Bang! Portugal
Two days after the end of Queima das Fitas, Wes’s head finally stopped pounding. European beer had always been responsible for some of his worst hangovers, and in Porto, Portugal it is customary to drink a lot of beer during the final days of Queima das Fitas. It was after all a tradition that Wes, as guest in this country, did not intend to break.
He confirmed his flight itinerary after checking out of his hotel. His plane would depart at 6pm, but it was only noon now, so he decided to kill some time at a café a few blocks from his hotel. He had passed the tiny eatery each night as he explored the town, glancing in through the large plate glass window beyond the CLOSED sign. Inside he caught glimpses of rustic décor and tasty looking treats.
Not speaking Portuguese meant relying on the college students wandering the town. They spoke enough English to help him communicate with the locals. So far it had worked well for Wes, since he was never more than arm’s length from a student. Now, carting his luggage and feeling relaxed and confident here at the end of his vacation, he felt ready for a little adventure. Something about the façade of the coffee shop told him he might be up for a challenge, even if there were no English-speakers inside to assist him.
Stepping between two large delivery vans Wes crossed the wide street to Café Velho Da Família De Porto. When he entered through the two old wooden doors he was instantly hit by a wave of warmth attached to the scent of freshly baked goods. Two old women scuttled about behind the tall counter, one fetching cookies, cakes and fancy breads for the customers while another prepared and poured steaming, fragrant beverages into stout ceramic mugs. A third woman sat positioned at an old metal cash register, the kind seen in movies set in the 50’s and 60’s, with the big metal keys that clattered when struck.
Wes got into the line of people slowly wending its way toward the order counter. Scanning the hand-written menu boards, Wes knew instantly that ordering was going to be trouble. His least scrap of knowledge of Portuguese seemed to have deserted him. The only person his age, a young woman with the look of a university student, stood directly ahead of him in the queue.
“Excuse me,” Wes tried to get her attention. “Excuse me?”
She turned her head slowly, shifting her eyes up to him over her shoulder.
“Miss, do you speak English?”
“Você está falando-me?”
As she spoke it dawned on him just how lovely she was. Her mouth was flawless. Framed with two full lips, her perfect teeth sparkled pearly white, as her tongue danced behind them with each syllable.
“Do you speak English, or maybe French?” he asked again.
“Pesaroso, eu não posso compreendê-lo.”
Turning to face Wes, the young woman smiled briefly, an action that made her eyes squint, only slightly obscuring the sapphire blue shine they emitted. It was an enchanting little mannerism. She must be a model, Wes told himself. In the seven days he had spent in Portugal he had seen plenty of pretty girls, but none as naturally stunning as this one.
Her brown hair was perfectly coiffed, as though it had been cared for by a professional stylist. Long and wavy, her hair was parted in the middle which allowed for each side to cascade down her neck past her shoulders to her breasts, which sat up high upon her chest like two round ripe melons. Like most woman in Porta she had dark skin, but hers was different. It glowed moistly, as if it was coated in body lotion. Finely complimented by the tight pumpkin-orange tank top she wore, she stood out like a diamond in a pile of coal.
“Usted habla español?” she asked slowly, smiling.
Standing around 5’5 or 5’6 and wearing a low cut shirt, she leaned forward slightly. Wes’s eyes fell easily into her cleavage. Her breasts mounded out slightly, plump curves of firm young peach-colored flesh. He blinked, imagining how magnificent they would feel to a caressing hand; silky and full to the touch. Her nipples, of course, would be pink and–
“Uh, no,” he managed to say in answer. “No hablo español.” He smiled at the beautiful young woman and shrugged.
“Oh meu deus! Você starring em meus peitos?” She raised her voice, drawing attention to them from the other patrons.
Wes did not have to her language to realize he had been caught staring at her breasts; all it took was the motion of her right hand covering her chest to clue him in.
“I am so sorry. I did not mean to stare.”
“Os americanos stupid, vindos aqui e não se incomodam aprender para fora da lingual,” she said to an old woman who was passing the line to exit the shop.
“Americanos stupid,” the old woman replied with a
chuckle.
He understand the old woman’s statement clearly. Raising her hand the young woman extended it up to his face where he stared dumbfounded amazement at her delectate little fingers as they bent at the middle knuckle in a casual wave good bye.
“Adeus, tentativa agradável. Assim sad.”
She turned away, leaving Wes not only red-faced but with no means to translate the menus in front of him. Still three deep in line, he turned and stared out the large plate glass window with a loud sigh. Watching the busy street, pulsating with car, bicycle and pedestrian traffic, a glitter caught his eye across the street. Two tiny green lights blinked in repetition, faster and faster. Narrowing his eyes, Wes realized the lights he was seeing were coming from underneath one of the two vans he passed by when crossed the street. Over and over the green lights flashed; faster and faster they repeated. Wes watched the lights intently while his aching head tried to make sense of what part of the van would have blinking lights like this. Was it a tracking device? he wondered, having read an article only weeks ago on how delivery companies were starting to track the time and distance their drivers took to get from point A to point B.
He could not pinpoint the reason, but something about the way the flashing lights sped up and then suddenly turned red at the same moment did not sit well with him. Perhaps he have watched one too many James Bond movies, or too many seasons of 24. Regardless, all his senses told him something bad was about to happen.
Without thinking Wes grabbed the girl in front of him and pushed her to the floor behind a shoulder high steel display rack which was filled with magazines.
Her scream of outrage and fear was lost in a tremendous explosion. The world turned to Hell.
The magazine rack slammed into Wes’s back as the shockwave tore through the building. Even though he’d been deafened by the detonation, Wes felt the pulsating sound pouring around him. A series of vibrations tickled the arm he had wrapped around the girl, as he saw that she was screaming. A chain of impacts struck the metal structure on top of him, like rain on an umbrella. Unable to move his body, he could do no more than lie still, sapped of all strength, certain that he was about to die.
But moments passed and he was still alive. Slowly his hearing returned. At first sound echoed fuzzily in Wes’s ears, making his head feel like a big conch shell. All he could see was smoke and dust so thick it was nearly impenetrable.
The metal rack that had hit him looked to be built from scraps of armor. It had toppled over and was resting against the wall at his side. This was the only reason it had not crushed him under its immense weight. Raising his chest from the ground in a push-up position rocked the case upwards an inch or so, but opened up just enough space for him to slide free. Suddenly the warm body beneath him moved, sending a wave of panic through his body that caused him to clench his teeth with fear. Looking down he watched the beauty from the waiting line stretch as if she was waking up after a long sleep. For the briefest moment he tried to think back to the moment just before the explosion. Why had he tackled this girl, what made him act?
A series of loud popping sounds made him forget that thought. The girl opened her eyes, and when she did she panicked. Kicking her feet out, she slid fluidly out from beneath him and the metal case braced at his back. Her backwards motion came to a sudden halt as she fetched up into a pile of broken bricks and chunks of splintered wood.
Flexing his muscles to their utmost, Wes pushed the metal cabinet up another inch before he launched himself out from under it and nearly into the lap of the girl he had saved. Half expecting her to yell at him with some long string of untranslatable curses Wes looked up at her to find she was staring off in the direction of the front door. Crawling to the side while turning his face towards whatever she was looking at, something scalpel-sharp sliced his left hand open across the palm.
“Fuck!” he snapped as he pulled his hand up to his face.
While inspecting the wound a cool breeze blew across his face, befuddling his mind even further with a question: Where did that wind come from? Finally looking in the direction of the girl, Wes saw something he would never forget.
The quaint coffee shop was gone. The front door, the giant plate glass window, the small tables and counter: all were gone. More, so was the building across the street. The explosion had erased them both from existence. After a quick 360-degree look, Wes found only the back wall and part of the sides standing. There was just enough masonry left to miraculously hold the rear wall up. Stone, wood and metal debris covered what was once the shiny hardwood floor of the shop. An exposed wire from behind the destroyed counter hung loose, snapping like a cobra, and spitting sparks like a dragon. Something, Wes could only mentally explain as a pile of wet clothes, burned in the far corner of what remained of the room, sending greasy-looking grey smoke up into the breeze.
Wes’s hearing had more or less returned by now, and with it came the sounds of sirens in the distance. As loud as they were, however, they did not match the heavy panting of the young woman next to him.
“Are you ok?”
“Que?” she responded despondently.
“Are you hurt?”
“Que?” she answered again clearly confused to a degree of near shock.
Standing up slowly Wes looked himself over expecting to discover some sort of injury, yet finding no wounds other than his bleeding hand. From his new vantage he could see the floor of the shop more clearly. Although watering from the dust and smoke hanging in the air, Wes’s eyes almost instantly locked on two shapes that were much more identifiable than the rest of the shapeless debris. Lying on the stone cluttered floor were two human legs, one severed at the knee the other just above the ankle. Shoeless, both feet were missing their toes, and were clearly from two different people. One leg was most likely a man’s, thick and hairy, while the other petite and smooth; looked like that of a young woman’s. Wes’s stomach churned and he took a deep breath of air to settle it. The intake of dust almost made him choke.
Stepping carefully over two large chunks of concrete, Wes moved towards the destroyed counter, his feet crunching the broken glass from both the front window and the shattered display case. Peering over the wreckage, he spotted a large unidentifiable piece of steaming metal. Trying to make sense of it, Wes scrutinized its shape until he spotted something of a different texture underneath it. Squinting, Wes leaned in over the remains of the counter until his nose filled with a smell he had smelled only once before.
Years ago, a close friend of his was injured when a firework exploded against his leg, leaving him with 3rd degree burns. Wes would never forget the smell of his friend’s wound, an odor unlike any other. Here it was again. Repulsed, Wes stepped backwards, nearly bumping into the young woman who was standing for the first time since the explosion.
“Don’t look over there,” he told her, as if she would understand.
“O que a foda aconteceu aqui. Meu deus, havia uma bomba?”
“It’s probably a good idea we get out of here.” Wes looked up where the ceiling should have been, seeing only grey sky.
Giving a wide berth to the body parts, Wes moved out to the edge of the sidewalk then stopped short and gasped in shock. The explosion had shattered the blacktop, scooping out a crater the length and depth of two busses. Blind to the possible danger Wes stood at the edge, staring into its gaping mouth with amazement.
Suddenly a second explosion rocked the city, throwing a thick stream of smoke into the sky a block or so south of him. Before he could react with anything other than a jump in fear, the young woman he had saved grabbed his hand and pulled him away in the opposite direction.
“Foda, nós têm que ir, nós devemos estar sob o ataque dos terroristas ou de algo!”
“Where are we going?”
“Que?”
“Where are we going?”
“Feche-me acima e siga-, mim vivem não isso longe de aqui.”
People ran in every direction, screaming words he could not understand. Still dazed and knowing himself to be in shock, Wes could not fathom what was happening around him. It was that lack of understanding that scared him most. Racing down the sidewalk with the girl he gripped her hand tighter, fearful at the thought of losing track of this one person with whom he had survived the impossible. Surprisingly when he squeezed, she squeezed back.
Another distant explosion caused her to shout a word he knew must have been obscene. Something horrible was happening, Wes thought as his eyes recorded scenes similar to those he witnessed on TV years ago during the 9/11 terrorist attack. Crossing another street, they entered a residential neighborhood of the town. The girl nearly jerked his arm from the socket as she took an abrupt left turn under an archway into an apartment complex. Not breaking stride for anything she entered one building and ascended the stairs two at a time until she was at the top floor, in a hallway containing numbered doors. Seemingly empty, the apartment building held an eerie silence. Still stunned at what had happened only minutes earlier, Wes compliantly followed her as she ran down the hallway.
At the end of the corridor, adjacent from a large window, was a door that had two paper hearts pasted next to the number 413. His companion dug a key out of her front pocket then shoved it into the lock. She dashed into the apartment, whip-snapping Wes in behind her.
“Nós podemos esconder aqui! Eu necessito apenas começar uma preensão de meu companheiro de quarto e de minha mãe. Eu necessito saber que são seguros. Eu necessito encontrar para fora o que está acontecendo aqui.”
“Um, yeah. Are we safe here?”
Wes watched the girl pick up a cordless phone sitting atop a small end table next to an old couch in the center of the small room. The couch, an obvious hand-me-down, was bright red, making it the focal point of the room. As Wes looked around he saw that there were three doors leading from the main room. They were closed, but to his left was a very small kitchen. A set of double door glass doors stood across from him, leading to a big metal balcony. It was quite nice for a small apartment. He wondered if she lived alone.
“No phones?” Wes said after he watched her click the phone’s buttons a few times, frowning.
Turning around in three circles the girl seemed to be looking for something.
“Brilhante, eu perdi minha bolsa e meu telefone da pilha está nele!”
Wes walked past the small red couch, to its accompanying love seat, to a small TV sitting atop a circular wooden wheeled stand. He clicked the power button but nothing happened. Looking around he spotted a lamp, so he walked quickly to it and tried to turn it on; nothing.
“No power.”
A deep whistling sound ended in another explosion in the city, one so loud the apartment shook. With a look of terror on her face the young woman threw herself into Wes, knocking him into the love seat behind him.
“Que nós estamos indo fazer? O que são nós que vamos fazer?”
He found himself caressing her head to ease her fear. “Shh! Let’s stay quiet. I’m sure the power and phone will be restored soon.”
Looking up into his eyes she introduced herself.
“Nessa,” she said softly, putting a hand between those lovely breasts.
“Nessa,” he replied, genuinely surprised he was even learning her name. “Wes,” he said, tapping his chest.
“Wes,” she said with a semi-smirk that alleviated a little of his anxiety. His breathing began to slow. She took his hand and led him into the kitchen, where she began putting together a meal from the darkened refrigerator. Neither one of them wanted to go outside.
The day past slowly, with neither Wes nor Nessa knowing what was truly happening. As night gripped the city, Nessa’s tiny apartment became as dark as the inside of a coffin. Peering out the double doors to her balcony, they could see it was not her block alone that was swallowed by darkness: the whole city was without electricity. Not a single light illuminated the buildings around hers. Not even the weak flicker of a television shone through any of the windows in view. Adding to the sinister atmosphere was the lack of streetlights. For both of them it felt like a sign, a very ghastly sign.
Sitting quietly across from one another, Wes on the loveseat, Nessa on the couch, they each drifted in and out of sleep. After a couple of hours, Wes was roused by what he would have sworn were the sounds of an old World War 1 style tank in the distance. The hum sounded just like something out of an old black and white war movie, making it all the more surreal. Shaking the cobwebs from his mind, Wes walked cautiously to the balcony and peered out in the direction of the sound. His jaw dropped: sure enough, a metallic giant ground slowly through the dark streets, its position marked by the brilliant light it shined into the buildings it passed.
He realized that Nessa was at his side.
“Que?”
“Nessa, there is a fucking tank coming down your road.”
“Que?”
“Tank,” he nodded as he spoke. “Armor?”
Before he could explain any further the sound of the tank’s engines and the grinding of its treads across the old road drew her attention. His back now to the double doors Wes did not see the spotlight as it moved towards him, but he could see Nessa’s eyes as they widened with fear.
Dropping to the ground, he scurried to the opposite side of the room, behind Nessa who had already crawled there. They could hear men talking in the streets as the light passed.
Seeing her tremble, Wes wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close to him in hopes that he could relieve her terror with a tight embrace. When gunfire suddenly erupted in the streets shortly after the tank passed, Nessa pressed herself more closely to Wes, straddling him and burying her face in his neck.
“Eu não quero morrer,” she cried. “Eu não quero morrer!”
Tilting her face back with a gentle nudge of her hand, Wes kissed the tears from her cheek. Nessa looked back at him, confused and fragile. Pressing her trembling lips against his she kissed him once, then pulled back to look in his eyes. Wherever she was behind those frightened eyes, be it heaven or hell, he was there too. Grabbing the back of his neck with both hands, she kissed him fiercely, pushing her tongue deep in his mouth. He ran his hands up her anxiety moistened back, then down her sides tracing the curve of the side of her bra’s cup with his thumbs.
Frightened and anxious as he himself was, he could not help but respond to her slim firm waist and the pressure of her marvelous breasts against him.
Separating her mouth from his she spoke once more.
“Eu não sei, mas a guerra veio a meu repouso de Porta. Se eu dever morrer hoje à noite, eu quero morrer em meu repouso, embraced com um homem bom.”
Wes said nothing, but read her eyes. They told him exactly what to do. Standing up, lifting her with him, Wes moved to the door to his left; Nessa’s bedroom.
The room had no windows so inside it was pitch black, devoid even of the minimal moonlight illuminating the main room. He sat her upon the bed, but she popped up and vanished into the darkness. Suddenly a match flared. On her dresser, he saw a series of small half-burnt candles lined up against a long mirror. Pushing the door shut with her foot, she lit a match then set each of the candles wicks aflame. Wes turned to the door and latched the lock, knowing it would not stop the armed men marching the streets outside, but feeling a small comfort nonetheless.
“Se amanhã eu devo acordar acima dos mortos, deseje então viver meus últimos momentos enchidos com o prazer,” Nessa said while pulling off her tight dusty jeans.
“God damn Nessa, I have no clue what you just said, but it sounded sexy,” he said, and laughed for the first time all day.
While sitting on the bed, Nessa slid off her tiny red panties then lay back onto her elbows and spread her legs in his direction. Never in all his life had Wes seen a more inviting sight. Nessa’s pussy was shaven clean, and glimmered in the soft candlelight with a hint of wetness in the center. After pulling his shirt off, Wes knelt down before her and kissed her slit gently. A look of semi-surprise made Nessa’s eyes widen before they shut with delight. Wes got the idea that it had been a long time since a man pleasured her so.
Wes ran his tongue up and down her delicious pink pussy wanting so much to devour her, but holding back his enthusiasm as best he could. Nessa’s moans drove him crazy and made him so hard he had to unzip his pants to free his swelling cock. Reaching up as he repeatedly and gently tongued her, Wes’s hands latched onto Nessa’s bra, the only remaining item of clothing on her perfectly toned body. He squeezed her breasts through the thin fabric, feeling their fullness reshape to his firm grip. A distant explosion drew his head up from her lap long enough for him to make eye contact with her. With her eyes half closed, panting, she looked worn out, as if she had been through a tough cardio workout. If she had cum, she had done it silently and he had not realized it.
Patting the bed next to her with an open hand, Nessa invited him to lie down. With a quick tug, his pants were off, and his throbbing erection was finally fully freed. No sooner did he lie down did she take his cock in her hand and guided it into her soaking wet hole as she straddled him. The tight warmth of her pussy was nearly enough to make him pop, but he could not cum yet, he told himself, not before he got to see her climax.
Unhooking her bra, she presented her breasts to him as if they were two golden prizes. Since his moment of staring in the coffee shop Wes knew they would be magnificent, but he never imagined just how magnificent. Their shape and size were that of a Victoria’s Secret models, heavy in their fullness, yet perky like a porn star’s implants. His hands wasted no time, exploring them the moment they were free of their confines. Her puckered pink nipples were relatively large, and he pinched them gently, making her moan. Cupping her breasts and squeezing them hard as Nessa slowly rode up and down his shaft, Wes could not recall a time he was happier. Sliding his feet up the bed Wes took control of the movement and bounced her up and down on his lap at a much more rapid pace. During a pause in the action, Nessa leaned in, kissing him softly on the lips, whispering words he could not understand but whose sense were crystal clear.
A drone of loud airplane engines filled the sky above the apartment but the lovers were barely conscious of the sound. With each deep thrust into Nessa’s deep, wet pussy Wes thought he could hear the whistle of bombs being dropped; each gasp of pleasure from Nessa’s mouth he thought would be her last as they were blown to dripping shreds.
Rolling over, he pinned Nessa to the bed beneath him, pushing deeper inside her than he had yet been. He could feel himself growing harder, if that was even possible. Something about her pussy, whether it was the wetness or the shape, made for a perfect fit.
Taking her right breast in his mouth as he fucked her, Wes looked up at her face in time to see her turn her head to the side and close her eyes. Her hand had moved down between her legs and had joined him in his effort to make her release. His cock slid through her fingers, the sensation giving him the resolve to go longer when he was so sure he would cum first. Releasing her slim legs, he pushing himself up from her and increased his tempo. Noticing her face turn red as she held her breath, Wes whispered, “Give it to me, Nessa.”
Releasing aloud cry an earthquake of pleasure rumbled down her body from her chest to her toes as she came once and then again in quick succession. Her body shook with orgasmic aftershocks. Aroused by her release, Wes pulled out quickly and shot a line of warm cum from her belly button to her neck. Quickly Nessa slid her body down the bed, mouth open she took his penis in her mouth, noisily sucking the last drops of fluid out of him. The feeling of her mouth on his sensitized penis-head made him feel as if he could cum again, and his knees went weak. He lost his balance on the bed and roll over to his side.
She giggled, and pushed off the bed, padding across the room to her dresser where a box of issues sat.
“Nessa…”
“Shh!”
She was right, he thought, now was not the time to talk, only to lie back in afterglow and enjoy how wonderful everything felt. Wes could not help but feel that he had cheated death, because now if the reaper came to claim him he would not care. Nothing, not even the planes rumbling in the distance, could ruin this moment.
After mopping up his fluids off her body, she flopped on the bed beside Wes, letting out a satisfied and exhausted sigh. Outside, a series of explosions like cracks of thunder grew louder, causing her to flinch in fear. Wes wrapped his arm around her and drew her close to him. With her head once again buried in his neck, he whispered in her ear, telling her stories from his time in school.
#
Wes awoke to the sound of bullets ricocheting off something and into the walls of Nessa’s apartment. He rolled to the side of the bed and onto the floor in a panic, and when he hit the ground he realized he was alone. Poking his head up, he looked to the bed. Nessa was missing. The bedroom door was open and the apartment was filled with sunlight. Gunshots still sounded from outside. He had survived the night, but it seemed this morning would claim him. Covering his head, he shimmed on his belly to the doorway and looked out into the room beyond, fearing that he would see Nessa laying in a pool of blood on the hardwood floor of her living room.
Another round of shooting broke out, and the last untouched window pane sprayed glass onto the floor near the couch. Wes yelled Nessa’s name, and to his surprise got a response. As the shooting died down, Wes heard a rumbling sound from the bathroom. He crawled into the small room, which at first appeared empty, until he noticed the top of Nessa’s head as she peeked from the tub. Standing tall with a deep basin, the old cast-iron bathtub offered perfect protection to her.
After closing the door behind him, he pushed up and looked into the tub at her.
Laying in a sideways fetal position, Nessa was still wet from the shower she’d just finished. Water dripped from the shower head. Shivering from a combination of fear and the chill of the morning air, she looked as pathetic as wounded animal on the side of a road. A sudden volley of machinegun fire and the sound of bullets striking something in the apartment made both Wes and Nessa cover their heads, but the moment it stopped Wes scooped her robe from the floor next to him and handed it to her over the rim of the tub.
“Obrigado, obrigado. Eu entrei regar, pensar do inferno tinha passado, mas eu era errado, ele somente comecei apenas.”
Wes did not need to understand her words; he got the general meaning of her statement. The poor girl had probably just been trying to get clean when the gun fight erupted in the streets. Stretching up to look at her again, Wes saw she had donned the robe and looked much more comfortable. She gazed back at him with sad glassy eyes; she must be terrified, he thought. It was bad enough all this was happening, and frightening beyond belief, but to be trapped naked and wet in the tub not knowing what was going to happen next must have made this horrible moment that much worse.
The sounds of war rang out in the streets again, followed by a large explosion. Nessa reached from the tub, grasping Wes’s shoulder in an effort to pull him in with her. He scrambled in. Lying side to side on their backs with knees slightly bent, the tub accommodated them well, and protected them even better. Nessa burst into speech, gesturing urgently. As near as Wes could tell, she was saying that a bullet had struck the tub, causing a loud deep chime, but that inside it they were protected.
“Deus, quanto tempo este último momento de minha vida durará? Sou eu que estou sendo punido?”
She fell silent as the grumbling sound of an approaching tank grew in their ears. As the tank drove down the street the entire apartment rattled. Broken pieces of glass from her windows rattled against themselves on the floor. Suddenly, as Wes and Nessa held their breath with fear, the tank fired. The sound of its cannon was nearly as loud as the explosion from the coffee shop and just as frightening. Nessa screamed in terror, a howl not unlike that of a wolf crying at the moon. The tank fired again and when it did, the medicine cabinet in Nessa’s tiny bathroom swung opened and bottles of aspirin and other drugs spilled out. Her cries grew so loud that Wes feared the soldiers outside might hear her. Rolling up on top of her Wes held Nessa tight, muffling her cries. Eventually the sounds of battle moved away.
#
The battle outside raged on most of the day. It was not until sunset that the gunfire stopped and the sound of vehicles leaving the neighborhood was heard. Wrapped tightly in each other’s arms, Wes and Nessa had grown oddly comfortable. When the stillness of night replaced the violence of the day, Wes’s mood turned amorous. After a quick kiss, he could tell she felt the same. Whether it was the adrenaline that had built up over the day needing a place to go, or the sweetness of having beaten death again, their bodies began to course with a tingle of warmth from within.
Wes stood from the tub first, stretching his arms and legs. He gazed around the room, noticing despite the gathering darkness three bullet holes in the bathroom door, then the nearly flattened slug of an automatic rifle lying peacefully on the floor next to the tub. Scooping it up, Wes held it so Nessa could see it.
She cracked a sly smile, ignoring the bullet, and reached out for Wes’s hand. As she stepped from the tall tub, her robe fell open, giving Wes a full view of her breasts, and glistening, shaved pussy. Even in this chaos, Wes could not help but want her. When Nessa noticed his longing stare, she spoke a quick string of words while tracing a line down between her breasts. Pointing a finger where she stood he hoped she would understand he wanted her to wait while he checked out what was happening outside.
Wes opened the door of the bathroom. The rest of the apartment was cloaked in shadow. Blessed with above average eyesight, he could discern debris cluttering the floor: glass and shards of metal. Most shocking was the state of the apartment’s outer wall. So much was missing or damaged that the outside air filled the front room with fading light, giving a wide view of the beleaguered city.
Crossing the room slowly, Wes used his right foot to slide the glass on the floor to one side, creating a path for Nessa to travel. Although he would not have dared to tread this close to the windows or balcony during the day, he figured it was safe enough to do so tonight. He scanned the city through the hole in the wall. There were few if any lights, just burning wreckage here and there and a hint of candle flickering in widely separated windows. As his eyes adjusted, the city took shape, first dark silhouettes against a darker painted night sky. As details took focus, the amount of damage became painfully clear. The buildings across the street had all but collapsed into piles of rubble. Several blocks away to the east large fires burned, creating a glow akin to the rising sun, though not nearly as bright.
When Nessa reached Wes, he had already stepped out onto her large balcony. Dropping her robe, she stepped up and wrapped her arms around his chest. Wes could feel her supple breasts at his back, their fullness pressing against him; her nipples like diamonds on his flesh. Turning around to the sight of her nude was nearly as shocking as the view he had a moment before of the damaged city.
“Faça-me exame de meu angel,” Nessa said sliding her hand down to his stiffening rod and gripping it tightly.
Wes did not wait to for her to speak again. He pulled her in close and kissed her as passionately as he could. While Nessa teased his tongue with hers, he reached down in between her legs. Tracing his finger around the outside of her hairless pussy made her body tense up with the anticipation of pleasure, and when he slid a finger between her moist lips she released a deep, urgent moan. Nessa was ready; soaking wet. She sucked on his tongue and moaned again.
Wes turned her around and pushed her forward against the railing of the balcony. Her hair hung down into the night. Looking down at her perfect shapely ass, Wes felt his heart flutter with sexual excitement. Spreading her legs by lightly kicking them apart with the side of his foot, he bent her over with a gentle nudge at the square of her back. His target in sight, Wes undid his pants and pulled out his penis, which was ready for her.
Entering her stripped him of all external sensations excluding the feeling of her flesh against his. He was no longer standing on the balcony of a building that had been riddled with bullets inside a war-torn town; he was in Paradise, fucking the most beautiful woman on the planet. Every thrust was like touching heaven. Her body felt as if it had been made for him, inside and out. Matching to his height perfectly, her tan firm ass slapped against his lower stomach. Nessa’s hands gripped the metal railing of her balcony, squeezing it tight, nearly matching the pressure of Wes’s hands on her breasts.
Staring down at the arch of her back and then the sharp turn of her waist into her hips, Wes could not believe his fortune; Nessa was flawless. If there was only a way to escape this madness he would want to bring her home with him, to keep her as a lover for the rest of his life. But even as he plowed himself into her, over and over, he could not prevent a small portion of his mind from wondering if this was really anything more than two individuals reaching out for comfort during a horrifying experience.
“Mais duramente,” she gasped as Wes’s pace slowed with his daydreaming thoughts.
Changing his grip from her full soft breasts to her firm sleek hips, Wes increased his tempo, pounding her as hard as he could. Perspiration trickled down his chest. The feeling of her warmth and the texture of her wetness felt exhilarating, better than any sex he had in his entire life.
Feeling that he was not going to hold out much longer he urged her to turn around by pivoting her by her hips.
Without a word exchanged, she turned around and knelt down before him, her eyes locked on his with a look of longing hunger. Exploding he drew a line across her chest with his orgasm. Huffing with delight he stared down at the beauty beneath him as she smiled back. Nothing could ruin this moment he thought.
Suddenly the power surged on, lighting up her apartment and turning on her TV. The sudden burst of sound startled him, and he twisted around. As he turned a loud shot rang out from across the street. The bullet struck the frame of the double doors behind him, only missing his chest by centimeters.
Shocked, Wes dove for the floor, landing on a metal lawn chair before numbly sliding down to the ground for cover. Another shot pierced the silence a second before a third bullet clipped his arm.
“Get inside quick!” he shouted to the terrified girl.
On all fours, Nessa scrambled into the room and quickly ducked behind the couch, cutting both her hands and feet on broken glass. Scared to move, Wes inched his head up, only to duck it back down a split second later after a bullet struck the railing in front of him. Nessa screamed in the background. He was unsure if she was hurt or simply panicked. After a cursory glance at his arm told him he was only nicked, he spotted her blue robe crumpled at his feet. It gave him an idea he quickly set into action. He took up the flimsy garment and threw it to the right, then made a mad dash into her apartment to the left. Turning into the next room, where there were no windows and the wall was intact, Wes dove to the floor, sliding a foot or two before friction brought him to a halt.
Yelling, Nessa pointed at the television. Wes reached through the doorway and yanked the electrical cord out of the wall, plunging the living room into gloom.
“Are you hurt?” Wes called out softly to her.
Looking at her dimly lit profile in the next room he could see her chest rise and fall sporadically as she cried. Her hair had mostly fallen across her face, but he could tell she was looking at her hands by the way she held them up.
“Nessa! Are you ok?”
No longer caring for his own well-being, Wes dashed into the living room and across it to the end of the couch where she hid. To his surprise he was not shot at. The darkness resulting from shutting off the TV must have made it tough for the sniper to aim.
“Let me see you, your trembling.”
Grabbing her wrists he instantly saw the blood that had trickled down her arms past her cut hands and wrists to her elbows. Even in the uncertain light he could see the sparkle of tiny shards of glass poke from lacerations in her hands. Stickiness underneath his legs turned his attention down to the blood on the floor, trailing back to her feet.
“Shit, you’re all cut up! We need to get this all out of you and bandaged up.”
“Não,” she shook her head.
Flattening her hand into a blade she gestured the motion of a plane taking off then pointed at Wes. She tried over and over to get him to understand her but he just couldn’t get it. Slapping his chest, Wes took this new gesture as a hint to give her his t-shirt to cover up with.
When Wes Pulled the shirt over her head so she would not have to touch it with her injured hands she began to weep, his kind gesture breaking her heart further. Pointing at him again she made the gesture of a plane, followed by a jet engine noise.
“Avião.”
“Plane?”
“Plano!” she laughed when she knew he finally understood.
“What about the planes?”
“Wes Plano,” she said again then made the hand gesture then pointed to her door.
“Wait, did you hear something on the TV while it was on?”
“Sim, Televisão!”
The shrill ring of an old rotary phone started them both. It had come from inside her darkened bedroom. Upon its second ring, Wes felt an urgency to answer it. Taking her hand in his, he stood then brought her up to her feet. They dashed towards the bedroom. Gasping from the pain of the shards embedded in her feet, Nessa reached the phone as it rang once again.
“Hello?”
After closing the door Wes prompted Nessa to sit down on her bed so she could take the pressure off her feet. He almost had to shove her to get her to respond, as whoever it was she was speaking to held her entire attention. While she was seated Wes knelt down in front of her, peering in the dimness to see if he could find any pieces of glass that needed to be removed from her wounds. Before he could he was distracted by Nessa’s voice, which was raised with aggravation.
Looking up into her blue eyes, he could tell she was about to cry. To his surprised she suddenly stopped speaking and handed him the phone. Taking it cautiously, he held it gingerly to his ear.
“Hello?”
“I’m Anna, Nessa’s roommate,” said a female voice in a thick accent. “She just told me what occurred in the shop. So lucky for her you were there!”
“Yeah, no kiding. If you can call being trapped here luck.”
“You will have to forgive Nessa, she never attended the university, so she never learned to speak your English,” Anna explained. “She asked me to convey a message to you.”
“Ok.”
“She said that the newscasters on TV have given an alert to all guests of our lands. The forces of this sick rebellion have called a cease-fire until midnight tonight so that all visitors can get to the airports. She wants you to go to the main streets, and find some way to the airport right away.”
Wes could not believe what he was hearing. He was in the middle of some revolution, and now the rebels themselves were trying to get tourists out of the country.
“I can’t leave her!”
“You must. I’m afraid our government will not allow any of its people on those planes to be exiting the country.”
Fuck! Wes lowered the phone from his ear. It would have dropped all the way to the floor if Nessa had not snatched it from his hand. Within a few seconds she spit a volley of words back and forth with her roommate then hung up.
“Você deve ir.”
Taking her hands in his he stared at her delicate features, the same delicate features which during these past few hours he had seen change from contempt to shock, fear, excitement, lust and finally, now, deep sadness. He knew so little about her, yet each aspect he discovered felt right, natural; perfect.
After surviving an explosion that destroyed everything around him and killed a dozen or more people Wes had been living each minute as if it was a gift, as if he had miraculously lived beyond his expiration date. Yet that all came crashing down on him as the eyes of the woman who shared this experience with him opened up and a flood of tears broke loose.
“Wes… go.” She stumbled on the words in his language.
After stepping out into the main room Wes went to the TV plug and placed it back in the outlet. The flicker of the TV lit up the room as images of the war-torn city flashed before his eyes.
“Your roommate may have been right, but…”
A bullet struck him square in the chest, knocking him clear off his feet. Grimacing in pain his eyes closed on the apartment, but opened on the ruins of the coffee shop. His fantasy had been torn asunder by reality. There was no pain; in fact there were very few sensations left. All had become muted since the explosion moments before. Looking forward, he saw the young girl who stood in line in front of him. Although she was covered in debris from the collapsed wall, the large metal magazine shelf had apparently protected her from harm. Had he been a second quicker, he might have made it behind the rack as well.
Instead, a large chuck of street rock had struck him from behind, shattering his spine instantly. Pinned under a small support beam Wes lay still. Feeling sleepy he fought to keep his eyes open, watching for the girl to stir, to wake and thank him; call him a hero.
© 2008 Kevin James Breaux
Kevin James Breaux is a published artist, photographer and writer.
“Kevin is both a storyteller and an artist, and that’s evident in the art he creates: every picture tells a story that is both complex and subtle. I highly recommend him.” — Jonathan Maberry author and two time Bram Stoker Award winner.
Having written several novels Kevin is currently seeking publication for his newest work. ONE SMOKING HOT FAIRY TAIL, a dark urban fantasy that runs 86,000 words and is a fast-paced read with summer blockbuster movie elements and a devastating emotional resolution.
For information about his writing and art please visit www.kevinbreaux.com .
