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Promise Keeper | clearwater

Gloria was with me. I remembered her name and she was right there with me. It was like old times.
We were a couple, coupled. She was on my arm, titties pressed into my arm, titillating.

Tumescence, ever present tumor-like growth in my pants, swinging from the stars, titties and tumors, Gloria and me. We were the lifeblood flowing through space. We had a right to be here, no less than the moon and stars, we belonged.

“We need to go,” she said.

“Why? I like it here.” I was so comfortable with my surroundings; I loved everybody I was crashing into. “It’s time.” “Alright then.”
She was right. The lights were on.

Stepping outside was like entering a new room. The wind was witchy. The sky was real. There was a serene chaos spinning like a web.

Everywhere I was was okay. There was no need to move. Ever. But we moved slowly, meandering through the people, and I liked them all. They were different. I smiled, they smiled back. I didn’t care what they thought. I didn’t care what they believed. I had titty nipples grazing up and down my arm. Hard little nibbly pibblies. Jelly beans rolling.

“Do you have a car?” Her words flew by.
“Never have a car.”  I settled that.
“Let’s go to my house, get a car.”
“Daddy’s car?”
“Is that o.k.?”
“Yeah, fine with me. Let’s go.” This should be interesting.

I didn’t ask how far, I just walked. A bird was singing somewhere in the night. This was odd. That’s what I thought. Do birds sing at night? Night-in gales? Are night in gales birds? Jeez. I thought of a hawk I’d seen one time in the street. He had a young crow down on the ground, pinned to the ground right in the middle of the street. He would peck and pull on the crows back, then look around. The hawk looked mad, if a hawk can look mad. There were years of anger in the hawk’s face. He didn’t care about the cars passing by, or his own personal safety, he only cared about pecking on the crow.

This was harshing my mellow. I didn’t like thinking about it. I decided to concentrate on the present. We were walking up to a house. We hadn’t been walking long, I didn’t think. I wondered how long I had pondered the hawk/crow dilemma. I didn’t see a car.

“Looks like daddy took the car.” That’s what Gloria said. She looked at me for a minute. “Can you ride a motorcycle?”
“Yeah,” I said. “You bet I can.”

Daddy had a nice garage. If I was the envious type, I’d have hated.
It was a Harley of course. I knew a nano-second before I actually saw it that it would be. There was an aura, a presence around it. It was a big, beefy thug, leaning there waiting.
I mounted the beast, and I could feel my heart throbbing in my hands. The immediate area was in focus. Everything else was a blur. It was a new rush, conquering the old. I dominated. It was that simple. I wondered if it was evident, but didn’t really care. I rolled the bike outside and watched Gloria close the garage door. What it all meant was this: the bike was mine, first and foremost. Gloria was mine in a more innate sense; there was no point in bringing it up.

“Get on.” I turned the key. Gloria was wrapped around me. The noise was unreasonable.
I put it in gear and the noise was shooting into the distance. It was a vibration rumble now. My throbbing hands were absorbed by the machine. My arms were absorbed by the machine. I sunk into the rumble and Gloria sunk into me. My teeth were clenched in ecstasy. Snot whipped past my ear. Gloria was screaming. A stop sign loomed ahead and I downshifted with the realization that I didn’t remember up-shifting.

The buzz had changed, no doubt. There was clarity to the night. The wind still blew and the lights all twinkled. The Christmas lights were there for us, to be seen here and now, a present from the citizenry.
“We should go back and get helmets.” Gloria’s voice was shaking…

BONUS : sweetwater

My shit had the old familiar stench. I wondered what it was. I wondered what people in Hong Kong were doing and what their shit smelled like.

I was in daddy’s bathroom now and Gloria was getting helmets and motorcycle gear, like jackets and chaps or whatever. I wondered if she would still love me after she smelled this shit.
James Taylor began moaning through speakers. I went about my usual routine of cleaning up my asswipe area. It’s a bitch when you’re in the throes of hallucinogens.

You lose your place in time and space. James Taylor seemed to make things right at home though. I was happy to hear him.

While I had been shitting, I had been sure that I’d been shitting my own organs out, although I’d been sure of this years before and it had never been true, so as sure as I was, I was also sure that I was only shitting shit. Shitty shit that stank like all shit of mine normally stank. It stank bad on a regular basis.

“What is that smell?” Uh oh. “Did you shit?
“There is a young cowboy, he shits on the range.”

To be Continued…

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