Earning a Sip of Mimosa
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The Mimosa free porn video
The chance survivors of the sand, thin tall cacti, mockingly saluted the car’s passage as it rushed along the broken asphalt. The vehicle’s tinted windows disguising the broiling landscape and fooling the occupants within. From Phoenix, the smoked glass had been lying to the two travelers, teasing them with comfort until the woman noticed an imperfection-a stuffiness settling over the interior.
It never occurred to the woman to ask the driver for the cause of her discomfort. She’d resolved her own problems and she would fix this one as sure as she had solved a million others. She turned her head to look behind, searching for the possible source of the distress. Maybe an opened window or door left ajar. Moving to the vents, she pressed her palms close and felt the steadily warming air. She pushed and pulled the knobs and levers but didn’t involve the driver. His eyes were busy alternating between the centerline and the massive bus rapidly filling the mirror.
‘I think the air-conditioner is broken,’ Missy stated the fact, absently searching for the window switch to fix the immediate problem.
Aaron didn’t hear this detail, listening instead to the foreign engine’s insistent growling near his bumper.
‘I can’t believe that bastard is going to pass me on a curve with a double line,’ he mouthed the words from drawn lips. His thin voice drowned by the bus’s air horn wailing inches behind his head.
The woman ignored the trailing reverberations as she rolled the window down, bringing hotter and fresher air into the car. The unhindered wind lifted tobacco ashes and papers into a cyclone, rapidly decompressing the car’s atmosphere with days of trash. Checking for the perfect switch that would freeze the air again, she glanced back briefly to see the chrome mastodon filling the rear window, then returned her attention to the knobs.
Sharp knees jutting high, the woman planted her bare feet firmly against the dash, and scrunched her small back deep into the plush fabric. She squirmed her bottom, back and forth to fit as a lanky flamingo preparing a nest.
Settling in, she peered over purple sunglasses at the towns marked on the map, calculating the distances, and gauging the time to reach San Carlos. Unconcerned about the danger, Missy’s fingers tiptoed across the chart and measured the lengths.
The woman’s waist, bounded by the knotted blouse tails, exposed a pelvis void of excess, miserly freckled, and punctuated by a peevish belly button-a single dimple set in the middle of a barren plain.
A close encounter off the Great Barrier Reef rewarded her with the single shark’s tooth dangling from the choker, a dangerous ornament riding menacingly on the front of her long throat. Blistering gusts of wind whipped her seasoned hair against the shark’s white hardness, the cheeky locks wildly dancing across the sharp ivory.
Encouraged by the aberrant flush of adrenaline, Aaron’s senses compressed, becoming harder than the bug encrusted bumper now howling behind. He grappled the wheel with both hands, submerging his fingers into the leather cover and preparing for the worse. His spine unbending from the customary sloth into a semblance of respectability, the vertebra’s steel pins begging constraint. The chrome bulk in the mirror expanded, revealing the bus company’s emblem, a roadrunner cartoon bird circled by the defeated armies of insects with their green abdomens and thoraxes pasted about the conqueror in homage. The plumaged vanquisher rose high above all, a roadrunner on crack, pursuing Aaron, now the Wily coyote pushed to the cliff’s edge.
Aaron ignored everything outside his control as he forced the pedal hard into the carpeted mat and inched away from the loud brute. He dismissed the rapidly shrinking emblem, as he riveted the wheels to the winding yellow lines. The bus’s rusty grill, less threatening with every hill it struggled, slowly shriveled in the mirror. Spitting humbler whiffs of black smoke from the high exhaust pipes, the bus dwindled and finally disappeared, until only the road and bright stripes remained.
Now confident in dividing his attention, Aaron quickly glanced at the woman. He found her occupied with the map and unimpressed with his skills.
For the first time since the contest had ended, the heat slapped Aaron in the face and he asked no one, ‘Why is it so damn hot in here?’ Seeing the window open and feeling the trickles of sweat forming along his backbone, he complained, ‘Damn, you got the window open. No wonder I’m burning up.’
‘I told you. The air-conditioner is broken,’ Missy, sighed. Her eyebrows rising only a fraction as she continued with her mental calculations of distance and time.
Sometimes Aaron paid attention to her and sometimes he didn’t. She’d learned to negotiate this obstacle, much the same as navigating a murky river, avoiding the snags and deadfalls and remaining in the deep channel. There was no manual for these piloting skills. The do-it-yourself pamphlet hadn’t been written explaining what to do if the male metamorphoses into an asshole from one minute to the next. The double helix hid the secret-a minor gene, deeply entombed, prevented the female race from burying the butcher knife each night.
Randomly pushing the dashboard’s assemblage of knobs, Aaron leaned far across the console, his elbow crushing the trip’s collected half empty Styrofoam cups of coke and coffee. He struggled ungainly until he managed to increase the heater’s output.
Feeling the hot rush of air under her legs as the stale liquids dribbled across the floor mat, she muttered, ‘Wonderful.’ A thin smile she couldn’t harness, traversed her lips as she continued, ‘You turned the heater on. Still not hot enough for you?’ Deliciously happy at his flustered actions, a jiggling laugh exploded from her belly which rippled at his expense, inviting the lone dimple to the party.
Aaron pushed his skinny frame to the limit, straining his bad shoulder to reach the offending button when her expanding giggles cut off and she screamed, ‘Oh shit!’
Aaron glanced up from his futile tinkering to see her eyes widening with alarm. Her teeth clinched wordless, as he followed her panicked focus forward. A collection of hide, bones and hoofs doddered on the centerline and blankly returned Aaron’s stare. The steer was puzzled at the closing form but oblivious of any chain of effect as it chewed the remnants of some sparse weeds.
Picking his trail to avoid the sharp mesquite poles picketed along the sandy edge, Aaron yanked the wheel and aimed toward the rusted fence. The twisted horns and spotted hide squeezed a paper’s width by the driver’s window, the distorted tires peppering broken gravel about the cow’s head as Aaron fought the wheels back to the pavement. The success, unsure when the vehicle swerved across the yellow line twice, left the animal dreaming about the strange behavior as the car’s taillights finally centered on the lane.
Gathering control of his breathing, Aaron looked into the mirror at the decreasing scene and whispered dryly, ‘He’s not moving.’
The woman jerked her head back only to see the animal, unharmed and undisturbed, standing still on the centers strip. Blood returned to her face as her lips gasped in relief, ‘He’s fine. You didn’t hit him.’
Decelerating without the man’s foot forcing it forward, the vehicle coasted along the pavement. The engine cracked and hissed from its short engagement, wisps of steam escaping along the hood’s edges as Aaron warned, ‘I know that, but what about the crazy bus behind us?’
The passengers both strained backwards, as the car rolled to a stop. Both intently watching as the steer dozed in the heat. Aaron slammed the lever into reverse and began the backward trip, his neck resisted the torture as a black exhaust cloud, muddled by the heat’s haze, rose above the road’s horizon. The buses oily gears shifted begrudgingly and quietly groaned from the str
ain-a distant warning for all to hear.
The animal’s ear twitched, perhaps to dismiss a blue bottle fly but more likely, at hearing the low growl pulsating across the shrub. Chasing the gnats and disturbing the head’s nap, a tail slapped the bovine’s ribs. A fragrant odor of mesquite beans, tastier than dried weeds, drew his now awaken attention and the beast wandered from the asphalt into the scant brush.
Aaron exhaled for the first time, clearing his lungs of the stale air, and felt the dryness suck at his lips with the returning breath. Accepting the heat, he lowered his window and continued toward the coast, setting a pace to avoid further alarms. Missy laid her head against the windowsill. With a tiredness draping about her world, her eyelashes plummeted until she was asleep.
Missy had napped for the last fifty miles, bored with the desert, not yet smelling the crisp salt of the Mexican gulf as the car entered the town’s promenade. Oblivious of the hot afternoon, a dog sprawled strangely on the soft asphalt as the Federale motioned their car to the curb. The scraping brakes startled the woman, disturbing the beads of sweat on her shallow cheeks, as the car rolled to a halt.
Even before her eyes opened to the harsh light, she jerked up and asked, ‘What is it? Why are we stopped?’ wiping the thin trace of spittle from the corner of her mouth.
‘We’re almost there kid. You can smell the ocean.’ Aaron answered. Using a handkerchief to remove the sweat from her face, he lingered over her eyes with the cloth and tried to hide the scene for as long as possible.
Lifting the wet strands of hair and allowing the weak air from the window to blow along her skin, she took the cloth and wiped the back of her neck. Excited at seeing the palms for the first time, the woman took in the checked trunks but skipped across the still form of the animal in the road.
Watching the officer’s damp uniform and waiting for the signal to proceed Aaron stared ahead. The sign he sought was an urgent motion of a white gloved hand releasing the guilty and innocent alike. His fingers tightened on the wheel, silent curses reverberating through his head, when he heard the woman scream,’ Oh God, it’s a dog. Oh God, is he hurt?’
‘Well it’s about a hundred and twenty degrees out here, and he’s been lying there for the last ten minutes. I don’t think he’s napping.’ He snapped, startled by the woman’s alarm and dreading the argument sure to follow.
‘Why are you such a son-of-a-bitch?’ she blurted, tears pooling in her eyes as her gaze settled on the form. ‘I feel so sorry for him,’ she sobbed.
Dragging her gaze away from the prone form, Aaron nodded toward the sidewalk, ‘Which do you feel more sorry for, the dog or that bastard over there who let him run into the street?’
The ex-owner of the dog, an American expatriate by his clothes, paced the sidewalk. He walked from one broken sidewalk gap to the next, hands covering his chest, briefly glancing toward the body as his leather loafers met each fracture in the concrete. The authorities, intent on questioning the innocents and others that bore less responsibility, avoided both the American and the dog on the asphalt.
The offending RV waited for the process to finish. The air-conditioner’s quiet efficiency hummed as the Federales, sorting out the infinite details, loitered in the humid swelter. Only once, the RV driver’s tiny window opened and documents were squeezed through the slit. Several times, sunflower patterned shades slid back a crack, an inch or less and quickly closed, too fast to see the source of curiosity.
Firing eyes shielded by his dark sunglasses, Aaron’s lips thinned and closed above his beard. He despised the man on the sidewalk, the Mexican sun broiling raw resentment into charred hatred. His disdain for the owner’s neglect was compounded by the American’s selfishness-the tourist’s refusal to adopt a pet to match his life, a life more suited to a two-pound ball of timid fur, cradled safely as its owner strolled the malls.
Instead, the tourist had chosen a creature born to hunt, and swim, and run through open fields, a companion only to fulfill the man’s selfish fantasy of what a real man should own. Aaron’s fingers curled into his palms, the nails forcing the blood aside as they crushed into his flesh. He wanted to grab and shake the man, and scream into his face, ‘It’s not a fucking lapdog, you idiot!’
The RV had served a clean mortal blow, giving the captive witnesses an illusion of rest rather than finality. Aaron avoided the illusion and followed the American’s footsteps until he was startled by a slap on the hood. Aaron turned to see a Federale, now satisfied with the investigation, and impatiently waving the car forward. The officer jumped to dodge the fender as Aaron stomped on the pedal, angled around the stalled traffic, and accelerated across both yellow lines.
‘Slow down. You’re going to get us a ticket or worse,’ Missy demanded. Fearing his recklessness, one hand grabbed the dashboard to steady herself, while her other hand searched for the seat belt.
Aaron released pressure from the pedal and loosened his grip around the wheel. His breathing eased as the swifter air flooded the car. The wind cooled his sweat soaked collar as the fingers of his hand embarked on an intimate search between Missy’s bare thighs.
‘I’m not in the mood, thank you,’ the woman bitterly complained. Moving his hand away forcefully, she turned to watch the passing buildings, anger at his strange behavior squeezing her jaw stiff.
Ignoring her complaint, his rejected yet not thwarted fingers, suggestively traced the nape of her neck. ‘I’m always in the mood,’ Aaron admitted.
‘I believe that, you sick bastard,’ she answered, moving further toward the window, tight against the door, and out of his grasp. Flustered with being unable to reach and feel her skin, he leaned back and focused his attention on the boulevard’s walkway, alert for both stray dogs and strolling women.
He needed her fingers to touch him. That contact would be enough but she let the confrontation settle as she hugged the far edge of the seat, absently exploring the glass windows of the shops. They drove silently for several miles until Aaron asked, ‘We’ll be at the marina in a few minutes. Do you need anything before we take the boat out?’
Anxious to see the multitude of masts sticking above the buildings, Missy quickly looked ahead. The black and brown spears, hung with flags and jutting above the marina’s tile roof, made her happy. The easy memories smoothed her grief and allowed her to speak, ‘I’m sorry for what I said but it was sad. How can you dismiss it so quickly?’ Desperate for an answer, she watched Aaron’s face as he pulled into the graveled lot.
Safe again on hearing her voice, Aaron ignored the question. He’d pushed the scene away, closed it off, refusing to let it interfere with this day or any day. As the car rolled into the parking spot, partially shaded under a tree, she remained seated, waiting for his answer.
Uncomfortable from her stare, he looked around to find something, anything to distract her. ‘Look Babe, we’ve parked under a Mimosa tree,’ Aaron said, hoping she would run to the tree and touch the tiny leaves. He knew she would laugh as they closed tight from her excitement.
Urgently searching his eyes, the Missy ignored her favorite tree and asked again, ‘Don’t you care about what happened? The minute we leave the accident, you want to fuck. How do you think that makes me feel? Don’t you care?’
A gust of wind shook the car as Aaron, unwilling to take her questions, stared at the foliage. Particles of sand, lifted from the beach, fell against the serrated leaves and forced them to close tightly -a peculiar feature developed against a harsh environment. As the wind lessened and the grains settled, the leaf’s need for sustenance returned and they opened to the bright light.
Aaro
n pushed the switch, rolling up the windows to force a closure to the inquiry. Then he turned to confront her. ‘I do care about you and yes I want to fuck you and the two don’t always have to be inseparable, you know.’ He explained, still unable or unwilling to fathom her hurt. The rapidly building heat in the car, designed to force her out, disturbed his concentration.
With one last-ditch attempt to escape the caldron, he tried another approach by explaining, ‘Perhaps death has something to do with it. I don’t know but maybe there’s some deep instinct to continue the species when faced with mortality: to propagate, hence to fuck your brains out, Dear.’ Exaggerating the ‘Dear’, he ended his commentary with a grin spawned more from the heat than amusement.
The condescending title ‘Dear’ made her first flinch and then explode, ‘What a crock of shit. That has to be the most moronic excuse I’ve heard. If you followed that to its end, there wouldn’t be a Penthouse magazine for you freaks to jerk off to. Hell, the erotic market would be ‘Gravediggers Quarterly’ with corpses laid on the ground. How hot is that, you dumb son-of-a-bitch?’
‘Well then, I don’t know. I’m just a horny bastard. Whatever you say, God damn it,’ he yelled back, immediately regretting his desperate remark when seeing her ruddy face turn pale. Seeking to escape her glare, he turned his head toward the tree, envying its shade.
A long time passed, both sweltering, without a word, until he finally gave up and said, ‘Are we going sailing or are we going to sit here until doomsday talking about some fucking dead animal?’ The last word, barely intelligible, broke uncontrolled from his throat-his lips twisting to stop the pain.
He turned his head away to look through the blurred window, watching the blowing sand when her hand settled softly on his knee, her fingers tracing unfathomable semaphores of care.
Tammi
- 11.09.2021
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