Lust Demented

{XIII}

“FARROW CHANGE SEATS WITH me.” Gun in hand, Sgt. Bethany Powers crawled from the driver’s seat into my lap, brushing my face with her ass. Death-pasture green eyes spray-painted to her face. Her legs, surprisingly muscular as they nudged me towards the wheel. I slid out from under her, wiggling into the driver’s seat. She turned the key in the ignition, sliding the car into drive. I stepped on the gas a little too hard, bracing myself as the engine kicked back before settling in.

“Left.” “Right.” “Stay straight.” She kept it simple fondling her gun, occasionally looking at the rear-view mirror. Whether I stared or not, I knew the gun was there. Just as I knew the slightest graze of hot flesh under thin layers of fabric could change the way I came to terms with my entire existence.

At some point in our relationship the way Missy made love to me changed. I remembered specifically the different ways she would lock her legs around me and force me to finish inside of her. The way she would seem insulted if my cum ended up anywhere, but inside as she demanded. On many levels it seemed more natural than any other way of making love. It was dangerous and simply beautiful. And danger mixed with beauty creates more life - it seems.

Distant eyes reached past the endless night. Images of Missy temporarily dissolved. Streets, boulevards, and alleys intruded on us from all directions.

“You’re thinking of her.”

“An assassin hovers over me in my sleep. She’s gone when I wake.”

“You’re too insignificant. Nobody wants to kill you. Believe in other things.”

Sgt. Bethany Powers motioned for me to park along an illuminated strip of housing projects verging on the beach. Hooded shadows limping laps in the darkness took immediate notice of our presence, sinking back into the night. They seemed to sense we were not customers, standing their ground, just in case.

“Police issue.” Sgt. Bethany Powers handed me her Smith and Wesson. It weighed in heavier than it looked and in return made the earth feel lighter, more conquerable. I ran my hands along the smooth cold body of the gun, settling on the grip. It felt right. Wrong no longer existed.

“Should I keep it in my pocket?”

“Do what you want.”

Fresh air in the city was an illusion. Beach air was new life. Sgt. Bethany Powers walked me out past the dunes. The sand was heavy and kept us moving a few steps slower than when on concrete.

“Shooting a gun is a meditation. It’s relaxing.”

“I’ve never shot one before.”

“I know. You’re more of the knife across the throat type.”

“I’m more of the pen on the paper type.”

“Farrow, keep your hand off the trigger and lift the pistol.”

“What do I aim at?”

“Doesn’t make sense to shoot at random things. Pick something…”

“How about the jetties?”

“How about something alive? How about the seagulls on the jetties?”

“I can’t see them.”

“Neither can I, but I know they’re there.” The seagulls cackled raucously as the waves battered the rocks.

“Keep your feet shoulder width apart. Lean forward slightly. Put your finger on the trigger and breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Ooooh… shoot!” She grabbed my elbow straightening it, but I balked at pulling the trigger until she whipped a snubnose from an ankle holster and lit off a couple rounds of her own. Together we blasted off into the night, until both our guns were empty.

“Go check the jetties.” Sgt. Bethany Powers reloaded her gun, one bullet at a time. I figured it was best to put a little distance between us. I could hear the clinking metal, the squawking gulls, and the dismal waves. I could hear my shoes in the sand, which is a sound you can feel. The rotten apple soldier turned to a mere outline as I approached the jetty. Just enough moonlight hit the rocks to show me the two dead birds. One had both wings blown off. The other had no head. I leaned over wondering if one of the shots I fired killed these birds. I picked up the one with no wings, since it still had a head. I felt sorry for the creature. It was still breathing. Pop! A shot rang out in the night air. I felt it whizz over my head by at least a couple feet.

“Farrow… I’m sick of aiming off into the darkness.” I heard her call out before she fired off yet another round. I didn’t say anything.

“Give me a target.” Blam! Blam! The sergeant’s tone was playful. Every sentence followed by a bullet or two. I did my all to blend into the beach’s soft slopes. I pointed the gun at the moon directly above me. I had no bullets and an out of range target. Raising the burner to the heavens, I pulled the trigger. The slight click from my weapon led to another pair of bullets striking the sand beside me. Then a click of her own. Her gun was empty. I felt the darkness around me… the suffocating summer air didn’t let up even in the middle night… it just kept choking you… tearing you open… I could feel my heart fighting to escape my chest… I was about to attempt one last mad dash when a pair of woman’s nails dug into my skin. Pale as the moon, Kiko held onto me, aggression surging. Her body wrapped over mine. Programmed gallant, I rolled over on top of the strange woman. The tide slowly made its way up our legs. We stayed this way listening closely for a sign that death was closing in on us. I was still holding the gun. The tide continued to approach until it was at our necks.