Kelis and the Sewn-On Man Part the First:
A New Series of Short Shorts
I put my hand on Kelis' back. She is driving the motorscooter at ungodly speeds, her tail thrashing about like a cat chasing a toy mouse on a string.
God, how I wished I could escape, but we were sewn together by both fishing wire and a feeling of trust. I was ready to trust HER at least. The way she foiled my plots and penances, it was a performance of pure dependability. She knew my my next move, but didn't care to know my first.
I saw the road ahead-- it looked like an unlit cigarette. It was all potential and no, perchance to dream perhaps, pliable danger thus far. Her tail caressed the bottoms of my bare feet. My feet felt like steaming oysters, the way heat rose into them from the bald tires below.
Her hands clutched the handlebars of the motorscooter as though they were owed something. Maybe they were, but I had no intention of finding out what. Her breasts were smashed togther btween her lanky arms. I smoked though she hated it. As I flipped the ashes haphazardly behind me, i decided that soon-- if not as soon as the cigarette was finished-- I was going to tap her on the shoulder and make her pull over for some tacos. She can't control everything. Hunger and anger sometimes reign over the soul with the power of insouciant omniscience. Complete control was a part of no man; the Gods unproven as well.
When we did pull over, I walked slowly, the strings attached to us tightening to keep her from walking too fast. I was tired of scurrying about.