FLING

The bedroom is vast. The ceiling-height windows are broken, pieces are on the floor. The walls are like skies, matching the bright moon at night. On the corners of the room are unrecognisable paintings. Litters and broken bricks are all over the floor. It’s like an old abandoned house. What is he doing in an old house?

He looks around. No one is there except his reflection in a huge mirror glued on the door, as big as its frame. He runs to the door. It opens on its own, revealing a pale, tall, red-headed lady in her twenties. She has no make-up but her natural rosy lips and cheeks are so attractive and tempting.

"Finally! You’re awake." He doesn’t realise she can talk like she knows him. She looks thin and sexy in a black mini skirt and massive long sleeves top covering her body and arms. She looks like a beautiful mannequin walking gracefully towards him.

"Why am I here?" He finally finds his voice.

"You were drunk." She moves even closer, looking into his eyes, revealing her tantalizing grey eyes.

"Drunk?" His breath is low, he can’t take his eyes off her. Shock at the revelation. For as far as he knows, he can barely drink a cider. He feels his lips dry, lacking from oil to produce its own moisture. He rolls his tongue over it.

"Yeah." And just as she finishes the word, she leans forward and gives him a chasing kiss. What the-?

"Wait, no-" He releases from her seducing touch. "Why are we doing this?" Instead of answering, she removes her high heeled shoes uncovering her small perfect feet, which finally reveals her true five-four height. No wonder she’s looking tall.

"It’s ok." And she runs her delicate finger under his shirt touching his quaking body. "Please, let me make love to you." She murmurs against his mouth, and carefully she tugs at it with her teeth.

The heat starts and he can refuse no more. "Yes." He surrenders. Like a mouse defeated by a strange cat, having deliciously beaten up its neck.

He’s dressed in his white linen shirt and jeans. His dark brown hair is messy, his hazel eyes bold and dazzling. She unbuckles his belt and removes his shirt tossing them casually on the floor. She takes a packet of condom from her brassiere, looking at him intently. Confident, sexy, eyes blazing with desires, and his heart begins to pound. She’s so freaking hot.

"Are you ready for this?" He asks huskily without any experience. She nods her head and he pushes her to bed. Rats squeaking in distress under the king-sized bed as if they have awakened from sleep. They laugh at the sound but continue, not minding the dirty mattress clinging to their skin and finally begin.

Leaning down, he kisses her. His lips are demanding, firm and slow, moulding hers. Slowly he peels her top and mini skirt off her and let them fall to the floor. "You have the most beautiful skin, pale and flawless. I like your red hair."

"It’s ginger." She corrects him.

He holds her against his hips, and she feels his erection, which he languorously pushes into her. She moans into his mouth. She can hardly contain the unruly feelings that rage through her body. Tentatively, she moves her hands up to his face and into his hair. It’s so soft. She tugs it gently, and he groans. He leans down, running his nose up to the pinnacle between her thighs. She feels him, there. She can hardly breathe.

Grasping each of her ankles, he quickly jerks her legs apart and crawls onto the bed between her legs. He hovers over her. She is squirming with need. Her skin is burning, flushing, too hot, too cold, and clawing at the sheet beneath her.

"Oh, please." She begs and pulls her head back. Her mouth is open as she groans. She feels so full. He moves slowly, easing himself in and out of her. And then, he speeds up, pounding on, merciless, relentless rhythm and she keeps up, meeting his thrusts. Her body quivers, a sheen of sweat gathers over her.

"Come, for me." He whispers breathlessly, and she unravels at his words, exploding around him as she climaxes and splinters into a million pieces underneath him. And as he comes, a loud but tiny irritating sound of a dog barking and whimpering wakes him from a deep wild dream.

"Crap!" He scowls at himself, sweating enormously from a passionate dream. "So, that’s how I picture the girl."

It must be a love-at-first-sight. Ever since he laid his eyes on her, she’s always been in his dreams. He remembers that day. The day he found Quara, short for quarantine, as to how he named the mini pincher dog. He saw it in a supermarket, whining and howling in the corner of the food shelves. It clung to his arms happily when he took it from the floor like he’s the missing owner it was looking for.

He knows the owner. Well, at least he can remember her red hair, grey eyes, and pale skin under the floral improvised mask covering the entire half of her face. She was looking for her dog, but when he finally found it for her. She’s gone. Leaving him mystified as he has no idea where or whom to ask to be able to return her lovely pincher safely to her.

He automatically looks at his table clock. It’s almost nine in the morning. The sun is already blinding his eyes as he opens the window curtain. He turns to his side and sees his newfound dog squatting its entire body on the ground. It must be hungry and in need of his attention.

He puts on his shirt and walks to the door. Quara follows him to the kitchen, waiting for its breakfast.

"How are we going to find your Mumma, Quara?" He talks to the tiny pincher with shiny brown fur and massive eyes bigger than its head. Its tail down moving from side to side while eating its most delicious treat. It looks happy with him. But sadly, he has to find a way to return it to the mysterious girl.

He walks back to his room, faces his computer, and begins to type in words inserting the picture of the mini pincher. He starts to print the flyer and takes another picture then, uploads it on his social media accounts leaving his number below. Hoping she will ring him once she sees the post.

And promised himself to find her, once the pandemic is over.