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An Intermittent Fantasy
An Intermittent Fantasy
A beautiful maiden was there and I was not sure if the word “maiden” meant she was single or married, so I hesitated next to the lush river of gold until she removed her clothing and extended an index finger to me, saying, “Come hither, come hither.”
In the backseat it seems my oldest daughter thought it funny to stick gum in my son’s hair. The middle child, Elaina, laughed hysterically as my son cried. We were two hours into our drive to Orlando...still miles and adventures away.
As I walked toward this maiden, who I could tell now was a princess by the many jewels that covered her ample and youthful breasts (Enough so that I could not really see anything, although I thought I could see a half nipple), I noted an evil stench which I thought certain must be the fiery breath of the dragon said to inhabit these woods. I hurried to protect her and vouchsafed her security.
“Who farted,” my wife shouted in a punitive tone. “Seriously, John. These kids are out of control.” To which I replied, “What do you want me to do about it.” Elaina leaned between my wife and I, hollered, “Quick, roll down the windows before I puke.”
The princess had such powers that when she blew her sweet breath in his direction the dragon simply redirected himself out the window. I marched on, heading toward her beauty, enthralled with her sensual beneficence. For a moment, while climbing a small, though steep, hillock, I lost sight of her. And then, as though the gods had touched me, when I crested the hillock I stood before her. Oh, how her richly textured hair touched the ground, leaving a trail of forget-me-nots wherever it swept. Oh, how her lips pouted for a magnificent kiss, the unsubtle entry into the blind desire that would explode on the bed of pillows, ensconced in a sheer protective mist that followed the princess wherever she moved.
Rain fell and pounded the car. My wife convinced me to pull over at a truck stop near Louisville. The kids went into the truck stop to play video games. My wife read People. We would be here awhile. A randy recollection of a road trip years ago. We stopped in at rest stop on moonlit night and stole fifteen minutes of pleasure parked between sleeping Peterbilts and Freightliners. This prompted a move that worked in days gone by like a charm; I put my hand on my wife’s upper thigh while we waited for the kids.
At last we touched, the princess and I, and I felt shocks of joy and waves of terror fly through my body. The world was no longer there. Fear of the dragon was gone. Fear of my woodland life of poverty was gone. No more would I chase away evil land barons who preyed on impoverished farmers. No more would I settle for lesser damsels, whose behinds would grow after giving birth, and whose breasts, though ample, would struggle against gravity. The world of deprivation had ended. My heroic days of silent struggle on behalf of all things good had finally paid handsomely. The princess would be mine, and I would be hers.
“John, please.” To which I replied, “Come on, honey. This is our vacation, too.” To which she replied, “Yes, and I want to spend my time reading in silence. Without distraction.” My wife turned toward me, People magazine cutting off any hope of even the most modest of kisses. My hand returned to the steering wheel. The princess faded completely somewhere around Chattanooga. Near Atlanta I began playing professional basketball and dating several pom pom girls.
Eric V. Neagu lives in Chicago, where he works as a consultant. Eric has degrees from Purdue University and The University of Chicago. His fiction has appeared in Bartleby Snopes, The Pedestal Magazine, Bewildering Stories, Aphelion, and many other journals. In addition to fiction writing, Eric spends time working on environmental issues in post-industrial communities. He is working on his first novel and a documentary about the Great Lakes.
Email: Eric V. Neagu
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