Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)

This is the Wakefield Doctrine’s contribution to the Six Sentence Story bloghop.

Hosted by Denise, ruled by a single… rule? To use the prompt word and keep it to six sentences in length.

To get you back into the story, here’s where we left off : Previously on…

(quick note: as we mentioned to Frank in our Reply to his Comment today: “…serial Sixes do offer the opportunity to learn/practice/develop what(ever) skills.” So, this week I kept tripping over a draft Six for the Ian Devereaux series. ikr? Why would we let it sit there, getting stale? That business of ‘staleness’ in fiction, i.e. a near-final draft, is interesting. Remind us to address it next week. You know the old saying, ‘Writing begets writing”.)

This week’s prompt word:

CONSOLE

“Now that I think of it, this is the first time you’ve had me at your house.”

Rising on an elbow, Leanne Thunberg’s head occluded the overly-bright face of the atomic clock on the 1960’s stereo console that stood, like a time-traveler in a lock-room mystery, against the opposite wall; it clearly offered information, but not a scintilla of advice.

“If it wasn’t half-past passion, I might be inclined to sit you down for a little adult / teenage-regressive chat about relationships,” settling back, her head making an eyelash-soft landing somewhere between my face and shoulder, my talent for inference hinted that she might be waiting for a response.

“Look, first let me say, you’re one of the most intelligent and educated women I know,” a tactile semaphore of the light stroke of an eyebrow on my upper-right pec suggested I qualify my assertion so I quickly added, “… the most intelligent and educated woman I’ve ever been naked with.”

Like five patriotic, but thoroughly-inept diplomats, the nails of her right hand stopped their downward slide and decided to take the shortcut to my attention, digging into unsuspecting external obliques; she regained the floor in our debate.

Despite the darkness of my bedroom, I could feel her gaze grasp the sides of my head and her smile direct resources of a less subtle nature to other parts of my body; as my old elementary ed. teacher said on the first day of class: “In the struggle between education and intelligence, if you bring a chair into the cage, you might as well bring a whip.”

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