pre-disposition towards gloss and lace.
Malone rears up, is barely able to get his chin over the sill, takes in the scene and says, "These are some seriously fucked up people."
Church nods.
"She's calling you."
"What?"
"Over there. In the water."
"Oh Christ. Who is it?"
"Go on."
Moving with a more resolute purpose than he's perhaps ever felt before in his life, Church wafts down to the shore of the lake, where a beautiful woman swims.
Well now.
She is luminescent, luxurious, star white, and nude in her complete splashing madness. Insanity can't hide behind a disguise to someone who can smell it. She sways her arms and kicks out, arching through her own ripples and waves.
Exotica. Maybe this is only a dream made real by the force of his own will—it's happened like that on occasion. You can find what you're looking for if you're hunting for the right thing. Usually he's not, which is what brings him to parties like this.
She is as full of sexuality as he is stuffed with carefully folded and compressed layers of fear.
Here we go.
She glows in the lake with a healthy, enormously erotic energy. It weaves and braids around her like the glistening coils of blonde hair. Fog rises from the water and wraps itself around her throat—once, twice, spiraling tighter—as the gust of her breath parts it, gently swirls and takes it in, eases it across her beautiful chest and blows it back into the twilight.
"Were you looking for me?" he asks.
"Yes," she tells him.
"Why?"
"Does it matter?"
"Sure."
Of course it does. This is when you tend to hit the wall, when you pretend that such things don't actually carry weight. Church snags the inside of his cheek with his teeth. She senses his resistance and coos, "I want you."
He tries not to say Ohboy with that frantic excited lilt, but he can't help himself. He can so rarely help himself these days.
" Ohboy ."
"What do you need?" she asks.
It's a big question, even more mammoth for him than most folks. How do you put your desires into words on a night like this?…you have to figure out your need, maybe that's where the problem is.
Somehow, Church knows, he went off the rails in a slow but steady progression from the time he was about four.
"Do you need to make love to me?" she asks, kicking back in a savage sweep so the lake water bubbles and boils around her. She keeps her legs open for a moment, showing him the glory of her goodies.
"That would be nice," he tells her, aroused and feeling the standard dirtiness fill his mind, the chilling sweat prickling his scalp. There's a dock twenty yards away, and he imagines himself rushing towards it, taking off his clothes as he moves with sudden and complete grace, flinging his sneakers into the woods, catching the rhythm as he touches the first board, then running faster and slicing into the air in a power dive that takes him into the dark.
Until he rises from the murky depths to meet her on the lake's surface, clouds of mist in her hair.
But it's already going bad. Church has a pretty good intuition when it comes to naked gorgeous women in the water who want to make love to his pudgy ass.
Something is amiss. Ohboy .
He glances at the dock again and sees a black blur of subtle motion beside it. He takes a step towards it, and the girl, back-lit with moonlight fire, harshly whispers, "No, don't go over there. Stay with me."
"Huh?"
"Please, I want you to stay here with me."
Jesus, now she's pleading?
There are times when you call down the wrath of fate by not looking just a little farther to the left. Or taking the time to check under the bed for the dwarf holding a scythe, waiting to cut you down at the ankles. Or looking in the closet to see if her crazed lesbian lover is in there with a garrote. Or investigating the slight reflection near the dock, the odd suggestion of circling movement. Just for not averting your eyes.
Church frowns down at the
Malone rears up, is barely able to get his chin over the sill, takes in the scene and says, "These are some seriously fucked up people."
Church nods.
"She's calling you."
"What?"
"Over there. In the water."
"Oh Christ. Who is it?"
"Go on."
Moving with a more resolute purpose than he's perhaps ever felt before in his life, Church wafts down to the shore of the lake, where a beautiful woman swims.
Well now.
She is luminescent, luxurious, star white, and nude in her complete splashing madness. Insanity can't hide behind a disguise to someone who can smell it. She sways her arms and kicks out, arching through her own ripples and waves.
Exotica. Maybe this is only a dream made real by the force of his own will—it's happened like that on occasion. You can find what you're looking for if you're hunting for the right thing. Usually he's not, which is what brings him to parties like this.
She is as full of sexuality as he is stuffed with carefully folded and compressed layers of fear.
Here we go.
She glows in the lake with a healthy, enormously erotic energy. It weaves and braids around her like the glistening coils of blonde hair. Fog rises from the water and wraps itself around her throat—once, twice, spiraling tighter—as the gust of her breath parts it, gently swirls and takes it in, eases it across her beautiful chest and blows it back into the twilight.
"Were you looking for me?" he asks.
"Yes," she tells him.
"Why?"
"Does it matter?"
"Sure."
Of course it does. This is when you tend to hit the wall, when you pretend that such things don't actually carry weight. Church snags the inside of his cheek with his teeth. She senses his resistance and coos, "I want you."
He tries not to say Ohboy with that frantic excited lilt, but he can't help himself. He can so rarely help himself these days.
" Ohboy ."
"What do you need?" she asks.
It's a big question, even more mammoth for him than most folks. How do you put your desires into words on a night like this?…you have to figure out your need, maybe that's where the problem is.
Somehow, Church knows, he went off the rails in a slow but steady progression from the time he was about four.
"Do you need to make love to me?" she asks, kicking back in a savage sweep so the lake water bubbles and boils around her. She keeps her legs open for a moment, showing him the glory of her goodies.
"That would be nice," he tells her, aroused and feeling the standard dirtiness fill his mind, the chilling sweat prickling his scalp. There's a dock twenty yards away, and he imagines himself rushing towards it, taking off his clothes as he moves with sudden and complete grace, flinging his sneakers into the woods, catching the rhythm as he touches the first board, then running faster and slicing into the air in a power dive that takes him into the dark.
Until he rises from the murky depths to meet her on the lake's surface, clouds of mist in her hair.
But it's already going bad. Church has a pretty good intuition when it comes to naked gorgeous women in the water who want to make love to his pudgy ass.
Something is amiss. Ohboy .
He glances at the dock again and sees a black blur of subtle motion beside it. He takes a step towards it, and the girl, back-lit with moonlight fire, harshly whispers, "No, don't go over there. Stay with me."
"Huh?"
"Please, I want you to stay here with me."
Jesus, now she's pleading?
There are times when you call down the wrath of fate by not looking just a little farther to the left. Or taking the time to check under the bed for the dwarf holding a scythe, waiting to cut you down at the ankles. Or looking in the closet to see if her crazed lesbian lover is in there with a garrote. Or investigating the slight reflection near the dock, the odd suggestion of circling movement. Just for not averting your eyes.
Church frowns down at the
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