Day In Day Out – Sunday Night

Midnight at the oasis, deep in a dream of D, lowering her supple body onto mine, excitement mounts as roaring approval erupts from the crowd of spectators, like an approaching fleet of jetliners, fire engines–fire engines? WTF? Awakening from imminent ecstacy just out of reach, flickering red light illuminates the ceiling. Segue into another chapter of the dream? But no. Fucking consciousness has, dammit, once again, awakened me from paradise. Now, what the hell’s going on out there?

Lifting my face from the downy softness of D’s pubes, transformed by Quixotian demons into a cotton-covered pillow, I see through the window that a huge space ship, studded with blinking red, yellow and blazing white lights has landed on the other side of the creek, a hundred yards away. Slipping bathing trunks over the fading ardor of my moist dream of D, I slither down three steps below my door into the black shadow cast by the RV. The park lights are off, the only light comes across the creek, where in the sky, a brilliant white glow flickers amidst a tumult of smoke, perforated by gold sparks.

Walking around the back of D’s 5th wheel to the creek, I find my neighbors standing in little clusters, watching the light show. Drift around the scene hoping to see D but no dice. Too bad, I’m so fucking horny. Not in the cards. Why? What has God in store for me? Why not this, oh Lord? Yes, I have sinned but I have also seen the light!

Two guys wearing fireproof suits stand on the roof swing axes through the roof of the restroom building, sending up showers of sparks as clouds of smoke pour around them reflecting beams of light from two fire trucks. The figures of the men are magnified by their reflection on the boiling smoke above them, a scene out of Dante’s Inferno.

“Where’s the keg?” I ask one of my neighbors.


“How can you have a fire and not bring a keg? Is this California?”

“We got marshmellows.”

Dammit, Don must have torched that bathroom. He hates cleaning that restroom. Just yesterday, he said to me,  “women here throw their fucking tampons on the floor. There’s a sign, there’s receptacles and they throw them on the floor.” I told him it’s a biological imperative. They’re marking. Don’t even know they do it. You have to respect a force of animal nature.” “Fuck that,” he said, “I don’t need that shit.” Hmmm.

Now I have to go all the way to the clubhouse to shower and D is nowhere in sight. No doubt the little bitch is getting her nympho lobes fucked to oblivion by an Abyssinian. Oh, Lord, why not me, Your humble servant? What is Your great plan for my life? Hast Thou forsaken me? Again? At least, can I die and come back as an Abyssinian?


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