MY WICKED, WANTON LIFE
PART I
I was daydreaming. Well, not exactly daydreaming because it wasn’t daytime, but rather late at night. The point is my mind wasn’t on my driving. I was dreaming about having sex with a hot little number who’d recently been transferred to the school where I worked. She was young, had a great body, was wearing a short, tight yellow dress that accentuated every curve and, if I wasn’t reading the signs all wrong, she’d been flirting with me most of the evening. I think she was as anxious to get into my pants as I was to get into hers.
Although I was in a relationship, it wasn’t a long-term thing, more of a convenience, a way to ensure regular mind-blowing sex without having to go through all that dating rigmarole. At least, that’s the way I saw it. I’m not too sure about my partner. Anyway, I had just dreamed I'd pulled off this new staff member’s panties and buried my face in her muff when the unthinkable happened.
Abruptly the road ran out, and my Torana nosedived into a ditch. Before I realised where I was, it was flipping end over end. This can’t be happening! I’m too young to die! There was no time for any other thoughts. Next second, my head smacked against something hard and everything grew fuzzy.
I was five years old again. I was riding my trike outside the house owned by my grandparents, pretending I was in the race of my life. “Brmm! Brmm!” I tugged on the handlebars, pulling my trusty vehicle into a tight turn. Around and around the pussy willow tree I sped, each lap tighter than the one before. “Brmm! Brmm!”
Suddenly the trike tipped sideways and together we fell towards the ground. Only inside my mind I was tumbling on a racetrack, spectators and other vehicles spinning in crazy circles around me. Faster and faster I spun, everything around me becoming more and more blurry. Then a whirlwind enveloped me, lifting me and pulling me deeper and deeper into its centre. I was lost, trapped in a world of grey-and-white shadowy figures.
I screamed and opened my eyes. I was confused. I blinked and stared through glass. I was upside down. Although I was in a car, it wasn’t on a racetrack. I was on a country road, and I’d missed the intersection in the fog. There was no sign of other cars, spectators or a whirlwind. The year was 1974, not 1948.
A nightmare! A silly bloody nightmare! I shook my head, trying desperately to clear my muddled mind. While the car was settling, I’d lost conscious, and a childhood dream had resurfaced. Why that memory? No idea.
My head hurt, and I could smell the strong stench of beer. I’d purchased a dozen bottles of Foster’s Lager before setting out for home. During the crash they must have spilled from the carton, smashed somewhere in the back of the car and doused me in their contents. I smelled like a brewery and hadn’t touched a drop.
I groaned, felt for the clasp to unclip my seatbelt, pushed it and toppled onto the inside roof of the car. Bugger! I’d forgotten about gravity and landed on my head. I winced with pain, scrambled onto my hands and knees and searched for an exit. Thankfully the door opened. I pushed it as far as it would go and crawled from inside my upside-down vehicle.
As I sat there in the damp grass with the fog swirling around me the way it does in scary Hollywood movies, I listened to the motor cooling. There was no other sound. It was as if I was all alone in the world. At that moment, I could have believed it.
I reached up and touched my head again. It felt sticky. I brought my hand away and looked at it. In the dark I could barely make it out, but I could see a darker patch coating the ends of my fingers. Blood! Although I couldn’t see it, I could imagine the colour. It would be red. Bright red. It would be a shade of red that, when it gushed from the wounds of others, always made me feel queasy. My head was bleeding, and I had no way of staunching it.
I sat there, holding my head, wondering how I was going to get home. Perhaps the hot little number I’d been hitting on at work will drive past and pick me up. I seemed to recall she lived somewhere out this way. She could offer me a ride, take me to her place, and we could fuck until the sun comes up.
If you enjoyed this, you should check out my latest novel.
Broometime Serenade
I was daydreaming. Well, not exactly daydreaming because it wasn’t daytime, but rather late at night. The point is my mind wasn’t on my driving. I was dreaming about having sex with a hot little number who’d recently been transferred to the school where I worked. She was young, had a great body, was wearing a short, tight yellow dress that accentuated every curve and, if I wasn’t reading the signs all wrong, she’d been flirting with me most of the evening. I think she was as anxious to get into my pants as I was to get into hers.
Although I was in a relationship, it wasn’t a long-term thing, more of a convenience, a way to ensure regular mind-blowing sex without having to go through all that dating rigmarole. At least, that’s the way I saw it. I’m not too sure about my partner. Anyway, I had just dreamed I'd pulled off this new staff member’s panties and buried my face in her muff when the unthinkable happened.
Abruptly the road ran out, and my Torana nosedived into a ditch. Before I realised where I was, it was flipping end over end. This can’t be happening! I’m too young to die! There was no time for any other thoughts. Next second, my head smacked against something hard and everything grew fuzzy.
I was five years old again. I was riding my trike outside the house owned by my grandparents, pretending I was in the race of my life. “Brmm! Brmm!” I tugged on the handlebars, pulling my trusty vehicle into a tight turn. Around and around the pussy willow tree I sped, each lap tighter than the one before. “Brmm! Brmm!”
Suddenly the trike tipped sideways and together we fell towards the ground. Only inside my mind I was tumbling on a racetrack, spectators and other vehicles spinning in crazy circles around me. Faster and faster I spun, everything around me becoming more and more blurry. Then a whirlwind enveloped me, lifting me and pulling me deeper and deeper into its centre. I was lost, trapped in a world of grey-and-white shadowy figures.
I screamed and opened my eyes. I was confused. I blinked and stared through glass. I was upside down. Although I was in a car, it wasn’t on a racetrack. I was on a country road, and I’d missed the intersection in the fog. There was no sign of other cars, spectators or a whirlwind. The year was 1974, not 1948.
A nightmare! A silly bloody nightmare! I shook my head, trying desperately to clear my muddled mind. While the car was settling, I’d lost conscious, and a childhood dream had resurfaced. Why that memory? No idea.
My head hurt, and I could smell the strong stench of beer. I’d purchased a dozen bottles of Foster’s Lager before setting out for home. During the crash they must have spilled from the carton, smashed somewhere in the back of the car and doused me in their contents. I smelled like a brewery and hadn’t touched a drop.
I groaned, felt for the clasp to unclip my seatbelt, pushed it and toppled onto the inside roof of the car. Bugger! I’d forgotten about gravity and landed on my head. I winced with pain, scrambled onto my hands and knees and searched for an exit. Thankfully the door opened. I pushed it as far as it would go and crawled from inside my upside-down vehicle.
As I sat there in the damp grass with the fog swirling around me the way it does in scary Hollywood movies, I listened to the motor cooling. There was no other sound. It was as if I was all alone in the world. At that moment, I could have believed it.
I reached up and touched my head again. It felt sticky. I brought my hand away and looked at it. In the dark I could barely make it out, but I could see a darker patch coating the ends of my fingers. Blood! Although I couldn’t see it, I could imagine the colour. It would be red. Bright red. It would be a shade of red that, when it gushed from the wounds of others, always made me feel queasy. My head was bleeding, and I had no way of staunching it.
I sat there, holding my head, wondering how I was going to get home. Perhaps the hot little number I’d been hitting on at work will drive past and pick me up. I seemed to recall she lived somewhere out this way. She could offer me a ride, take me to her place, and we could fuck until the sun comes up.
If you enjoyed this, you should check out my latest novel.
Broometime Serenade
No comments have been added yet.
