Carmela was in there straightening the bedding for the third time, her smooth hands shaping the mild fabric of the thin sheets and her long braided pony tail draped around her neck and swinging in unison with her graceful movements. Bending over at the waist, her wide hips lent the necessary curve to her rear which was perfectly formed into an astounding and proportional shape of comfort. Siren-like, calling me. Staring at me. Come to me you heathen.
I sat in my chair, dumfounded, with a melted piña colada in one hand, television remote in the other. Without warning, I lurched to my feet and spastically charged across the room in clunky, mechanical, 1950's robot action, hands full and without control of my large melonhead which was leading the remainder of my body by nine or ten inches. I tried desperately to right myself as I staggered past a blithering Wolf Blitzer (This is CNN!) on television. Did I just hear James Earl Jones?
I vaguely remember Wolf saying something about missile strikes when I realized that my feeble battle against the combined effects of gravity, alcohol and perversion was going to end in a head-first suicide attack on Carmela's back-side. It was simply too late to stop the unfortunate event which was soon to transpire and I swear I saw a horrifying, but crooked smile on my face as I whizzed past the wall mirror to meet my fate.
Someone really smart said something brilliant a long time ago about moving bodies. And someone else invented a seasoned salt called Serendiptiy which is wonderful on hard-boiled eggs. No one has ever told me what to do with a melted pina colada prior to slamming my head into a lovely and innocent woman's nether regions. I've always heard stories about people who have near-death experiences thinking about some inane thing like, "Did I turn off the stove?" or "Why did I waste all that time ironing my socks for 15 years?" For me, all I could think of was, "This is gonna smell great!"
3....2....1....contact!
I don't remember getting splattered in the face with the melted drink, but I had a warm rush of kismet wash over me as if cleansing my soul of any and all intransigence against the world. It felt wonderful! The impact was beautiful and face first and surprisingly soft and supple. I sat on the floor with a stupified and sticky grin of satisfaction. And Carmela must have been feeling the spirituality too, because she began to shreik and speak in tongues while she waved her arms around wildly as she extricated herslf from where she landed between the bed and the wall after our connection. Man, she's really got the spirit! Look at her go!
I was quite overwhelmed with the electrified vigor that coursed through her body as she spat and hurled things around the room, but I did manage to understand one thing she said in broken English about "cutting my huevos" before she rocketed out the door in obvious elation over our grand copulation. I guess she'll be back tomorrow to join me for breakfast and I can't wait for that. She's just great! I wonder if she has kids?
After all of that excitement, I decided to leave to comfortable confines of the Hotel Coral Essex and meander down to the local Arby's for a delicious "Number 14." When I arrived there I was confronted with the following photograph, which left me utterly speechless and filled with an overwhelming dread. Any modicum of happiness coursing through my veins from the prior excitement was now gone. Iced over. Frozen rock solid. Perpetually frozen at -349 degrees Kelvin. Why does this have to happen to me?
Time stood still and I wept for it.
No comments:
Post a Comment