Dark storm clouds were gathering over the Alpine mountain top as Emma finally reached the refuge. Where were the others? Where was her husband Edward? Perhaps they had fallen behind and taken the safe track back toward St-Paul-des-Clercs and civilization, she wondered. Well there was no point in panicking now. Night was falling fast, and she would have to spend it up here all alone at the mercy of these peaks. Exhausted, she entered the deserted cabin and barely had time to strip off her drenched clothes and slip into the thermal sleeping bag that Edward had thoughtfully given her for their sixth anniversary, before a deep slumber overtook her naked body.
As even the moon retreated from the inhospitable horizon, strange and fitful dreams came upon her. She tossed and turned in the night, her feverish brow victim to wild imaginings, full of visions of werewolf-like creatures creeping around the cabin, circling, surrounding her with deep-breathing low whistles that seemed to hiss and crackle like FIRE?!!! Emma opened her eyes and shrieked in the empty night. There, across the room, stood the tall, dark stranger. She held her breath in terror as he looked up from the fire he had lit in the wide hearth and stared at her inscrutably. His eyes seemed to contain worlds beyond her ken.
“Who – who are you? What do you want?” she cried. The man made no reply, but simply tossed another log onto the fire with barely a flicker of his powerful deep-veined forearm. He breathed in deeply, closing his eyes. Emma’s voice was trembling.
“Look, now, I don’t know what is going on but…”
He silenced her with a look from his piercing green eyes that seemed to cut right through her. Before she even realized what she was doing, Emma raced through the door in a mad dash for freedom, through the door and out into a thick curtain of rain lashing down over her exposed skin. He caught up with her easily, his strong arms grabbing her by the waist and hauling her back into the cabin. She writhed desperately in his grip until she could no more. He held her still, stared into her eyes and finally spoke in halting English, in the manner of one who seemed above words.
“Don’t. It is too dangerous out there for you. You are safe here with me.”
And somehow she knew that this was so.
The fire dispensed a warm glow to the room. Before she had even recovered from the onslaught of the elements, she was trapped in an embrace as power as any of Nature’s Furies. As the storm raged on outside, she stared into the infinite depth of his eyes. And then he was upon her, touching her deep within, roughly of course but with infinite tenderness. Suddenly lightning struck a tree nearby, while its thunder covered her animal moans. He held her tight for what seemed an eternity, until the first light of dawn broke the enchanting spell the mountain Gods had woven around them. And he was gone, as swiftly as he had come. Was it but a dream? Emma wondered wistfully, as she drifted off back to sleep smiling, her brow no longer troubled.
MEN:
Two blondes. Doing it. Together."
Now having never read a romance novel, yet pretty much intimating that the gist runs very closely along the lines of consensual rape, the aforementioned female fantasy seems pretty tyical. Yet, how can I follow the recipe when the ingredients reek? I refuse to partake in this fantasy on the principle of authorship. These few paragraphs were essentially copy/pasted out of a book that only sexually frustrated, involuntarily celibate saps would ever consider reading. It is beneath me. I'm a bodice-ripper snob and proud of it.
On the other hand, if I were remotely interested in blondes...
Assignment: "Cut out and stick this sign on any item of public infrastructure you might encounter today, including, but not limited to: elevators, garbage trucks, cranes, phone booths, toilets, ventilation units, escalators, entrances to subway stations. The aim is to achieve comprehensive social breakdown across the U.S."
I LOVE THIS ONE!! I was too asleep on my morning errands to remember to bring this sign with me. So far I've been to the bank, but I'm pretty sure it's probably a misdemeanor or something to tamper with an ATM machine. Plus they keep those things better guarded than the governor's mansion. I could have posted it somewhere at Starbucks had I remembered the sign, but where? On a can of whipped cream? No one in East Sac who is in a Starbucks at 9:45am even requests whip cream, am I right, snobby housewives? I heard 9 out of 10 people behind me frantically screaming, "Hold the whip!!" before they even got to the front, as if they didn't trust themselves or their pathetic self-control.
However, I will be going to the gym at 5:30pm, which is smack dab in the middle of commuter workout period. The 9-to-5ers in neighboring office buildings barely have time to strip off their ties and peel off their pantyhose in their rush to squeeze in a workout before dinnertime. Isn't the gym supposed to release the tension accumulated throughout the workday? It's as if these people haven't had enough stimulation, and their workouts are as twitchy and tense as a constipated news anchor.
I'm planning an ambush. When I get to the gym around this time, I'm usually lucky enough to find the last cardio machine somwhere, kind of like the perfect parking space. Others behind me are not so fortunate. In this type of climate, would it be entirely wrong to use the "Out Of Order" sign? It will be a challenge, I'm not denying it. I usually bring a magazine, in the pages of which I could hide the sign, discreetly slipping it onto the precious stationary bicycle or treadmill for which everyone is waiting. Is it too satanic? Conniving? Would it give me a giggle? A pang of guilt? A VIP seat in hell? Stay tuned...
