Vacuumed by Violent Vortex Waterspout
A leisurely sail out by a virgin island far from the mainland hinted of heavenly, glorious forecast.
We embarked under most salutary weather conditions oblivious to meteorological predictions of severe hurricane (category 5) maelstrom just barely detected by radar.
Thus, (thyself and thee missus) paid scant attention to oft interjected broadcasts (between commercial deliveries), when the skies and sea appeared calmly placid.
Nary a hint gleaned sans of any weather forecast jack knifing, snap chatting, or rip roaring storm.
Many previous supposedly violent, yowling, beastly, enormously horrendously kickass, ominously ravenous, unforgivingly wicked, yo-yoing ma frightful abominations crumbled entirely.
Inert lambasting, monstrously nasty punishingly rapacious slamming torrents underwent wimpy yawning, baby faced hypocriticalness Janus mocking nature.
While tooling about within a crimson edged italicized Jesus Loves Outliers Catamaran for the vast majority of that typical summer day (with nary a worry creasing thy stern brow), my primitive climatological global position satellite (in tandem with the one percent Neanderthal mom genes – this genetic tidbit of information acquired upon submitting a tube full of mine saliva processed by biochemists affiliated with 23andme.com) an electronic guiding light found me linkedin to promising unknown destiny.
While far out to sea (where infinite blue water merged with cerulean celestial vault), nothing could possibly abend, diminish, grandeur joyfully manifesting peacefulness sans vibrant yearning bursting every hotly kindled nook of psyche!
Twas while thine being seduced into a sublime hypnotic state, that a shrill emanation reached these highly attuned ears, which supreme auditory sense compensated for the extreme myopia afflicting me since a little whippersnapper.
Ah, thine spouse (comfortably reclining upon a amply cushioned deck chair) espied a faint smudge away near the vanishing point of the horizon. Since her eyesight much more keen (while she dealt with diminished hearing), this the outcome of countless childhood bouts with Eustachian tube infections), I entrusted any distant potential threat to benevolent babe.
Sparse trappings of basic nautical instruments came in handy as each of us squinted into our own set of pricy binoculars.
Even though highly nearsighted (with floaters that peppered field of vision), a distinct amorphous dark mass appeared to be skirting the skies at the approximately the speed of sound.
Never one to roughhouse, spar, nor tangle with the wrath of natural forces, an instinctual reaction found me reorienting our quality state of the art made vessel back to the closest jetty of lands-end.
Though this blotch became more pronounced within blink of eye, no stirring of wind-song palpably materialized to serve as an invisible tether, which would have subsequently tugged this speck of flotsam (bobbing along the briny deep with two adults) within the ocean.
Asper when a noticeable increase in air velocity present, the concomitant blackish dome found helter skelter thoughts competing with an external disposition of calm. No anti-anxiety medications (about a half dozen prescription magic bullets toned down inexplicable inherent vulnerability to panic and susceptibility to experience a sloop of physiological symptoms formerly - meaning during that emotionally tempestuous prepubescent stage) rendering this chap good as useless.
Once sufficient atmospheric currents ideal to raise sails (prayerfully gliding troughs and crests), our destiny subsumed by the merciless whims of irreconcilable small medium forces at large.
Best option available constituted just hunkering down, and securing heavy objects that could be bandied about once grabbed by titanic powers governing Earth.
After battening down the hatches, a ploy arose to tap into the knot tying skills (earned thru skills taught and red badges of courage earned when boy-scout thence Coast Guard survivalist tactics learned), would be put to the electric kool aid acid test.
While hastily trying to sequester vital rations (sand which I also counted requisite voyaging equipment), this spry simian reviewed (reconnaissance reckoned as if an enemy in midst of pummeling this former boatswain and the savvy wife) the ominous black soundclouds driving, hashtagging, and kickstarting energetically forward getting hideous instantaneously – ja!
Most deafening roar (like the eye of a tiger) synchronized with Poseidon poised pell mell whipped thee Homo Sapiens schooner, and flecked like spit two helpless primates now within the maws of mercurial mincing monster.
Akin to Jonah and the whale, an immense vortex waterspout wielded woeful wusses.
How ironic to become astutely electrified with the physics of humongous whirlpools, while being swallowed within non discriminate ferocious force fields fanning across the vista, when just moments before a placid surface met thine gaze.
Team ming tribes of turbulent twirling tendrils luxuriantly looped, licentiously lashed, and lickety-split wrought wrenching wracking (exceeding the series of unfortunate events experience by Lemony Snicket by exponential powers – Damn envious this dude envied said pseudo pirate) wickedness came our way.
No opposing counter force could redeem this suddenly frightful middle aged man, nor assist the spouse, whereat only the stormy fury of Gaia (we named Daniel) would decide how the tale of two city bred aficionados ended.
Interestingly enough (though caught within the terrestrial typhoon) this marginal member made peace with death. Upon accepting a premature demise, (whose two daughters of mine would eventually become privy to this papa and mama lost – heavens to Betsy – at the gambit decreed via prime mover), a fledgling glimmer hovered inside jettisoning knowledge learned. Mister no-name parlayed quest resorting silently to undergo verve witnessing first hand the adventure of a lifetime.
No idea fixated itself whether death succeeded this sea veer, soaked to the bone, swampy scrimmage since that manmade essence viz space/time continuum obliterated.
Awareness of Bing a Capital One Earthlinked Hotmail, received an Insta-Gramm from Gemini (?), an invitation where souls transformed into an altered state spent LivingSocial amidst an Outlook with good n Plenty of Sprint ting disembodied spirits each housed within a Soundcloud Twittering Uber Yikyak.
Henceforth any innocent lives lost to the unsurpassed might upon the third planet from the sun Joyus lee pride fully joined Afterlife MeetUp.
After crossing over into the dimension of non-corporeal surreal tawny veil, a absolute silence disrupted by the wings of a swallowtail butterfly (at some unknown destination), which interestingly enough (and like totally irrelevant) throve on wild asparagus.
Twas said classy donned, ethereally fleeting, and globally honed individually joyously kool Lepidoptera who made us (thyself and the missus) reckon that nonhuman organisms seemed to possess greater basic, democratic, fantastic, holistic, kinetic, magnetic, opportunistic, quixotic, telepathic, et cetera intelligence.
No utterances took place between this generic guy (thwarted into another universe) and the flora and fauna, which sent instant messages kickstarting a lively mission to incorporate ourselves into an altered state far more rhapsodic than a previous housing of consciousness.
Animals and plants downplayed any gross infringements on the niches assumed by plethora of entities more than willing to make accommodations for most fierce some beastie boy and goo goo doll, who courtesy mind boggling combinations whilst becoming repurposed upon exhaling final breath.
Nada iota of recall could dredge the phenomena, when both this pissant quirky rebel rouser, and his sidekick soul mate became reconstituted, homogenized, and configured into biota unlike anything found on planet Earth.
Chapter Thirty-Nine - Final Delusion
“I’ve won!” The leader declares, “You can’t stop me.”
“The dream isn’t over yet.” Gina announces.
As the woman is bound in chains and cast down. The army that swept over the Earth is shattered into a million individual pieces. Just when the army is poised for its final victory, the remaining kingdoms of the Earth band together and field a large army of its own. These two armies fight and when the dust clears, the great army that swept over the world is gone and there is no one left to replace it.
The leader is captured and before he can be executed, he uses his magic to escape. The woman who opposed him, breaks free of her chains.
They all wake up from their dream.
“Now that you know the end of the dream, let me show you your final fate.” Gina announces. She grabs the hand of the young man and the great one and disappears, leaving the leader alone to contemplate his fate.
When they reappear, they are in a cave far away. The former leader is there. Having lived out the dream, he knew they would come. He just didn’t know when.
“Look at yourself.” Gina says to the young man, “Is this the fate you want?” The young man looks at himself, old and broken. He turns away in disgust.
“No.” he says quietly.
“Are you ready to give up your magic?” Gina asks.
“I am” the young man declares, “Will this hurt?”
“It will not” Gina assures. Gina waves her hands and says something that sounds like nonsense. The spark leaves the young man. Gina grabs both their hands and they disappear. When they reappear, they are back to where they started from in the past.
“You can be happy now with people who care about you.” Gina says, “I have one final thing for you.” Gina causes the young man to forget everything he had seen and heard about the possible future.
“Great one is it an honor to see you. “The young man says to the great one, “Miss” he says to Gina. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“No, I was just passing by you may go about your business.” The great one said.
“Thank you” The young man says as he goes on his way.
“I owe you a great debt.” The great one says to Gina, “You have kept me from making a terrible mistake. Is there anything I can do for you?”
“No. Just be more careful.” Gina replies and with that she disappears and the great one never sees her again.
When Gina appears again, it is in her own time. She is in a small chamber and an old man is sitting there. He notices that she had the spark.
“I didn’t know you were a magician.” The old man says, “You certainly were not one when I saw you earlier today.”
“True” Gina answers, “I was given the ability to perform magic.”
“And who would give that ability to you.” The old man asks.
“You did.” Gina declares.
“I did, and why would I do something stupid like that.” The old man asks, amused.
“Because you are the wisest, smartest person I know.” Gina answers, “Thank you for believing in me.”
“You’re welcome, I think. What are you going to do, we can’t have two princesses running around.” The old man asks.
“You know I’m not the princess anymore. I think I’m going to travel, see the world.” Gina replies.
“Well, you be careful then.” The old man warns.
“I will” Gina assures. She then disappears again. When she appears, she is in another small chamber. There is no one there so she waits. She waits for what seems like a long time until suddenly Carla walks in. When she sees Gina, she is frightened and can’t speak.
“I’ve been waiting for you.” Gina declares.
“You have?” Carla can barely get out.
“Of course, I’m going to travel the world and I can’t do that without my best friend.” Gina says. Carla isn’t sure what is going on. The princess is never nice, and she is pretty sure the princess doesn’t know she exists. Gina takes both her hands in her own. “I will always have your back.” Gina assures. Carla is really confused. One moment they are in her room, the next moment they are somewhere else.
The somewhere else they are, is outside Mark’s quarters. Gina puts one finger over her mouth and tries to calm Carla down. Within a few minutes, Mark comes out of his quarters.
“Princess, what are you doing here?” Mark asks.
“I am going on a trip, and I need your protection.” Gina declares.
“Does the King know? Why don’t you have a real knight escort you?” Mark asks.
“Are you questioning me!?” Gina says, “You will change into some normal clothes right away and come with me.” This was highly unusual. Mark had bad feelings about this, but he couldn’t refuse the princess. If she wanted to make his life miserable, she could easily do it.
“Yes, princess.” Mark replied. Mark went and changed as quickly as he could.
“That’s better, do you know Carla?” Gina asked. When Mark saw Carla, he felt something he had never felt before.
“My name isn’t…” Carla was about to say but Gina stopped her from finishing her sentence.
“Your name is what I say it is.” Gina rebuked sternly, “We have one more stop before we leave.” Gina took them both by the hand and disappeared again. This time she reappeared in front of Toby’s modest shack.
“You two wait here.” Gina ordered. Gina entered the small shack. Toby had gone to sleep because it was late, but Gina woke him up.
“Princess, what are you doing here?” Toby asked. Toby couldn’t believe the princess was in his small shack. It was as if he were still dreaming. Toby got to his feet. When he did, Gina wrapped her arms around him and gave him a kiss on the lips. It was at this moment that Toby was sure he was dreaming. The princess didn’t even know he was alive, yet there she was.
“Are you ready?” Gina asked when she was done kissing Toby.
“Ready for what?” Toby asked.
“Ready to run away with me.” Gina continued. Toby didn’t know what to say. He had dreamed of this moment his entire life and it was happening.
“Yes” He affirmed.
“Then come with me” Gina ordered. Toby and Gina went outside where Mark and Carla were waiting for them. Gina had them all hold hands. Once they did, they all disappeared. When they reappeared, they were all in the future.
“Where are we?” Carla asked. She looked around and nothing looked familiar. They were on the side of a road and a car passed. “What was that?”
“We are in the future.” Gina declares, “A future where we can all be our best selves.”
“What will we do here?” Mark asked.
“Anything we want!” Gina replied, “I just have one final thing to do.” Gina let go of the spark. She was no longer a great sorcerous, now she was just herself, with the people she cared about.
THE END
An Uneven Matchup? Rick vs Cyclo
This chapter is part of "The Small Town Magic Arc." Links for prior chapters in this storyline can be found here: https://www.theprose.com/post/746871/the-small-town-magic-arc
Cyclo dropped to the ground and rolled around laughing. He then stood up and jeered at Rick.
"You think you can take me, boy? You must be a teenager, thinking you can take on challenges you are horribly unqualified for! Fine with me! If you want to die first, I can take you clowns on from youngest to oldest!"
"I, and everyone else in our crew will not be dying today." Rick replied boldly. "Even you aren't going to die Cyclo. But I promise you that when this is over, you won't terrorize Tamma, Jahno, this town, or anyone and anyplace ever again."
"Not gonna kill me eh? Then you will definitely fail lad! Well, I declare that I am going to kill you. And I promise that it will be a very excruciating, painful death!"
"You've got this Rick, we believe in you." The Pirate smiled as he patted Rick's shoulder. "Go ahead and teach this Goliath wannabe a lesson!"
"The Pirate and I will protect Tamma and Jahno, starting with a force field spell." Cerissa added. "Essie, can you back Rick up if needed?"
"Of course I will." Essie said in a tone that sounded both brave and affectionate. She then embraced Rick. "I have your back, always."
"Thanks Essie, I will always protect you.... and everyone else too of course!" Rick was grateful for his helmet covering up his blushing.
"Awwwww, how freaking wholesome!" Cyclo mocked. "Can we get to the fight already, before you win by putting me to sleep, or making me vomit?"
"Sure thing Cyclo, we've all waited long enough for this fight!" Rick shouted as he charged at Cyclo. Cyclo laughed gleefully and also sprinted towards his opponent. Once they were close enough, Rick followed through with a closed fist to Cyclo's face. The force of Rick's punch sent the cyclops flying into a distant barn, causing the structure to collapse. Cyclo emerged from the wreckage and limped back to his much smaller foe, his expression reflecting his shock and anger.
"How.... did.... you.... do that?!?"
"Trade secret." Rick replied in a mocking tone of his own. "Ready to continue being pounced, or will you surrender now?"
To be continued....
Precipice of Danger
Why did I go to Peru? To a rustic camp somewhere high in the mountains? With a broken foot and ankle in a cast and resting on a leg scooter?
Our guide utters something not in English, and other campers pick up the pace of clearing a new site for our encampment. Shoveling snow. Moving rocks. Erecting tents. Building fire pits.
Why is everyone glancing at me and shaking their heads? Because I am just sorting gear? Because I appear to be the only American of the dozen or so campers? And the only one not pulling his or her weight? Fine, you try hard labor with a bad leg.
Break time at sunset and everybody huddles around a large barrel with a blazing fire inside. Everyone but me. I try to scoot in but other campers won't let me. Snickering faces are bathed in the warm, orange glow from the barrel.
Soon, everyone leaves the barrel but me. They line up on a rocky ledge to retrieve dinner from a wagon. It looks like chipped beef, but I can't get close enough to be sure. I guess I'll miss dinner again. They find rocks to sit on and drag the fire barrel away from me, so they can stay warm.
I look for a rock to sit on. I go up a slight incline, and I find one 10 yards from the group. But as I lift my leg off the scooter, somebody from the group yells. I look up, and others are shouting at me. I don't know what they are saying.
I sit on the rock, and my leg scooter rolls backward toward a cliff. It disappears. I stand to look, and I find that I am on the precipice. I topple backward and fall, but my right hand grasps a branch. I do not know how a tree got up there, but I hang on tightly. Now both hands are on the branch as my body dangles helplessly in nothingness. The group's screams have stopped. I hear a crack. I yell for help, but no one comes. Another crack, and a big piece of bark falls away. I yell for help, but no one comes. I can see the yellow innards of the branch. I yell for help, and now I have to pee.
I awake in my warm bed and head to the bathroom.
The Persistence of Memory
His love, outside of time, beyond the illusion of forever, was immemorial as it was eternal.
Long before the human genome had been discovered and deciphered in cold, impersonal laboratories, his epigenetics had been warmly at work, laying down inheritable sentiments for his progeny. He built up a latticework of devotion to her where natural selection had no relevance.
His love would persist through the ages. It always had, hadn't it? Some certainties persist beyond memory.
His was just a trick with amino acids, bonding junk DNA to the otherwise silent portions of his genetic helices. But there she straddled, fresh and alive; lovely and kind; and generously giving.
And inheritable.
Alas, he never taught her how to do likewise. He couldn't. It was a process so private and inherently esoteric that he didn't quite understand it himself. How could he translate such mindful machinations into words of instruction? He might just as easily deconstruct love, grief, or loneliness, all of which ensued upon her death.
But love and grief and loneliness are constructs of a genetically derived mindfulness, apart from his epigenetic love letter, and ne'er the twain would meet: his completeness by her was immune to the instructions of mere proteins or hormones.
Each time he visited her grave, the tighter his epigenetic bonds became. They stood out--little bombs easily packaged for sorties to his offspring to come.
Each time he visited her grave, he would sink to his knees, crying, "I love you eternally. My love is still here now, and will so remain, until it becomes the stuff of stars themselves!"
Hundreds of years later, great-great-great-grandchildren, now unrecognizable to each other on their family tree, visit her grave driven via a powerful, mysterious compulsion. Chance had summated perfectly: three strangers--two men and a boy--know they must be there but don't know why.
Prudence Planchard
My Forever Love
May 25, 1757 — September 5, 1785
The older man said, "I love you forever."
The younger man, added, "My love is still here now..."
And the boy added, in a sentiment well beyond his years, "...and will so remain until becoming the stuff of stars themselves."
They departed, but would certainly, in love, cross paths again.
Chapter Thirty-Eight – Self Reflection
“Listen to me, you will never be happy.” Gina tells the young man, “The great one doesn’t know everything.”
“I don’t know what to think.” The young man answers.
Gina thinks for a moment. Then she grabs the hand of the great one and they both disappear. They reappear in a small dimly lit hut. An older great one is trying to light a fire. Back when he had his magic, he could use that to light the fire but that was a long time ago. The great one looks at the older version of himself, who is still unaware that he has guests.
“Go on” Gina coaxes the young version, “He cold. You can help him.”
“Why can’t he help himself.” The younger great one asks.
“He lost the ability to use magic a long time ago.” Gina says, “Have some compassion.”
The younger great one looks at his older self-struggle. He waits for several more minutes. The older version is so wrapped up in trying to start a fire that he is completely oblivious to the fact he is not alone. The younger great one makes a gesture with his hands and the fire lights.
This event startles the older version. He turns around and is faced with himself and a woman he doesn’t recognize.
“Who are you?” The older version asks.
“I’m you” The younger version declares.
“You can perform magic?” The older version asks.
“Yes.” The younger version replies.
“How is this possible?” The older version continues.
“How did you lose your magic?” The younger version asks.
“My apprentice and I didn’t see eye to eye, and he took my magic from me.” The older version answers.
“How did he do that?” The younger version inquires.
“I don’t know but you must not train him.” The older version warns.
“Why?” The younger version asks.
“Because he starts a war that will consume the entire world.” The older man answers.
“This woman wants to take your apprentices magic away.” The younger man offers.
“Let her do it!” The older man says, “Don’t oppose her. She is the one from the dream that stops the war.” The old man sits down in a chair near the fire to warm himself. Gina grabs the younger man’s hands and they disappear again.
They appear on the plain where Mark had his battle. The field is strewn with dead bodies. The great one is repulsed by the sight.
“This is where a great battle took place. Your apprentice is responsible for all these lives lost.” Gina explains.
“I failed.” The great one said, “This apprentice that I take on, I fail him.”
“He is happy the way he is now, he is part of a community that cares about him. You take him away from all that. If you allow me to take his ability to use magic away. This war never happens, and he lives a happy life.” Gina explains.
“I want to see him, the way he is now.” The great one requests. Gina takes his hand, and they disappear again. They reappear in a chamber in her own castle. The leader, who used to be the great one’s apprentice, the sleeping.
“Time to wake up” the great one says, as he finishes speaking, the leader awakens. He sees his old master and the girl.
“What kind of trick is this?” The leader asks Gina.
“I wanted your old master to see what has become of you.” Gina answers.
“You are the woman from my dreams. The one who opposes me.” The leader acknowledges, “Why bring him here?”
“Because he has not decided to train you yet.” Gina answers, “Before he does, I wanted him to see what happens to you.” Gina grabs the hand of the leader and the great one’s hand and they all disappear. They reappear in front of the young man.
“This is what you become if you don’t let me take away your magic.” Gina declares.
“What?!” the leader says, “You can’t take away my magic, I won’t let you.”
“Go ahead,” Gina tells the young man,” Ask him what he’s done.”
“What is she talking about?” The young man asks the leader.
“The dreams” The leader says,” The dreams where you see an army sweeping over the world, that is your army. You hear the people of the world calling out for help and you use this army to free them. When the whole world is under our control. There will be peace, and everyone will be happier. This woman is the one who you see in the dream who takes it all away.”
“I don’t know what happens because I always wake up before the dream ends.” The young man claims.
“When you should all see the end of the dream.” Gina declares. She touches all three of them and they all fall asleep.
They all had a dream.
They all saw the wonders of the kingdoms of the world. As these kingdom’s glory passed before them, their glory was swallowed up by a large army that swept over the earth. The army destroyed everything in its path. A madman led this army. The young man saw for the first time, that the madman was himself. As the army was approaching victory, a woman appeared to oppose him. A great sorceress. The two engaged in battle. As the dust settled, the woman who opposed him was bound in chains and cast down.
Melancholic Musings
Sometimes it feels like I'm inside a small glass dome at the bottom of a deep, dark ocean. I see the cracks gathering in the glass and I know that eventually I'm either going to drown, alone and helpless under the weight of it all or I will struggle and struggle until I breach the surface only to find no land in sight.
Sometimes I feel that spiteful, stubborn spark within me yelling at me, spurring me to just keep moving. But sometimes that darkness leaks into the dome and I'm surrounded by a miasma of all of that pain and self loathing, and it gets so much harder to kindle that spark in me.
I guess I'm just intelligent enough to see not only myself trapped in this cycle, but everyone else as well. A part of me knows that to break the cycle, if such a thing is even possible, that I would have to break that dome that surrounds each and every one of us. And that it may just cut us down to nothing in the process. Besides who am I to be capable of anything like that. Just another drowning man.
I try to wave to the others through the darkness in between our respective prisons, hoping that they see me, even though I can't see them. But I hardly see any evidence that they even know that I'm here. Perhaps the miasma grips them deep as well. I don't know.
But eventually something has to give, even if that something is me. Until then, I search for the light where I can, and hope that others do the same. Maybe one day we can cast these dark waters in warm light and finally truly see each other. Finally help each other without the pain and paranoia and greed poisoning us all.
I hope so, more than anything.
The Value Menu and Sharpie Areolas
He should've known better. Now, after a couple of hours on the road he realizes that Taco Bell wasn't the best choice for dinner before starting an eighteen hour road trip. He feels his stomach twist, the pain so intense that his foot involuntarily lifts from the accelerator. His gut announces its displeasure with a noise that is reminiscent of a grey whale's mating song with a buzzing chainsaw with a fouled spark plug serving as backup vocals.
"Fuck," he groans, frantically checking the off-ramps that pass by with increasing infrequency, looking for an exit that would lead him to anything still open at midnight that would have a restroom.
Unfortunately for him, this particular stretch of Interstate 5 is almost exclusively farmland with no offramp gas stations or truck stops to be found. All he can see for miles and miles is barely visible crops in the headlights just beyond the asphalt's lightless shoulder. Accelerating to a speed that'd guarantee a ticket for reckless driving, he barrels down the freeway praying to find a sign advertising a place with a restroom. His stomach gurgles menacingly, sending a shockwave through his intestines. The increasing pressure feels like a tiny bulldozer covered in battery acid is pushing the contents of his bowels to their only south bound exit, threatening to overwhelm his normally stout sphincter.
Sweating, he tries to maintain a fine balance between the muscles he needs to drive and the tensing muscles he's using to hold back that Burrito Supreme and Nachos Bell Grande he'd eaten just hours ago. Now, if he'd have been wise, he would've asked a Taco Bell employee what food wouldn't cause his gastrointestinal system to declare mutiny against the underwear that served as a demilitarized zone between his anal blow hole and his Levi's. If he had, the Taco Bellian would've warned him that his particular choice in dinner was known as, "The Seat Blaster," guaranteed to obliterate any remaining new car smell a car still has while also doing enough damage to require new upholstery wherever the foolish eater sits.
Twenty, then thirty miles pass. Each grueling second forces him to strain trying to avoid the imminent ass eruption. His butt cheek clench causes him to sweat, the beads of perspiration that form on his forehead smell like red sauce and nacho cheese. Still it goes unnoticed as his fight with rebellious refried beans consumes his senses. Finally, a faded green sign proclaims that there is a rest stop at the next exit just four miles ahead.
"I'm gonna make it!" He thinks, pounding the steering wheel in victory. Oops! He let his attention slip and nearly experienced a rectal jailbreak. "Concentrate!" He admonishes himself because he hadn't packed any extra underwear for this trip. A blow out now would have him going commando until he got home tomorrow late afternoon.
FINALLY, he hits the offramp leading to the rest area. This late at night the remote oasis is deserted, so he parks in the spot closest to the men's room. He can only hope his muscles can take the transition from sitting to standing because getting to a toilet will require a new level of strain to keep the flotsam and jetsam of digested beef, beans, nacho cheese, and sour cream from chumming the sidewalk that leads into the restroom.
Somehow, he makes it into men's room and into the nearest stall. So intense is his journey that he doesn't even smell the stale urine or the scent of a million phantasmic turds that will forever haunt the cinder block restroom. Now, if the sound barrier could be broken by removing clothing, he would've caused a sonic boom as he yanked down his pants just in time to hit the toilet seat. Oh, the pain is exquisite! He forgot that he'd asked for jalapenos on the nachos and their burning exit makes him squirm on the toilet's cracked seat. The torturous expulsion of waste feels like liquid magma pouring out of his body. His eyes squeezed in catharsis inducing pain, he muses that Taco Bell has to be the Liquid Plumr of foods. The pseudo-Mexican cuisine is likely capable of cleansing the colon while simultaneously burning any cancerous or benign polyps lining the poop shoot to anal ashes.
FINALLY, after ten minutes, the fiery bullet train of waste that roared through his intestines has disappeared into the porcelain tunnel. He sighs and reaches for the toilet paper. It's single ply, of course, but he doesn't care. What is a problem is that there appears to be just the terminating four inch long strip of glued toilet paper left on the stall's only economy sized roll. Thinking of what he'd just left in the toilet bowl, there is little doubt that he'd need a full yard of single-ply TP for cleanup. Trying to use just four inches of single ply toilet paper in this situation would be like trying to clean up the Exxon Valdez oil spill with a cocktail napkin!
"Yo Quiero some fucking Charmin!" He cries, his frustrated wail echoing mournfully in the empty restroom.
His next thought is one of desperation, and he knows that he isn't going to enjoy the paper cuts his anus will likely receive from wiping with ass gaskets. In fact, he's pretty sure wiping with the questionably hygienic paper commode covers will make his ass burn worse than the first morning after a prison cell honey moon. Unfortunately, this idea gets scratched immediately because one look at the toilet seat cover dispenser tells him he'll need a Plan B. It's empty.
So, he sits, defeated. "What the fuck am I gonna do?" He asks the graffiti covered door of the restroom stall.
Unfortunately, he has only one option. Check the other stalls for toilet paper. His problem, he doesn't dare pull his pants all the way up because of the very real possibility of walking out of the restroom with the seat of his jeans so soiled that they resemble mud flaps after a mud bogging competition. He pauses, listening for any new arrivals to the rest area. Thankfully, he hears nothing, but he'll have to move fast because he doesn't want to get caught literally with his pants down. With his luck, a highway patrolman could walk in at any moment. Being arrested for indecent exposure and placed on the sex offender registry because someone didn't stock the fucking toilet paper dispenser was not how he wanted to remember this trip.
Gathering up his jeans and holding them just below the fleshy canyon of his ass, he sticks his head out of the stall. All clear. So, he steps out and opens the first empty stall. One look at the stall and he realizes that there's no way he would go in there. The interior of the stall looks like someone strapped a lit stick of dynamite to a box of wet king sized Baby Ruths and threw it in the stall's toilet.
"Jeebus Christo!" He exclaims. "How did I not smell that!" Without a doubt, any toilet paper in excrement splattered, open sewer of a stall would likely be unusable. Besides, he didn't have the hazmat suit he'd need to escape the stall without contracting hepatis, anal warts, a tape worm, and a yeast infection capable of making a lifetime supply of Wonder Bread. So, holding his breath, he moves on.
Thankfully, the next stall appears to be clean, well as clean as a rest area bathroom stall can be. Unfortunately, this stall is also lacking toilet paper and razor-blade ass gaskets. However, the graffiti gracing the back wall catches his eye. Written in bold, black, words, "Hell's Angels Sacramento Chapter Was Here" are menacingly written above the commode. To his surprise, just beneath the outlaw biker gang calling card is a surprisingly good sketch of a naked woman done in the artistic medium of Sharpie. With pants dangling below his bum, he doesn't have time to spend admiring the artwork, but later he'd marvel at the sketch's intricate detail. Who knew that an outlaw biker could also be a Picasso of the potty, or a Rembrandt of the restroom? Everything from the moisture on the pornographic doodle's pouty lips to the little bumps that pebble the areolas that sit like islands on the drawings impossibly large breasts are recreated with shocking precision. Later, during his freeway musings he would theorize that the biker must've honed his artistic skill (along with the occasional shiv) in a penitentiary art class, which to his thinking was tax dollars well spent.
To his relief, the final stall provides him with a new roll of single-ply salvation. He's so elated he doesn't even mind that the toilet paper is so rough and of such low quality that he'll likely walk away with splinters in his ass. Disaster and what would've been the mother of all skid marks averted, he wipes with no less than two yards of TP and with a sigh of pleasure, washes his hands while singing happy birthday to himself twice. After grabbing a Coke at the rest area's vending machine, he gets behind the wheel and makes his way back to the freeway.
Flying down the freeway at 70 mph and no longer afraid that he'll blow his anal o-ring, he tries to calculate where he'll need to stop for gas and something to eat. He figures he should be in Redding by 7 am to top off the gas tank. Now what for breakfast? He only has to think for a second.
"Oh yeah!' He remembers. "Taco Bell now has a breakfast menu!"
Shall We Play a Game?
‘Today, we’re going to play a little game.’ I could hear the laughter in his voice.
‘A game, Sir? What will we play and who else is playing?’ I ask knowing that it is only us two at the moment.
‘Ahhhh…a game of my own creation, but you do mistake me. I should have said that you are going to play a game, while I get to watch.If you please me, then I’ll reward you. If you don’t please me, then you won’t. Quite straightforward, really? Are you ready, slave?’
‘I’m not sure, Sir, what if I’m not up to it?’ He just keeps looking at me with that gentle smile on his lips. I know, I’m stalling. ‘Yes, Sir, I’m ready.’
’Shall we call it Noah’s Ark?’ I gape at him. What in the world have I agreed to? Are animals soon to be paraded around and if so, what in the world am I meant to do with them? My mind tries to scan through the possibilities but nothing seems to quite compute in my head. I look at him a bit panicky. He laughs, the deep, rich sound that always reassures me. ‘I apologise for my little joke. Maybe it would be better called 2 by 2.’ I still look at him as baffled as before, though I can imagine a lot of ways a game named 2 by 2 could play out. Speculating will only drive me crazy. I try my best to look calm, cool and collected, while hiding my twitching hands behind me.
‘You have been learning. I can see how hard it is for you to hold back, to wait, but you’ve come such a long way. I’m proud of you. This is how it’s going to work. First, you’re going to remove your, I have no doubt, already wet, pants. Just throw them to the side.’ I watch him following my every move with his eyes. I take my time, tease it out. I want to see how much his restraint costs him. Unfortunately, he is much better at this than I am. I finally throw my pants across the room for emphasis. And stand there in my dress with nothing on underneath. ‘Oh yes, you’re quite the dissident.’ Okay, so it’s hard to play the rebel when all you really want to do is submit.
’Now, please have a seat there on the chair. Perfect. I have set a timer for you on my phone to run for two minutes. During those two minutes, you must play with your clit, but you must not come. When the timer goes off, you must cease all contact For the next two minutes. Again, when the timer goes off, you will touch yourself again for two minutes, likewise, you are not to come during that time. Now, do you have any questions, pet?’
‘Will I be allowed to come at the end? Or during the game, Sir?’ I hate hearing the desire in my voice, the raw need.
‘We will have to wait and see just how well you do. Now, lean back in the chair, place your feet up on the footstool. Excellent. Now, please pull your dress up over your hips so I can see just what a hungry little cunt you have. Your time starts…now.’
i reach down and find my clit. I take it between my two fingers and slowly stroke it back and forth. I feel my juices start to flow and I feel my arousal peeping out from under the surface. I roll my head back on the cushions as I feel my hunger start to grow. I can feel that all too familiar desire to start snaking over me. It feels so good and my world narrows to a very small awareness. It’s just me, there, pleasing myself and hopefully him. Two minutes, I can do that. That’d be easy. Even as I think it, I can feel my fingers speed up of their own volition. I can feel my lips starting to undulate under the attention of my fingers. As I’m distracted, I almost don’t hear the timer go off. ‘Hands away, slave,’ he lightly reprimands. I hadn’t actually realised I’d not removed them. Looking like a kid who had their hand caught in the cookie jar, I quickly whipped my hand away with my most innocent look on my face. Though I’ve removed my fingers, I can feel that gentle tug of desire, the call for my hand to return and continue to raise my arousal. I try counting the seconds remaining, but fail horribly. How long can two minutes take for crying out loud? Just as I begin to wonder if he has reset the timer, the little alarm goes off. I don’t have to be told twice. My hand moves quick as a flash to return to its gentle thrumming of my clit. I take only a moment to try to catch his eye, gauge his mood, but it’s no use. All I really want to do is masturbate until I have a full release and fall asleep satiated.
My hand whips back and I warn myself to be careful. Go slow. Pace yourself. However, I ignore all of these helpful nuggets of advice and rapidly lose myself to the sensations running through me. I can hear my breathing speed up. My feet start to brace against the footstool and my hips rise just a little bit into the air. Oh yes, that is definitely how I like it. My fingers speed up and my desire starts to fill my mind. I push up harder. I can feel my body responding to my own hand. ‘Oh yes,’ I mutter under my breath ad my hips start lifting higher and my head falls back further. Just as I’m getting into the groove, I hear the tinkle of that damnable timer. I roll my eyes, make a concerted effort to pull my hand away from my clit. I try to press my legs together, thinking that might help, but it actually only makes it worse. I look around, trying to find a clock. Surely, it’s been two minutes. I can’t wait to dive back in. i count in my head, but when I get to the full two minutes, the timer still hasn’t beeped. Is he messing with me? Did he turn on the timer? Just then, I hear the tinny little sound of the alarm.
I slide my fingers immediately into my folds, seeking out the solid nugget in the core of it all. Just as I start strumming myself, I hear him clear his throat. ‘I find it difficult to see just exactly what you’re doing, slut. Spread your knees open please. All the way down now. There we go. That wasn’t so bad was it?’ he calmly states. It’s not like it’s his body being tormented. I pull my knees wide open feeling the air against my sensitive and aroused flesh. ‘Higher now,’ he commands and my hips push up even farther away from chair. I can feel myself pumping, wishing for anything to fill me up, to fill that hole. My hips are picking up a rhythm now, shoving upward, each thrust more abandoned than the one before. ‘Oh, now that’s looking much better, whore,’ he goads me on. Then, I hear it, but I don’t register it until the resounding smack lands across my most sensitive skin. I jerk towards the leather belt that has just left its own contribution to my arousal. I can’t help it as I moan in pleasure. Swish, the belt cuts through the air again as it lands again. I can feel a whimper about to emerge when the time goes off. I can’t pull my hand away. Somewhere in the back of my mind I know I need to but I’m not quite convinced that I can. I feel a warm hand wrap over mine and pull it away. ’Do you remember the rules? he asks, ‘if you please me, you will be rewarded. Now, do you really think that disobeying me is a way to earn my approval?’ I don’t need to look, I know he will be wearing that smirk across his face. I mutter under my breath and force my fingers away.
I try to lower my hips, but they have a mind of their own. Sitting in the chair like this, everything is bared. I thrust harder and harder upward, desperately wanting something to fuck me and fuck me hard. I can hear you approach the chair, you kneel down. Could it be? Will you take care of my hunger? I hold my breath in anticipatio, just as I try to get a reign on my desire, I feel the light breeze as you blow lightly, the wind caressing my burning heat. I can’t take it anymore. ‘Fuck me, please! Just fuck me! Anything at all! Just do It!’ I hear the order and command in my own voice and know instantly, I’ve doomed myself for longer. i squeeze my legs together, but soon pull them apart as it just causes more friction of which I very much wish.
The belt comes down on me three times in rapid succession each lick a reminder that I am not the Master. I close my eyes. Some might think I close them to hide my pain, but I’m actually trying to hide my arousal to not show just what a little pain slut I am. Blissfully, the timer dinags and I am allowed once again to touch myself. ‘You dirty, hungry, little whore. You like that, don’t you? Let me see just how bad you want it. Fuck the air! Let me see your cunt muscles clenching, trying so hard to wrap themselves around anything that might fill your hunger!’ I cry out and just start thrusting my hips in a frenzied desperate dance to be filled up. I lose myself momentarily and SMACK! The belt slaps against the tender flesh of my breasts, first one then the other. I cry out and I beg and plead. ‘Anything, anything, Sir, whatever you want, just please let me cum. May I cum now, please sir? Please?’ I whimper like a little puppy. I try to reach up higher, shoving my hips towards anything near, then I hear it. It seems a million miles away, but I can still hear it.
5 - 4 - 3 - 2 -1 Cum bitch!
I scream and lights explode behind my eyes. My ears are ringing and I feel like my inside is being riI tr
I try to pull away from my hand, unaware that it is my own hand that is tormenting me. I keep stroking, bringing myself to the edge time and again. I scream over and over. Each orgasm shaking me and make me aware that I am becoming overly sensitive and if I keep playing with myself, I might be out of commission for the next few days, but I can’t bring myself to stop. Stroke and scream, stroke and scream, over and over agin until I collapse against the cushions. Replete.
Describe Yourself (I’m Still Scared To Use Hinge)
Pretty bitch (when it’s three am and i’m looking at myself in the mirror and my ego is getting the better of me, otherwise i think my face is too ethnic—the ancient aztecs would’ve loved me though—and too white at the same time)
Compulsive—
I compulsively and impulsively do things
(do i have adhd? should probably get tested so people stop asking)
I am staring at my body
At the funhouse mirror in the county fair
All long hair and petite and wide hipped
(some white lady once told me i had ‘mexican hips’ and i should’ve clocked her if she wasn’t so old and i’m still not entirely sure what that means but that’s a weird thing to say to a latin girl when she’s nineteen, no?)
I feel observed,
In public
Like I am constantly being baited into social error
I crave and detest attention
I like to read
(and at night i will gaze upon such nonsense it makes me sick and i begin to hold a personal grudge against Garth Ennis)
I want things I can’t have, (like, i want lemonade but not this lemonade, the lemonade from two summers ago)
Would you still love me if I told you everything wrong with me? If I told you my fixation on religious imagery stems from—
I like to paint
(if i love you i’ll make something in your image and also i can’t really remember when i was eight years old and my favorite color is a green i’ve tried to find my entire life and will probably never be able to see again because it was the center of a lake on a roadtrip through the yukon when i was small)
I’m young and dumb
(but i feel so old it hurts—I blame this ⅖ on the expectations of the religious sect—cult??? jury’s still out—and all the guilt and the violence that came with it and the other ⅗ on bad blood and familial tradition)
Would you still love me if I was a worm?
Would you still love me if I told you I couldn’t sit with my back to doors? Or that if I don’t check behind the shower curtain, I am confident that I will be Psycho-ed? That I can’t stand loud noise in or outdoors? That I am a slut but only of the soul, because I want you to eat my mind or some other dumb shit I might confess on account of a sleep-deprived high?
Would you still love me if I said men scared the living hell out of me? On account of the reception of violence from them since I was just a baby? That I once crashed my bike while trying to get away from catcalling and rode home with gravel stuck to my bleeding knee?
I’m good with animals and small children and my roommate’s cat literally won’t leave me alone
Would you still love me if I told you I hated vulnerability? That if I said I loved you, I’d immediately ask you to take me out back and shoot me? That I feel like I present the illusion of it and so people always tell me everything because I'm just so goddamn trusting? Because all people want to be believed.
(And, like religion, i believe until it makes me sick.)
That,
my favorite songs are Ethel Cain’s unreleased, and AC/DC, and Gaga and just about everything except country (best friend gets in my car and is stunned by the rapid switch from Danzig to Pop Smoke to Dolly)
and every sibilant sound that my mind latches onto
and i also latch onto you
I really like trees and the beach
(please want me,
please like me)