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Curiously enough, my damn cellphone survived the rough treatment that night. After my cute little exhibitionist and I had finished our task and cuddled out of it for a while, Bobby went to the bathroom to take a quick shower and I was able to look around for the device. At first, I couldn’t see it anywhere but then, when it started chirruping again, I was utterly surprised to find it in the fish tank on the shelf near the kitchen table! Maybe the cellphone was waterproof without my knowledge but it didn’t actually stop bubbling in the water until I carefully pulled it out to take the call. It was still active.

I thought there was going to be more embarrassing silence between Bobby and me when she came out of the bathroom but it turned out to be quite natural. She went into my bedroom to get dressed, letting me watch her through the open door as she did so. Then she came to me on the sofa in the living room to give me a goodbye kiss, and I took the opportunity to make out with her a little bit more. On the whole, we behaved like we had been sex buddies for years. It even flashed across my mind that she had made up the entire mafia meeting only to sleep with me!

As soon as the standard assuring each other that we should meet again had ended, and she had left my place, I quickly washed in the bathroom, waited a couple of minutes more for Bobby to leave my neighborhood, and then I hurried down the stairs. It was close to ten in the evening and I had to drive through half the city to get to a roadside restaurant on the First Ring Road where Sharon was waiting for me. She was the one who had called while I was playing with Bobby in the kitchen. It was a pretty weird situation. She had said her car had broken down and she wanted me to meet her at the place to take the camera for my gangsters’ show tomorrow at noon. I wanted to tell her that I already had one, just to see her reaction, but unfortunately, I couldn’t do so. I had to drive out in the night for almost an hour, meet her, and say nothing about it.

Forty-five minutes later, I was nearly there—fortunately, there was no heavy traffic so late at night—and I pulled across the street from the restaurant. I stepped out of the car and I had just started to wonder what I was doing here when some woman came out of the place and headed toward me. It was Sharon. She was weirdly dressed, as if she had just come from the Oscars. She had on a one-shoulder, open leg, black dress with lace on the breasts, garnished with black long-sleeved gloves and high heels. I doubted she was wearing any underwear. I simply wondered how she had escaped being raped while wearing such clothing in this miserable restaurant beyond the end of the decent world!

“Come! I got stuck a hundred meters up the road,” she said to me when she came closer, and then she led me into the darkness.

We slowly and silently walked along the road. The night was unusually warm with a gentle breeze from the south and moderate humidity. I couldn’t believe it was the middle of March—the Gulf Stream had really gone crazy lately! It was making the lives of meteorologists almost painfully hard.

“What took you so long?” Sharon suddenly turned to me. She was mad with me as usual.

“I was working some girl when you called,” I said, intending to annoy her further. “You dragged me out of her, if you know what I mean. I had to make it up to her with some cuddling afterwards!”

She puffed in disgust. She thought I was lying and was just exercising my boorish sense of humor. I looked at her. She was walking very cautiously along the road, holding up her long dress so that she wouldn’t step on its hem. Her high heels didn’t help much either. Nevertheless, she had a graceful walk in general. Her hips swayed seductively in the darkness and her breasts bobbed up and down invitingly. If I were a man from the nineteen-forties, I would have surely slapped her butt by now!

“Where have you been?” I asked her after a while, going on with my teasing.


“You must’ve had dinner with the President wearing a dress like that. Maybe some environmental issue or something!”

She glared at me, or at least, I thought she glared; I couldn’t see her face very well.

“None of your business!” she hissed.

“Of course, it’s none of my business! I’m just trying to keep up a simple conversation while we’re snail-dragging toward your fucking car!”

She stopped sharply and pulled her dress further up in order to take off her shoes. Even in the darkness, I was able to see she had nothing underneath. In the split of her dress, her landing strip showed up for a moment against the pale background of her hips. Then she took her shoes in one hand and we kept on walking, significantly faster and in total silence.

After a couple of minutes, we got to the car and stopped. It was in the service lane with the engine hood lifted. Sharon opened the passenger’s door and took something out, and even before she had done it, I somehow knew what it would be. What’s more, I not only suspected what I was going to see, but I also suspected its painful weirdness.

She then gave it to me. It was an analog camera with a huge zoom lens attached to it—exactly the same thing that Bobby had already given to me: same type, same trademark, same model—everything! I took the camera with a sinking heart. This hideous story was getting more and more absurd. Unfortunately, the most critical part of it was yet to happen and I was afraid to think what other weird shit might pop up in the process.

“It’s not digital,” Sharon tried to inform me briefly.

“I know, I know,” I interrupted her, irritated. “Digital photos are not reliable as evidence. Their authenticity might be compromised.”

She didn’t even try to give me an inquiring look. She didn’t react at all, probably already being used to my natural brightness. For my part, I didn’t find it necessary to mention anything about Bobby despite the fact that I was dying to see Sharon’s face if I did. Feeling angry, I started to play with the camera and accidentally snapped Sharon’s beautiful ass while she was rummaging for something else in the glovebox. The LED flash almost lit up the entire landscape for a brief moment.

Sharon jumped up, startled, as if a hornet had stung her. “Did you just snap a picture?” she asked, agitated.

“No, I only tried the flash,” I lied.

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t be ridiculous! Of course, I’m sure!”

To be honest, maybe I hadn’t taken that picture entirely by accident, in fact. I was growing increasingly mad with the two bitches for making a moron out of me. It was probably my little rebellion to get even and I definitely hoped this one would be pissed off later on—when she had the camera back and saw her ass among the rest. I had kind of compromised my job with this photo, but I didn’t care anymore.

“Could you look at my car?” Sharon suddenly asked in a few moments, stepping out and showing me a portable searchlight in her left hand and a solid wrench in the other. Her voice was not so harsh anymore. “I think it’s something trivial. It just went dead.”

I shrugged and put the camera on the car roof. “I’m not a mechanic,” I said, “but I could take a look. I don’t think I’ll need the wrench though.”

“It’s the only tool I have,” she said nonchalantly, still holding it out to me.

I took it, went around the vehicle, and bent over under the hood. On the left side of the front bumper, I noticed a dent but it was too insignificant to cause any problem to the engine. Sharon stood behind my butt with the searchlight in her hand, shining it in all directions. I turned around, annoyed, and grabbed her hand, concentrating the beam on one particular spot. Then I bent over again.

The car was a Hondsu Amphibia-370Z as far as I gathered in the darkness, with a hydrogen engine. In fact, one could do very little to fix such a vehicle. Almost everything under the hood was compressed and sealed for safety reasons. If such engine broke, they usually replaced it with a new one; then they connected the dashboard communication plug to the corresponding port of the engine and that’s all. Electric cars were pretty much the same: the time of mechanic magicians really ended a couple of decades ago!

I looked at the port and, just as I had expected, it turned out to be the problem. The plug was unplugged—I could see this even without the help of light. I was also sure it was not accidental because they make locking clips to prevent such things from happening and only a human hand can detach the cord.

Then I felt a quiet stirring behind my back. Sharon nervously moved the beam over to the communication plug as if giving me hints, which I found quite suspicious. She had pretended she didn’t know anything about engines and I hadn’t said a single word yet! She also lightly touched one of my butt checks with her groin, and then “innocently” locked it between the inner parts of her thighs. For the sake of being precise, I should say she locked it between the naked inner parts of her thighs!

“What is it, what is it?” she asked impatiently.

I slowly turned my head back. “I don’t know. Let me take a look first!”

She stopped talking but kept the trembling beam on the communication plug and her thighs closely pressed against my butt. I put the wrench aside, reached my hand to put the plug back in its place and finally stood up.

“Could you try starting the engine?” I asked her evenly.


She gave me the searchlight but she did it somehow unnaturally and even pointedly. Then she took a sharp step back, while turning around at the same time. Her long evening dress gave a short rustling sound and then sharply dropped down, leaving Sharon totally naked with the exception of her long-sleeved gloves.

She turned around to face me. I was astounded and tried to take my eyes away from her naked body, slowly looking down to see that I had stepped on the hem of her dress. It had obviously happened while she had thrust her hips against my butt, but I was somehow sure it was not accidental at all. Sharon didn’t try to cover herself. She just kept staring at me, and while I was furtively examining her perfectly rounded boobs and hips, a creeping suspicion started eating me from the inside. Lately, I was getting lucky so often—almost every time I saw a woman—that it frightened me. It was too weird and I knew well that nothing good would eventually come out of it.

Sharon slowly knelt down to take her dress, while still looking intensely at me. She took it but she didn’t stand up. Instead, she threw it down again and reached for my zipper, after which she gave me an unexpected but hugely tantalizing blowjob. I was so stunned that I couldn’t move or stop her, even if I had wanted to. And I didn’t! I remained still and she did the job as if it was the most trivial thing in the world.

Just before I finished though, she abruptly stopped and led me to the back seat of the car, where she threw the dress down. After a short sniff at my neck, she lay on the dress, dragging me down after her. I thought she must have smelled some of Bobby’s perfume on me because I hadn’t had time to take a shower or change my clothes. Weirdly enough, Sharon didn’t take her gloves off during the entire act, which had a very arousing effect on me. There, on the gloves, I actually finished with a quiet explosion a couple of minutes later. It was just an hour after I had already done it with Bobby.

Everything that happened afterwards was almost lightning fast. Sharon pushed me outside hurriedly; she got out too with the dress in her hand; she put it on; she closed the hood; she grabbed the camera from the car roof and gave it to me; and finally, she hopped inside the car and tried to start the engine. There was no cuddling, no kissing, or any other pretense of fondness. There were no kisses whatsoever during the entire act and nothing of it reminded me of the warmth of Bobby earlier that evening.

The engine coughed at first, and then it gave a harsh, weird noise, refusing to start. Sharon turned her head and looked at me reproachfully as she got out. I shrugged and got in, still dazed from the speed with which everything was happening. The engine started on the first try and we switched places again.

Just a minute later, she had gone. I was all alone in the night and there was nothing around to serve as evidence for what had happened to me, except for my open zipper and the camera in my hands. I couldn’t even figure out what that was all about, and the bitch didn’t even offer to drop me back at my car! She had just served me and ditched me in the field with the hastiness of a hooker who had done her job quickly and professionally, and then she had beaten it to the next one!

©2016 S.T. Fargo

Eurasian Gambit—Chapter 6 | a science-fiction crime novel by S.T. Fargo

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