Dodging Bullets

As a twenty year old college sophomore I didn't really believe in the occult, magic, psychics, or ghosts. However, my good friends Candice and Bernice apparently did, and caused a kerfuffle when I resisted going into a fortune teller's tent at a carnival one Friday night near the end of a semester. "Come on Amy, live a little, take a chance, experience something new," were some of their loud taunts as they tried to drag me toward Madame Esmeralda's lair. I finally relented just to get away from all of the stares and guffaws of other carnival attendees triggered by the commotion Bernice and Candice were causing.

Believe it or not there were two other suckers in line before us, so I tried backing out although without success. "If that goddam Bernice wasn't an Amazon on the crew team," I lamented to myself, "I might have a chance to break her grip." However she was on the crew team, six feet tall with biceps almost like a guy's, and with a death grasp on my forearm, so I suffered in silence.

When it was our turn "at the table" I chuckled inwardly at the ridiculousness of Madame Esmeralda's outfit and manner. It looked like she had searched "Fortune Teller Wardrobe" on the Internet and adopted everything that it recommended.

Madame Esmeralda wore bright colors, mostly purple, red and gold. Her top was a peasant blouse with puffy sleeves with a drawstring at the neck, and her bottom was a full skirt with many layers and hues and a multicolored sequined sash that tied on the side. She looked like a walking garish jewelry store advertisement with her big chandelier earrings, bead necklaces, fake gold strands, silver bangle bracelets, and big clunky rings with obviously phony rubies and emeralds on at least four of her fingers and her left thumb. The piéce de résistance was a long scarf low on her forehead with her long brown curls extending downwardly from it, her heavy makeup with an obviously bogus beauty mark, dark smoky eye shadow, and matte red lipstick.

I started to giggle but Candice's blow to my ribcage cut that short.

I couldn't believe it as Candice and Bernice forked over $20 each, and made me contribute two sawbucks myself, with their tongues hanging out of their mouths they were so excited.

My incredulity was ramped up even more as Madame Esmeralda started her act as she dealt out tarot cards with a line that she must have gotten from some Grade B movie:

"Fear is dangerous, not the tarot. The tarot represents the spectrum of the human condition, the good, the evil, the light, and the dark. Do not fear the darker aspects of the human condition. Understand them. The tarot is a storybook about life, about the greatness of human accomplishment, and also the ugliness we are each capable of."

I fake gagged but Candice was too engrossed in what Madame Esmeralda was saying to deliver another blow to my ribs.

Madame Esmeralda proceeded to provide happy horseshit to both Bernice and Candice telling them about their future husbands, children, and careers, what pitfalls to avoid, and which of their dead ancestors were watching over them. Once she had imbued them with all of the drivel that she could conjure up she turned to me and said "So Amy – you are the skeptical one, aren't you?"

The fact that Madame Esmeralda could see skepticism on my face didn't surprise me at all – however it did surprise me that she called me "Amy" because I thought that I didn't give her my name, and neither of my friends called me that in her presence. I recovered quickly, however, assuming that I just must have forgotten. Then staring into my eyes she continued as she moved the tarot cards out of the way on the table and held my hands:

"The tarot is not for you Amy Williams..." that freaked me out because for damn sure we didn't give last names, "but your aura is strong and readily discernible. You are impetuous and will make six major mistakes before your thirty first birthday. You will dodge the bullet five times, but the sixth will bring you great heartache."

"What the fuck?" I said to myself. "Madame Esmeralda tells Bernice that she'll have five kids that will all get full athletic scholarships to Ohio State, and that Candice will become a U. S. Senator by the time that she's forty, and she tells me that I'll be a fuckup?" I almost asked for my money back as Madame Esmeralda released my hands, bowed her head, and said "My clairvoyant abilities have left me for the evening," as the way of dismissing us.

As we left her tent Bernice and Candice thanked Madame Esmeralda profusely while I mumbled very unladylike swearwords under my breath.

"Wasn't that like, I mean like, really amazing," Candice giddily spouted out.

"Stop your fucking valley girl act with your 'likes' and 'amazings' Candice, you moron," I snapped.

"Just because you didn't get a fortune that you liked don't spoil my fun," Candice pouted.

"You better watch your actions in the future, Amy, Madame Esmeralda sure seemed to know what she was talking about," Bernice chimed in.

We argued for a bit more as we walked, finally got distracted by some hot guys at one of the "games of skill," and rode the Ferris Wheel until we almost puked.

Aside from pissing me off as I fell into an uneasy sleep that night, I didn't give much more thought to Madame Esmeralda's bullshit until much later.

***************

The first semester of my junior year I must have had a brain fart because I totally missed an assignment for an economics term paper that was due two days after it was brought to my attention by one of my classmates. The professor who taught the course was known to be a hard-ass-bitch who wouldn't give an extension unless you were in the hospital with a communicable disease, and who was well known for ferreting out the type of crap that I normally used (along with my feminine wiles with male professors) to get extensions. I really needed a B+ or an A in that course if I wanted to get into a good graduate school, so I was frantic.

I didn't know how to deal with my mistake when a thought suddenly occurred to me. Julie, one of my best friends from High School, was an economics major at UCLA, about two thousand miles and many conferences and associations away. I called Julie up and asked if she had anything close to a paper on franchise theory. She had written one for a course in her sophomore year that she had gotten an A on and was willing to email it to me provided that I made substantial revisions. Julie told me that it had been submitted to a plagiarism-checking software database but also what the shortcomings of that database were.

When I reviewed the paper it was near perfect for what I needed. I added a few quotes from sources that Julie didn't use, revised it to defeat the plagiarism-checking software, and was finished an hour before it was due. I put it in pdf format and emailed it to the professor and got my confirmation a few minutes later. When I got the paper back a week after submission it had an "A" emblazoned on the top and "Great job," in the margin.

I called Julie up and thanked her profusely. "You dodged a bullet on that one, didn't you Amy; don't make that mistake again," was her chuckling reply.

That was the first time that I thought of Madame Esmeralda since the night that I left her tent. I shrugged it off.

*****************

My senior year in college I was very friendly with a safety on the football team named Winston. While we weren't actually dating, we had a mutual interest in sex and could be considered good fuck buddies. Winston was well endowed, treated me nicely, and could get it up three times a session, so what was not to like? I was on the pill and not worried about an unwanted pregnancy, and he assured me that he was "clean," and that I was his only friend that he fucked without a condom.

That is I considered Winston a good fuck buddy until I got a certified letter from the college's health center: In relevant part it read:

"Mr. Winston Biles had identified you as a recent sex partner. It is necessary that you come in immediately for STD testing since Mr. Biles has been determined to have a communicable disease."

I called Winston's cellphone and got voicemail. I used every swearword in the book in the message I left, letting him know in no uncertain terms that I'd smash his balls into paste if I ever saw him again.

Since the letter didn't specify what the STD was, and since I couldn't get to the health center the next day, for twenty four hours I was certain that I would die of AIDS. I was a slobbering ball of self-pitied protoplasm when I finally did stumble into the health center, letter in hand.

At least there was some good news – it wasn't HIV that Winston had but Chlamydia. However, that was only minor good news because Chlamydia can cause serious, permanent damage to a woman's reproductive system, making it difficult or impossible for her to get pregnant later on, and can also cause a potentially fatal ectopic pregnancy.

As a precaution the health center immediately started treatment because it took five to seven days to test for Chlamydia. The antibiotic that I was given would eventually cure me of the condition if I had it, but it would not repair any damage that had already been done. I had been fucking that bastard for four months so I could already have permanent damage to my reproductive system.

It was hard to concentrate in school until my test results came back six days later. I was required to go see a nurse to get the results. Pleasant elderly Nurse Nancy Hines came into the examination room with a big smile on her face. "I don't know how it's possible since Mr. Biles had Chlamydia for several months and according to our last interview you had unprotected intercourse with him ten or twelve times in that period of time, but you didn't contract Chlamydia from him. Since you never had the disease there can be no damage as a result of it."

I dissolved into tears of relief, and Nurse Nancy hugged and comforted me. I finally regained my composure and thanked Nurse Nancy. As I was walking out the door she chirped "You dodged a bullet this time, Amy – but please, don't make the mistake of unprotected sex again."

I thought of Madame Esmerelda once again – but only fleetingly since I was now preoccupied with revenge on that bastard Winston. Before I could even hatch up a suitably diabolical plan, however, I saw Jennifer Crimson crying outside the library. I stopped to comfort her and find out the reason for the tears.

"I made a mistake and had sex with Winston Biles, and he infected me with Chlamydia and I infected my boyfriend Jack. Jack has been arrested for beating the tar out of Winston, who I hear will lose at least one testicle," Jennifer sobbed.

I tried to hide my glee when comforting Jennifer. Jennifer's boyfriend (maybe soon to be ex-boyfriend because I'm sure that he didn't appreciate Jennifer's cheating) Jack Jenkins is a starting defensive end on the football team and is six inches taller and seventy pounds heavier than Winston, and – at least on the football field – is mean as a snake. "Thank you Jack, you've solved my problem," I chortled to myself as I reassuringly patted Jennifer on the head.

****************

When I graduated from college I decided to enter the work force rather than go to graduate school. I needed transportation so I bought a used car at an auction. My father had advised against it since the repair histories of vehicles at auction are often unknown, or the information on them is sketchy at best and inaccurate at worst. I bought the used car anyway despite his advice.

"Get a safety inspection immediately – don't wait until the end of the thirty day temporary inspection certificate that you got with the car," good ole Dad advised me when I brought my "prize" home.

I promised Dad that I would get it inspected right away, but didn't – I was too busy so I let it slide, plus I knew better than him.

About fifteen days after I bought the car I took it on a Saturday morning trip into the country with Sasha, a friend of mine from where I worked. As we were going down a steep hill – maybe a small mountain is a better description – while driving to our destination when I pushed the brake pedal nothing happened.

"Oh shit, Sasha – I can't stop the car – it's out of control!" I yelled as I furiously but ineffectively pumped the brake pedal.

As she swore Sasha pulled on the emergency brake, but that imperceptibly reduced our speed, if at all.

I swerved to avoid a car in the left lane as our speed seemed to be increasing lucky that no one was in the right lane. A steep turn was coming up that I was certain that I wouldn't be able to make when Sasha shouted "There's a runaway truck ramp off to the right."

Sure enough just before the steep turn there was a sand and gravel ramp with crash barriers at the end. I was able to turn up the ramp, and within seconds we were jolted to a stop by the sand and gravel, not even close to the crash barriers. The airbags didn't even deploy – although I found out later that it was likely because they were defective, which would have been a disaster if we had crashed.

When Sasha and I finally regained our composure and our hearts were no longer in our throats she stared at me and sighed, "Wow – we really dodged a bullet this time!" while I agonized about my mistake of not listening to my father.

Thoughts of that bitch Madame Esmerelda once again popped into my airhead. "Did she put a curse on me?" I mused. However, she was forgotten by the time that I went back to work on Monday.

***************

I met my future husband Roger Thompson at a work-related function about three years after college. He seemed to be the right guy for me almost from the start. Since my situation with Winston I made sure to always have protected sex including with Roger starting after our fourth date. I was really enjoying the way that he ate me, sucked my boobs, and buried his tool in my pussy and ass but he wasn't as happy as he should have been. One night, after I had an exceptional orally induced orgasm, and another anal one, he had a spacey look on his face.

"What's wrong Rog – you just rocked my world."

"I'm glad," he smiled. "However, I really need my cock sucked and a condom-less fuck – I'm not as satisfied as I could be – or as you are," he continued, now with a hangdog look.

I had much more confidence in Roger's trustworthiness than anyone else that I had dated, so I proposed "How about we get tested for STDs tomorrow, and if everything is fine we swear to be exclusive. Then you can fuck me any way that you want to and get your cock sucked between fucks."

His grin lit up the room, and I got another oral orgasm as a thank you.

Roger came over to my apartment a week after our tests. I opened the door and chimed "I'm almost ready to go – I just need to freshen up my face."

"We're not going anywhere," he growled as he waved two pieces of paper in my face. "We're all clear of STDs – so we're not leaving this place for a long while," he continued with an evil grin.

The bastard ripped my clothes off and within minutes had ejaculated a monster load in my unprotected pussy. As promised I sucked him clean before a second round – and then a third! The next morning neither of us could walk or see straight, but we had big grins on our faces.

After Roger and I had been dating about four months we took a trip together to Mexico. He didn't really want to go there – he was very conservative and thought that it was too dangerous, with all of the drug gangs and potentially bad water – but I talked him into it.

We were walking in the local town a couple of days into our trip when there seemed to be significant kerfuffle up ahead. "I don't like the looks of the activity up there," Roger said as he stopped walking, "let's divert to another street."

"Oh, it's no big deal," I impetuously concluded, without any real evidence to back it up. "We're just going to the next block."

I grabbed Roger's hand and almost dragged my unwilling boyfriend toward the bustle up ahead, with the intention of shortly diverting to the other side of the street. However before I could all Hell broke loose, and two guys with guns came running toward us out of what we found out later was a bank. We ducked down as shots were fired by and at the fleeing robbers. When all of the smoke cleared and we determined that we weren't dead, I looked up at the wall of the building just above my head. There was a bullet hole.

I almost fainted as Roger saw what I was staring at and groaned, "Holy shit; we just literally dodged a bullet!" Through my mind flashed "It was a mistake not to divert to another street – or to come here at all!"

This time that fucking Madame Esmerelda's words rang in my ears for two whole days before I was finally able to purge my mind of them.

****************

Roger and I had a great relationship which led to marriage about two years after I met him. He was a great guy who loved to give oral, and was especially appreciative when I sucked him back hard after a nice fuck. We both had decent jobs and within a couple of years of marriage were able to purchase a house, and despite mortgage payments save some money. The only drawback was that Roger travelled for a few days, including sometimes on a weekend, once every couple of months.

I got used to having a good time on the weekends since Roger and I went to all sorts of concerts, ballgames, and other events together, danced at clubs, and in general enjoyed ourselves. I didn't like to go to clubs without him, but one weekend when he was travelling Melissa, one of my single girlfriends, talked me into going to a club with her on a Friday night.

Melissa and I were having a decent time – she was probably enjoying herself more than I was – including dancing with a number of guys who asked us. I made it clear to those that I danced with that I was happily married – either by blatantly holding up my rings, subtle comments, and/or – in one case – putting the brakes on in no uncertain terms.

Melissa was off dancing the third dance in a row with a handsome guy that she seemed to be attracted to when two guys asked if they could join me at our table. They looked a little slimy, but were very polite and had a charming accent so I said "sure." After talking a while, and ordering us a new round of drinks, one of the guys asked me to dance. I probably should have said "No" because despite their politeness I had a bad vibe. However, impetuous creature that I am, when the band started playing "Shout" – my favorite dance song – I accepted, and gyrated like hell out on the dance floor to that and the other active song that followed it.

I returned to the table to find the fresh drinks, and since I was a little flushed from the activity took a big gulp of my gin and tonic. The conversation got a little squirrely and I was beginning to think that it was a mistake to allow these guys at our table.

Melissa was nowhere to be seen when my head started spinning a little, and the two guys at our table had diabolical grins on their faces. I thought that I was going to collapse. I do remember the two guys helping me up and leading me toward the club exit, but that was it – until I awoke in my bedroom with Melissa and two guys in cheap suits in my bedroom; not the guys that were at the table.

As I groggily sat up I asked "How in the hell did I get here?"

"Oh, Amy – I was so worried; fortunately detectives Jones and Simpson here came along..." was what Melissa got out before one of the guys in the cheap suits gently interrupted her and moved her away."

"Mrs. Thompson – I'm detective Simpson," the larger of the two men said, flashing me a badge. "What can you tell me about the two guys leading you out of Club Happenings last night?"