm going to go ahead and occasionally write about Bliss as if she were another person. I'm talking about the way Bruce Wayne and his butler would talk about Batman. They both knew Bruce was Batman and I know I am Bliss. It's just a journal and I guess it'll be a mash up. Kelly is Bliss and Bliss is Kelly. ; )
I've also decided not to worry about starting from the beginning and covering every detail of my life. I might want to write about the past at times but I prefer the here-and-now thing.
My sore ass and legs are reminding me that I need to go to the gym more often and I'm all about that ass. It's dance and yoga classes, squats, lunges, and the treadmills for me. The weight room could burn down and I'd never know.
I'm blaming the gym but the truth is that my sore ass (and legs) probably have more to do with yesterday's workout than today's.
Yesterday I was Katy, the event planner, and I was Bliss, as always.
My usual routine is to leave a wedding I've planned right after the bride has made it up the aisle without tripping over her shoes. Once they're all lined up at the altar my time is much better spent on preparations at the reception site.
As I drove away from the church yesterday I couldn't get the fifth groomsman out of my head. He stood in line wearing the same tuxedo as the others but he stuck out like a nun at a nudist colony. He fidgeted, couldn't decide what to do with his hands, and couldn't decide what to look at. He settled on examining his shoes a bit too much. The poor kid wasn't just uncomfortable in his tuxedo. He was uncomfortable in his skin.
His name was Robby and he was the nineteen year-old little brother of the blushing bride. I wasn't convinced Bliss would be coming to his aid but I had already decided to keep an eye on him at the reception.
After the wedding cake was cut and before the dancing started I found the fifth groomsman sitting alone in the corner furthest from the action. He was hunched over his phone and was completely ignoring the party that was taking place right in front of him.
I watched his thumb swiping across the little screen as his other hand moved between his knees. He then tugged on his left trouser leg as he shifted his weight on the chair. Anyone paying attention to him would have known he had a uncomfortable hard-on. He never saw me coming.
"If I was your mother I might be concerned that you're watching too much porn".
I startled him but his instincts had turned the phone over before he even looked up.
"It's just a game!" he said, holding the phone and his hands over his lap.
The fear in his eyes made it impossible for me to contain my smile.
"Well, are you at all worried that your game has given you an erection?" I asked.
"You're crazy", he replied, shaking his head at me.
"Am I?" I asked, giving him my best doubting puppy dog look.
I moved an empty chair very close to his and sat down. I crossed my legs so that the hem of my sunset orange cocktail dress rode up to about mid-thigh. Spinning slightly to face him, I rested my bare leg against him.
"Well then," I smiled. "Since you aren't sporting an embarrassing hard-on then why don't you offer a crazy girl a nice glass of punch?"
He wrenched his eyes away from my legs and looked across the room toward the punch bowl. I knew the distance would seem insurmountable to him if I was right about his cock.