This is a story attended for adults, not for those who adults feed, watch, and change. If you are over 18, and still your mom makes your bed, you can read this but you are immature. ANYONE UNDER 18, DO NOT READ THIS. Go outside and play. Copyright © 2004. Blanket permission is granted to reproduce this work in any medium for any nonprofit purpose, as long as you provide it as is, with my name attached. For other purposes, email me. In fact, Email me and say Hi either way!
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I was asleep when the knocking began. Initially, I thought it was part of my dream; the noise, a fast, incessant wrapping, was attributed to a woman walking down a brightly lit street who was on the way to talk to me about a neon red convertible. One that, surprisingly after 25 years on the road, had just 5000 miles on it, and it looked as pristine and shapely as the inquisitive woman in the bright red suit with the annoyingly noisy high heeled shoes.
"Is that your car?" She asked after looking me up and down. Her hair came down like curled snakes. Her breasts were high and impossibly soft under the suit. 3 buttons strained under the pressure.
"Let's ride" I responded, confident in the sale and in the weakness of those buttons. It was then I realized she was still walking while standing still. "What are you doing?" As an answer, the woman in red and the convertible blended together like a Jackson Pollack painting, only to reform again as the various posters that lined the off-white walls in my bedroom. Damn. I sat up and rubbed my eyes for a second. The dream was still wet in my mind and I wanted to see what would have happened, like the abrupt ending of part one of a two-part show.
But someone was at my door trying to make sure that the woman in red will never buy the car I had to sell or ever get to thank me in the way in which I knew she would.
The knocking stopped. I thought for a second that the person gave up and either went to sell their wares to Derrick, the alcoholic who lived there, or that I would now have to go to the post office to pick up a package.
As I started to put on some boxers –I sleep in a large shirt, nothing else- the wrap wrap wrap returned, faster now, with a sense of urgency.
"Hold on." I yelled groggily. "I'm coming," and under my breath "whoever the fuck you are, you ruined what would have been a great dream."
I knew that when I had her in the convertible, the lightly crisp late spring air blowing through her locks, her wide eyes flashing between the road and the mint cherry wood dashboard, she would have been mine. I just knew it. Dreams are funny that way, though. As a book I read in college once said: "everything that happens in the dream is controlled by the dreamer, whether he wills it, or not."
I shuffled to the closet, found my robe, and put it on. I fastened it tightly around the front, looping it twice around. No need to offend someone with a bible in hand, unless, of course, it was someone with a bible in hand.
I scratched myself and coughed while making my way to whoever it was. I opened the door. There stood three of my younger sister's female friends, Kimberly, Anna, and Michelle. All three of them were my sister's age, 19 to my 28. They had all went to the same high school, and now Kimberly was going to the same college as my sister. The other two I guessed were home for the summer.
What where they doing here?
"Johnaayyy!" Kimberly caught me off guard as she stepped in and gave me a hug. I smelled jasmine on her neck. She broke away and stepped back before I could regain my senses. I didn't get a chance to respond. I nodded and smiled back to her and to Anna and Michelle. Kimberly was now facing me from the living room while Anna and Michelle stood by the open door. Somehow, I was in-between them, but I didn't notice it.
"I haven't seen you in several months, Johnaaay... how are things going?" I felt like I accidentally walked into a store where a salesman went into his pitch before the door closed behind me. Or in this case before my front door closed behind them.
"Good." I suddenly felt self-conscious. I tugged at my robe. It was the only thing between little Johnny and the twins and the three girls, or should I say young ladies, now. So, ladies, what brings you to my place? Deborah isn't here now." I tried to be cool about the unexpected visit so early in the morning. It wasn't working. I checked my watch.
"She's probably home now since its only 8:30 in the morning." That was when it hit me. They were all wearing swimsuits. Anna and Michelle were wearing similar pieces that were one piece suits which covered them up from chest to upper thigh. Anna's was aqua blue, with what looked to be bubbles around the chest and crotch, and Michelle's was a solid white version that looked to be rather translucent if it was actually used as intended. I looked away, ashamed. I knew Michelle since she was 15, and here I was trying to imagine her dripping wet from water that was colder than it should have been at this time of the year.
Kimberly looked even better. She wore a pink two-piece that showed more than it actually covered. Her large breasts, full and undeniably ripe, peaked out from under the thin fabric. A small diamond twinkled in her belly button. There was little on her that wasn't tight or smooth. In fact, because the girls were young, nothing sagged on any of them. They were young, firm, and oozing sexuality.
"We know that johnaaay," Kimberly said in her usual drawn out way, "But we want to talk to you about something important." She looked at the other two and winked. They smirked, then returned their gaze to me. I looked at them inquisitively. Kimberly leaned in toward me as if sharing a secret in a high school class full of noisy teenagers.
"It's a secret. Do you promise not to tell?"
I was initially peeved that they had awoken me before I found out how the dream was going to end, but I couldn't help but be interested in what this was all about. Debby's birthday was coming up in two weeks. What that it? Where they planning a party and needed my help?
I imagined calling my sister in two weeks to tell her I needed her to come over my place for something important. Maybe a girlfriend problem. She would come over concerned, only to walk into a darkly lit room and a dozen or so friends screaming Surprise! Happy Birthday! It didn't sound that bad at all, as long as they didn't try to butter me up for alcohol. Or puked on my couch.
Kimberly seemed to have read my mind.
"It's not about your sister's birthday. We are not planning a surprise party if that's what you think."
I offered up my second theory. "Do you need a ride to the beach then?"
Kimberly looked confused for a second. She smiled, then shook her head.
"Oh our outfits! No Johnaay. That's not it either." Whenever she used to call me Johnaaay instead of John, which everyone else called me, I would end up calling her Kimmaayy back. But it seemed different now, as if the playful name change, like calling a tall guy Stretch, wasn't the way she meant it. Instead her voice sounded soft, throaty, almost out of breath. I tried to move the conversation along.
