46. Silent Movie
Life as I know it is a silent film. And Jimmy’s getting the same treatment. If most of what we truly want to say is through not saying, then why do we say in the first place? Jimmy understands this real well.
So we’re just driving on the long straight desert road, cruising at a hundred-ten, kicking a dusty trail, talking to the wind, and eating the occasional bug.
I never want to speak to that man ever again. Of course, inside, a million things are trying to escape. Dying to communicate, tell him how I feel.
Definitely I’m angry, disappointed and angry; I mean, which girl wouldn’t, discovering such a grisly thing about your boyfriend?
That he loves his toys more than your tits!
How can I have a relationship such as this? I’m just a normal teenage girl. Well, of course abnormal things have occurred to me...but still...well, I just wanna be a normal teenage girl.
I’m sixteen. Two orbits have passed since that night of the dream. Daddy touched me for seven years; the perfect number. Perhaps his end was symbolic.
In that dream I am a Queen.
And I met Prince Charming.
He was debonair, and we were of many shapes and forms.
Later I found out we were by right One. He was father, and I came from him.
We shared all-access spirits. Meaning, I could be in him, riding in the crevice of his soul. Similarly, he could be in mine.
At those points, we shared everything. Intimately detailed. Right down to the universe in each nucleus.
At others, we were half-beings, fused animals, parabolic personas of polytheistic faiths.
But he who created me was not satisfied. He was having an eternal life crisis. History will tell you that deities in dilemmas don’t make good offspring. Their creations are usually fucked. Prone to some emotional defect, those produced often reflect their own god’s sickly state of mind during conception time.
So here I was; punk attitude meets Japanese schoolgirl anime, chewing gum in defiance `cos daddy-god said he needed severance. Didn’t want to be joined with me no more. Wanted his freedom, liberation; enough of kids. Said I ate too much, that I’m not keeping my figure. Stuffing on cheesecakes; if he’d let me.
But despite, that dickhead still wants to touch me. That, he won’t give up. God fucking his own daughter - that was his profane and profound pleasure.
And so Jimmy’s getting the end of it. I’m the shit that fell onto his lap. And now the shit ain’t talking. In sign language I signalled I wanted coffee. Jimmy pulls into some deserted diner in the middle of nowhere in this ill forsaken land. If the folks recognize us and act suspicious, he is to turn them into artworks. All this I communicated in monkey speech.
Thankfully, the old man at the counter was almost blind and partially deaf. He’d given up on news ten solid years ago. Speak up, child, he shouted, for after half a day in mute, my vocal cords were puny as I put in the order.
One tall latte, please, I said again, ignoring Jimmy. If that boy wants, he can get his on his own.
Unfortunately, Jimmy’s playing the same game. He’s not mouthing anything. Instead of sitting, he’s got a dime in the jukebox and he's dancing solo to Hound Dog.
Oh my, he’s so sexy. My cunt needs tissue-wipes. Biting into panties, camel toe spasms.
Right now, I just want to say I’m sorry and let him ravish me. Rip my bodice to bits and bite into my jugular. My thighs asphyxiate him in torture as we die in fire.
Which we eventually did.
Jimmy commands me to shut up, gently pressing finger to my lips even as I repent and rapid-belch out confession after confession. Says, since it is a silent movie I want, a silent movie I should get.
The song changes to another Elvis classic, a soothing melody, and Jimmy grips me by the wrist. Hand gradually crawling to my waist as time stalls in love so tender, love so sweet.
Love now swaying to rhythm of a Blue Hawaii. The perfect romantic holiday.
By now I’m melting, and when Jimmy softly hums he can’t help falling in love with me, nibbling at sensitive earlobes, my knees apologize and buckle. But the hero sweeps me off my feet, and his square shoulders are all the support I need.
I cling on; I surrender. Necking me, he simultaneously positions my butt on top of the jukebox. And here I must insert that Jimmy’s one heck of a guitar player. Callous fingers strum my knickers, plays the chords to my diamond’s desire even as I can only meekly restrain, meekly complain. He says a master musician makes his instrument gently weep and cry aloud. I am his instrument. And I lament that the proprietor is in proximity. But Jimmy rebuts that we’re the best entertainment that short-sighted old fool has had in ages.
Daddy may have mentioned about my big breasts. I tell Jimmy it’s very constrictive. Please liberate me from father, free me from his manipulative patriarchal restriction that is dictated by my tight, flowery, black lace brassiere.
He is only too pleased to oblige.
White bosom ice-cream topped with pink cherry nipples are extravagantly delicious.
It’s a delicacy, and Jimmy’s obtained generous portions. I suspect he’s searching for second helpings when he gulps down my succulent tits in one big lungful.
Roses bud.
Eat me.
Teats twirling at the tip of his tongue; I’m shivering, while tatas dance ballet, perfectly harmonious. Elegant is his caress. Jimmy freely gives. My matching panties tossed are a polyester-mixed figure-eight at the feet of the elderly gentleman. I think he pocketed it.
This very moment, Jimmy’s suffocating under my short chequered skirt and I’m vibrating without the use of battery powered sex toys. This is the ecstasy I need, the remedy to forget. Jimmy makes me explode. His role-playing World War Two Panzerwufmine Nazi hand-grenade is already triggered by the twitching of my toes. It won’t be long before it detonates over my feet.
Not wanting that, Jimmy shoves his dynamite deep inside my cavity, filling the emptiness with the broadness of love, the length of intimacy, and the rigidity of indomitable passion. He scratches a secret Sahara I myself cannot reach, not with any crude device or fashionable tool. A location so discarded, my filthy father was murdered under its singeing solar flares, buried in grainy dunes, and fossilized for future generations.
No, it’s not merely a spot Jimmy’s flexed love touches; rather, it is his beautiful penis that unlocks Pandora’s Box during the adventures of my activated cum animated vagina.