From the upcoming new book in the Quasar 169 series.
“Aw, jeez, Dorreen...I am so, so sorry!”
Her blue-green eyes bright with fury, Dorreen Perandah reached up toward her throat, then literally ripped her flimsy silk blouse away from her upper body. “You wanna see my breasts so bad? Well, these are my breasts!”
Gulping, I quickly turned away.
“Oh no you don’t!” The leggy, athletic blonde wrenched my head around by my jaw to force me to look at her. I squeezed my eyes shut tightly. The woman shoved me away with more force than I’d realized she could muster, sending me staggering awkwardly against the edge of her small, wooden kitchen table. “Pigs!” she announced to the air, flapping her arms for emphasis while I winced, uncertain if I should be at least trying to still see her face.... “It’s true —you’re all fucking pigs! Animals! Is this how far we’ve evolved since we first climbed down from the trees?” Topless, she brushed past me in the narrow space as she stalked out of the brightly lit room.
Small breasted, she hadn’t bothered with a bra.
It was my first real date since I’d split up with my ex wife, Rachel, and while I was pretty damn comfortable with Dory at work, my nerves had conspired to fuck everything up for me royally!
During dinner, I’d managed totally by accident to flick a steamed shrimp down her cleavage. The second one left a trail of cocktail sauce almost as red as my face. My expensive glass of wine tinted the tablecloth a lovely hue that matched my date’s lipstick, but when I’d jerked suddenly in an effort to rescue the glass I’d tipped over, I
managed to catch my right sleeve on fire when the small candle between us went down as well. I dripped gravy on
my pants, wore a glop of potato on the face of my wristwatch for at least a half an hour, and managed to lightly
stab a man on his way to the men’s room when I turned suddenly, fork in hand, to summon our waiter for the bill. I
didn’t break the skin. I was lucky he didn’t break my face. Dory was torn between laughing at me and feeling
bad...until I dropped my pen on the way out, missing my inner jacket pocket completely, then bent to retrieve it.
Somehow, the edge of her long skirt became hooked over my head as I straightened, but she yanked it away before I was able to surmise if her panties were pink or peach colored.
My awkwardly mumbled apologies mollified her somewhat on the ride back to her place. She asked me up for coffee, and while I knew she was only interested in some light conversation and maybe a kiss or two, I was eager to savor at least some small tidbit of the night. In my effort to be charming and helpful, I’d dropped a freshly opened pint of half and half on her. She didn’t take well to my weak smile or the handful of paper towels I’d attempted to pat her chest dry with.
So now I was stupidly trailing her into her tiny laundry room, leaving a trail of milky liquid on the floor behind me from the sodden paper still wadded absently in one hand, desperate to keep on whatever might be left of her good side so we could make another attempt at this at some not-too-distant point in time. “D-Dorreen, I-”
She whirled abruptly, halting the spin with a loud stamp of one foot. I swallowed, scanning her mentally,
wondering if she was possibly mad enough to take a swing at me. She was now dressed in only peach colored
cotton bikini bottoms and suede leather boots laced to her knees. In her hands she clutched her souring outfit and a
plastic cup of powdered detergent. Though I wanted to make her think I retained gentlemanly finesse, I was still compelled to stare at what was so boldly displayed before me, mouth agape.
The bright, peeved young woman’s jaw clenched and her eyes fell away to the mess I didn’t realize I was making on the floor. She turned toward the washing machine and tossed her clothes within, then added the white powder, grunting, “My name is Dory. Nobody calls me Dorreen.”
Stammering incoherently, sparkling wit on empty, I was finally able to turn my gaze away from her and stare blankly into her darkened living room, the pale, lean image of her mostly naked body etched permanently onto my grateful retinas.
Ms. D. Perandah, Quasar Force Officer number zero zero one, slammed down the lid of her washer, cranked it into submission, then manhandled me out of her way so she could return to the kitchen. I shuffled morosely after her, amazed to see her bend over with her back to me and hunt amongst the cleaning products she stored beneath her kitchen sink. The woman stood, pivoting toward me at the same time, one hand extended. “Give me the towels.”
My mouth popped open and my brain fell out. I had no idea what language she’d just spoken in.
Shrugging, she approached to pluck the paper towels from my limp fingers, discarded them, and began to mop up spilt dairy from her otherwise spotless linoleum floor.
I remained there dumbly, dreamily, sweating, flustered. I should leave now, I told myself, but remained
transfixed, watching the sexy young woman parade about before me with no clothes on.
“Like you’ve never seen a woman half dressed before,” she smirked, even finally blushing slightly as she
straightened back up. I saw her watching me over her shoulder as she washed her hands, knew what she was up to when she finally took hold of me by my tie and used it to usher me through her short foyer. My coat hung from a
closet doorknob. She tossed it over my right arm, then quickly unlocked the door. Pushing me into the poorly lit
hall beyond, she spun me around to face her just outside her apartment doorway. I inhaled haltingly, surprised as
she spontaneously rose up on her toes to press her soft mouth over mine and kissed me in a way I hadn’t experienced since I’d been married to She of the Snake-Like Tongue. “It wasn’t all your fault,” she told me huskily, her breath keeping my slack lips warm as she hovered temptingly close, “but, buddy, you’ve got a lot to learn about women.”
It took me a moment to register that she was gone and had even slammed the door shut between us. Stiffly, I turned to face the stairway that lead down and out of the old, decaying building. “Hhhhuhh,” I exhaled,
trying to decide if what she really wanted was for me to beat the door down and spend the rest of the night with
her. I could’ve read her thoughts again, but decided I really preferred my fantasy to the truth. About to attempt forward movement, I caught sight of a dark shape from the corner of my eye. A short, very round and swarthy woman had apparently observed the entire spectacle from behind her partially open apartment door across the hall.
As I turned mutely toward her, she shook her kerchiefed head and muttered, “Uh-huh, ain’t that always the way?”
She was careful to lock and chain her door between us.
Read more in the pages of the upcoming
science fiction title,
Quasar 169: Physical Evidence
Modern Mythology is a collection of fifteen imaginative stories having mythological themes and also possessing interesting mythological allusions and characters.
Modern Mythology is a collection of fifteen imaginative stories having mythological themes and also possessing interesting mythological allusions and characters.
