Left Behind Ch. 03: End

Rosa hugged her younger kin and murmured in her ear, "Hey, you'll have to take me on more hikes!"

Serena squeezed, and pushed away. "Yeah, well, we'll see. You going to take all the young ones? You're off to a good start here," she whispered. She looked at Dave again and spoke up. "You're something special, boy. Did she tell you? You're the first guy she fucked since her husband, now ex-husband. You should feel honored. You got her divorcée cherry. And she saved it up!"

Dave and Rosa both blushed. "Oh, come on, Serena, quit that..." Rosa said.

"Look, guys, I've got to get to work now. Do what you're gonna do. But keep it down. Don't scare the neighbors and the cattle, okay?" She grinned again and turned away. "See you this evening, Rosa." Walking off, she glanced back and gave her cousin a thumbs-up.

Dave pulled the bedside clock from the floor; they had knocked it off the bedstand during their evening play. "Wooh, I've got to get to class." He climbed from the bed. "Not that I'm normally one to fuck and run, but..."

Rosa returned to the bed and pressed fingers against his lips.

"But we must do what we must do. And you must go. So go. Just don't be a stranger, you hear?" She pulled him close for a kiss. "And we've got to clean up again. Race you to the shower!"

She stopped to grab a condom on the way in, so he won this race. Well, they both won, what with a good, long, stand-up, face-against-the-glass, shower-stall fuck, complete with thumps, grunts, and screams. No neighbors pounded on the walls. Why not? Adequate insulation, or absence, or just resignation?

Still naked, Rosa kissed Dave at the door as he left, and returned to bed for a last stretch before rising to face the day.

She thought about an old country-vamp song, I LIKE'EM BIG AND STUPID, and the line, "The way he clawed and bit me, well, I hope he's had his shots." Dave was only a little rabid, right? And not stupid at all. She glowed.

*****

Start work Monday, Huh? have fun before then, huh? Maybe this would be a good day for a long ride on the motorbike. Her butt was not TOO sore from yesterday's ride and the more recent ass-poundings Dave gave her.

Sure, she could ride. But where? She unfolded a few auto club maps.

Sacramento, to check at General Delivery? No, her official decree would not have arrived yet. San Francisco? No real reason to go there, or Berkeley, or any of the Bay Area megalopolis; she did not feel like urban sight-seeing. The nearby countryside, and wineries, and sights? They would be there whenever she wanted. Further, maybe? Overnight, maybe? She looked at the maps more closely.

The distances to anywhere interesting were daunting. Her butt WAS sore. Fuck it, I'll hang around here, she thought. But first, I need to run.

She was familiar with her jogging route now, and so were some of the horses and cattle along the way. One Golden Palomino mare watched her curiously. A longhaired, longhorned Shetland bull tracked her as she ran past.

She finished the loop, showered again, dressed in grey shorts and a black Rhianna tee, and settled in for the duration.

She had a slow, quiet day. She sat on the little back deck's chaise with her ThinkPad, a pitcher of sangria spritzer (often refreshed), a pile of snacks, and a paper notepad and pen. Her online research showed:

* Nothing new in the search for her by Bobo's dick. Wonder where he went?

* Nothing odd in the family store's business accounts. They did not miss her.

* The carjacker Ally still kept her peace. Would she find reason to talk?

* The usual horseshit in the mainstream news. So, who would be bombed next?

* Local weather would stay clear, calm, and warm for the foreseeable future.

She dozed in the chaise, and woke to drink more sangria, and dozed again. Damn, she had not enjoyed a do-nothing day like this for a LONG time! This was certainly easier than motorbiking for hours and hours.

The call came from the data center's HR department. Yes, she had the job. Yes, they wanted her to start on Monday. Have a nice day.

She called Cici in Guadalajara; nothing new on that front. Her papers had been mailed and should arrive in a few days. Her phone buzzed with a text from Dave: HAD GR8 TIME! CYA SOON - LUV DAVE. ¡Madre de dios! Hope that boy isn't falling in love with me, she thought.

Or maybe I'll get lots of boys, and a few girls, to fall in love with me. Maybe I should get a chain to hang the hearts I'll collect.

She told Serena about this 'collection' idea a couple weeks later, just before the shit came down.

"I didn't know it then, but that is precisely when a switch flipped in my mind. In the old position, I was the dowdy wife-slave, ignored by my family, misused in the family business, dismissed by players around town - I was just another middle-aged middle-class affectation." She fiddled with her hair.

"But then the switched flipped, like taking a thermostat from 'cool' to 'heat'. In the new position, I'm independent, and a predator, doing what I want, taking whatever and whomever I want whenever I want it, however it's available, fuck yeah!. I'm on the hunt at my own pace and on my own grounds. I'm a jaguar for the jovenes, a hunter of the young. I'm at the top of the food chain. That's where I see myself, after flipping that switch."

Serena smiled quizzically. "So, you're what they call a cougar - a little young for a cougar around here, but still..."

"Is that what they call a woman who wasted too many years and doesn't want to waste too many more? Then that's me - a puma, catamount, wildcat, wild pussy, cougar, whatever. I've still got my claws and fangs. And hunger."

"And you've got lots of raw meat running loose, hey, cousin?"

Rosa's toothy smile was carnivorous. "Fresh flesh for the taking, baby!"

That talk was weeks in the future. Here and now, Rosa had not yet identified her sea-change. She merely made edge-of-consciousness mental notes to pursue some lively live-action entertainment - close encounters of the young flesh kind, yes indeed.

Rosa was napping again on her chaise when her phone sang La Macarena. She answered groggily.

"Hi there, Serena. ¿Que pasa?"

"You sound like you were sleeping, girl. Think you can wake up for tonight? I've got an easy day tomorrow so I can say out fairly late. Got plans for another club with Guy, after you and I eat somewhere. What do you say?"

Rosa yawned. "Sure, sounds good. An adult club, right?"

"That's right, you can't take Dave," Serena giggled.

"Damn, he was hot," Rosa breathed. "And just about non-stop!"

"Well, pour youself some coffee and strap on your dancing shoes - but not too much else, just an appetite. I'll be by for you in about an hour, okay?"

Rosa hastily French-pressed another caffeine grind and reprised her poured-into-a-little-black-dress look. The fabric extended only to almost mid-thigh and managed to hide her red thong. A coral-and-silver choker for tonight, with matching ear-danglers and bracelets; danceable black pumps; the spun silver clutch again, and a shimmering shawl for cover. Look out, world!

Serena looked stunning when she arrived, showcased in black sneakers, black microskirt, sheer black almost-a-sports-bra halter top, and fiery obsidian studs in her right ear and left nostril. Little was concealed; the cameltoe in her black thong was obvious. A faux-tattoo on her shoulder said "Daddy".

"We'll kill them, won't we?" Rosa asked with a laugh as she hugged her cousin. "We'll leave a trail of warm, bloody bodies in our path."

"Food first. We'll kill them after dinner. It'll be different tonight. I'll tell you along the way."

Serena speed-shifted her mulberry Celica as if on a Grand Prix course instead of old Stoney Point Road rounding pastures and orchards. I'll bet she's role-playing in her head, Rosa thought, gripping the door handle.

"So we're heading for a different scene, up in the Roseland part of Santa Rosa. It's a mix of barrio, and high-tech, and junior-college folks. A little funkier than Cotati, a little - well, you'll see. But food first. I know this great new Eritrean-Cuban fusion place..."

The two sexpots stunned the helpless servers at the bare-bones bistro. They equally impressed the bouncer inside TANGERINE, the warehouse dance club.

"Yo, Serena, you got a license for those babies?" The husky Dominican waved at her barely-encased tits. "There going to be trouble tonight? I sure hope so! Hey, you brought your sister, maybe? Ain't seen you before, beautiful. "

Serena grinned dangerously. "Watch out, 'Mando. You better be careful with my cousin Rosa. She's more lethal than she looks."

"Looks like there's gonna be blood on the pavement tonight. Leave a few survivors, okay?" He stamped their hands with holographic ink.

With that, they were off and dancing. Drinks materialized in their hands. Hands materialized on their butts. Butts materialized in their groins. Nguyen materialized at Serena's side and swept her away. Rosa dematerialized a few times but always returned, looking happy.

TANGERINE featured a a half-oval bar along one wall, a huge open dance space, a monstrous sound system, and many, many private nooks around the perimeter.

Rosa had fun in those nooks. In one, a short Samoan woman knelt to push her thong aside and methodically eat her, and Rosa returned the favor. They exchanged phone numbers. In another, she bent to blow a tall young Moroccan man while a blond student, not as good-looking nor adept as Dave, slid his condom-clad cock rhythmically into her. He was not the only one. In yet another, she jerked-off two Korean men (wearing only sandals and jockstraps) while they French-kissed passionately. She took care to aim their sperm-sprays well away from her black dress.

And so it went. Despite the fleshy fun, Rosa managed to dance herself into near-ecstatic exhaustion. Damn, I must have sweated-off a couple kilos, she thought as she slugged her dozenth or so electrolyte-laden vodka fizz.

Serena and Nguyen came to collect Rosa right after midnight. Their ride home was quiet; everybody was tired. Nguyen did not seem too bothered when Rosa begged-off his invitation to sleepover with them.

*****

FRIDAY

Rosa took herself on a longer, slower run Friday morning. This was not a day for a mindless Zen jog. She asked herself, how much did I drink yesterday? All the sangria and cocktails and fizzes, ¡hijole!. I am not eighteen and immortal anymore. I better slow down.

Oh, but the sex... She wondered if Serena had other clubs, other scenes, other crowds to slide her into. Support group? I don't need a metaphysical support group - the club kids support me quite well, muchas gracias.

How long can she keep this up? I do not know; I just started, she thought.

Blue jays flitted past as she jogged under ancient oaks. A calf ran beside her beyond a wire fence, then turned away to return to mama. A jet left an expanding contrail high overhead. The offshore breeze brought a salt tang to Rosa's sharp nose. Perspiration poured off her. No, humans do not sweat-out toxins - they only smell like it.

Rosa finished a third round of her circuit and headed home. A tidy shower; cream shorts and a red J-LO tee; hot coffee and huevos Mexicana (eggs scrambled with dry cheese, tomatoes, and scallions); ThinkPad, notepad, and maps; and she was in her chaise again, like an airy outdoor office. No sangria today.

She made her online sweeps and a call to Cici - nothing new. She looked at her notes and maps. What to do? Ah, she felt like riding. Only mid-morning now - she could go for the rest of the day, easy. But where to?

A mark on the map caught her eye. Hmmm, hot springs. Wonder what that one is like? She googled the locale... and got hits describing gerbil-pile sex, biker raids, and health-code violations. She shuddered.

She finally picked a route: north through the Russian River wine country; west on a winding dirt track over the rugged Coast Ranges to the Pacific; down the twisty coast highway to Bodega Bay and back home. A few hours of road time, a couple hours to rest along the way. Fine.

Rosa inserted herself into riding leathers and boots and headed north. She rolled through near-harvest vineyards to the burgeoning corporate-hip town of Healdsburg. Whew, she thought, LOTS of wine money here! She circled the shaded little village plaza, so like a Mexican centro, and smaller and hipper than historic Sonoma.

The road to Warm Springs and Lake Sonoma crossed more vineyards before twisting into the coastal mountains. The lake was a blue spidery hand set in steep green ravines. A wildfire burned across the lake; helicopters and air tankers swarmed like pissing gnats around the rising smoke. Rosa watched from a craftwork observation tower, sipped her Gatorade, and rode on.

Rosa stretched her riding abilities on the long rugged gravel mountain road. She skidded her Husqvarna too close to steep edges more than once, saved more by luck than skill. She finally reached the ocean. What a workout!

The ride south along the rocky coast refreshed Rosa immensely. So did a belated Indian lunch at Sizzling Tandoor on the south side of the Russian River's mouth. Fine food, great view, surly service. Hmmm...

Her phone sang as Rosa sipped her third perfect chai masala.

"Hi Serena, what goes?"

"Well, could go better. I had Friday night plans for us but there's a crisis at work and I'll be slaving away till midnight or later. Somebody probably pissed on a server; we've got a lot to restore and verify. Anyway, tonight is fucked. You okay on your own?"

"Yeah, I guess. I'm out riding now, up north a ways from Bodega Bay. Guess I don't need to rush home."

"Damn, I wish I was out there with you! You might as well ride this weekend. I'll be physically and mentally out of it, and a storm is due next week. Yeah, have fun while you can."

"I'll do my best. Good luck at work. I'll see you when I see you."

Rosa found twisty but paved roads across the coast ranges. Back home, in the shower, sudsing under the warmth, she trolled for ideas. Return to one of the clubs? Go searching on her own? Call one of her new friends, maybe for a date? She wondered if Ayesha was free - and if it was smart to hook up with a woman she would be working with in a few days. No, better to postpone her. Who else was possible? Dave again? No, too soon. Who else?

She decided on the first club, LOS POZAS in Cotati. She knew the place now and it was not far away.

Tonight's attire would be different - it had to be minimal slutwear. Sapphire sports bra and skintight short-shorts, nothing more, fit snugly under her riding leathers. Could she dance in her demon-red riding boots? No, better take sneakers.

She watched the sunset from her back deck, and then wandered inside and made a lazy burrito and French-pressed coffee for dinner. She rested a bit before telling herself, "Time to go."

She rode to the club, stripped-down in the unisex restroom, and checked her riding garb with the bartender. Then, she danced. And danced. And played.

Rosa had danced with many and played with a few when she felt hands on her shoulders. She glanced back and found Nguyen bumping his groin into her butt. Her animal-magnetism compass started spinning wildly. He looked like an ad for unfiltered cigarettes. She did not want to deal with him now.

"Hey girl, how you doing?" Nguyen had to shout over the music. "You having a good time here, I can tell." That was not a question. "How about we get together later? Back at the condo, yeah?" He squeezed her arms.

"Yeah, maybe later, Guy. Ummm, I've got to pee now. See you in a bit." She peeled away to the restroom, stopping at the bar first to retrieve her gear. She'd had enough excitement already tonight. Two minutes later she was out the door, on her bike, and gone.

She rode carefully. She was buzzed on caffeine and adrenaline tonight, not alcohol, but she took no chances.

She also did not ride straight home. She cruised business streets in districts around the university and noted a few bars and clubs that looked active. Not surprising on a Friday night, right?

Rosa walked into her studio just before midnight. That is pretty early any day in Mexico, and on weekends here in El Norte, she thought. But I need to adjust myself to Gringo schedules again, for the job, yeah.

The knock on her door came before she could strip out of her leathers. Good thing; she had a fair idea of who was there. "Hi, Guy; what's up?" She held the door half-open, not invitingly.

"Hiya Rosa baby, you lonely tonight? I know I am." He peered past her into the room. "Got anyone here? No? Maybe we could snuggle some, hey? I've got a bottle of good sake and a chunk of primo Humboldt hash. We can party good, real good. Whaddya say, baby?" His smile was not exactly charming.

Rosa crossed her arms on her breasts. "Look, Guy, you're Serena's guy, not mine. I don't mind playing when she's here and part of it. But she's not here and I'm not going to play with her guy when she isn't. Remember, I had vows and rules when I was married? Well, I still have standards and rules, and that's one. No poaching on Serena, no way."

The Tonkinese man tried to turn on his charm, but his animal magnetism seemed somewhat demagnetized now. Rosa did NOT like the vibes he broadcast. Yes, he is TOO creepy, she thought.

More barely-disguised pleading brought Nguyen no closer to his goal. His try-to-be-charming smile was strained.

"I'm going to sleep now, Guy. Alone. Good night. I'll see you with Serena, tomorrow maybe. Buenos noches. Adios. Sweet dreams." She eased her door shut and quietly threw the latch. Whew!

*****

SATURDAY-SUNDAY

Rosa flipped a quarter to choose a route to ride Saturday. West and north were out, so would she go south, or east? It landed tails-up: south. Hello, San Francisco. She donned her skintight garb and headed down US-101.

First, stop in San Rafael. No mail in her post-office box, and she had not expected any yet. Then, roll through the affluent suburbs crawling up steep luscious hills. She left the freeway just north of the Golden Gate Bridge to ride the Marin Headlands clifftop drive. Dramatic vistas nearly overwhelmed her. This is fucking GORGEOUS, she thought. Much better than Acapulco.

To the west: a fog bank on the horizon. Ships steaming under the huge orange suspension bridge. Swells from a distant storm breaking against the coast.

To the east: a flotilla of yachts on the Bay, tiny sails fluttering far below. Bay-tour ships and ferries. Alcatraz Island. The East Bay hills looming over Berkeley and Oakland. Puffy white clouds around Mount Diablo.

You want details of her tour of The City? Yada yada. She rode the mandatory Fortynine-Mile Scenic Drive through neighborhoods and parks, along shores, over hills, all that. She putted down Grant Avenue in Chinatown, and Haight Street in the old hippie district, and atop Twin Peaks. Tourist stuff.

She stopped at a rip-off-priced electronics store near Fisherman's Wharf and bought a GoPro camera to mount on her helmet. If I'm a tourist, she thought, I'll be a total tourista and record everything. Yeah, videos of where I've been - that'll make it hard to forget.

Early afternoon: Rosa occupied a sidewalk table in artsy North Beach sipping tart espresso and munching almond biscotti. Passersby noticed her curvy form and instinctively twitched. She frowned when her phone trilled La Macarena.

"'Lo there, Serena. How's your head? And the rest of you?"

"Oh fuck, I'm about dead. At least I didn't have to pull an all-nighter. But I didn't get home till fucking two in the morning, shit. I'm almost okay now. I just got up, had one coffee, might be human again in an hour. How'd it go with you?"