Desert Rendezvous (a parody)

Angela was glad Juanita had insisted she come out; it was nice to sit and chat with the gals over a few cocktails. After last call, she said goodbye to her friends and strode out of the smoky bar and into the parking lot. Her eyes scanned the star speckled sky and the cacti dotted landscape. She opened the door of her navy blue Honda Accord and slid in. She fished through her CDs looking for something besides country albums, and settled on a 60s rock mix. She shimmied the key into the ignition and twisted. The desert pseudo-silence grew louder, crickets taunting her. “Damnit,” she grumbled. She cranked it net time for seven seconds and nothing happened. After rinsing and repeating a few times, she groaned and slammed her door on the way out. She swept the parking lot and was surprised to find that she was the last person to leave. She searched the web for the AAA number and called.

“yeah. The Rattlesnake Tavern… yes 505…” She impatiently thumbed through a Reader’s Digest, taking advantage of the dome light still functioning. As she began to decide going out was a mistake after all, an unmistakable glint of headlights in her rearview mirror snapped her back to the moment. Angela began to script what she should tell this stranger, thinking how big of an idiot she was going to look like driving a car with a bad starter. She shivered, but not from cold. Oh well, here she was, the damsel in distress. She decided to embrace the role. Gravel crackled under the truck’s tires as it approached. She studied her exhausted countenance and now unflattering makeup in the visor mirror. He’s just a truck driver–I don’t want to look too good for him anyway. He slowly and deftly maneuvered the rid next to her car and stepped down from the truck. Some boots, ha. She never knew what to make of a man in fancy boots–neither the boots nor the cocky attitude wearers impressed her. The driver was a hair over six feet, built like a baseball player. She stole a peak at his rear end before he turned around.

“How do you do, miss?” I’m Marco with Spare Tire Towing,” his warm voice put Angela at ease like a friend’s hand on her shoulder.

“Hello…Marco. I’m Angela,” she managed to squeak out as they awkwardly shook hands.

“What’s a-matter with the car?

She swept her bangs out of her eyes and replied, “Oh uh, I don’t know exactly…it was running fine earlier tonight and I thought it would be okay…”

“Are your lights working?”


He frowned. “Bad starter. Gotta tow it.”

“I would’ve been able to jump it if it was the battery” she claimed, trying to impress him.

He looked around. “From wh-” he started to inquire then thought better of it. He linked up the car and wenched it up onto the platform. “Where to?”

“You know I appreciate you coming out here in the middle of the night like this to help me, you look like you just woke up.”

“Thanks,” he rubbed his eyes and chuckled.

“What I mean to say is…do you wanna go watch the sunrise together on the ridge?”

He was unprepared for this question and it hung in the air for a solid moment.

“Uhh…well I guess…I mean… sure.” He grinned and took her hand, helping her into the truck.

The tow truck lazily crawled up the road to the top of the ridgeline just as the golden disc of the sun began to peak over the horizon. She scooted over to him and lay her head on his shoulder. Half the sky was as colorful as a rainbow as the brilliance of the scene began to blind them. The cacti cast long shadows and a hungry coyote chased a clever rabbit through the brush. The pair in the truck held hands and exchanged increasingly bolder glances. Marco opened his mouth to speak and hesitated, “Angela…this is nice,” he leaned in and kissed her. Her lips met his eagerly. Then they trembled as she slowly exhaled and glided her fingers down his chest. He came to her again, gently brushing aside her hair, when her wig fell off! She gasped and shifted away, clutching the hairpiece. He gently seized her chin to raise her head. She hesitantly looked up and to her surprise, he tipped back his cowboy hat, revealing his own stark baldness. He was bald as a baked potato except he had sideburns. She gasped, this time in delight, and pulled him to her. They locked lips and he caressed her back and squeezed her breast gently. She stopped him, “Wait…have you watched the t.v. series Shaft?”

“The whole season, why?”

“Good,” she indignantly blurted and then pulled him over again. She slid her hand up his thigh. She rubbed his crotch and began unbuttoning her blouse, when he stopped her and ripped it open, roaring like a lion…only to see she was wearing an undershirt. She gracefully removed this, except for the fact that she elbowed him in the nose as she did. She pouted about the shirt, “My aunt Luna made that for me!” He hastily apologized. One palm on his now-bleeding nose, he unzipped her skirt and gently massaged her. She moaned and wiggled her drawers off. He popped open the glove box and pulled out limited edition Tiger Woods Hole-In-One® condoms. He eased inside her and she pleaded, “Marco!” He flicked her nipple and kissed her neck loudly. She pulled him into her, grasping his buttocks harder with each passionate thrust.

I thought love was only true in fairy tales…” Marco sang softly.

“Or for someone else, but not for me,” she continued. They found a physical rhythm with the tune and grunted with pleasure. They interlocked fingers and he tripled the pace without warning and she panted like a race dog. “Oh, Marco!” She bit her hand. “John…Jacob…Jingleheimer…SMITH!” She burst. Marco’s head reared back and his eyes squinted shut.

“Ah-ah-achoooo!” He sneezed powerfully right in Angela’s face. He sloppily cleaned her off with his forearm, and mumbled, “Sorry,” grinning sheepishly.

She slapped him. “Don’t Stop!” She scolded impatiently. He resumed as adoringly as before, kissing her collar bone and driving deep. This went on for another twenty minutes until she finally felt his hot breath on her neck. They smirked at each other as they dressed.

As Angela waved goodbye as he dropped her off, she hoped he would dial the number she had written carefully on the back of his hand.


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