Tagged: tune in next time

The Pathetic Noises

  • by Kentbut you grab it between finger and thumb
  • struck the ground emphatically with his stick
  • asked Jerry for a gun
  • sell you a chainsaw in the desert
  • is biological in nature

Tune in next time part 71                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

The pathetic noises came from a dilapidated station wagon limping along the dirt road, chuffing and squeaking and dragging several of its body panels along the ground. The man at the wheel wore a moldy top hat and sunglasses made of gummi worms.

He rolled down his window as the car crept alongside us. “Name’s Jerry. Can I give you folks a ride?” Svetlana coyly allowed him to see that her wrists were bound with electrical wire. Jerry didn’t seem to mind.

“Sure,” I said. I put Svetlana in the back seat and went around to the front passenger door. Jerry didn’t ask us any more questions. As he drove he told us about his thrilling career as a race car driver, and how he spends his time in retirement inventing edible eyewear. “The design inspiration is biological in nature, i.e., worms. It’s just like normal glasses, but you grab it between finger and thumb and off comes a snack!” He demonstrated. He boasted about the many high-class boutiques that bought his designs, saying, “I’m the kind of guy who could sell you a chainsaw in the desert.” Like that was a thing. At one point Svetlana interrupted and asked Jerry for a gun. I thought I might need to take the pistol out of my pocket, but he ignored her.

Predictably, the station wagon wheezed to a halt and wouldn’t move despite all of Jerry’s swearing, even when he got out and kicked dust on it and threatened it with a stout tree limb that he brandished like a club. Even when he struck the ground emphatically with his stick.

“Thanks for the lift,” I said. “We’ll leave you to it.”

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Svetlana Used Her Nimble Toes

  • by jencarried the corpse away with them
  • with an energy peculiar to excited females
  • “faddish” and “exaggerated”
  • Russia at its most bizarre
  • could not be locked from the inside

Tune in next time part 72                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Svetlana used her nimble toes to try to prevent me from bringing her along, but fortunately for me Jerry’s car could not be locked from the inside. While she writhed around and tried to hold all the doors closed with her feet, flailing and contorting her limbs like an acrobat from Russia at its most bizarre, I reached in through the open window and grabbed her by the ankle.

Some might call her struggles “faddish” and “exaggerated” but I knew that in her mind she was fighting for her freedom, if not her life, and doing so with an energy peculiar to excited females. I also think she had a crush on Jerry who stood nearby, still beating the ground with his stick.

I hauled Svetlana through the window by her ankle, narrowly avoiding being caught up in a headlock with her other leg. While she dangled from my fist, I said, “You can either walk, or I can carry you. If I carry you it won’t be fun. It’ll be like when John and Lyudmila killed that feral ninja and carried the corpse away with them, and you’ll be the corpse.”

She glared at me.

I gave a hard smile. “You won’t be dead, but you might wish you were.”

 

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When Svetlana Acquiesced

  • by Kentcome on, let’s get high
  • resembling a cerulean elephant with an aquiline nose
  • continued after night fell
  • isn’t mature enough to be my sex partner
  • I blame porn for this

Tune in next time part 73                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

When Svetlana acquiesced to walk under her own power and we started off along the side of the road, Jerry dropped his stick and called after us not to leave him. “I have some primo pharma in the way-back,” he implored. “Stick around guys, come on let’s get high.”

Even Svetlana could see that was a bad idea. We trudged for hours without seeing another vehicle. The hinterlands were so quiet that we could hear the rumble of a distant engine for several minutes before we spotted the machine behind us. It was some kind of van, resembling a cerulean elephant with an aquiline nose. In other words, not bearing much resemblance to an elephant at all. Svetlana waved her leg over her head in an effort to make the driver stop, but the weird van trundled past without slowing.

Our lonely hike continued after night fell. “Shouldn’t we stop, get some rest?” Svetlana asked. “We could lay down, together, under the stars.” She batted her eyelashes. “I’m already tied up.”

“You keep trying to seduce me, but I know it’s only in hopes of making your escape. You’re only looking out for yourself, which is a major turn-off. I’m not interested in sleeping with someone who isn’t mature enough to be my sex partner.” My speech caused her to pout, whether in genuine petulance or as a come-hither indicator it was impossible to tell.

Topping a hill brought us voices, and the smell of wood smoke and roasting meat. Both our stomachs growled so loudly I was worried the people at the campsite up ahead might hear them. Parked just within the circle of light cast by the fire was the bizarre bluish van, its proboscis accentuated by shadows dancing in the firelight. It wasn’t a nose at all, but a different anatomical reference.

Svetlana chuckled and handed me a tidy bundle of electrical wiring. She started toward the campsite, wrists unbound. “I’m going to get something to eat, you coming?” she called back to me.

“Wait,” I hissed, but she kept going. She presumably meant to ply these strangers with sexual advances, or just attack them and steal their food. I was so hungry I hardly cared, trailing a few dozen yards behind her to see what would develop. I was eager to watch, slave to a deep voyeuristic impulse that often arises at inopportune times. I blame porn for this reflex toward surreptitious observation. Regardless, I hoped for a cut of that meat.

 

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I Tucked the Bundle of Wire Into My Pocket

  • by jenyour secret is safe with us
  • He did both.
  • her husband materialized
  • no explanations for the fresh cuts
  • took an Imperial Pint of vinegar

Tune in next time part 74                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

I tucked the bundle of wire into my pocket and thought about Svetlana. The surprise I felt came not from the fact of her escape from her bindings but from the knowledge that she could have escaped at any time. Why had she chosen to remain my bound captive for so long? Was she proving her cooperation, or attempting to lull me?

Beside the campfire sat a woman. On a spit in the flames was the roasting carcass of some medium-sized animal, maybe a goat. I watched as the woman took an Imperial Pint of vinegar from the ground beside her and basted the meat. Even so my mouth watered.

While the woman was occupied with recorking the vinegar bottle, Svetlana sprang from the darkness and cut two long strips of meat from the roasting animal and disappeared back into the shadows. Where had she gotten the knife?

The woman put the vinegar down and looked at her meal, confused. I could tell her dim imagination offered no explanations for the fresh cuts that now marred the cooking meat.

Just then her husband materialized from inside the weird blue van. I assume it was her husband, anyway. They acted married. I didn’t know whether to expect him to yell or laugh about the state of their dinner. He did both.

While the couple bickered, Svetlana appeared at my elbow and handed me a strip of hot, greasy meat. It burned my tongue and tasted strongly of vinegar, but I was too hungry to care. I ate it all in seconds and thought about daring Svetlana to get us more.

“I’ve had just about enough of your chauvinism, Harold!” the vinegar-woman cried as she shoved the man into the fire. I told you they acted married.

Harold screamed and stumbled around, his clothing and hair in flames. His wife watched, chuckling as he ran blindly off into the desert night.

“Serves you right you sonnovabitch!” she yelled after him.

Svetlana chose that moment to approach.

“We need transportation,” she said. “If you give us the keys to your van, your secret is safe with us. If you feel the need to argue, we’ll tell the authorities what we saw you do to poor Harold.”

 

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“Poor Harold?”

  • by KentHe may not kill you
  • But unlike Kim Kardashian
  • refused to give up to him a tender young rodent she had captured
  • a magic thingamajig
  • make up for it by bribery

Tune in next time part 75                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Poor Harold?” the vinegar woman hooted. Her rosy face and rolling gait spoke of many pints, most of them not vinegar.

After almost a minute of wheezing, hacking laughter, she finally drew herself upright and caught her breath. “Oh, he’s poor alright. He’s a poor Harold, he’s a poor driver, he’s got poor hygiene, and oh yes, he’s got no money. Get it, he’s POOR!” The exclamation’s attendant blast of her awful breath made me wish the wind would shift and engulf me in the smoke from the cooking fire. That only smelled like someone was cleaning out a coffee pot with a goat.

“You run off and tell the ‘thorridies whatsoever you choose,” the vinegar woman resumed. “Harold’s fine. I expect him back in a tick. He may not kill you on sight, but he’s going to be in a mood I can promise you that. Doesn’t care for being set on fire, although I tell him and tell him how it helps with the fleas.”

I glanced around in case Harold was sneaking back to the campsite. In that moment, Svetlana vanished. I heard the van’s motor start. Vinegar woman’s jaw swung slack as she spun to see what was happening, and I sprinted to join Svetlana in the van.

We were a mile up the bumpy road before we realized we were not alone. A sleepy female voice from the back of the van inquired about dinner.

I looked at our fellow traveler. A young woman with olive skin and long dark hair, her makeup overdone and her eyes empty. She reminded me of someone from television. But unlike Kim Kardashian, this woman was chained up in the back of a seedy van. I asked her who she was. While Svetlana’s driving tested the structural integrity of the stolen vehicle, I listened to the other woman’s tale. She never told me her name, only that she was being punished (by Harold, I wondered?) because she refused to give up to him a tender young rodent she had captured. Now she was cursed to wear a magic thingamajig. She had tried to tell him she was sorry about not sharing, tried to make up for it by bribery. But he wouldn’t lift the curse. He didn’t even want the rodent anymore.

“Here,” she concluded, “do you want it?” She held out her hand, on which rested a snake’s head. The rest of the snake formed a spiral around her arm. The reptilian tongue flicked.

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“A Snake is Not a Rodent.”

  • by jencreate an extraordinary hybrid
  • your love was just a game
  • he wasn’t exactly suffering
  • sprang vigorously out of bed
  • I’m going to remember tonight forever

Tune in next time part 76                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

“A snake is not a rodent,” I explained. “And you can keep it.”

The woman blinked her vacant eyes.

“Civilization!” Svetlana cried from the driver’s seat. She pulled the van into a parking lot and tossed the keys to the prisoner. Looking at me she said, “If we hurry we can catch the next train.”

She pulled me out of the van and we sprinted into the train station. We only had enough money for one ticket to the city, so Svetlana tested her contortionist skills to the limit by fitting herself inside my clothes with me. When she did this with Heinrich, they had used a harness. I had no such contraption, which meant my limber passenger had to find… other handholds.

By the time we reached our sleeping compartment, sleep was the furthest thing from our minds. We stripped and wrestled each other into bed, then spent several hours relieving our frustrations, if you know what I mean.

“I’m going to remember tonight forever,” Svetlana whispered just before she sprang vigorously out of bed. “It is the night I became pregnant!”

“Wait, what?” I said. “You said you were on the pill!”

“I lied. But it was for a good cause.” She pointed to my penis and said, “And anyway he wasn’t exactly suffering.”

“That’s hardly the point!”

“I know your love was just a game, but it’s a game I have now won. Combining your seed with my own genetics will create an extraordinary hybrid! Half contortionist, half whatever you are.”

I was in shock. Could she possibly know my secret?

Without another word she dressed in my clothes, leaving me with only her skimpy leotard, and fled the compartment.

 

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I Wished Tessa Had Taught Me

  • by Kentlike an oversized elevator
  • my newly acquired Martian tongue
  • really vivid part of my memory
  • “I want to touch her, too!”
  • Sniffed again.

Tune in next time part 77                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

I wished Tessa had taught me her ninja stealth, so I could roam the train unnoticed and track down my contorting seductress. Oh well. I wasn’t sure what I meant to do if I found her anyway. I spent the remainder of the journey in the compartment, taking my time about putting on Svetlana’s leotard. It gave both the material and my inhibitions time to relax.

At the station, my appearance drew much attention. Too much. I covered my overly sleek attire with a trench coat snatched off an unattended pile of baggage, and dashed out to the street.

Fortunately, the train station borders the city’s arts quarter, where I was able to blend in. Another man in a sequined leotard three sizes too small approached up the sidewalk. He paused when he reached me, saying, “That coat fits you like an oversized elevator, and without it you’d be an oversexed escalator. Come upstairs and I’ll show you my newly acquired Martian tongue. It’s not a fake, boy, don’t even think that. I brought it home from my last trek to the red planet. You know it’s nothing like that silly movie? It has a lot of dust, though, that’s a really vivid part of my memory. Maybe you could come along next time? You look like the adventuresome, spacey type.”

I probably should have declined the invitation, but I hoped to obtain less conspicuous clothing. Seemed like a long shot, but I was desperate.

The next several hours are lost to me, except for my own repeated yells of, “I want to touch her, too!” I woke up on a bench, back at the boardwalk, in the middle of the night. In place of Svetlana’s leotard, I wore a police uniform. I blinked. Behind my bench, someone or something sniffed. Sniffed again. And growled.

 

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The Growl Came From a Human Throat

  • by jenAnais Nin isn’t enough of a clue
  • as men do who are stalking man
  • “One cannot always be love-making.”
  • is engaged to be married
  • I don’t like to be alone

Tune in next time part 78                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

The growl came from a human throat, which made it much more intimidating. Animals can be reasoned with.

Suddenly hands clapped over my eyes and my feral companion said, “Guess who!” in a familiar, smoky female voice. “I’ll give one hint,” she purred with a German accent. “I am not Anais Nin.”

I had her identity narrowed down to two. Depending on which of the German sisters she was, my night was about to get very lucky or very unlucky. “Merely eliminating Anais Nin isn’t enough of a clue,” I said. “You have to give me more to go on.”

Her icy fingertips massaged my eyeballs through the lids. “I can tell you apart from Jason in the same way as men do who are stalking man — through your scent and through the shape of your corneas.”

“Ulrike,” I breathed.

“Of course it is me!” She released her grip on my face and bounded over the back of the bench to sit beside me. “I have missed you darling,” she said.

“I thought you were keeping yourself busy with John,” I said.

“One cannot always be love-making.” She eyed my crotch and I felt that familiar mix of fear and desire that I always felt around Ulrike. “And anyway, John is engaged to be married to Tessa now, and I don’t like to be alone.”

She took me by the hand and led me toward my doom.

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While Ulrike Steered Me

  • by Kentapplied the torch
  • with the master of aesthetic curiosity
  • at his silken-voiced finest
  • pull in your boobs
  • gripped the handles and released the brake

Tune in next time part 79                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

While Ulrike steered me up the boardwalk, my mind scrambled for a way out of this. I wondered if my uniform was real or just a costume. Did I have handcuffs and a gun? Or tearaway trousers and a thong?

We passed a troupe of street performers just as the fire eater applied the torch to his breath and unleashed a swirling trail of flame. Its heat demonstrated how sheer and flimsy my uniform was. Ulrike brought us to a stop to admire the jugglers and acrobats, whose sign proclaimed them the Aesthetic Curios. As they cavorted, with the master of aesthetic curiosity narrating their every feat like some hybrid ringmaster/auctioneer at his silken-voiced best, I devised a scheme to take advantage of Ulrike’s distraction. In a thong, doing cartwheels, I could disappear among the Aesthetic Curios.

Sidling back a step, I yanked on the breakaway uniform.

But it wasn’t breakaway. The fabric was thin but tough. I yelped in pain and surprise, trying to undo the self-inflicted wedgie.

Ulrike spun around and said, “You fool! Now they know!” She snagged my hand again and dashed to the nearest unmanned taffy cart. Leaping onto it, she initiated its mechanical transformation into a low-slung ground sled. It wasn’t designed for two riders, leaving each of us dangling partially over the sides.

The sled’s jet engine emitted a deafening whine.

“Pull in your boobs,” I advised, as she gripped the handles and released the brake.

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We Only Made It a Few Hundred Yards Down the Boardwalk

  • by jenwidely presumed to be sexting constantly
  • “See ya later.”
  • like a tantalizing love machine
  • it helps to have a mirror in the room
  • a “mechanical control abnormality”

Tune in next time part 80                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

We only made it a few hundred yards down the boardwalk before a light on the dashboard started blinking, signaling a “mechanical control abnormality” and smoke poured out of both the engine compartment and the taffy bin.

“Scheiße!” cried Ulrike, frantically squeezing the brake lever.

But we did not slow. Our rocket sled hurtled out of control, klaxons blaring, like some post-apocalyptic ice cream truck. I reached around Ulrike’s unrestrained bosom and hit the button for the ejector seat. We shot upward, clinging to each other and dangling from our single parachute. Below us our taffy sled rocketed through the railing at the end of the pier and hurtled into the sea.

The massive cloud of steam generated by jet engine meeting salt water hid us from view as we made a clumsy landing on the beach. Ulrike grabbed my wrist again and dragged me into the nearby funhouse before the fog cleared.

“When hiding from one’s enemy it helps to have a mirror in the room,” she said, and shoved me into the hall of mirrors. We were suddenly surrounded by dozens of versions of ourselves, some perfect copies, others stretched and warped in hideous ways.

Ulrike gazed around at all the mirrors and breathed hotly in my ear. “I had forgotten how much like a tantalizing love machine you are.” Or at least she tried to. She actually breathed in the ear of one of my reflections, fogging up the glass.

I laughed and said, “See ya later.”

Luckily I had this particular labyrinth memorized. I closed my eyes and ran through, leaving Ulrike cursing and stumbling behind me.

Upon exiting I pushed my way through a group of teenagers. All teens are widely presumed to be sexting constantly, and these did nothing to dispel that stereotype. With any luck their overabundance of hormones would confuse Ulrike’s sensitive nose when she finally blundered through the maze, and allow me to make good my escape.

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