We're in the car, together, driving north. The road moves under us like a ribbon, like we are winding along some impossible Escher reality, twisting and turning on it and somehow we can travel all the sides of it and still find our way back to the side we started on. I feel as though we've entered our own space, and we shuttle forth in it, embraced in the upholstered steel womb of the car. There’s a world beyond the windows, I know, but it seems like some movie, a private illusion personally crafted for us.
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The doors swung open, and I stood before her, flanked by two of her zombie underlings. Even though I took this to be her personal bedroom, the stench of death and decay was unmistakable and unavoidable. The thought of who I might see on the other side of that door bothered me more than the two shambling corpses who had escorted me here.
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I have seen so many misdirected and misused young women in my long active life, that I often just ignored them. I was building a house near the IHOP and both breakfast and evening meals were convenient there. The lovely young female, still searching for identity, had waited on me for a week now. We had talked and teased every day. I was getting a sense of her unfulfilled sexuality and the frustration she lived with. Tonight her body was tense and her hormones were surging. She needed to belong and serve. She was slow coming back to take my order.
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I can't see anything. I am tied up and I feel helpless. He knows I am scared but excited too. He walks around outside the door. I can hear his foot falls. He has kept me here for a very long time with out a feed. I am hungry and I hunger for him. I can't believe that even so, I still prefer sex over my feed. I laughed at my sick thought and feelings.
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One day I was out trying to drum up sales for my entrepreneurial business. I was going door to door around the surrounding neighborhoods to see if people would be agreeable to being added to my mailing list to receive my catalogs. I was dressed to give the impression of a knowledgeable business woman so that people could put their trust in me enough to be willing to sign up to my mailing list.
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It was a sunny afternoon. she had been lying in the sun, drinking in the warmth. He loved to watch her as He worked with His roses. Every once in a while He looked over at His pet, so proud of her, lying there in only a thong, her body glistening in the sun. Occasionally, she would take the spray bottle and sprits herself, sending a cool shiver over her body, making her luscious nipples firm up.
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It was the second summer that I worked for our local public library but this time, I was assigned to a different branch from the one last year, which had been the branch I generally went to.
Now, before I tell you about what happened, I'll tell you something about me, after all, I do work in a library so maybe I'm not the senior all-star quarterback. And I'm not.
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My Aunt Jessie had been threatening for several weeks to call me over to her house for me to give her another massage after I'd massaged both her and Mom with baby oil in our back yard one afternoon and she finally did it. I got home from work and was showering in the mud room when, as usual, I heard Mom call out, "That you, Hut?"
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"He was an old man who fished alone in a skiff . . ."
The rich, resonating, calming baritone of the La Lectura began to weave Ernest Hemingway's The Old Man and the Sea for us for perhaps the hundredth time, as we Torcedores settled once more into the rhythm of preparing our bunches of tobacco leaves perfectly for the press. We could not have done our demanding work without La Lectura, the reader who sat on the dais on the cigar factory floor, reading to us, first from the daily press and then from classical works—and sometimes, to our great privilege, reciting poetry to us in perfect rhythm to the set movements of our leaf bundling.
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Heather let herself into the house, kicking off her high-heels the second she set foot inside the door. She was taking the afternoon off; getting things ready for what she was hoping would be a night to remember. The suit jacket was next to go, tossed haphazardly across the arm of the couch. She would need it again later but for now, it'd be too warm.
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