Purrrfect!

Sometimes when I find myself by necessity in between writing projects, I try to keep my creative brain cells from atrophying by mentally working on my descriptive scenes. It's pretty easy to do, considering some of the mundane things I have to do in order to keep myself functioning in this world. At least that's what I tell my compadre from time to time.

Have you had the chance to meet my compadre yet? No? Well, let me tell you about my compadre.

She is a few inches taller than me, lithe, yet ruggedly built from a lifetime spent working and living in the mountains. When you see her galloping down the mountainside on her chestnut mare, with her waist length red hair trailing behind like a fiery comet and the sun expertly accentuating the hint of mushroom that is her skin, your jaw will simply drop in amazement.

Your heart starts to skip a beat as the mountain scent grows stronger and threatens to overload your senses, but just as quick it leaps into your throat the second she comes crashing to a halt in front of you.

She leaps off her horse and gives her minion a hard shove to the ground. She quickly follows that up by placing her boot on his throat and throwing a hairbrush at him. As he's reaching for the brush, she suddenly flips to hunter's mode and drops a hard punch to his stomach. Satisfied that he wasn't going to move anytime soon, she walks over to her quarry.

Damn! I hate it when she does that to me. I wish she would have a little faith in me. Jesus Christ almighty, I think she cracked a rib. Anyways, as you can see, my compadre is dressed to kill: her fiery red hair compliments the almost skin tight black leather outfit which expertly accentuates her weaponry; her lipstick and fingernail polish the bloodiest red you'll ever see in your lifetime and the brilliance of the sun being so heavily concentrated in her diamond nose stud that to focus directly on it invites your optic nerves to be fried away.

You quickly start to walk backwards because you are positively convinced that to hang around would cause a permanent change in your genetic code for decades to come. She starts to walk faster towards you and you suddenly freeze in your tracks because you inadvertently looked into her eyes and caught a glimpse of what your short future as a human being on this planet was going to look like.

Before you realize it, she has grabbed your face and the only thing you can see are those two tiny black eyes and a forked tongue lightly flicking at your cheek. Suddenly, she crinkles her nose and frowns. Pursing her lips, she gives your face a couple of hard taps, throws you a smile that causes you to wince in pain and snaps her fingers.

You discover that you can move your feet, so the second she turns her head, you split the scene. In the meantime, she's already focused on her next victim....

"Holy Shit! Oh man, I didn't do nothing! Go pick on someone else for a change!"

In a matter of moments she is on top of her minion delivering blistering slaps to his face and head. Sufficiently stunned, he offers no resistance as she grabs him by the shirt collar and jerks him to his feet. She stares deep into his eyes until the smell of human flesh brings him around.

"Stop frying my brain cells! I need those to function! Without those I am nothing but a piece of meat to you!"

Next thing I know, she draws me closer, flicks her tongue a couple of times and raises an eyebrow. I sigh heavily and reluctantly unbutton her vest and shirt. Unlike before, I only open them far enough until I see cleavage. I stare at the valley that gave me so much pleasure early on in my friendship but now only gives pain and heartache until I get a pounding headache.

I tap the left side of my neck a couple of times and tilt my head. She gives my chin just the lightest of flicks, before opening her mouth and flashing those razor sharp pearly whites of hers. I grab hold of her waist for added support and as I start to lose consciousness I can feel her readjusting her bite so as to get a better flow, and I say to myself, "She is one hot frenemy."

(c)2010 by GBMJr. All rights reserved