12th
An Odd Night (to say the least)
“Fine!” Sally shouted up to the fourth floor apartment where she had been only minutes before, “then you can fuck yourself tonight!” Sally steamed all the way to the parking lot. Brad, you fucking asshole, she thought to herself, why would he do that? How could he have the audacity to say that shit to me? Sally stopped dead in the middle of the lot. She had parked her car here numerous times, and despite trying to park in the same location every time, she could never seem to remember where it was. Maybe it was the sheer size of the lot, as it was shared by four different complexes. Maybe it was the disproportionately high number of people in this city who drove Mini Coopers. Gathering herself, she reached for her purse so as to retrieve the car alarm remote. “Oh, shit!” she blurted out. She had been so enraged walking out of Brad’s apartment that she forgot to grab her purse. There is no way in hell I’m going back up there, she thought, sneering in the direction of Brad’s apartment. Sally decided that as it was a warm May evening, she may as well walk home. A nice six block walk would be a nice change of pace and scenery from the gym, at any rate. She would just have to have Shelia pick them up tomorrow on her way to see Andrew. She sighed again, thinking of how often she would likely see Brad with her best friend dating Brad’s roommate. Ugh, I’m going to have to switch gyms now, she thought as she walked down the street. It was the first real outward sign she had made even to herself that it was really over this time. She shook her head, thinking deeply on the havoc this was going to wreak on her social circle. But it will be worth it, she mused. As she reached the corner of 5th and Main, she winced from the pain caused by her shoes. Had she known she was going to walk so far tonight, she never would have worn her “fuck me” heels, as Sheila often called them. She had worn them for Brad. In fact, as she looked herself up and down, she noticed she was dressed rather whorish. He always liked to pretend she was “his little hooker.” Sally reasoned she must have been under some ridiculous love spell all these months to put up with it. As she crossed 5th Street, she began to worry that she was perhaps dressed too scandalously, and so became determined to pick up speed. As she did so, her shoes began to cause her more pain, and her skirt, which was already far too short and tight, began to ride up her thighs. A sudden breeze reminded her that she was not wearing any panties. Despite the empty street both ahead and behind, Sally blushed as she yanked her skirt down as far as she could without revealing herself on the opposite end and continued walking as quickly as she could, silently yelping with every step. By the corner of 4th and Main she felt ragged. A nearby bus stop bench looked incredibly inviting. She couldn’t not sit down at this point. Getting off her feet sent a rush of comfort into her brain, and she instantly regretted it. She knew it would make it that much harder to get back up. Removing one of her shoes, she sighed at the confirmation of what she felt before: her heels had already begun to blister. Sally slumped her face into her hands and sobbed quietly. Night was falling, and she wasn’t exactly in the best part of the city. Had she thought about what her night was going to become, she might have stayed at Brad’s. If Brad wasn’t such an asshole in the first place, I wouldn’t be in this mess either, she thought, remembering why she left. “So,” a voice said, startling her, “having a bad night?” Sally looked up and saw a stunning black stretch limousine, with an equally stunning man staring out the window at her. Sally was instantly wary of him, but was in no position to be brusque with the mystery man. “You could say that,” she said, flashing a weak smile. “Shame,” he said nonchalantly, “but maybe I can help you.” “Right,” she replied, “I’m supposed to accept your help why?” “Maybe you shouldn’t,” the man nodded, smirking. The window began to roll closed. “Wait,” she blurted out, “wait. Maybe you can help.” The window seemed to roll back down of its own accord, as if it enjoyed what it heard. He popped his head out the window again. “Why don’t we start by getting you in here,” he said, opening the door, “and from there, I can get you what you need.” This is stupid, this is stupid, you’re SO FUCKING STUPID, she repeated to herself, but she felt her legs extend, forcing herself to stand and walk to the open door. Somehow, the inside of the limousine seemed larger than the exterior. Sally had never been inside a limo before, but she still felt silly that her jaw had dropped at the sight of it. The man scooted down to the other end, grabbed a pair of champagne glasses and began to scoot back toward her as she closed the door. “Can I interest you in something to kill the pain?” he asked, smiling. “How could you tell I was in pain?” “Watched your face as you walked to the car,” he replied, “such a beautiful face shouldn’t have to wear that kind of anguish on it.” He slid the side panel aside to reveal a bottle of champagne on ice. He proceeded to pour champagne into one of the glasses and held it out to her. Sally accepted, cursing herself as she did. She couldn’t help but feel as if she was about to be axe murdered. She sipped her drink in spite of her best judgment. “So where are you headed, Miss…?” he trailed off. “Sally. And you can drop me at Main and 1st Street.” “Sally,” he repeated, pouring himself a glass of champagne. “Well, Sally, you should be home in just a minute.” She wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but did not want to give any outward sign that she thought this nice, handsome, presumably very rich man was a serial killer. She merely smiled and continued to drink. The car came to a sudden, screeching halt. A loud, continuous bell signaled an oncoming train. “Cripes,” the man sighed, “I hate trains. Hate ‘em.” “Yeah, me too,” Sally said, “I seem to catch a train coming by here every single day.” She downed the rest of her champagne on that thought. “You’ll have to pardon me for insisting,” he said, taking her glass from her and refilling it, “but if you come by here every day, I’d think you’d know a little better than to come so far in those shoes.” He held out a fresh glass of champagne to her. She wanted to refuse, but his words seemed to bring her focus back on her blistered feet. She reluctantly took the second glass and began to drink. “I do know better,” she said, “it was just this thing.. nevermind.” “What was this thing? Might help to talk about it.” Sally paused. She wanted very much to get the whole situation out, if only to purge it from her mind, but she clung to what vibes of caution that continued to get through to her. “It probably would help, I just.. well, I don’t know you at all,” she finally said. “Sometimes it’s easier to tell a stranger everything because they don’t have the emotional attachment or personal bias that someone who knows you would. I have no reason not to take you at your word. No reason to judge.” She nodded, and as she did she wondered if he was making too much sense. She stared into the bottom of her second empty glass. She hardly noticed she had finished it. “Well,” she said, handing him the glass, bracing herself for emotional overflow, “I’m out here, dressed like this because I walked out on my boyfriend, pretty sure it’s over, and I forgot my purse and I told myself I wouldn’t go back up there and so I left my car at his place and started walking home in this hookery outfit, stupid fucking decision.” She sighed and accepted a third glass of champagne. “It’s not all bad,” he grinned, “it has led you here.” “I admit I was really worried about you,” she said, returning a smile, “I thought maybe you wanted to hack me into little pieces.” She laughed off her unexpected honesty and downed the third glass in one gulp. “Oh, come now. That would be an awful waste,” he said, “at least before I’ve had my fun, anyway.” Though her first instinct was to laugh this off as well, her heart sank into her feet. She turned to the door through which she entered and pulled on the handle, but it was locked, and the manual release was wholly unapparent, perhaps custom. She opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out. “Oh, scream all you want, the only one who’s going to hear it is me.” She sat frozen, unable to move or speak. “Soundproof windows, darling,” he said, tapping the window behind his head. “T-train..?” she sputtered. His grin doubled in size as he pressed a button on the stereo console, and the constant ding was silenced. A single tear containing what remained of her courage ran down her cheek. “Now, now,” he said, his voice filling with the kindness it brimmed with only moments ago, “I’m not going to kill you Sally, I just want what I need.” “Now, if you please, get on your knees.” Sally was too terrified not to oblige. She slithered off the seat onto her knees. “Good, good,” he he nodded, his grin so wide it seemed to twist back onto itself. “And now, this,” he said, sliding another side panel to reveal a hidden compartment, “this is what I need.” She did not see right away what it was he removed from the compartment. He cradled it in his hands, the way most would cradle a baby. He lowered his hands down to where she gazed at the floor, waiting for the inevitable. And she saw it. A lily white, adolescent duckling waggled its way toward her. She swore it was the fear and the alcohol mixing together in her body to create a new hallucinatory superdrug, but her eyes did not deceive her for a second. This was in fact a duck that stood before her. “This,” the man said, “is Francis. And now that you two have met, Francis and I are going to play a game.” He scooped up the duck into his hands and out of her sight, and she wondered what on Earth could possibly happen now. At first it seemed to Sally that he had grabbed her by the hair, but the weight on her head told her that he had placed Francis on her head. “I want you to look at me, Sally,” he commanded, and again she obeyed out of sheer terror. “I want you to know that I am not going to harm you. I am not going to touch you. All I ask is that you stay still.” She thought to nod, but quickly corrected herself, lest Francis tumble off her head. She remained still. “Then we understand each other,” he said, and she could feel his smile burning into her. She remained still. She closed her eyes, still unsure as to whether or not this was real. And then she heard the distinct sound of a zipper opening. She looked up only to see his mammoth, erect member staring back at her. It was enormous. She had never quite seen anything like it. As he began to stroke, she couldn’t help but notice how short he was. He was standing unhindered by the ceiling. The size of his pork sword only added to how comically small he appeared to be. As he continued to pleasure himself, he very much resembled a small boy goofing around with a summer sausage. His knees rocked back and forth as he yanked. As he moaned, possibly near his climax, the tone of his voice changed considerably. What was a lulling drawl became a labored grunt. On and on he grunted. Somewhere in the vicinity of ten minutes, which Sally knew only as she had started counting seconds to distract herself from the scene, his breathing became shallow and his knees locked. “Now,” he grunted, “DON’T. MOVE.” He bellowed as he ejaculated, and though she could not discern his aim, she knew it had traveled over her head. She swore she could feel a wind disturbance from the force of it. As she realized his aim was not to cover her in his love juices, she felt a pang of dread and an overwhelming disgust when she thought of poor Francis. She couldn’t help but wonder how many times he may already have gone through this. “Now,” he said, gasping for air as if his life force had just shot from his still engorged cock, “I know I said I wouldn’t touch you, but I know Francis would like to get to know that meat hole you call a cunt, so I want you to make him feel welcome.” He removed the weight from her head. It may have been that Sally had reached her saturation point for absurdity, maybe it was his abject and unrepentant cruelty to Francis.. hell, it may have been his use of the word “cunt,” but she knew that it was that moment that she would strike. Quickly and easily removing the shoe she never strapped back to her foot, she lunged at him, ramming the five inch heel into his left eye as hard as she could, obliterating it quite like taking a sledgehammer to a bowl of Jell-O. Once again he spurted, but now it was blood that flowed so freely from him. He reeled back in agony, screaming obscenties as he fell onto the floor of the limousine. She leapt back toward the door, frantically searching for the lock. She fumbled unsuccessfully, glancing back at him, wondering how much time she could possibly have before he arose. And then the most horrific sight she had yet to see took place. Francis, completely covered in the stranger’s jism, had hopped onto his chest and began to peck at his eye socket, which gushed with blood and what remained of his eyeball. Blood squirted ever harder from the socket, meshing itself with the fluids covering Francis, to the point where it appeared that he had been assaulted with a jelly doughnut. The man writhed in agony, kicking at whatever he could, trying to claw at Francis, but it seemed every peck at his face seemed to repeatedly incapacitate him. He kicked at a side panel, knocking it aside to reveal a row of buttons. Sally stabbed wildly at the buttons with her fingers, hoping one of them would release the lock. A click in the vicinity of the door told her she’d found it. Practically ripping the door handle off in her scramble to escape, she finally burst out of the limousine, which oddly was parked at the corner of Main and 1st. She bolted to the door of the apartment building, worried he would give chase, but as she reached the door, the limousine’s tires screeched, tearing past the red glow of the First Street stoplight and out of sight. Sally breathed a labored sigh of relief as she entered the apartment building, numb to the signals of pain her feet sent to her brain. She pressed the call button for the elevator and waited, glancing feverishly around her. As it arrived with a loud ding, she fainted, falling into the elevator. The sun shone on her face as she awoke the next day. She couldn’t help but be certain she had dreamed the entire thing. “Hey, you’re finally up,” Sheila said, waving a buttered piece of toast over Sally’s head, “I thought you might never wake up after I found you in the elevator last night.” Every second of the previous night came rushing back to her, and overwhelmed with confusion and disgust, she rolled to the side of her bed and vomited. Sheila stood over her, shaking her head. “Rough night?” “Sheila?” Sally said, resigned to conceal the horrible truth from her friend. Yes?” “Do me a favor and shut the fuck up.”
