I woke up earlier this morning to the sound of rain. I threw off my blankets, stretched myself out and just listened for a while and then I decided to stay in bed. I fell asleep with the window open, cool and raining outside but warm and comfortable under the blankets till I had a bad dream but yesterday was that kind of day.
The human brain is so fascinating. Yesterday I went gun shopping with PC. I do not like guns or rather guns make me nervous. Hunting season is upon us and my husband and PC will be bonding in a deer stand and my freezer will (hopefully) be full of meat. Trust me, deer are cute and sweet and I am not about killing shit (unless it is someone who is obviously driving dangerously) but we have a population issues which leads to sickness. I have resolved myself to be a part of the process instead of just buying or getting my hands on the spoils from friends; if I grow my own vegetables in a garden for a ‘better’ health standard under my control why not meat?
Anyhow, we were gun shopping. This large ‘sportsman’ chain that I assume is found all over the East Coast is set up with a ‘lodge’ section, the décor in wood floors and wall panels with animals mounted on display over the ‘wall o guns’. Who the hell would shoot a Lynx and is that one even real?! It wasn’t feeling very lodge’esq to me, I have been to lodges, but rather it exposed the utter fascination people have for guns in this country – because guns are cool – the dead animals trophies are the just the excuse.
I was unnerved by the one deer head, mounted with its tongue sticking out in a playful way – I don’t think those mounts are real but then I have seen deer hoofs used to hold up riffles at my uncles lodge and I cannot complain too much, I do have antlers on my wall. It just felt as though there was an obvious schism between need and fetish and I clearly did not belong.
I was amazed at how busy the section of the store was, young and older men, who just want to look, talk and touch guns. PC was all very professional about it and of course I liked the pretty shinny gun with brass but as I watched him I felt out of place. We were there long enough to see other couples come and go and certainly I can admit to being turned on by some rather strange things – guns however are not one. I watched as other women’s eyes lit up as their men spoke ‘gunese’, I could easily imagine their knickers getting wet as they cooed and stepped back to take in a full view of their mate holding on to the metal phallic weaponry they clearly could never afford.
I was far more interested in the process and how PC and the young men behind the counter interacted – that is what I choose to believe hunting is; a harmonious process. A deer will just walk up to PC and D, realize that these are two good guys who should not have to fire their weapons and accept its own destiny as honourable sacrifice and fall over dead with humility and grace thus leaving the two men to sit in a tree and talk shit to each other.
I never stand holding myself but there I was with my arms crossed over my chest as if trying to stop a sucking chest wound from bleeding all over the place. My knuckles were white, my hands were wet and I swear I could smell campfire in the store: I even asked PC if they made some sort of outdoor scent air freshener. He just looked at me as though I were mad and I probably was.
We left, we went and ate at the Korean BBQ and stopped for ice cream on the way home: I made sure to bring some Cheery Ice Cream home for D. I knocked to make sure he was not ‘busy’ the joke having been that he was going to relax and watch Brazilian Porn all afternoon. We all sat and watched a crappy movie and my husband commented on how Russian girls take slutty to a whole other level. I drank two beers quickly to help calm myself and afterwards I kissed PC goodnight.
I wasn’t feeling quite myself yet. I wasn’t turned on, I wasn’t distracted by his shorts and the only other time I can remember when I wasn’t going out of my mind to fuck this guy was the first time I met him. I showered and decided to peek at the news online before bed and there before me were the recent porn video history my husband had occupied himself with.
I don’t care that he watches porn, who doesn’t, but the list was telling: wife fucks friend, shared wife, wife passed around, wife groped, wife with another man, truth or dare, wife groped in public, wife gangbang, cuckold husband, wife gives handjob ect ect. He doesn’t watch this kind of porn unless he is working up to something and I remembered a conversation we had during sex. He had mentioned how great my pussy was, yeah it is nice to hear it but seriously don’t all guys say this to women? What else is there to verbalize whilst balls into a female body – this shit could better?! My pussy is not only great to fuck, it is always ready and accommodating but it was also great to watch me fuck someone else. He then said he was going to do something about that.
I went to bed. At some point in the night he joined me, I vaguely remember feeling him blowing on my back but I was too far gone to wake myself up. I woke up earlier this morning to the sound of rain outside my window. I threw off my blankets to feel the cold on my skin and laid there a while just listening to the rain. My husband threw his arm over me and asked if I was up for the morning, but I said no because I always sleep best late morning but better when it is raining. We talked briefly and he mentioned that porn sucked, I agreed, and soon I was curled up under the blankets falling asleep.
The dream was terrifying because in it PC was not a good guy. My brain associates guns with killing PEOPLE and in my dream I became terrified of him. I was told to wait in the car and a text had come over his phone, which makes sense because he will sometimes let me hold the GPS thingy while he drives, because twice now I have gotten us off route but in my dream the text was from Lisa and it was towards my procurement.
Out of the car window I could see into the house where a scruffy man was leering back at me and PC appeared and told me to go inside. I handed him his phone and mentioned the text and then he became annoyed. He was no longer patient in his request and pulled me from the car, not so much forcing me but certainly rushing me along.
The house was a mess, it smelled of bodies and stale sex. There were girls lounging about the house on chairs and couches, no style to their clothing and it was obvious they hardly ever wore them. PC left me standing in a doorway as he flirted with one girl, who had great hair and a pretty face but as she spoke it was clear she was trash through and through. No one needs a whore to be smart, they don’t get paid to talk, I thought to myself.
The scruffy man called him over to his computer monitor for something and beside me I noticed movement – another girl, moving herself from a reclining rocker to get more cereal as she looked at me with great suspicion.
The scruffy man and PC then both looked over to where I was standing; a gazelle knows what a lion’s look means. I turned to find a way to leave the house, calculating how many steps it would take and accounting the obstacles; piles of stuff throughout the room so the hoarder knew exactly where everything is.
I looked at them both looking at me and moved my right foot on its heel when a flood of water came crashing through the front door, grey water at first but then clear blue. They looked away from me for a second distracted by the water and I took my chance to run against the current. I had no planned for this, but PC was quicker and not subjected to the same obstacles: he caught me by the collar of my shirt and pulled me backwards, down onto the ground and under the water I went in fear and panic.
I woke up and it was still raining.