UA-35785461-1

Summer Sweet

Summer Sweet

by Anthony J.S. Leclair

Ah, Summer. Lawn mowers roaring, dogs barking at the returned geese…geese chasing the barking dogs, the patio door swinging wide and loosely back and forth in the wind, music blaring, kids screaming over all of it…all carried in the heavy air, damp from the night’s teaser of today’s storm…or tomorrow’s; a heavy Summer’s day with the sweet putrescence of humanity in the air; a manly smell all the same.

I’d taken some care to thrive on the lake shore for the duration of the Summer. I’d rented a quaint little bungalow from which I could easily hit the beach and in which I could woo my catch of the day.

Thus far it had been a rather rewarding place to be. Long limbs, tight bodies, ample breasts, full lips, flowing hair

 

Ah

 

Total packages wandering the beach in next to nothing: my first sure sign that there was a God.

I was reeling in these bombshells daily…not that I want to brag, but sometimes more than one…at a time. It was like taking candy from a baby, but even sweeter.

Oh the wonders of words. It was so easy: magical, magnificent, munificent, make love. Darling, dearest, dazzling, disrobe. Oh the wonders of words indeed. It wasn’t even a challenge. Not that I complained, but who doesn’t like a bit of ‘hard to get’ once in a while?

And an overbearing cliche comes to mind: ‘be careful what you wish for’.

Canada Day, the beach was full. My body count was so high I’d no idea how many I’d ‘caught and cleaned’ by that point, and the flesh fair was at its peak, for sure. I met a girl named…well let’s call her…Handlebars. She had pigtails and…well I’m sure you can figure out the rest. Anyway, so Handlebars and I were walking the beach…I think I actually managed to use my awful ‘dictionary’ pickup line to get her:

 

“If I could rearrange the alphabet, ‘U’ and ‘I’ would be together.”

 

Awful, but she bought it.

 

Ha. Oh the wonders.

 

So we’re strolling the beach, my hand on her back and falling, and she decides we ought to get some ice cream from the beach shack. It was a little out of my way and a few bucks more than I had already liked to not spend, but I wanted to see how the steering was with those handlebars, so we strolled over to the shack and beyond a seemingly eternal line of kids, I saw the most sensual and sexually charged woman in the most surreal of serving jobs ever, leaning her cones out the truck window like she was making regular customers of the sea of twelve year boys surrounding the truck…and by the looks of it, she was succeeding.

 

“I’ll ride the bike later”

 

I seem to recall saying. I’m sure, as I started parting the sea of children, that Handlebars said something, but I was focused on something a little sweeter than a new bike.

 

“You can’t cut. Back of the line.”

 

“Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just that I couldn’t help but notice you seem to be melting all the ice cream.”

 

“What?”

 

“I’m saying that you’re really…”

 

“Yeah I know what you’re saying. Thanks for the compliment chump, but I’ve got fifty other kids to deal with here too, so back of the line.”

 

I stood , dumbfounded for a moment. I hadn’t lost a single catch yet. I gazed into her eyes; deep wells of frozen mystery; a thin layer of ice that one could tell led to depths that few had dared traverse.

 

“Fat penguin!” I managed to blurt out.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“I just needed to say something that would break the ice.”

 

“Cute.”

 

Her eyes lit, very briefly and a devilish grin ever so lightly cut her lips.

 

Victory!

 

“Now, back of the line.”

 

Well, victory of a kind. I hadn’t snapped the line yet. But still, I slunk out of the thoroughfare as a heap of prepubescent, pizza-faced punks snickered at me. Well, I decided to go for a bike ride after all: though I think she needed training wheels. No fireworks that night, but storm clouds in the distance.

Next day I got up nice and early to beat those little perverts to the shack. No good. Ten in the morning and already a line up? Did these kids not have anything better to do? Either way, they saw me coming this time and parted like Handlebars lips for me the night before.

 

“Back again?”

 

She didn’t seem surprised.

 

“Back again.”

 

“Oh, sorry, I think you misheard me. I said back of the line.”

 

“You know, if I had five cents for every time I saw a woman as beautiful as you…well I’d have five cents.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

She seemed almost intrigued. The ice in her eyes broke just a little more; that grin, I got a flash of pearly white this time.

 

“You know if you had five cents and multiplied it by a hundred, you could get a chocolate fudge sundae with a cherry on top.”

 

“Oh yeah? With a cherry?”

 

“Yeah. But you’d still have to wait in line. Move”

 

Another battle lost. Those damned kids: like fiery little gremlin-demons: all crooked teeth and foul smelling with spiky hair…and cackles now from all of them. Did I cackle when I was twelve? No. I was getting laid for the first time. I went for another damned bike ride: she learned to handle quickly.

Third day.  On the third damned day, I rose again, got rid of the used bike, and decided to go for broke. I spent all day parading around the shack: beach volleyball, helping ladies get their sun screen on those hard to reach places…and some easily reached places, saving some stupid kid, who thought he could swim, from drowning: the usual. She never spared me a single glance, so far as I could tell, though her little pock-faced gremlins spared me as many cackles and sideways glances as possible. It was like ‘Village of the Damned’ with a cracked sense of humour. I couldn’t help but shudder when I thought about it.

Finally, after a time, though far too late in my opinion, all the little kidlums had to go home to bed. Thank Christ. It was about ten at night. Parents, letting their damned nose-numming brats out at all hours. At any rate Ice Cream was closing up the shack, so I waited…and waited…and waited a while longer, till suddenly, from the side door of the shack came this stunning, long-limbed, tight-bodied, ample-breasted, full-lipped, flowing-haired angel in a devilishly delicious crimson dress: no back, low cut, knee length, thigh slit; a siren, a goddess, a devil indeed. Too sweet to resist.

 

“Hey Ice Cream!” What else could I say?

 

“Wow, good to know we live in a world where women are people too now.”

 

“Oh sorry I forgot your name when you didn’t tell me.” She seemed, for a flash, taken aback by my snarky remark.

 

“Not used to losing? Not used to the word no?”

 

“Oh I hear it all the time, when I tell them I’m done.”

 

“They just don’t take the hint that their next destination is the kitchen do they?” I was momentarily confused. Was she being serious?

 

“Nah, I let them go on with their day or sleep till morning. Whichever the case may be.”

 

“Very thoughtful of you. Where would we be without men like you?”

 

Bingo! That was my chance.

 

“Only one man like me and I wonder how you’ve managed to be so alone and without direction till now.”

 

“Hm. Cute”

 

She turned and, in full strut, hips gyrating with stunning sexuality, left toward town. As she reached the edge of the beach she stopped, glanced back at me and pouted in brutal sarcasm,

 

“Aren’t you coming? Oh. Well I guess you’re not yet. But you know what I mean.”

 

Victory!

 

“I’ve got a place just down the beach a couple minutes from here…”

 

“No. My place.”

 

She didn’t wait for a response. She turned again and was off. I wasted no time catching up to her. It was strange. I had nothing to say and, once a catch was in hand, hardly bothered with words, but I felt inclined to speak all the same. I took a breath and, as I prepared my words, she took my hand and my breath released with nothing but a pitiful sigh.

We continued to walk in silence for what felt like an eternity until at last, somewhat removed from the town, we came to a beautifully forested estate upon which, within the valance of the trees, sat a breathtaking house of classic design: pillars along the front, spires along the top, plated by a dark stone that seemed to devour all light without.

 

“You live here?” I could not believe that Ice Cream lived in such a grimly gorgeous place.

 

“With my family, yes.” She pulled me up the front steps as I stumbled in awe.

 

“After you,” she said rather coyly. “I’m guessing with you women come second or sometimes not at all.”

 

She giggled, a tortuous giggle that rendered me dumb. She motioned toward the door and I stepped with what little control I had left, to reach for the handle. I turned and pushed and I was immediately entranced, not by the wonder of the place, not solely by her stunning beauty, but by something even greater. There was a power, a surge that I could feel, coursing through me. I did not make the effort, but was compelled nonetheless, to step into the grand foyer. I felt drunk with power; a power I’d no control over. All the staircases and entryways were adorned with sconces engrossed in a candlelit haze which seemed, somehow, to pulse in time with my beating heart.

 

Slam. Click.

 

The door. I had, for a moment, forgot about my sweet Ice Cream. I turned to take in her beauty and was instantly met with horror. She was engulfed in flame: crimson flame. She did not wince, she did not scream; it was as though she was clothed in fire…

 

I was delusional.

 

“You’re not delusional, my sweet.”

 

I took her in again and caught her eyes. The icy film that had, for days, drawn me in had cracked and melted away to reveal deep embers: the continuance of a fire; the true source of its heat.

 

“Who…what…?”

 

“Who, what, where, when, why? Oh the wonders of words, no?

 

She knew me. It felt as though she knew me intimately: knew my mind, my heart, my soul…

 

“It’s all too easy isn’t it? Grope, gasp, gape, gone. Flair, fantasy, flame, fear. Oh, or how about: dick, dumb, danger, dead?”

 

She wasn’t incredibly gifted with words but I gathered I took her meaning.

 

“Who..” I still felt drunk with power though I remained powerless.

 

“I suppose I’ll answer your questions while my children prepare dinner.”

 

Suddenly, as though they’d been waiting all the while, a hoard of pock-faced little scamps came from every entrance and down every stairway to surround me. They cackled, each and every one, as their eyes blazed with the same embers as their…mother; this demoness before me.

 

“To you Earth dwellers, I’m called Lilith. Shricheowle in other, less accommodating circles, and I am the storm hanging heavy in the air; I carry the sweet putrescence of man that fills your nostrils.”

 

The fiery gremlins circled about us and I noticed that, below me, a myriad of symbols were etched in a triangle in which I stood centre.

 

“Where and When? Why, here of course, and happily for your salacious soul, for eternity.”

 

I stood, helpless still, even as the seemingly prepubescent gremlins stuck me with what looked to be crude spigots of a kind and began bleeding me into the etchings of the adorned triangle.

 

“What? Why, we’re the Lilitu. Demons: spirits of wind and storm; of youth and sexuality.”

 

How could I fathom what I was hearing? She flashed her pearly whites in that devilish way: a way which I now understood all too well, and she looked to my feet. As I was compelled, in the same moment, to look down, I noticed, as my blood slowly continued to fill the etchings of the triangle, that each of the points emanated a pale yellow: a sickly yellow of a sky ready to unleash a twisting funnel of devastation.

 

“Why…?” I barely managed.

 

“Why? Because we rise.”

 

The ground began to shake and the beating candle light was snuffed out, though light enough shone from the crimson flames about Lilith and from the glowing embers of the pock-faced demon spawn surrounding. The triangle split and from each corner, a figure, black as pitch, emerged.

 

“Ardat Lili…Lilu…Lilitu. Rise!”

 

A vicious cyclone engulfed me as the three figures became cloud, lightning and rain. Howls of thunder, cackles of horrible laughter, flashes of terror in bolts of magnificent hue: I was thoroughly bled, but certainly alive. How?

 

“The storm rages. Your body dies…but your soul? How should I put it? Lecherous, lewd, lascivious…lustful. Your lustful soul feeds the tempest of our desire.”

 

I could not move, I could not speak. I could hardly think. I stood at the centre of a covenant, binding me by blood to every whim of the storm. I made to flee but my body, as sure as I’d been bled, was but a shell; a lifeless husk for my eternally damned soul. Lilith rose above me, arms raised to the sky and the storm subsided as the risen figures gorged on my lifeless flesh. The cackling gremlins remained in their orderly but raucous circle, foaming over their parched and cracked lips, as if waiting to be fed what scraps remained.

I was nothing but essence. I neither lived or breathed. I simply was, but was not. I could see but was blind. I could hear but was deaf; could scream but was mute, could feel but without form.

 

“Feed!” I heard from above.

 

I could sense the hoard of devil kin scuttle from their pulsing circle, racing to scavenge what remnants there were of my corporeal form.

I looked with my soul to the heavens and in a flash, saw crimson turn white and I was suddenly cradled in silence.

 

 

 

© – Anthony Leclair 2013

 

Image by Benoit Courti. To view more of Benoit’s work, or to contact him click here.