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Vera's Dream
Jul. 22nd, 2011 12:26 amVera looked ravishing in the light of her burning bridges; the wry smirk and the kohl lined eyes locked in ferocious amusement as she tells me about the latest poor fool to be banished from the widely cherished Promised Land that was her bed. This was one of her secret lovers, Agent Down Low, recently ordered to turn in his badge and gun after prematurely firing during a routine investigation. Know that Vera runs one of the toughest shooting boards in the City. Know that there is a time and a place when being the quickest draw in the West is distinctly not advantageous.
So it wasn’t Vera’s fault the poor schmuck left his steady lady of over seven years in the hopes she would do likewise with her man. Not her fault he already moved out and was living fulltime in the very hotel room that was normally designated for their discreet rendezvous’. She certainly didn’t ask for a commitment outside one of infrequent and mutually assured satisfaction. All she was looking for was an hour of oblivion and what she got instead was two minutes of naked animal Zen followed by fifty-five of the lamest story ever told.
Of course he’s not alone. There’s at least three retired agents here at the bar, big rockabilly bruiser types that walk schoolboy humble by Vera when she pops into the Little Girl’s Room to powder her confidence. Can’t blame them. The rollercoaster curves mapping an Amazonian physique. The deep, rich mulatto cocoa skin. The violet bangs veiling feline green eyes sparkling with madness-lightning and coke lust. The only thing better than the way Vera looks is the way Vera drives. She’s feeling antsy, ready to eschew the scenery. Too many ex’s and too few waitresses. She needs out stat, she needs the purr of her engine humming through her body and the flow of the highway roaring beneath that delightfully packed ass of hers ASAP.
I down my Jack and she picks up the bill.
I man shotgun and she takes the wheel. We peel out chase scene style – with screeching tires and sharp turns. We pour out of the lot and hit a long side road running East to Fuck Knows Where. Vera dials the radio until she finds something big, brash and sexy. The bass rattles the cab of her jet black UFO and she orders me to nostril feed her sizable bumps off my key while plows through the night faster and faster and faster until…
… she tells me to slip my fingers into her lap, even as she unbuttons her jeans and spreads her thighs open slightly.
I spider slip nimble and my fingers crawl through her dark on instinct. I find the spot. I circumnavigate a ghost light touch around the island. She groans and speeds up and tells me to do the same. Gentle. Fast. The not so gentle. Then faster and she heralds the first of her orgasms with a hiss. Slower is the order, then she turns down the dial and through undulating breaths that flutter like the wings of some lost bird of paradise, tells me about this really weird dream she had.
The one with me in it.
I was a young man back on the military base she grew up in Italy. I try to picture Navy brat Vera, with teenage 80’s big hair and day-glow fishnets, but have become too absorbed with my manual navigations to see it. Fuck only knows how she saw me. Anyway, we were apparently best friends in the horrible military base school she attended. We smoked cigarettes after class and confessed to each other one another’s secret crushes. We were at her place, or her father’s allotted housing unit, and on the couch watching some American TV shows her cousins recorded and mailed to her.
Suddenly I turned around towards her.
At first she thought I was going to try to kiss her. Then she realized instead I was trying to say something but I was too scared and sputtering it all out. Then she noticed, no, I wasn’t trying to say something… but rather desperately trying to inform her that I was choking to death. My face went blue and bloated. My eyes rolled into my head until only the whites stared back at her. There was something in my throat, a huge lump that was squirming restlessly. I opened my mouth to scream but instead, from between the spread open teeth, the knuckles of a fist began to bulge. It pressed through and my teeth raked the top of the fist until it began to trickle blood. When it emerged it was followed by a thick hairy wrist that protruded all the way out of my mouth but slithering almost like a snake, as if it had no bones in it. The fist opened once, snatched at Vera’s neck but missed and so, instead, reached down for my own throat and began strangling me slowly.
That was when she woke up along with when the second orgasm rumbled through her and she grinned at me: “What do you dream about?”
In front of me the winding road spills out onto the highway and the wolf pack of tragedies baying at my collapsing doors evaporates at her touch: “This.”
So it wasn’t Vera’s fault the poor schmuck left his steady lady of over seven years in the hopes she would do likewise with her man. Not her fault he already moved out and was living fulltime in the very hotel room that was normally designated for their discreet rendezvous’. She certainly didn’t ask for a commitment outside one of infrequent and mutually assured satisfaction. All she was looking for was an hour of oblivion and what she got instead was two minutes of naked animal Zen followed by fifty-five of the lamest story ever told.
Of course he’s not alone. There’s at least three retired agents here at the bar, big rockabilly bruiser types that walk schoolboy humble by Vera when she pops into the Little Girl’s Room to powder her confidence. Can’t blame them. The rollercoaster curves mapping an Amazonian physique. The deep, rich mulatto cocoa skin. The violet bangs veiling feline green eyes sparkling with madness-lightning and coke lust. The only thing better than the way Vera looks is the way Vera drives. She’s feeling antsy, ready to eschew the scenery. Too many ex’s and too few waitresses. She needs out stat, she needs the purr of her engine humming through her body and the flow of the highway roaring beneath that delightfully packed ass of hers ASAP.
I down my Jack and she picks up the bill.
I man shotgun and she takes the wheel. We peel out chase scene style – with screeching tires and sharp turns. We pour out of the lot and hit a long side road running East to Fuck Knows Where. Vera dials the radio until she finds something big, brash and sexy. The bass rattles the cab of her jet black UFO and she orders me to nostril feed her sizable bumps off my key while plows through the night faster and faster and faster until…
… she tells me to slip my fingers into her lap, even as she unbuttons her jeans and spreads her thighs open slightly.
I spider slip nimble and my fingers crawl through her dark on instinct. I find the spot. I circumnavigate a ghost light touch around the island. She groans and speeds up and tells me to do the same. Gentle. Fast. The not so gentle. Then faster and she heralds the first of her orgasms with a hiss. Slower is the order, then she turns down the dial and through undulating breaths that flutter like the wings of some lost bird of paradise, tells me about this really weird dream she had.
The one with me in it.
I was a young man back on the military base she grew up in Italy. I try to picture Navy brat Vera, with teenage 80’s big hair and day-glow fishnets, but have become too absorbed with my manual navigations to see it. Fuck only knows how she saw me. Anyway, we were apparently best friends in the horrible military base school she attended. We smoked cigarettes after class and confessed to each other one another’s secret crushes. We were at her place, or her father’s allotted housing unit, and on the couch watching some American TV shows her cousins recorded and mailed to her.
Suddenly I turned around towards her.
At first she thought I was going to try to kiss her. Then she realized instead I was trying to say something but I was too scared and sputtering it all out. Then she noticed, no, I wasn’t trying to say something… but rather desperately trying to inform her that I was choking to death. My face went blue and bloated. My eyes rolled into my head until only the whites stared back at her. There was something in my throat, a huge lump that was squirming restlessly. I opened my mouth to scream but instead, from between the spread open teeth, the knuckles of a fist began to bulge. It pressed through and my teeth raked the top of the fist until it began to trickle blood. When it emerged it was followed by a thick hairy wrist that protruded all the way out of my mouth but slithering almost like a snake, as if it had no bones in it. The fist opened once, snatched at Vera’s neck but missed and so, instead, reached down for my own throat and began strangling me slowly.
That was when she woke up along with when the second orgasm rumbled through her and she grinned at me: “What do you dream about?”
In front of me the winding road spills out onto the highway and the wolf pack of tragedies baying at my collapsing doors evaporates at her touch: “This.”