The Haunted Caretaker

It was a dark and stormy night. Rain slashed against the windshield and lightning flashed, so that I had difficulty seeing the road. On top of that I was haunted, not only by the growing conviction that the road itself was wrong, that I had made a wrong turn some miles back, but by the memory of the incident that had been the causeof my making that wrong turn.

I had stopped at a General Store situated where the road branched, to get directions. But then fortune, it seemed, had intervened. The guy being served at the cash register had been one of those big, naturally-built men who give off an air of virility. He was wearing a red checked jacket, and, I let my eye travel down his impressive form until—oh my God!The world’s most perfect ass, encased in jeans that might have been sprayed on, for they hid nothing

I felt like I’d been hit by a brick. Truly. I stared—my gaze fairly riveted, my mind in turmoil, my blood pounding. There was a moment of mortification, for I never like embarrassing anyone, and I looked quickly around. But there was no one else in the store, so I returned gratefully to my staring, deliberately savoring every moment of the incredible view. They were perfectly round, not tooprominent but still—distinctly provocative in their masculine pertness.

The shape, my mind kept exclaiming, the shape of those exquisitely beautiful, twin perfect curves!All I wanted was to stare.

But then, all too soon, the owner of the ass finished his business and headed for the door. My gaze followed automatically, and now I got a breathless view of that ass in motion and in profile! I had the momentary impression the guy gave me a glance as he passed, but since I was not looking at his face I wasn’t sure. And then he was out the door, and it closed behind him.

I turned to face the clerk, my face burning, my blood pounding, my brain in total confusion—and, to cap it all, sporting an almost painful woody in my pants.

Thankfully, the clerk did not seem to notice my state. He gave me a casual nod and said conversationally, “Big storm comin’.”

“Oh?” I said.

He nodded, but I couldn’t think of anything else to say. My mind was still whirling. I had no idea why I had come into the store, my only coherent thought being that of getting out there so that I might see Mr. Perfect Ass one more time. In desperation, when I noticed the cigarettes on display I asked for a pack, and matches. Then I flung the money on the counter, grabbed the items as they were handed to me, and almost ran for the door.

But the man was gone.

I felt deflated, heartbroken, bereft. Then came a growl of thunder and I looked up into the darkly clouded evening sky. Storm comin’, I thought. Somehow it didn’t seem to matter. Nothing mattered now, in my empty state.

Almost without thought I lit a cigarette and wandered back to my car. I was several miles down the left-hand road when I came to myself sufficiently to remember why I had gone into that store.

Damn! I thought. But still I couldn’t get exorcised about it, for the central aspect of my being now was the image from the store of the World’s Perfect Ass; the image kept rising before my mind, intoxicating and maddening, for the memory was less clear than the experience itself.

Full night had now descended, and with it the fury of the storm. And, as difficult as driving became, still the image of that ass returned to haunt me, so that I drove in a distracted state, a kind of reverie.

There was another flash of lightning, quite close. It dazzled my eyes so that I could not see the road at all for several seconds, and then the wheel pulled to the left, hard. I wrenched it to the right, but a moment later the entire car tilted to the left, and I felt myself sliding, sliding down a fairly steep slope, while the rain still slashed down onto my windshield and the wipers moved back and forth uselessly. For there was no longer any road visible, and although I gripped the wheel fiercely and fairly stoodon the brake, these effected nothing, for the sliding merely continued, at increasing speed.

This ended in a shuddering crash and the air bag deployed, after which there was stillness. The only sounds were that of the rain hitting the car, and an occasional growl of thunder.

Fuck!

I sat there, stunned, while the air bag slowly deflated. Then, with shaking hands, I fished a cigarette from my pocket and lit it. The calming effect of the nicotine was especially welcome, and I sat there smoking, not thinking at all for a while.