MFM Rescued My Baby From a Burning Building
It was 1989. I was young, poor and semi-footloose, new to the Big City. I was a single mother, having shed at least the no-good father if not the bouncing baby boy. My dream was to make the Big Time, but to make ends meet, I worked as a sous-bartender at Miss Eddie's, a tease-em and leave-em strip bar that would let me park Junior in the dressing room, safe in the bosoms of the working girls, while I filled tubs of cherries and opened little paper umbrellas til my fingers bled. You see, Miss Eddie's was famous in the Big City, not for the quality of its dancers but for Joe the bartender's almost infinite repertoire of girly drinks. He made 'em sweet, he made 'em tall, he made 'em in pretty colors, but most of all he put in enough alcohol to make lighting a match within twenty feet of one a risk not worth taking.
Naturally, with a service like that, we had regulars. One of them was MFM. MFM was famous at Miss Eddie's, having been the one and only regular to win the Absolutely Fabulous Girly Drink Challenge, finishing off fifty of the frothy, boozy, syrupy concoctions in a single hour, a feat inspired by his hero, Cool Hand Luke. The girls loved him. He was a big tipper, especially when they did the Tag Team Bed Bath routine with the nurses' outfits and the soapy water.
Anyhoo, it was an ordinary night, the girls were tag teaming away, MFM was knocking back a Peach Vanllla Pina Colada, I was unfolding, and Joe the bartender was grenadine-measuring and shaker-twirling. Joe must have struck a spark with the shaker, because the row of girly drinks sitting in an alcohol cloud on the bar went up like napalm. Girls ran in all directions, customers beat it out the door like a herd of, well, customers. I was caught up in the rush and before I knew it I was standing outside, realizing to my horror that little Junior was back there in the dressing room, surrounded by flames.
"My baby!" I cried. "I have to save my baby!"
"Oh no you don't!" a voice boomed from within the flames, "I have saved him!"
Well, of course, it was MFM. Working fast, he had shed his pants, upended the basin of soapy water over his head and, naked and drenched, dashed through the flames to rescue Junior and deliver him safely into my arms.
He wouldn't accept any thanks or reward, but rumor has it word got around and he never had to pay for a girly drink or a tag team bed bath again. And he never has to wear pants.
We miss you, Jim. 
= new reply since forum marked as read
your smilies! 
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(You started it.
)
Thanks for the great story.
You're welcome. MFM is mah muse.
( no one has to agree with it)
that dear MFM is seeing our postings here, and sees that we have named this place for him
( albeit too briefly, I fear).
He knows what is in our hearts
and our evil lil minds.
He knows....he surely does. .
Fucking Immortal. 
He put most of those thoughts and emotions in there himself.
The old coot would've got a kick out of that story. Well done.
You fool! 
Loved it.. and I know MFM does too
It was the secret of his charm. 
