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Act 3
I felt the wild, storming hurricane flash thunder into my loins, as the fire of love and passion burned white-hot flames into my psyche; pokers of laser-bright emissions permeated my pericardium, the too-hot blaze attempting to consume me, leaving me naught but burned, charred ashes. The light of knowledge and happiness now became a shining sun, and I touched the sky above, blinded by love and other emotions too numerous to mention.
She'd carried me from the darkness of ignorance, sadness, anger , ennui and, dare I say, even loneliness; now, all the bad stuff associated with the dark (including night, blindness, shadows, etc.) and the rain of tears splashing from my swollen eyes, falling into a sea of salinity (similar to, but not chemically identical to the pharmaceutical solution injected by IV into terminally-ill patients to keep them from getting dehydrated), were gone. I had never before experienced seasons nor stages of life nor any relationship even remotely as hot and horny or really neat as this one. She stampeded the parapets, laid waste to the sentinels and broke down the walls I'd so carefully erected for protection from harm (especially from love-harm), and was now attempting to drown me in her sea of hot bodily fluids. No more broken heart, no more prisoner of lust, no more cold emotional indifference like the icy, frozen stares of the other patrons staring at me as I sat in the dimly-lit loge of Kitty's Pleasure House and Adult Book Store...
It was becoming all too apparent that this chick could, in all likelihood, suck-start a Harley-Davidson (not that you’d probably have to these days, most all models now have electric starters...), not that that’s necessarily a bad thing, all things considered, but I thought I’d mention it, at least, so that there would be no misunderstanding about her obvious ‘talents’. It was time for a diversion, and I had to act quickly, before I was sucked into the vortex of her maelstrom of passion. In deference to my audience’s intellect, I shall refrain from using the description ‘black hole’.
“Hold on a second, sister…” I extracted myself from her vise-like embrace. My arms were suddenly two ten-pound rolls of butcher shop bologna, the kind that has just enough garlic added for flavor… the kind that comes with the USDA toxicity warning label, the variety in which one thick slice could provide an average-sized man enough fat and nitrates to induce a myocardial infarction within an hour. Briefly, I considered taking several large bites out of my own arm. Anything would be preferable to the agony of love gone wrong.
Well, almost anything… maybe not actually taking a hunk out of your forearm, but you get the point, right? This veritable fountain of excess was threatening to effervesce her miasma of molten magma all over my fertile steppes, and I couldn’t allow it to happen.
At least not until I found out her name…
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