MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; name="The Honey-Trap I.txt"; format=flowed Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit Content-Disposition: attachment; filename="The Honey-Trap I.txt" Title: The Honey-Trap Part I: A Good Song Rating: PG-13 Author: Alse E-mail: alsepang@hotmail.com Disclaimer: This story was not written for profit motives and any attempts by anyone to use it for such nefarious purposes were done so without the author's permission and knowledge. And quite obviously, I'm neither a songwriter nor a singer. AN: Hi, ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* [I heard he sang a good song I heard he had a style And so I came to see him and listen for a while And there he was, this young boy A stranger to my eyes] ~~~ 'Killing Me Softly', the original ballad sung by Roberta Flack The large café was warm with golden lighting and a cheerful interior design, which blended partitions of frosted glass with polished burnt orange tiles and bright, jazzy pictures.The long, semi-circular bar counter in the middle of the room was strategically placed so that the staff could keep an eye on everything going on and ensure that customers were satisfied. In one corner, people gathered to read and listen to aspiring poets and even singers. The one stipulation was that they could not be too noisy, which was unlikely, because the corner did not come equipped with a microphone and sound system! It was already half-past eight in the evening and the café was almost full. She sat at a small table, cool and sophisticated, her long, slim legs elegantly crossed, slender fingers delicately curled around the stem of her glass. A lavender silk linen jacket was carelessly draped over the back of her chair, and the sleeveless white ribbed turtleneck she wore clung to her figure. The short lavender skirt rode temptingly up her thighs, drawing many eyes to her. Golden hair, glinting under the lights, had been put up in an attractive French twist, held in place by a glittering rhinestone comb. The light in her blue eyes was chillingly cold and akin to diamonds, and only the long brown lashes fringing her eyelids managed to soften the effect. Her beautifully carved mouth was straight. She was not a woman who smiled much, or often. She glanced carelessly at the handsome young man who now took the 'hot seat' in the corner. He was about twenty-nine or so and the casual white shirt he wore was open at the neck, the sleeves rolled to his forearms. Even from that distance, she could tell that it was of an inexpensive make, unlike her own designer suit. Silky black hair fell into his eyes as he strummed softly on the guitar slung around him. She could not see his eyes, but the lashes framing them were long and dark, resting against bronzed skin. There was an innocence that hung about him as he shut his eyes--he looked, for a moment, like a young boy. With dry, somewhat contemptuous amusement, she noted that the audience included many women with extremely dreamy looks on their faces as they gazed at the handsome young man seated there. She was beginning to doubt his vaunted ability. Could he really sing, or was his popularity simply a result of his good looks? Her finely arched brows slowly drew together in displeasure. Perhaps she should have gone home to work on that prospective deal instead of having given in to the compulsive urge that had brought her there tonight. Then the music began. His voice, deep and beautiful, soared and fell as the notes demanded. Like the others, she froze as she listened, blue eyes wide. [Strumming my pain with his fingers Singing my life with his words Killing me softly with his song Killing me softly With his song Telling my whole life With his words Killing me softly with his song] ~~~ 'Killing Me Softly', the original ballad sung by Roberta Flack (c) 2001 Copyright original storyline Alsepang ***THE SINGING CLOSET*** This week, we showcase songs that make you laugh... 1. Hello Muddah, Hello Fadduh! (A Letter from Camp) sung by Alan Sherman This old song has its own laugh track... Lyrics: Hello Muddah, hello Fadduh, Here I am at Camp Grenada Camp is very entertaining and they say we'll have some fun if it stops raining. I went hiking with Joe Spivy He developed poison ivy You remember Leonard Skinner He got ptomaine poisoning last night after dinner. All the counselors hate the waiters And the lake has alligators And the head coach wants no sissies So he reads to us from something called Ulysses. Now I don't want this should scare ya But my bunkmate has malaria You remember Jeffrey Hardy They're about to organize a searching party. Take me home, oh muddah fadduh, take me home, I hate Grenada Don't leave me out in the forest where I might get eaten by a bear. Take me home, I promise I will not make noise or mess the house with other boys, oh please don't make me stay, I've been here one whole day. Dearest fadduh, darling muddah, How's my precious little bruddah? Let me come home if ya miss me I will even let Aunt Bertha hug and kiss me. Wait a minute, it stopped hailing, Guys are swimming, guys are sailing, Playing baseball, gee that's better, Muddah Fadduh please disregard this letter.