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                                                  ::

                                            as falls cuyahoga,
                                      so falls cuyahoga falls

                                                  ::

Vanessa Cuyahoga drives a red convertible Miata very, very fast,
fishing in her bag with one hand as she hits the onramp, singing
along with the stereo, Is it my drunkenness or my first-born's
kiss that makes my second-born's hips sway like there is no
tomorrow..!

Out pops her hand with a cell phone, which she drops in her lap,
unreeling the earbead and microphone. She plugs the earbead in,
flips open the phone, and says, Sam.

The phone dials.

The lesson of Sodom is, you can lead a horse to water but you
can't make him, no no no - Hey, sis. How's it going?

No, I didn't get your message.

Well, fuck. I just ran out on the Lappalainens to make our date -

Yes, actually. Yes, I did. I did! Both of them. I'm practically
sitting in a puddle of come, I left so fast. There's a towel -

Well. If we were still having lunch at Scalia's, I'd give you all
the gory details.

Yes. Both of them. At the same time - but you're being a bitch,
so -

I don't care about Richie! I'm not fucking Richie.

Yeah? When's he getting there?

Five minutes? Uh huh. And you're ready for him? Yeah? What are
you wearing?

Uh huh.

Oh, I like that. You look really good in that. So he's never seen
the - ?

Really. I'm the only one you've ever - ?

Well. You must like him a lot, then.

Vanessa's yelling over the wind that flutters her hair like a
dark rippling sheet. Both hands on the wheel, right foot gunning
the engine in a growling pull past a semi, she leans her left leg
over, open, resting her left knee against the door.

Well, if you weren't being such a bitch I'd tell you all about
it. Both of them. At the same time. I had Marko in my ass and
Timo in my cunt, and they - or maybe it was the other way around,
but -

I hiked up my skirt so I wouldn't leak all over it. I'm sitting
bare-assed on a towel doing eighty-five on the Loop -

I bet you would. I bet you would. And I'd let you lick up every
drop. Vanessa is driving with one hand now. The other has
unbuttoned the car coat she's wearing and is toying with the hem
of her microskirt, there in her lap.

What I was going to do, says Vanessa, I was going to walk up to
you in Scalia's, I was going to stand in front of you and let you
smell me. Let you smell them on me. I was going to grab your hand
and let you feel how wet I am. Run your fingers in the come
leaking out of my ass and out of my pussy. I was going to let you
lick your fingers clean. I was going to smear it on your lips and
your chin and let you like my fingers clean, and then I was going
to kick your chair over and let you fall on the floor and I was
going to kneel over you, there in the restaurant, and let you
lick it all up, every drop, while everyone watched. And I was
going to rip off your pants and eat you and eat you until you
begged me to stop. Right there on the floor of Scalia's. And then
I was going to kiss you, and kiss you, but you're being such a
goddamn bitch, what the fuck am I supposed to do with the rest of
my afternoon? Huh? Fucking Richie.

Nah, it was just a ratty old pair of black satin undies. I knew I
was going to leave 'em a souvenir. Yeah.

He there yet? No?

So tell me.

Uh huh.

Oh, yeah. Yeah.

Oh, boy.

Vanessa has planted her left foot on the bulge of the wheel well,
and has tugged her skirt up to her waist. One hand on the wheel,
cutting into the right lane around a dirty van, the fingers of
her other hand sliding along the lips of her pussy, glistening,
slick.

Oh, boy. You know, I - I could be there -

Five minutes. Less than. I'm serious, I could -

I'm serious, says Vanessa. Somewhere far back, a siren sounds.

I'm serious! Imagine - imagine the look. He walks in, and there's
two of us, diving into each other, we look up -

He'd love it. He'd love it. It's - shit. Shit.

There's a fucking cop, that's what. Shit. Vanessa snaps the phone
closed, her fingers leaving wet smears on the matte grey plastic.

The unmarked car is crowding Vanessa, lights flashing in the
grille and on the dashboard, siren wailing. She sits up, shit,
shit, fuck, tugging at her skirt, braking, pulling to the left
shoulder.

Shit.

Vanessa yanks the earbead out of her ear.

The cop's footsteps crunch on the gravel by the guardrail. Ma'am?
It's a woman's voice, a woman in the uniform, white T-shirt
peeking out from under her black shirt, hands in backless black
leather gloves, velcro strips open and dangling, one hand hooked
on the weight of the gun and the swaggerstick cocking her hips
just so. Ma'am? You have any idea how fast you were going?

Vanessa squints up at the cop, backlit by a whitehot sky. Too
fast, I imagine, she says, with a small rueful smile.

The cop says nothing. She's bareheaded, blond. Her eyes are
hidden behind dark mirrorshades. The gleaming lipstick red of
Vanessa's car shines in their depths.

I'm sorry, says Vanessa, I didn't -

What color is your underwear? says the cop.

Vanessa blinks. What?

What kind of underwear are you wearing?

I don't think that's any -

Step out of the car. Ma'am. Step out of the car. I'm not going to
ask you again.

Vanessa opens the door and steps out. The cop catches the door
when she tries to shut it, and leans over, plucking out the
towel. Vanessa watches, mouth open as if to say something, as the
cop sniffs the towel, then wads it up and throws it at her.
Vanessa manages not to drop it in the dust.

Clean yourself up, says the cop.

Excuse me? says Vanessa.

You reek. You've just been fucking and you reek of it. Clean
yourself up, now. Your legs. Your vagina. Your anus. Clean
yourself.

And Vanessa dabs at her thighs with the towel.

Like you mean it, whore, says the cop. In a minute I'm going to
flip you over and frisk you and I don't want to smell the stench
of the guy you've just fucked. I want his sperm wiped clean.

And Vanessa spread her legs a little, hunching herself over,
dabbing at her pussy with the towel. Theirs, she says, in a small
voice.

What? says the cop.

Their sperm, says Vanessa, louder, looking up into the
mirrorshades. Their come. There were two of them. Brothers. At
the same time.

Turn around, says the cop, after a moment. Plant your hands on
the hood. Bend over.

It's hot, says Vanessa, gingerly placing her hands on the bright
red hood.

Do it, whore, says the cop. She kicks Vanessa's legs apart as she
plucks the swagger stick from her belt.

You do this often? says Vanessa. This how you get your -

The cop grabs the back of Vanessa's head and mashes it into the
hood. Let me tell you how this is, says the cop. She lays the
swagger stick on the hood next to Vanessa's face and never taking
the one hand from the back of Vanessa's head plucks a set of
handcuffs from her belt and whips them open. This looks like just
another bust, the cop says. No one's going to stop. No one's
going to slow down. The cop rings one of Vanessa's wrists and
drags over the other and rings that one, too. Nothing out of the
ordinary, right here in broad daylight. And when it's over and
done, she says, you won't do a damn thing. You won't say anything
to anyone. You can't. Who'd believe you? Besides. And the cop
bends over Vanessa, pressing her to the hot hood of the car, her
gloved fingers knotting in Vanessa's hair. Besides, says the cop.
I think you like this. Don't you. Don't you.

Vanessa's eyes are fixed on the thick black swagger stick, lying
just inches away from her nose. Bring it on, says Vanessa, her
voice rough.

Ordinaily, says the cop, hiking herself up, I let them lick the
stick first. Ordinarily. She picks it up, twirling it lightly on
the hood before Vanessa's face. But I think you didn't do a very
good job cleaning yourself. The cop draws the tip of the stick
along Vanessa's back, rumpling the loose car coat. I think you're
still wet. The stick drops then to nose against Vanessa's thigh,
down and along the bare length of it to the hollow of her knee. I
think you're wet and ready for it. The cop lets go of Vanessa's
head and draws her cuffed hands out of the way, flipping up the
little black skirt. Squeezes Vanessa's ass with her black-gloved
fingers. I think, says the cop, I think you can take it straight.

Vanessa closes her eyes as the tip of the swagger stick brushes
her pussy.

Oh, yes, says the cop, her voice barely audible over the traffic
flying past them not five yards away. Oh, yes. I think so.

And Vanessa groans as the swagger stick works its way inside her.

See? says the cop, licking her lips. See? Wet and loose. Just
like I told you. Whore. Wet and loose. Wet and loose. She holds
the stick to one side and a little behind her, by the jutting
handle, and she jerks her wrist a little as she shoves it in and
out, and in and out. No one knows, murmurs the cop. No one cares.
No one can tell. What I'm doing to you on the hood of your own
goddamn car. No one. Whore. You like that? Do you? You like that?

Work it, says Vanessa, her voice rough. Work it.

The cop grabs the back of Vanessa's head again and bangs it into
the hood, forcing the swagger stick and wrenching it around with
her other hand. Vanessa roars, her hands thrashing against the
cuffs. Fuck, she screams, fuck! You like that? says the cop.
Fuck, stop! Please! You like that? Do you? Whore. Please. You
like that. Don't you. Please stop it. Oh, please.

The cop jerks the swagger stick out of Vannesa and steps back.
Raises one black-gloved hand and wipes her mouth on the back of
it, where the glove is open, baring sweat-slick skin. You like
it. Maybe, says the cop, maybe I should stick it up your ass.

No, says Vanessa.

I should do that, says the cop. You've been fucked there before.
You've been fucked up the ass, haven't you.

No, says Vanessa. It's too. Too big. Too hard. Please.

You'd like it, says the cop. You would. Whore.

Please, says Vanessa.

And then the cop tosses the swagger stick onto the hood, near
Vanessa's head. Lick it, says the cop, her voice quiet again,
hard to hear over the roar of traffic. Lick it clean. You made it
filthy. It reeks. Lick it clean.

Vanessa swallows. Closes her eyes. Lifts her head a little,
squirming on the hood, to hike herself over. The end of the
swagger stick is wet and gleaming, a milky sheen. A smear mars
the glossy red finish of the hood where it struck. Her eyes
closed, Vanessa licks the swagger stick.

The cop reaches out and Vanessa flinches at the touch of the
gloved hand on her bare thigh. Kiss it, says the cop, her voice
crooning. Kiss it. Kiss it. Stroking Vanessa's skin with one
gloved hand, gently, her thigh, her ass, under the car coat and
the camisole along her back. There is a flash of light, and
another. Vanessa looks up. Stop, says the cop. Don't look up. I
didn't say you could look up.

Vanessa, breathing heavily through her nose, her dark eyes
shining, wet, does not look down.

There is another flash of light. God, says the cop, tucking her
palm-sized digital camera back into her shirt pocket. You are a
piece of work, aren't you.

Are we done here? says Vanessa.

The cop shakes her head. Before I let you off with a warning,
says the cop, I have to finish frisking you. Stay there.

The cop kneels behind Vanessa, her gloved hands stroking
Vanessa's legs, her ankles above the black sensible shoes, her
calves, her shins, along her knees back and front, her thighs.
All along her thighs. Her buttocks, her hips. Back to her thighs.
Reaching up and under, stroking with black leather thumbs that
are now glossy and wet. Vanessa's pussy opens easily, and the cop
smiles as she licks it.

Driving so fast down the Loop, seventy-five miles an hour though
you slow down a little like everyone else when you see the
flashing lights in the back of the unmarked cop car. A woman,
handcuffed, bent over the hood of a red convertible, the cop
kneeling behind her, frisking her - the cop's face? the woman,
legs spread? - No. Couldn't possibly. Anyway, you're driving too
fast. It's past. It's gone.

Vanessa grits her teeth and closes her eyes and presses her
forehead against the hood of her car and sets her feet in the
gravel and balls her hands into fists that strain against the
handcuffs and she says ranh! and unh! and Oh, oh, oh fuck, oh
fuck -

The cop stands up behind her, and licks her lips, and raises one
black-gloved hand and wipes her mouth on the back of it, where
the glove is open, baring sweat-slick skin. Then she takes her
keys from the belt where they hang by the black nine-milimeter
pistol and she unlocks one cuff. Stand up, she says.

Vanessa, slowly, shakily, stands and turns around, rubbing the
bare wrist. Then she holds out the other, cuffs a-dangle, as she
reaches up to rub her temple. The cop shakes her head. You keep
them, she says. A warning. Drive safely, or.

And the cop reaches past Vanessa, who carefully stands very
still, and the cop picks up her swagger stick and slots it still
wet into her belt and marches back to her unmarked car without
once looking back.

Vanessa takes two careful steps to the door of her car. Resting
her bare hand on it, she reaches in, cuffs a-jingle, and grabs
the towel, spreading it back across the driver's seat. Carefully,
she opens the door and climbs inside. Starts the motor. Sits
there a moment.

The cop has not moved.

Fuck it, says Vanessa under her breath. Fuck you.

She guns the motor. Gravel spits. She roars into the left-most
lane in front of a big luxury SUV who blares his horn and stands
on his brakes as the Miata slips across in front of it into the
next, empty lane.

Vanessa's hands are trembling on the wheel. Damn it, she says.
Goddamn it.

The cop watches her go, wiping the end of her swagger stick on a
clean white handkerchief. Then she switches off her cherries and
opens a black leather notebook on the seat next to her. Flips a
few pages in. Pulls out a small yellow pencil. Under the heading
August, she makes a sixth hash mark. Closes the notebook. Tucks
the pencil away.

Next, says the cop.

                                                  ::
                                                  
                                            as falls cuyahoga,
                                      so falls cuyahoga falls
                                             an object lesson.002
                                                 
                                                          --n.
                                                  ::
                                                  
http://www.asstr.org/~nickurfe/
http://www.ruthiesclub.com/
nickurfe@yahoo.com

This story may be freely circulated by anyone, anytime, anywhere.
"The Lesson of Sodom (According to Lot)" by Momus.

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