Girl in the Pool
She’s always there in my mind, the girl, swimming in the pool, looking at me suggestively, her black bathing suit demanding my utmost attention. It might have been the *molly* I ate at the firepit. It might have been a harmonic convergence. It might have been Jennifer fkn Lawrence. I don’t know, I am trapped in some ambergris of universal love and sex-positive action.
There is some EDM pumping us both up as we size each other up in the pool. A magnet was drawing me towards her, calling me in, like a siren. My mind is in disarray, “Is this *the* Jennifer Lawrence? Is this a dream? She’s walking towards me. The water is getting deeper. I’m clinging to my masculinity and my honor beneath the diving board, fixed on her eyes.
“Earth to John, you’re high. Earth to John, that’s not JenLaw. Earth to John, go with the flow, man, go with the flow.”
It was obvious she couldn’t swim as her piercing eyes began to fall beneath the lightly choppy surface of the water.
I was there, holding her up, as she spits a mouthful of something in my face. Was that a mating call? Was she sick? Did she want me the same way I wanted her? I desired her more than anything in the world.
“Thanks,” she said, wrapping her chilly body around mine for warmth and safety. Except, I knew she was no longer safe. She was no longer JenLaw either, but that was okay. Her breath was awful as she turned her face to me (spittle and smiles) begging me for a kiss.
Read more Short-Short Stories from John.