Valerie Perrine had not aged a moment, following her exposure in the movie SLAUGHTERHOUSE 5, back in 1972.
She was wearing a slinky, silk robe. It was chromatic cyan and she spun to show me the artwork on the back. An art nouveau panel with a painting of her, nude, slid down from her shoulders to her waist. With a cheery giggle, she shook herself like a dancing elf and whirled back to face me. The robe opened wide and I stared at her happy little hoo ha. She planted her heels, frankly, with her feet spread wide apart. It made me smile to see she didn’t have one of those nasty, bald-headed snappers that are so popular, these days. She laid out a good, old, seventies-style pussy, with a precious little fur hat on it. It looked like spun gold.
“Do you want to go outside?” she asked me.
“Dressed like that?” I inquired.
“Why not?” she laughed. “The day night is young and so are we.”
My mind turned into a wreck ‘em derby.
Ever since I was a very young boy, I had always gone inside. When my father yelled at me, I shut out the noise by going inside. When I was bullied and taunted in school, I created White Noise to shut them out.
Later, when I learned to meditate, I could always find peace inside my own head, safe from the insanity of the real world.
“Let’s go,” she smiled, dropping her robe to the floor. It shimmered like star light, like diamonds, and then it collapsed inside itself and faded away.
Her shoulders glowed and sparkled, shining curves of iridescent glass under bright lights. Her breasts, heavy and full, just like my wife’s and just as untouchable, beckoned and teased. Her stomach was taut, but soft. It pouted and said, “It’s time, old man. It’s time.”
She reached for the door knob and pulled the door open. With a questioning knit in her eyebrows, she looked back over her shoulder at me. I took another lingering leer at her perfect bottom. She took a step. And then she was gone.
My breath was coming in short burst and I struggled to control it. In and out. In and out. Slow and Steady Wins the Race. That’s what I always needed to say. That’s how I lived my life. It was in my genes. It was bred into me through generations of calm, slow-thinking men and women.
I shook my head in existential terror. I was all alone again, like always. I had to move. For once, in my timid, boring life, I had to stir myself into action! I drifted to the door, lost in a dream. My foot touched the threshold. I stepped onto the porch and closed the door behind me.
I was surrounded by stars. Twinkling, shining, falling, shards of star dust spun around me and under my feet.
I took a faltering step forward, and then, another.