|Word count: 2998
A Nesting Of Unlikely Sorts
Unlike the family of starlings just outside her sixth-floor apartment bedroom window - those which had taken to the alcove of corners and ledges there and somehow made that hard brick and concrete cubby into a cozy nest, and who now simply could not help themselves in expressing the almost preternatural joy they felt over the coming sunrise by heralding it with their sweeping crescendos of whistling, chirpy tweets - Colleen Hasette herself awoke only with a damp, queazy depression and a note of sour apprehension nesting in her gut, and not the least bit of joy at the coming dawn.
But what thirty five year old woman, in the prime of her life, healthy and strong, could wake not feeling joy on a perfectly temperate and sunny Saturday morning? This she asked herself while yawning and stretching her plump but well toned arms and legs beneath the blanket. Instead of the answer came only a scratch of the head and a frown. The songs of the birds were an annoyance to her, their ruckus the damnable cause of her waking. She tried to shut them out with her sullen thoughts, then wondered which were worse - the songs or the thoughts.
But she knew full well what troubled her, even if she did not know how to remedy it. Her unease was rooted in knowing that this was the beginning of yet another beautiful weekend to be spent alone and bored, and having to face the discomfort of failing once again to figure out just how she was suppose to endure it with no one to share with.
"I can't stand this," she grumbled to herself, laying there listening to the smug songbirds rubbing their happiness in her face, "Where the hell are you, Lover?" That came out considerably louder than a grumble, and the birds ceased their songs for a moment before resuming with added intensity. 'Oh, shut up, you jerky birds! What the hell is there to sing about anyway?"
Her friends would be with their husbands and wives soaking up the weekend in togetherness. She could go out, to the park or the zoo, or any number of festivals or museums, but she knew that wouldn't do, for she couldn't stomach the thought of being alone, surrounded by weekending couples sharing intimacies and building lives together so sickeningly right in front of her. "No way!"
Having no man in her life meant having no one to help facilitate her romantic fantasies. No one to cuddle with for long, lazy moments locked away in each other's arms; time spent together sinfully idle, outwardly carefree and unproductive, but inwardly the perfect collaboration of two people creating profound, lasting memories; moments where intimate sentiments could be uttered in breathy whispers - whispers which took on the semblance of eloquence, but only when uttered during pillow talk, and only to those parties involved; where gentle caresses and breezy, soulful kisses could be festooned upon each other with a hunger to please, as well as that to imbibe each other's essence.
All that goodness before finally giving in to morning hunger and rushing headlong into the kitchen where fresh coffee could be set to brewing, offering up its strong, delightful aroma second only to the rapturous scent of her imagined lover's taut, sweat-sheened skin; and then on to whipping up a glorious Saturday breakfast of eggs, bacon, peppers, onions, tomatoes, mushrooms, cheese and anything else two intimates might come up with to throw into a grand omelet, all the while poking and tickling and teasing each other, and stealing smooches at just the right moments.
Almost sorry for letting her fantasies run wild like that as she lay there, she sighed heavily, almost a sob. But she did not have the intensity of emotion to become so agitated as to cry over these unrealized longings. Over time, she'd simply allowed the onset of apathy to settle over her, to ease the burden of her loneliness, to help numb her from the pain.
Alone as she was in romance, Colleen did have friends, and even a few very close ones, like Marta and Gwen, whom she'd grown up with. They often made time for her, and did their best to cheer her up. Their advice had come in waves, but increasingly, it all seemed only to add up to just a litany of failed counsel.
But one fact remained, and could not be denied... all her friends were married and had families of their own. Their priorities lay there, and not with her, though tried they did.
Colleen was a peculiar sort, because for all her goodness, intelligence, hearty sense of humor and strong morality, she had somehow failed to make a romantic connection after all this time. As she was doing so this Saturday morning, feeling pitiful and helpless, forever trying to figure out the cause of her failings, she came up blank. Whether she was just too bull-headed to see the facts, too afraid to face the truth, or simply not ready to tackle her quirky neuroses, is not known. But to Marta and Gwen, her two main problems were readably apparent.
One was the mirror! The woman Colleen saw while glimpsing her reflection was an ungainly, messy lump. She stared back at Colleen as if in reproach for so many shortcomings, scolding her with nothing but refractions of light. Her own image revolted her, and this delusional self contempt was one of her evils.
The other was her sensibilities about men. To Colleen, men were rough and callous, the whole lot of them completely lacking in all social graces. Their brashness and cockiness irritated her, and turned off her sexual desires abruptly, like turning off the knob of a faucet. They all seemed the same to her, whether they be cultivated academics or feral, blue-collar types. She always discerned a lack of respect for femininity, and could never help feeling like nothing more than an object in their eyes.
Colleen got out of bed and moved across the floor, her nightgown flowing around her slightly plump, beautifully voluptuous body. Donning her glasses, she moved directly in front of her large mirror, a glutton for punishment, and scowled at the humongusly obese woman attempting to scold her there. She tried primping herself by fixing her short, mussed up hair with her fingers. A beautiful, oval-shaped face, soft with delicately rounded features framed pleasantly by her reddish brown hair stared back at her, but all she saw was an unnerving Medusa. She moved her body to attain a number of different poses, twisting her torso this way and that, arching her back and raising one heal off the floor and kicking it out laterally. She presented her full, round buttocks to the mirror for perusal... and immediately cringed at what she perceived as a colossal mountain of flabby flesh. She gathered her nightgown from around her belly and pulled it tight so that it form-factored to her ass, the fabric pulling tight into its deep crevice, revealing the full extent of its fabulous shape and luscious curves. What was displayed in the mirror was a most sumptuous, sexy ass, full figured and perfectly squeezable, not to mention irresistibly fuckable... unless the eyes gazing at it were that of Colleen Hasette's... then it became a disgusting lump of mottled, wet clay.
And thus, Colleen Hasette proceeded in her endeavor to endure another sunny Saturday alone. Again. The apathetic culmination of her plan for the day had her really living on the edge... she'd go to the market later.
Seated at the ramshackle bar of Earnie's Tavern downing a shot of straight bourbon closely followed by a long draft of beer chaser, Camilla Routan first sensed the arrival of her daddy-o by the throaty growl of an approaching Harley. Like the way an Emperor Penguin can distinguish the raspy crys of her offspring from among thousands of adolescents crowding wind-swept beaches awaiting the return of their food-bearing parents, Camilla distinctly knew the sound of the approaching Harley to be that of her daddy-o's.
Twin reactions of fear and excitement formed in her gut, the excitement part ever present upon the arrival of her powerful man, and she prepared herself for the rollercoaster ride of their meeting. Heat eminated from between her legs and a wave of desire fluttered within her belly as she considered what he'd have in store for her soon enough. It'd been a week since they'd seen each other, him having been away smuggling guns, and she knew he'd be hungry for some tail. He was going to take her, hard and brutal, she knew... just the way she liked it. She wiggled her ass on the bar stool and flexed her anal muscles, preparing for imminent invasion, a twinkle in her eye.
She surmised that he'd had whatever pussy he'd been able to muster during the week, which was common practice for a biker gang, expected even - for the dudes, that is. For her, and the other Mamas, complete fidelity was demanded, without exception. Which was mainly why that pang of fear accompanied the excitement forming in her gut. If he ever found out about the way she'd serviced Mikey... and Doot... and Calvin during the week, and especially Rooster, who's peculiarly bent cock had fixated her, and made her mouth water with hungry abandon, and who's warm seed filled her mouth and coated her tongue and slid so easily down her throat in a way that quenched her every desire like nothing else... well then, she'd be toast! The boys themselves, if he ever got wind of her antics, might sustain a broken nose, or find themselves with a nasty knife wound, but for her, it'd be lights out.
She downed another shot, sans the chaser this time as the fear in her gut began to overtake the excitement. Luckily, the men she serviced were not at the bar, and that was a good thing. She waited.
Russell 'The Count' Vellipede edged up to the curb outside Earnie's, wheeled back around toward the street and hit the brakes. Revving the V-Twin of his '72 knucklehead for effect, he walked his steed backwards until it was parked. He cut the engine and dismounted, stretching his road-weary legs.
He saw Colleen Hasette out of the corner of his eye, just another chick among the pedestrians walking from Ester st in his direction. However, he did a double take when seeing the way her yellow, knee-length dress flapped around her plump, shapely legs creating a beacon to catch is eye. Sweet momma, I'd hit that shit... for sure, he thought crudely to himself while stoking his fabulously braided beard, ever the gentleman.
He turned to head into the bar, hoping Camilla was there. He wasn't sure how he was going to deal with her, whether he would beat the shit out of her, disfigure her, or flat out kill her. Did the bitch actually think I wouldn't find out? He knew one thing for sure: she was gonna pay for disrespecting him, and he was gonna take vast pleasure in collecting! "I'll teach that bitch," he spat.
But as he reached the door, he couldn't resist another glance at the zaftig beauty coming closer to him. Pausing there with his hand on the door, he took a long gaze at the vision in yellow approaching. She had an irrisistibly sexy gate as she moved toward him amid the crowd.
He liked the way that yellow dress fit her body, the way it hugged her so perfectly, seeming to amplify every last curve of breast and hip; the way her clogs caused her calves to flex throughout her stride, forming a pleasing contrast of tone to the overall softness of her creamy legs. Then he looked at her face, and melted a little inside from the picture: short, lusterous hair, dark glasses perched upon a cute pug-nose, rosy, glossed lips, so vibrant and full. And he was taken aback at that moment by a strange, foreign feeling rising up within him, a sudden yearning to give back to the world, to gain redeamtion by offering a protective craddle. He did not identify it at that moment, could not identify it if he tried, but what he was experiencing was the feeling of Caring. Colleen Hasette moved Russell Vellipede. It was that simple.
Gritty and sweaty, road-weary and still foul of spirit from the ire and contempt he'd directed at the moronic motorists he'd dealt with all day long, suddenly a warm, pleasant smile formed on his lips, almost breaking his face, and as she met his gaze with her eyes, the breath seemed to rush from his lungs, and his knees seemed to become weak and unsteady. What the hell? And as the smile broadened uncontrollably on his face, his very soul commenced smiling alike, breeding a most unusual feeling in Russell: Giddiness! Such was her impact on him... this woman who saw herself as grotesque, and generally despised men like Russell.
Without thinking, without control of his actions, he started toward her. As she approached, he struggled for something to say, something that would make her stop and interact with him. He stroked his beard, thinking furiously, but she was moving fast upon him, a tempestuous glance of disapproval in his direction. Yet, did it not linger? Perhaps longer than it should have?
Without thinking, he stepped up to her, weak-kneed and clumsey in such close proximity to her, and as she swept by him, his calf-high, Corcoran jump boot accidentally interrupted the flow of her stride, catching her left clog in mid step. Colleen Hasette went tumbling to the ground unexpectedly, falling hard and hitting her head on the sidewalk with enough force to render her unconscious.
When she opened her eyes in the hospital, Colleen startled to see the face of a fierce, bearded man staring down at her... the very beast who had tripped her! But quizzically, (excitingly?) the expression of concern and worry on that face contrasted dramatically with his brutish nature. And there was something else. His gaze held a certain sparkle, as if a warm appraisal was being determined about her. She felt the intensity of his gaze, and discovered instantly she liked the way it soothed her inside. He cares for me, intuition told her. That made her flush.
Such ferocity emanated from him, yet the caring and concern displayed on his face seemed to attain dominance over that ferocity. Was it She who effected him so? With that, Colleen felt something stir within. Despite herself, she let herself believe she possessed qualities which could tame this beast, and that belief caused a sense of pride to effuse from her head to her toes. Russell Vellipede moved Colleen Hasette. It was that simple.
Her eyes blinked rapidly, never once parting from his gaze.
He bent down close, and she felt his rough fingers gently stroking her forehead and brushing her hair to the side. The smell of aged leather and gasoline permeated the air around him, and she breathed it in, taking knowledge of him without the utterance of words. She felt the moment to be one of profound awakening, and sensed it was for him alike. She let out a breathy sigh and smiled up at him for the first time.
And as she looked up into that rugged, weathered, strangely appealing face, transfixed under his gaze, a remarkable thing happened. Within the mirror of his eyes, she saw her reflection; and it was not the familiar, frumpy bitch itching to scold her in derision, but rather an enchanting angel, glowing brightly in the veil of feminine beauty, smiling back at her approvingly with aplomb. In her machinations, it was her reflection, but awakening crystalized, and she understood she was seeing herself through his eyes. Under his gaze, Colleen's reflection was beautiful... like never before.
Tears came to her eyes, and he gently brushed them away with his thumb. And as he did so, an amazing sense of purpose rose up in her - for in that moment, she chose her path: to change this man from Shark to Songbird, and in doing so, introduce the joy of togetherness into both their hearts.
Strangely, she thought of the birds on the ledge outside her bedroom and found herself replaying their sweet melodies in her head. For the first time, she longed to hear their song, and discovered she could indeed appreciate the splendor of their joy.
Leaning in close to this strangely beautiful fallen dove, feelings of warmth for her flowed rampantly throughout his soul, overwhelming him. He smiled back at her, glad of her waking. He felt upon his cheeks the rush of breath let out upon her sigh, its scent the perfect essence of allure. He would take this darling dove and make her his. Not like Camilla and the others. Not as his property, his Mama, rather as something... No, SOMEONE!, you fool! - someone to shed love upon; someone more important to him than himself or his gang; someone to protect and cherish.
He saw it clearly just then - undeniable; She and Him, in a lasting, deep symphony of togetherness. Oneness. This was his chance for a proper life.
But how outlandish it all was. He didn't even know her name, or the sound of her voice. And how could he know his feelings were requited? Somehow he understood now that love must be a two way street.
But she sensed his thoughts, as lovers often do, and did not let him flounder in uncertainty. Still without ever a word yet spoken between them, Colleen reached up and took hold of his intricately braided beard. Gently, she pulled him down to meet her glistening, parted lips, and delighted in receiving the first ever kiss of her most special starling.