The Monstrous Storm

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic

The story is about a passionate lover who embraces the new escapade regardless of any danger.

THE MONSTROUS STORM

BY

Sayed H. Rohani

 

With all my hopes torpedoed, my desires wasted, my wishes gone, given the status quo, assuming to be at the last leg of my life journey, and in fact, on my last legs, I am sitting on the grass in New York City’s Central Park, watching a little boy frolicking around and playing with his ball.

I suppose I am that little boy and his ball has been my life with which I have been trifling. Why am I faced with such a notion? Why am I thinking differently? Have I ceased to be a superficial person? The answer is absolutely positive. I have started to experience the depth of things, comprehend the consequences of my actions, and the significance of various events of my life? Does sorrow, does catastrophe teach me a lesson? It appears to be true. Joy touches the surface of one’s mind; sorrow touches the depth.

I am sick and haggard. I am really sick. It is really a pleasant day, but not for me. Yesterday the doctor said that I belong to the hospital, only and only to the hospital. Though I am not old, I am pale and frail. Each and every day I am losing weight. I am only 40, but I am disease-stricken.

This is my story. Ten years ago, I went to Brighton Beach, Brooklyn, to enjoy myself. It was hot summer day, Saturday afternoon. As the day was hot and pleasant, the beachgoers had been lured by such a suitable climate, and therefore, the beach had been strewn with visitors more than any other times.

Frolic and joyful, I swam for long time. Mounting the surges, I swam farther away, surpassing designated lines, so that several times I was warned by the lifeguards’ whistles. Coming out of water, I was strolling to find an empty spot to lie down on the sand. Finally, I found one.

Nearby, I spotted a blond girl, with her beautiful body exposed to the sun, whose pink swimming suit could scarcely protect her aphrodisiac parts. I had encountered many a beautiful lady, but none had influenced me such as this beautiful thing. Many things contributed to her magnetism—her body, the most magnificent source of lure, with legs spread out in the sunshine, lavishly displayed before my eyes athirst for lust; perhaps, the heat; the beach; fun itself. Her posture was very enticing—her body facing upward, with her arms under her head; her enormously high-lifted breasts; her ivory legs now spread out and now archly apart; her bright eyes; her beautiful face aglow with sun.

She found me transfixed looking at her passionately. She, likewise, did not leave my looks unattended, with her face having turned to the left, her light brown hair partly covering her blue eyes, wrinkled against the sun.

“What a nice day!” she exclaimed resonantly.

“Even nicer when a beauty lying nearby,” was my response.

“What’s your name?” she asked with a smile.

“Alexander.”

“Alexander the Great?” she inquired sarcastically, smiling intriguingly.

“Alexander the unknown, the insignificant, or to be truthful, at this moment, Alexander the vanquished.

“Who conquered you?” she inquired mockingly.

“Who can conquer me but you at this moment?” was my response.

“I’m Amber. How do you do?’ We shook hands. I sat beside her, examining her body closely. The more closely I looked at her generously exposed and lavishly gifted body, the more beautiful I found her. I felt that her love began to burgeon in my heart. I was so eager to win her that losing was all the more of a letdown, a dreadful failure.

She was not unaware of my intentions and burning desire, to be sure, the lust, which was ablaze in my heart. She was adroit enough to discover all this in a glance. She was calm, nonchalant, indifferent, and strong. She was strongly committed to set my heart ablaze with her promiscuous and enticing movements, postures, and characteristics.

“I enjoyed swimming a lot,” I said. “I swam passed the line and got control of the biggest surges.”

“So did I,” she added. “I’ve had a great time swimming. How often do you come here?”

“Monthly or bimonthly. I’m very busy.’

“What business do you have?”

“I’m a computer technician, working for a big company in Manhattan.”

“Oh!” exclaimed she, surprised. “I’m looking for a computer technician.”

I felt very proud and excited that my career proved an appropriate catalyst to establish a relationship.

“What’s wrong with your computer?” I asked.

“When using a certain software, all programs are deleted and the computer freezes.”

To prove my dominance over my career, I tended to adopt a serious tone.

“I think your computer has software problem, not hardware, and the software that you’re using is defective. Perhaps it’s infected with virus. I can fix it.”

“When?” she asked.

“Any time. Even today if you want.”

“Thanks, I’ll call you.”

My heart sank when she rejected my demand. From her declination I inferred that she was not that interested in me.’

I gave her my telephone number, but she declined to give me hers. This was another blow of disappointment.

Once again we walked toward the water, swimming, frolicking here and there, mounting the huge surges, braving wild waves’ buffets. I took her hands, dragging her into the waves, but despite my burning desire, I could not attempt to kiss her. In fact, I did not find her prepared for such intimate relationship.

That day we left the beach late in the afternoon. The more I saw her, the more I adored her beauty and pined for her love. The following night, I dwelled in her memory incessantly. Her picture was in my mind; her voice was resonant in my ear, and her love had conquered my entire life. I wished to have her telephone number to contact her, but to no avail.

Several days passed. I heard nothing from her. Almost surrendered to frustration, I thought she had forgotten me, assuming she was not interested in me. Perhaps, I was not her ideal person. Though several girls confessed that I was a handsome man. My light brown hair, brown eyes, well-shaped nose, stature, and my age—all certified my handsomeness. But to me she appeared to be unforgettable.

After a week, it was late Saturday afternoon when she called me and gave me her address to visit her and fix her computer. Although my visit was business wise, hope, once again, started to overcome my frustration. I jumped and bounced, taking a shower, dressing beautifully, and driving to Manhattan, where she lived. I rang her doorbell. She appeared on the threshold, dressed in a minijupe and a thin shirt, with her breasts mostly exposed. Her light make up had added to her beauty and her fragrance started to charm me like a beautiful piece of music—perhaps enticing as Tierson’s “La Dispute.” We greeted each other warmly, but our meeting was businesslike. Even she had a businesslike manner. She led me to her study, where there was her computer. It took me ten minutes to fix it. My assumption proved to be correct. Her computer had been infected with virus. She offered to write me a check. I refused her check and started to open my heart to her, “Amber, believe it or not, I’ve fallen in love with you since last week I saw you first on the beach. I went to live with you forever. I want to marry you.”

“Marry me? How can I marry a strange man with whom I have not spent even a single day?”

“Just promise to marry me,” I beseeched her. I sat beside her on the sofa, holding her hand, pressing her fingers with mine. Despite my expectation, she was calm against such advances. This encouraged me to advance further. I started to kiss her ear, then her cheek, then her lips, and her mouth. She was not only calm and satisfied, but even she began to kiss me. I began to lick her neck, my tongue moving down contacting her breasts. Leading me to her bedroom she undressed herself. So did I.

I marveled at her beauty, “You’re so beautiful, so fascinating. I want to have you forever.”

Lost in lust, I could hear nothing, understand nothing, and could not think of anything but her. At one time, she warned me to protect myself because she had AIDS. But I was indifferent to what she said, as if her words meant nothing. There were a couple of reasons for that. First, at that moment, I felt myself so close to her that I thought her a part of my life; therefore, I assumed that there was a bond between our destinies that could not be broken apart. After all, there was only one explanation that defined all this—I was under the influence of desire.  I traded a few moments of satisfaction for my entire life. My mind was impaired, my soul abandoned, and lust had stormed my entire existence. I thought I had my ideal, but it was the opposite. Just like a mountaineer who has reached the apex of the mountain, but, in fact, his success precipitates a fall of what he has no idea. I thought I was the most successful, the happiest man, whose great desire has been fulfilled. In truth, I turned to be the most miserable. Who knows? Perhaps this is an irony that applies to most human fulfillment.

That evening was the last time I met Amber. I did not see her anymore. I inquired about her. She had been sent away somewhere by her company to take care of certain business. 

Now I’m confined to the hospital, time after time pining away, waiting to hear from death, just like a prisoner sentenced to death who awaits his execution.

 
 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


Submitted: June 08, 2020

© Copyright 2021 sayed h. rohani. All rights reserved.

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