~ IDYLLIC: ORATIO OBLIQUA~
In fact, they register quite regularly as a “cc:all” expose to her steady circulation of friends, as well as the many more recent admirers she will have gathered along the way.
A sweet, but sordid, escapade, culminating with tentative, then turbulent, finger-filled dalliances to the tune of that silent symphony on the muddy waters of a midnight gondola ride...
Like Hendry's Beach off the Pacific Coast......or a stolen moment of picnicking a la va va voom on checkered, gingham blankets..or were they Freddy's Burgers napkins...?
Celeste is more than willing to subsume this all the while...... emptying recollections of fuzzy, fading remnants of her own times passed......
Like losing her Bon Genre Jeans to the Pacific Coast in a newly naked embrace,
Her soaked front pockets bearing down, impeding resistance, reuniting with Donnie's t-shirt, their having become saddled with quarters readied for a midnight sack of colorless bra-and-panty-laundry and Donnie's short sleeves.
All this in salute to the elements, yet little more than a mere pittance to Mother Nature, herself.
Celeste will quickly return to the seedy seat of novelty, smack dab in front row, where things were a LOT less pedestrian.
Things were going to get real.
Celeste will reach out, compelled by her quest to fully expose those secret treasures of abandon, in concert she hopes, with her long-time beau .
David will not know what hit him.
Certainly, yes, Celeste has been yearning for this sort of gathering for much more than a fortnight.
And now she wants to collect .
The thought of Ashlynn's cheeks, which usually tend towards rosy when she is just about to spill the raciest of spoils.
The impish dive of Ashlynn's heart-shaped head, as she lowers her gaze mid-sentence;
The corners of her girlfriend's lips, when they curl conspiratorially;
Their interchange will commingle, as they often do, laced with sheepish smirks of self-censorship and bouts of sheer, bemused embarrassment;
False modesty will peel away as Ashlynn's hushed giggles tell all.
Time and again, they may attempt to stifle and compress Ashlynn's naughty narrative at irregular intervals, shielding themselves from spectators' wandering eyes and wondering ears.
Just like clockwork.
Just to see if “everything's alright.”
She will attempt to widen the circle .
Just for one.
She will advance with all the more purpose between the unforeseen hours of this endless night.
She races full speed ahead without regard for what could have otherwise resulted from certain derisive acts of jamais-vu.
Celeste will have hastened the destiny which stirs so immutably within, in spite of herself.
Celeste has been au courant for such a very long time.
Until this one night, her fantasies would have remained burrowed within the exclusive domain of private life:
Slipping through solely during hidden, unspecified stretches of time;
Shrouded within and beneath her stark-white bedroom linen;
Finding their welcome respite, peacefully atop Celeste's personal pleasure chamber.
Normally, she would have flicked about, pressing persistently with her tiny, finely tuned digits---- until she stopped.
On this other day or night, something else will have come to pass instead....and rather remarkably so.
Not at first .
Because Celeste will wake up dead.
WRITTEN by Sandra LONDON on MARCH 19th, 2013.
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