Chapter 5 – When Presidents Beg (page 5 of 10)
"Oh, come on baby. The universe needs you again. The entire world needs you." She paused fully a minute with no one speaking or moving, the only sound being 15-ticks of the quarterclock. Her breath, unabated, was still escaping as if her sentence was incomplete, and as fate would sadly have it, it was. She finished. "won't you give us the one thing we need from you?"
Unless she was hosting a tape worm, the incorrect pronoun of ‘we’ in lieu of ‘I’ was enough to remind me why I was opting out.
Burggl -- being of the weakest organ of all of us -- seized the opportunity to collapse in circum-orgasmic anticipation as only a militia man can experience freshly out on shore leave. No sooner had he hit the floor than Melo had injected him with twelve-ounces of Morphine mixed with Über-Adrenaline, upon which he promptly revived only to hump the dry hell out of Melo's unsuspecting leg. It’s a wicked concoction, that reviva-juice.
"Charlize" I said, with a brow and my pants fully cocked, "we've always gotten along well, but peace has prevailed and I'm out of the game."
The question had been asked a thousand times by the crew if I'd ever hooked up or bumped prettiest of nasties with Charlize, but I always assured them it had not happened. We were professionals, colleagues and intra-mission cohorts in everything we'd ever done. What I'd never told them was that we had indeed had our day, once, only once, and once upon a time at that. We were both young and readt to succumb to the dirty needs of dirty space deeds and we'd let the will of the Universe overcome our desires to be with one another, thus effectively killing any boners we might have had for one another.
It was nothing serious, my thing with Charlize. We simply shared a month of consecutive evenings, late evenings, early mornings and days (uninterrupted) in varied and assorted poetry readings and boinking, but it wasn't serious. We may have shared two hundred sorts of illegal sexual encounters from every-port-devouring to pan-body hickey art to steamers de la Uranus, but it didn't mean much. I mean, I wouldn’t have felt remorse if I snuck a squiggly past her hormone and nano-chip prohibiting series of goalies, but it was all just for sport, baby.
Okay, maybe I told her that I loved her and that I'd destroy a thousand galaxies if she'd just agree to hold my hand once again, but that was pillow talk, very common in this future where I lived my days. When she said we should just be friends, I was deeply relieved because I had already grown a bit sick of her and her gorgeous face, brilliant mind and immaculate physical form... couldn't she see we were meant to be together? I mean, as friends, that is.
But today it was good to see her and I had no qualms about telling her so. "You look fat," I said, nodding and smiling graciously.
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