Danielle 5
This drive home may have been my longest ever. Well, partly because there were a few missed exits on the way, and some obligatory backtracking due to my ‘minor’ lack of concentration. In retrospect, I guess that I was lucky that no one did get run down. All that aside, time seemed pass so slowly… at one point I actually thought I should speed up the car just to make sure I hadn’t stalled on the highway.
I suppose that everyone has had that frame of mind in which you aren’t really thinking about anything at all. I mean, you know that you are doing something - watching TV, cooking, or, in my case, driving - what have you; but you are sort of just staring blankly into space, wanting to move, or to think about something in particular that you know you should be thinking about, to do something, and you just, well, don’t. All I could think about was the arrhythmic passing of signs, trees, bushes, cars, more trees behind a few more signs, ad nauseam. Time better spent would have been used thinking, or better yet, planning about Danielle and the ominous phone call that she was no doubt sitting expectantly by her telephone, worrying and wasting away, in anticipation thereof.
Yeah, I know, I know, it’s just a little eccentric, but who expects anyone to be completely logical at a time like this? The very fate of ‘our’ potential existence had been lain upon me!
I pull in the garage and go to the back door to let in my little old Saluki mix. But, I’ve been gone so much lately, and a little fetch never hurt anyone, did it? Aww, look at her, tail wagging, tongue lolling, she’s so excited over something as menial as a little time chasing a squeaking ball around a yard. Okay, so perhaps ‘a little time’ might actually mean forty five minutes… Kali is about ready to pass out from exhaustion and I have succeeded yet again in putting off the inevitable.
I go back inside with Kali in tow, grab my stuff out of the back seat, walk up to my room, sling it on the floor, leaving the violin neatly in the den beforehand, and slump down in my chair to watch television. I take a moment before I flip on the old tube to glance at my wall clock. The sleek brushed metal hands show 4:48 standing out against a stark white background, set in another brushed steel frame. It seems that it’s less and less often these days that I kick back and take the time to appreciate the sophistication of a simple, contemporary design. It fits in so well with the rest of the décor; the metal complementing the unfinished woods and bold fabrics, not to mention the sheer roman shades and… 4:52, right… Mom will be home in a few minutes, and five is such an inconvenient time to call anyone, especially if your mother is going to walk in on a private conversation. It’s not as if my mother is a very strictly involved woman. She doesn’t have to know where or what I happen to be doing every waking minute of everyday, but her presence would at least make me feel uncomfortable. There are certain things I wouldn’t want her to know, and others I don’t want to get anyone else excited over… yet. I wonder what’s on…
***
Well, as it turns out, there isn’t anything on; oh, how unusual is that? I’m doing that blank stare thing again, just a little more focused this time. Thankfully the women on MTV have no sense of style, though it all works out well enough for me; I could use a pick-me-up. As many women as there are in tank tops hanging limply off exposed clavicles and stopping a few inches short of jeans that were designed to hang around the waist, not the hips, there are just as many whose mammoth mammaries are barely held in check by t-shirts that would be more appropriately classified as elastic, polyester-films. Yet there is still no shortage of exposed midriff, or the piercing thereof, in either type’s case. In the formers’, the eyes may be inexplicably drawn to a small glittering point of light from the cheap jewel adorning an otherwise unshapely figure, while the other requires more involvement. One must search intently within the darkly tanned flesh of bobbing rolls from bellies on such jumping, crazed fans, all with the same shade of blonde highlighting, for what isn’t really a glimmer of zircon, but the shining clasp that holds aloft what little has not been swallowed up by the vast sloshing masses of folded skin.
5:14, Mom pulls into the drive. We exchange greetings and she starts defrosting a pork steak, whereby Kali’s loyalty quickly shifts downstairs to the owner with the meat. Following this short exchange, there is still nothing on. So what can I do now? Why do I need to do anything? Yesterday I would have given anything to be in this situation. Well, not this exact situation, in last night’s dream, at least I have some notion about what to do, it’s just too bad that those ideas never seem to transfer from day to day.
On a whim, and out of a lack of entertainment that moves, I move to my bag and riffle through it until I find one of the books Danielle handed to me. One of the pages is bent back about half the length of the leaf, something that I know I didn’t do, and I turn to the spot. Slid into the binding is a small slip of paper with small, but pointedly neat handwriting adorning it. Hmm…632-…
Wow, that’s pretty slick. Very nineteen eighties standard, but I kind of like that brand of classic moves. I suppose that I’m not the only one who can lay it on just a little thick when necessary. But then again, and I think this while just realizing that I would have nothing to go on if not for her forethought, perhaps it wasn’t so coy after all.
Well, Mom’s not going anywhere, time isn’t, for all that it seems to me, moving any slower for my apathy, and I have half a tank of gas. I walk downstairs with cell phone in pocket, keys in hand, and watch on wrist. Let’s roll.
“Hey, Mom? I’m going to go out for a little while,” I call from the frame of the door leading to the garage.
“What, why? It’s after five. I really don‘t want you running everywhere at all times of the night,” she shoots back from across the room.
“Are you kidding? When have I ever done that before?” Well, I could have handled that just a little more smoothly, couldn‘t I?
“Hmm, really? How many times has your father come home and asked me what you are doing awake at that time of night - after midnight sometimes?”
“Yeah, sure, but that was here, in my room, not ‘running everywhere at all hours of the night’.”
She turned around and walked toward me, brushing past me to our new yellow couch where she stood leaning against it with one hand, the other on her right hip. Even at her full height I have a good five inches on her, even with her shoulder length, light brown hair fluffed up a bit as it is now.
“Alright, fine, but don’t change the subject. So what do need to do so desperately that it couldn‘t have been done on the way home?”
Wow, when you put it that way, it really sounds sort of pathetic…“I…erm, I promised I would talk to someone.”
“Well if that’s all, why can’t you just use a phone instead?” she said, getting up again and walking back into the kitchen to put the defrosted meat in the oven, practically having to beat Kali off with a stick in the process.
“I’m still sort of planning on it,” I mumbled through my teeth.
Mom turned around at the murmur, “Hmm?”
“What, oh, nothing, it’s just that…it’s just as much ‘where’ as’ what’ we’re going to talk about.”
“Oh, but whe-…sigh, will you come right back after you meet them? Vince, you know I’m making a roast tonight.”
“Yeah, of course right after I…meet them…”
“Oh, wait, who did you say you were mee-”
Too late, I had already closed the door, and to all her knowledge, I had no idea she had said the last part at all; and that was that. Now I have all the time in the world to put off something that I’ve based my life’s desires around for so long - years in fact. Oh my god, it has been years, hasn’t it?
I’ve been lusting after this particular girl for so long that you could practically call it ‘Danielle watching.’ And, hell, what a time it’s been! Her body has been a miracle in locomotion. The changes have been so gradual that every time I saw her there was some little subtle difference to admire, from the slow flow of her stomach into flab, into fat, and the meld of her thighs into her butt. It was freshman year, now that I think of it. I first saw her in the most impressionable of all places, gym class. She, and you wouldn’t ever guess this without my telling you, was definitely no more than one hundred twenty five pounds. She wore the obligatory two inch shorts of the female persuasion, for the purpose of persuading males, under a comparably loose fitting dark gray T. From that point things would only get better. To be fair, she wasn’t perfect at first, but what is? Her stomach and thighs were only about the same width, the look that comes from a fair amount of weight going on quickly, probably that summer, giving her a rather curve-less flair. As time passed, that bulge of bulk which puffed forward in one, thinly round, mass slowly migrated to rest around the waist, once again restoring the flaring curves of a classically beautiful woman, if not generously thicker in the thighs and belly. What’s more, in the passing of months and years, the steady stream of fatty padding going into her construction began to lay down almost everywhere at the same pace. The same exaggeratedly curvy form was held, but it expanded out in every direction. Her thighs spread front and back in unison, and her curiously athletic lifestyle kept them smooth and almost cellulite free. In fact, due to said activities, her entire body seems to swell more than someone else’s of a similar weight; the layer of lean muscle below her fleshy extremities apparently helps to force forward the quivering mass of lard that envelopes her, giving a softer and more rounded appearance.
As I’ve said before, she has a fairly huge ass; it sticks behind her and bounces and jiggles enticingly until she sits, then it quickly spreads to fill the seat and then some; her trouble with some arm chairs must be tremendous at this point. Her meaty thighs and spherical mounds of ass fat must wedge themselves uncomfortably tight between the sides, bunching up into little rolls on the tops and bottoms of her legs…
Not only that, but her chest inflated like a stop motion picture show. Firm lemons swelled to cushiony balls of adipose that slosh and quiver as if filled with a thick liquid; both within and overflowing tight, busty tops. These round, fleshy tits rest atop her glory of all, a belly that would put any other to shame. Her every consumption seems to begin and end in her cavernous gut, each time adding more and more deliciously soft fat to her large, rounded, rolling tummy. Following her bust line, it spreads outward in every possible direction like a dollop of molasses were poured into her. Her sides melt into gooey, curving love handles that continue all the way around her front, forming her hanging waist roll where it thickens in the middle and masks the top half of her crotch if left unchecked, to almost meet again behind her pillowy back where all of her softness rolls downward in small bursts, barely missing the shelf of her continuingly wonderful ass cheeks.
7:18, and I’ve had enough. I pull over and snap myself out of my quiet reminiscent euphoria. Take a deep breath now, this is it…whoa, deja-vu… I pull out my phone and start to dial… Wait, after seven is a little late isn’t it? She must think I’m a jerk if I’ve waited this long…of course, if I don’t call at all then…And after all, she did say ’tonight’, didn’t she? Seven is night, right? No, no more of that! Just suck it up already! …-4783 ... … … …
“Hello?”