Fighting The Inevitable

I close my eyes, not wanting to look.  I’ve got to hold out for as long as possible.  The best thing to do is to keep my mind on something else entirely.  My head bumps against the back of the seat and I bite my lower lip while thinking.  How do spies in the movies deal with torture and interrogation?  Same principles here.  Just copy Bond’s example.  In the movies he insults his tormentors and embraces the ordeal.  Nevermind, insults wouldn’t work in this situation.  After all, I don’t want my torturer to leave.

Just clear my head and pay no attention to the commotion in front of me.  My eyes open and stare at the roof studying the texture of the headliner in an attempt to empty my mind.  How do you empty your mind?  You are always thinking about something, right?  Even if it’s the patterns in the roof or a blank white wall, you are thinking about that.  When someone tells you to empty your mind and relax.  They are asking you to do the impossible.  They should just ask you to shed your mortal coil and transcend to a higher plane.  That sounds a lot easier than asking your brain to cease functioning for a bit.  Temporary relaxation is possible, but generally through distraction.  Never with a blank mind.

A slurping sound snaps me back to the moment.  Fuck!  Just hold out.  You can do it.

Distraction then.  Thinking about something else is the key.  Just ignore what my nerve endings are telling me.  I don’t need their input at this time.  Math problems are the ticket, use up the brain energy.  Ok.  What is the square root of 69.  Fuck.  Stupid idea.  I can’t remember how to determine that, even if I had a pencil and a piece of paper.  Ok.  Think about something else, not the pressure.  The weather? No.  Sports? No. Family? Hell no. That’s not appropriate.

Breathing deeply, I ponder a good topic to set my mind on.  My torturer’s perfume wafts to my nose.  Smells good.  Have I smelled that before?   Should I ask what brand of perfume?  No.  It’s not like I know anything about perfume.  I may ask later when the pressure becomes intolerable.  She may answer, either that or coldly ignore me and continue the task at hand. 

Oh shit!  Did I file my weekly TPS report?  Today was so hectic.  I know it was complete, but I don’t remember dropping it into Dan’s mail box.  Dan’s new secretary is a looker.  Man, those short dresses she always wears.  Her long legs just keep going up to that perfect, round… 

No. No.  Don’t think of that!  Think of boring topics instead.  Maybe tricks to fall asleep?  That would be amusing, falling asleep in the middle of this.  It may be a first.  Should I count sheep?  That has never helped me fall asleep but it may keep my mind occupied. 

Wonder what it would be like to fuck a sheep?  You hear about it happening so much in rural communities, there must be something to it, right?  How do you know which ewe is right for you? 

I’m a perverse man.  Really sick in the head.  Fucked in the brain.  Why does my mind so often blunder into these dark crevasses of human nature?  Look at the situation I am in now.  Normal people do not find themselves on the bad side of town, in an abandoned parking lot, beside a stinking dumpster at 2 A.M.  Not to mention the current precarious position that’s causing my distress.  It doesn’t happen to normal people. 

If I make it out of this situation, it’s the last time.  I am done with unlawful activities.  I have to clean my act up.  Walk the straight and narrow.  Never cross the line again.  Be a straight shooter!  What other cliches can I add?  I think the same shit every time, yet every month or so, I cross those tracks again.  The lawlessness draws me like a magnet.  The gutter calls me back.  One day it will claim me for good.  I don’t want to die here in some random ass act of violence.  Getting locked up is much more likely.  That would be a great career move.  This is the last time.  I have my future to think about.

Low voices and footsteps alert me to raise my head and look around.  There are two teenagers walking toward the car.  Fuck.

“Company,” I say in a strained voice.

The woman looks out the window. “Get rid of ‘em,” she says like it’s nothing.  She resumes her work.

I flick the headlights on and they raise their hands to cover their eyes.  They turn away muttering.  Watching them as they go, I slowly relax back into the seat and turn the headlights off.  That could have gone much worse if they wanted to carjack me.  They likely hoped there was no one in the car.  Thieves of opportunity are much more numerous than the hardcore muggers.

The excitement of the moment makes me feel that I will crack under the strain so I try to stall for time.  “What perfume is that?”

She looks at me, and I can see from her expression she knows I’m stalling. 

“Vera Wang.”

She smiles a little and continues her endeavors, this time more vigorously. I take slow deep breaths and hold them in for a few seconds.  This helps me to calm down. 

I know I have smelled that before, but can’t place it.  Was that Amy’s perfume?  Maybe I should look her up on Facebook.  She is as dumb as they come, and my IQ dropped just being near her, but she could work that ass in magical ways. 

My breath freezes as I look up and see a police cruiser slowly driving down the street.  Oh Fuck.  Keep going.  Keep going.  My torturer notices my uneasiness.  She raises up and looks at the police car.  She cooly looks all about, probably noting any escape paths.  The cop car moves by without stopping.  I exhale.  The woman just smirks.

The excitement and the danger of the situation give me a thrill that no amount of recreational drugs could ever reproduce. 

This makes life worth living. 

The thrill.

 The danger of living on the edge. 

Of course, if the police car had stopped.  I’d be singing a different tune right now.  My entire life is at stake, and I keep rolling the dice.  Statistically, I know that every toss can’t be a winner.  Even with all my precautions and weighting the dice in my favor, it is inevitable…

When the handcuffs ratchet onto my wrists, I will be sorry.  Not now.  This is living.

Writhing in my seat, the culmination of tonight’s exercise comes to a head.  I put my clammy left hand on her soft golden hair and run it between my fingers.   A moan escapes my mouth as I pant heavily.  My rapid heartbeat pounds in my ears.  Suddenly it clicks.  It is my sister’s perfume!  

“No. No. No.” I say as I convulse with the orgasm. 

Oh wow.  I can’t believe that just happened.  

Candy opens the passenger door and spits.  A breeze of fetid dumpster air enters the car. She shuts the door, but the odor lingers.

“It’s nothing to be upset about, you lasted longer than most, honey.  You should give me a tip for the extra effort,” she says.

A fast food napkin cleans up the leftover mess and I button my pants.

“It’s not that, I was thinking about my sister when I came…  I mean.  Accidentally.  It was the perfume..”

Her eyes widen and she gasps “Eww,” with her smeared red lips.  I hand her an extra 5 as she opens the door again.

“Where do you want me to drop you?” I ask.

She gets out of the car. “You are a really sick fuck.”  She slams the door and walks away.

I can’t help but laugh for a few moments.  Being chastised by a hooker is a new experience for me.  Her loss, I planned to offer to take her to KFC for some boneless wings.  Oh well, saves me money.

Pondering the last few moments just cements my previous determination.  I have to leave this part of my life behind.  When a prostitute thinks you are seriously fucked up, you may have a problem. 

I will cut it down to four times a year.  Ease my way out.  Then three times the year after.  Yeah. 

Then only as a birthday present to myself. 

Ohh, can’t forget Christmas.  Find a girl named Mary to make it extra special.