Tight Curves and a Whiskey Sour

The other evening I finally had a chance to sit down and free write for a bit.  It was good to pull some words and fashion them into something semi-poetic.  Whether its quality work or not is really beside the point, because personally it was very cathartic.

My running free write themes seem to be women and cars, which is a tad ironic considering I’ve been in a monogamous relationship for three-years and I know absolutely nothing about cars.  However, that being said I find women beautiful, and I like a bit of speed and danger in my life, so perhaps my reoccurring elements occur for a very definite reason.  Nevertheless, without further ado let me present to you, “Tight Curves and a Whiskey Sour”:

Tight Curves and a Whiskey Sour

Flirtatious flirtation escaped her lips at four minutes past midnight.  The red gleam glinted perilously from her lips to the car’s moonlight glint.  He smirked, as she shifted between his thighs, and he shifted up a gear to speed past the 5-0 in as little as 5.0.  Smirks in all directions as black lights lit up the skyscrapers.  The white turned lavender accentuated her curves, and he turned sharply just to hear a screech and feel both curves tightly.

A pair of lights shone brightly in the distance, and peaked just as the curvature of the Earth hugged the cityscape.  Like a tight pair of jeans, her genes wove harmonically around a double helix to create something more than Mera.  Water gently fell and floated around a symmetrical axis before hitting the hood of a supercharged piece of muscle.  Flesh intermixed with flesh in the driver’s seat as the two pairs glinted and sparked in union as they passed one another.  Strangers in the dark connected only by ball lightning and the light splash of Gala’s breath.

Simultaneously, a man served up a Whiskey Sour and sent it careening to the end of the bar. It tumbled and by the physical laws stayed contained as the gloved man caught it in a flawless motion.

“A second please,” he firmly stated.

“But you haven’t even…,” in a gulp he finished the drink and stared.

A second, a third, and eventually an eleventh appeared.  Red lights fell across the district until…

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