Riding The Dog

by C. Sanchez-Garcia © 2010

As we passed through Cloquet around midnight, a few people got off and went into the bus station in the falling snow and the dark, and a woman in her forties or so got on and took the seat next to me. I didn't really feel like talking but she began chatting about the snow and her daughter at the University of Minnesota.  It would have been rude to ignore her so I opened up a little. She asked what I did, and I thought I'd show off and told her I was a writer. I wrote erotic stories, why not? Was she shocked, I asked. No, not at all, she said, but she preferred the classics. Life was too short after all.

After that she turned on her reading light and took a magazine from a shopping bag and ignored me. It was the latest Cosmopolitan. She started to nod off with the magazine in her lap. I nudged her and asked if I could read it. I love snacking on Cosmo.

Cosmopolitan and its sexy screwball stuff for liberated women. I always think of them as “goddess articles”. The endlessly popular How to Drive Your Man Wild in Bed. One Dozen Sex Techniques Known Only to Fiji Island Cannibals to Make Your Man Eat You Out Like a Love Goddess.  Fifty Secret Taoist White Dragon Qi Gong Sex Techniques to Drive Your Man Insanely Wild in Bed Until His Balls Explode And He Dies In Your Arms. I don't know.

I just love that stuff.

We were going down the highway in the dark and snow was blowing against the window. Buses are mostly safe in snow. There were hardly any cars on the road. After a while, she rolled over and said "So you write dirty stories?"
 
"I'm not very good. But I've had a little luck."
 
"Where do you get your ideas?"
 
"It’s about like you'd expect. Fantasies. Same as anybody."
 
“Like what?”

“Sexual fantasies.”
 
"The kind you jerk off to?"
 
"Madam. Now you're trying to shock me."
 
"Yes."

"I don't shock easy. Even Minnesota women have a hard time shocking me."
 
"I'm an Iron Range woman. I'll bet I could shock you. Hey. Tell me a fantasy."
 
“What about you?”
 
“Me?”
 
“Tell me your most shocking fantasy.”
 
“I asked you first.”
 
“Yes, but you’re the one who wants to know.  Besides, I get paid for my fantasies.”
 
"Oh, poof." she said. "What kind of fantasy? I have a lot."
 
"Something weird, something that goes back a long way. The über fantasy."
 
I didn't hear anything back from her for a little while, and I slouched down in the seat, thinking the conversation was over. I was about to go to sleep.
 
"Okay. Here's one. Ready?"
 
"Yes, please." I said, straightening up. "You have all my attention."
 
"This goes back, like when I was in high school with the nuns."
 
"You went to Catholic school?"
 
"Didn't everybody?"
 
"I like Catholic girls."
 
"Are you going to let me tell it? So. This is my fantasy. I'm living in this big rich house, like maybe in Italy."
 
"Romance novels are always in big Italian houses like that.”
 
"Don't interrupt."

"It’s a form of fantasy birth control. Fantasia Interruptus."
 
"Anyway. Big house. Maybe Italy. Or the Riviera. And the house has this thing like a deck. In the back, it’s a deck with a view of this kind of sweeping canyon, with trees and wild flowers. I'm laying on a chaise lounge in my bath robe, there on my nice deck in my nice Italian house, but I've just gotten out of the shower. Or maybe I've been swimming naked in the ocean. I'm naked underneath the robe. There's a little table with this drink called a 'buck fizz.' "
 
"A fuck fizz?"

"A buck fizz. It makes you feel romantic and kind of warm all over. It’s a real aphrodisiac. Very sensuous."
 
"I'll google it."
 
"So there I am. I'm fuck-buck naked under my robe, with my buck fizz. I'm looking across this meadow full of wild flowers. And there's someone crossing the meadow, coming towards me. It's a man. He has long hair and a beard, and this kind of scruffy robe, like he's come in from the desert. As he gets closer he's sort of middle eastern looking, kind of hippie Italian looking, with dark olive skin and big eyebrows and a big nose. He sees me and he's coming towards me. And I just lay there and wait for him to get near and then I see who he is."
 
"Who is he?"

“Can’t you guess?”

_______
© 2010 C. Sanchez-Garcia. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

Bio: At this particular time in a wandering, often bizarre and unexpected life, C. Sanchez-Garcia is living quietly in eastern Georgia, where the size of his personal library is bursting the walls of his little house. He stubbornly believes in passion, God, sensuality and spirituality, and that a good love story is life's finest medicine for melancholy. He is the author of the erotic novellas Mortal Engines and the Color of the Moon. Several of his stories have been published in the Mammoth Book of Erotica and Coming Together anthologies as well as the Erotica Readers and Writers Association's online gallery and permanent archives. If you would like to meet the author you will find him at www.facebook.com as Christobal Sanchez-Garcia, and at the Oh Get a Grip writer's blog ohgetagrip.blogspot.com where Sanchez-Garcia's blog appears hell or high water every Wednesday.

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