Lisa Hendricks gripped the railing of the Ferris wheel gondola as it jolted her forward. She closed her eyes and focused on steadying her breath. In and out. In and out. In and why the fuck isn't this helping? She opened her eyes and saw that, though only a few moments had passed, her knuckles had gone white. She loosened her grip, but only a little.53Please respect copyright.PENANASif0izbHwN
She never liked these damned things. Not as a child and not now. As a child, she had been irrationally certain that a bolt would come loose just as the wheel had reached its full rotation speed and they'd roll off the pier and into the ocean, where everyone would drown. As an adult, she rationally understood that, given her luck, such a one in a million freak accident would definitely happen when she was on the ride.
She wouldn't have even boarded the contraption if it weren't for the white whale she'd been stalking all night. She looked out at the ocean. That always helped calm her nerves. She'd been to this carnival plenty of times in the past and, out of every attraction, none could beat that calming ocean view. This made it all the worse that the Ferris wheel offered the best view, despite her distaste of heights.
The wheel made its way high enough for the gondola in front of her to even out enough to see the occupant. She bit her lip while trying her best to focus on the ocean view. She could only muster the willpower to keep her eyes off the gondola in front of her for a few seconds at a time. She'd been spotting him all night. First by the cotton candy stand. Then she saw him standing at the edge of the pier, staring out at the water. Problem was, all those times she had been able to turn tail and run. Now she was trapped in this damned death wheel. And the literal man of her dreams was sitting right in front of her.
She wasn't normally this person. She wasn't that girl who stares at a man longingly, heaving heavy sighs at the sheer magnificence of his manly brood. Wondering if perchance she might somehow be the one to win his interest. In fact she hated women like that. Especially ones in movies. Useless cunts who are just pining for a man to whisk them away from their oh-so-boring lives. Because we all know, thanks to papa Hollywood, that our lives don't truly begin until a man decides so.
It reminded her of the opening song for that old show Green Acres. The lyrics, loosely paraphrased, went thus: A man wants to move from the city to a farm. The wife would kinda rather fucking not. The man reminds her that she's his wife and she'll do what he fucking says. The wife, fearing another beating, bids the city life goodbye. Granted she'd never actually seen the show; only heard the music coming from the other room as her parents did. So perhaps it was more complicated than that, but the opening lyrics always felt so off to her that she couldn't be bothered to give it a chance.
The point was, boy meets girl stories were not her cup of tea. The relatively recent trend of girl whose physical description and personality are eerily similar to the author meets guy she's certain is way out of his league, but somehow he notices her above all others and thus validates her existence? Big oof. No thank you. The last thing Lisa Hendricks needs is the validation of some swinging dick. So why couldn't she stop staring at this one fucking guy?
Her initial thoughts about him, the only thoughts she could have of someone she'd never spoken to, was that he was cute. He had an aloof look about him. Like he was never entirely where he was physically, mentally. A daydreamer. The kind of look that just screams, "I'm a goofy guy. Let me make you laugh."
And she really needed to laugh.
Whenever she'd spotted him, she'd stare at him for a while and then leave. He was wearing blue jeans and a black t-shirt. For a while she'd been unable to make out what was on the front, but when she'd spied him getting onto the Ferris wheel, and made the boneheaded decision to get on herself, she'd seen what looked like a large butterfly. Each time she'd stared at him, she'd made a game out of it. How long can you stare at him before he takes notice and...
And what? What would he do if he did notice her staring? Would he walk over with a smile and introduce himself? Or would his face wash over with disgust as he turned and left? Most people wouldn't be concerned with such things in this situation. After all, the very fact that she understood where she was should give her full control over how the man reacted. Then again, it wouldn't be the first time her issues caused one of her lucid dreams to turn on her. Awake, a man reacting to her with disgust would be bemusing at best, mildly annoying at worst. In her own damn dreams, though? That's your own subconscious calling you ugly, babe.
She turned her gaze from him and bit into her lip. Wake up, dammit. It was fun to follow him at first, but now it's just getting sad.
The sun was still setting out across the ocean. Like it had been for the last three hours. She decided she was tired of seeing it, and willed it down. At least she had that much control. She looked out over the carnival. About half of it, the half with the Ferris wheel and merry go round, as well as dozens of stands with shady games to win stuffed animals, was sat atop the pier. The rest extended out onto the fairgrounds.
She risked another glance in his direction, only to stare at a man who was now staring at her. He'd turned around and was resting an arm on the back of his gondola, looking over it at her. There was a knowing smirk on his face. She bit her lip harder until it almost drew blood, Wake up, damn you!
"Hey there, beautiful," the man said from the gondola in front of her.
"Beautiful?" she squeaked.
"Okay, not my best opener. What can I say? You caught me by surprise. I glance behind me and boom, beautiful woman. It's like one of those Friday the 13th scenes when the character thinks they've escaped, only to turn a corner and find themselves face to face with the J man. Only, less stabby stabby death and more," he half-heartedly flicked his hands forward and added a sardonic, "rawr."
"Right," she stretched the word out enough to imbue it with ample doubt. "Either way, it's not a word I hear from men often. Well, not real men anyway." Being a short, thin woman with short hair and a baker's dozen of tattoos on her body, most of which she'd done herself, didn't lend itself to that particular compliment. Sexy, yeah. Hot piece of ass, you bet. Beautiful? She didn't hear that one much. The evil reminders of her past that adorned her left arm didn't help either, but she only had to look at those when she was awake.
A shadow formed on his face and turned his smile into a frown. he chuckled, "No, I'm not much of a man. I'll give you that."
"No," she blushed. "I, uh, think you're cute."
He crossed his arms in front of himself, resting them both on the back of his gondola and leaning forward. "Cute is pretty low on the list of things a man wants to be," he said, though his smile returned. "Well, not me. I like the idea of being cute. Some kids aspire to be Goku or Batman. I wanna be Totoro." He shrugged, "But cute doesn't seem to be in high demand, if you know what I mean."
"You mean it doesn't 'get the girl?"
"Sure, though I really don't like that phrase. I'm a pretty fucking far cry from what one would call 'woke', but phrases like 'get the girl' and 'win her love' always irk me when I see them."
For the first time, Lisa let go of her iron grip on the iron rail and leaned forward onto it, resting on her forearms. "Now is that progressive mindset legitimate or performative."
"Honestly?" He raised his arms in a shrug, let out a sigh and said, "I just think it's lazy writing."
She returned the smile for the first time, "Don't get me started on that subject. We'll be here all night."
"Sounds good to me," he said. "Mind if I come sit with you?"
"Uh, sure?" she began. Before she'd even finished, his gondola car detached itself from the Ferris wheel. A long, braided, copper cord along the back unfurled and began swinging from side to side. At first it seemed to just be swinging from the momentum, but occasional twitches and jerks proved otherwise. The metal bars connecting it to the wheel bent and creaked, eventually snapping off. Lisa gasped momentarily as it seemed the gondola would plummet to the ground, but the same bars that had broken away jerked upwards and wrapped around the supports of the wheel. They held on and began to move like arms. Indeed, she could see small, metal hands grasping the railings. Then it turned.
She had only a moment to register the stretched, silver face stretched across the entire front of the gondola. She fought the urge to lean over and see if the same face adorned hers. Just like with the copper cord, any delusions of the face being merely decorative were dashed as the monkey stretched its mouth into a wide Cheshire grin as it began swinging to and fro. It let go with a leap and latched onto her car. There was a shudder as it impacted, and the monkey gondola stared at her and opened it's mouth wide in that goofy looking way she often saw them do in nature documentaries. Then it lowered itself down and the man climbed over into the seat next to her. Once he was in, the monkey gondola climbed back over to where it was and reattached itself as if nothing had happened.
"So what's your name? I'd rather not keep calling you 'Beautiful.' Though never a truer moniker were bestowed, that was mostly just my lame ass attempt at a suave greeting."
"Yeah, definitely don't call me that."
He gave an impish smirk and put a hand on the back of his neck, "Do you find it offensive?"
She laughed, "No. It's just not true. Look, this isn't a self-esteem thing. I just came to terms a long time ago with the fact that I don't look how people think a woman should."
"Whatever you say, beautiful."
She glared at him. From this distance she could make out what was on his shirt. What she'd taken for a butterfly seemed to be a moth. Printed under it were the words Poets of the Fall. She wondered what that was.
"Well now I'm just gonna keep saying it until you believe it. Then I'll probably keep saying it for good measure. It's your nickname now. Deal with it."
Her glare gave way to a chuckle. She smirked a little and brushed a strand of hair from her face.
"You really look cute in short hair. I've always liked girls with that hair style. What's it called?"
"Called?"
"Hair styles have names, right? I guess I'll just look it up later. I'm not sure what you'd call my hair style."
She looked up at the dark, windswept hair sprouting from his head. "Sonic the Hedgehog?"
He chuckled, "I do like to go fast."
"I hope you aren't fast where it counts..." she winked at him.
"Well aren't you forward." He smiled, then tilted his head to the side, "That's weird."
"Why?"
"I usually go more for the shy type."
She shrugged, "I usually am the shy type. I guess being up here just...brings something out in me."
"It is an amazing view." He looked around with her at the cityscape. By this point the Ferris wheel had taken them about three miles up. Which was unsurprising, since it had been shaped like a spiral when she first saw it, and seemed to get larger and larger the more it spun. "I wonder why I haven't seen you before now."
"Because I didn't want you to. I guess you spotted me because part of me wanted you to. That's how this works, anyway." She stared off at the ocean view again. The moon was rising, large enough to eclipse the size of the ocean it sat behind. She turned back to him and looked into his eyes. The massive moon was reflected in them. She stared in silence for a while before he broke it.
"What are you doing?" He asked, feigning incredulity.
"Studying your face."
He shook his head, "You can't have it."
She smiled, "It's just something I like to do. Don't ask me why."
"You're a face studier. A...faceologist. A nice hobby to have."
"No, I," she paused. "You'll think it's stupid."
"Try me."
"When I meet someone, I like to try to figure out what celebrity they most look like. Then I tell them and see their reaction."
The man crossed his fingers and started chanting, "Please not Carrot Top."
She snickered and said, "A preliminary examination puts you at a somewhat more approachable Sam Rockwell."
"Oh. Cool. I definitely totally know exactly who that is."
"It's a good thing. Trust me."
"Very well. Wait, what do you mean by more approachable."
"Well, you're not quite as hot as he is."
"Ah, and therein lies my secret power. For years I have trained to become a somewhat less attractive Sam Rockworth."
"Rockwell."
"I knew that. I was testing if you did."
Lisa lowered her brow and raised her lips in a mock serious face and nodded, "A wise move."
"So what about you?"
"What about me?"
"Haven't you done your celebrity doppelganger thing on yourself?"
"God no. With my self-esteem, I probably would see Carrot Top."
"I'd do it for you, but honestly I'd rather just compare you to...you."
"An unfavorable compari--"
His lips were on hers before she could react. She let her eyelids fall shut and savored the feeling of his tongue against hers. She extended a hand to put on his knee, and found herself holding onto a bit of blanket. She opened her eyes and looked at the blanket in her hand. She held onto it for a little while, as if she could use it as a totem to bring herself back into that dream. She glanced at the clock on the table. Just past four AM.
She laid there, trying to think of what to do. She could call Danielle. God knows she'd come right over, even at this time of night. She could go back to sleep. God knows she needs it. She could masturbate. God knows she was turned on after how that dream had ended. She stopped her hand about halfway up her inner thigh and let out a sigh. Normally she could rub one out for a quick release, but not now. This dream had been different, somehow, from the sex dreams she'd had over the years.
She could still taste his tongue. Or rather, taste the cotton candy she'd seen him eating before he got onto the Ferris wheel. She tried picturing his face again, but found it difficult.
She found herself biting her lip and an exhilarating shudder ran through her body as she suddenly saw the mystery man in her head. Then it vanished. It took only a moment for her to realize it was because she had stopped biting her lip. She'd been doing that in the dream while staring at him, and somehow it had formed a connection. She clamped down on her lip harder and stared at his face.
"Hey there, beautiful," she heard his voice in her head as she tightened her teeth on her lip. Okay, so he'd been acting exactly like the kind of pushy douchebag she usually hated. But it had been just that; an act. A seemingly self-aware act. Every pickup line was packed with intentional ironic satire. That was the kind of guy she'd dreamed up. A dash of boorish bravado on the surface, but such a sweet man underneath. So what if he wasn't real? He'd do for now.
"Hey there, beautiful," she played it again in her mind and let her fingers slip under her panties. She wished more than anything that she could masturbate meaninglessly the way guys could. Well okay, that wasn't fair. She got plenty of assumptions from men based on her gender. She didn't need to stoop that low and do the same shit. There were probably plenty of guys who felt romance in their hearts when they were cranking it. Rick hadn't, but he was a pig.
She groaned and pushed her ex from her mind by biting harder and sliding a finger in, followed by a second. She owned a vibrator, but didn't like them. She enjoyed the feeling of the human touch bringing her to climax, even if she wished it wasn't always her own. She caressed her clitoris while thinking about how he'd complimented her hair. She rubbed harder when she thought of the number of times he'd made her laugh. She was almost there when the tears began. How pathetic was she, touching herself to a man who didn't even exist? She allowed herself the weak orgasm, then rolled over onto her side and fell back to sleep. She didn't dream of the carnival again that night.53Please respect copyright.PENANAsje8N0dLHf