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Too Hot

Posted on January 23, 2007
Filed Under The Stories |

It has to be something in the air, Zereah thought to herself as another bullet of sweat streaked down her neck towards the dark shadow of her cleavage. It didn’t matter that the air-conditioning was on. Not in her car, not in the office and definitely not while she was trying to catch some much-needed sleep in her bedroom at night. Somehow her body knew, even though her eyes weren’t seeing it at the moment, that it was hot outside. So she was sweating. Not a ladylike mist either; full on, pooling in armpits, staining skirt and panties waistbands, causing bra straps to chafe sweating. Through it all, she had to process the photographs, come up with zingy captions and make up salacious innuendo.

These are not appropriate conditions for gossip-mongering, she thought. How am I supposed to put insulting thoughts in stupid people’s mouths when I’m sweating so much?

Suddenly, without warning, she jumped. Not in an, I’ve-seen-a-spider-and-I-need-to-clutch-the-ceiling way, more in the clenched-butt, bug-eyed way that someone jumps when they’ve discovered a cold, from the air-conditioning, string of sweat heading single-mindedly towards her pleasure patch,

This is why I shouldn’t shave.

The heat should have made it impossible for people to initiate any physical contact without feeling filthy enough to need an immediate shower. But somehow, famous people were finding ever more skinny excuses to rendezvous in broad daylight, be captured by the hyperactive lenses of roving paparazzi and have said dalliances plastered across the front pages of most major supermarket tabloids. This is where Zereah came in. She had to make it all seem funny. She had to become the interface between the sad-sack tabloid buyer and the fine-living tabloid fodder. She had to make them connect through the use of a cleverly strung-together set of words that conveyed the common man’s disdain for the celebrity hook-up, especially when it was between two people who couldn’t be more mismatched if they set out to be so.

She scrolled through the pictures one more time, discreetly rubbing her thighs together so that the offending sweat stream was quashed before it could travel to parts giggle-inducing and there it was, the dumb-blonde face of the only dimwit who had more trouble keeping her legs together than she did dressing herself after. Was her dress really on backwards? Did she think she could pass it off as a tribute to her rediscovery of her Kriss Kross CD?

As the words slowly trickled their way from her desperately searching brain to the computer screen, Zereah realized that she could use a good roll in the hay herself. Sex just isn’t worth writing about if you’re not getting some yourself, she thought to herself,

Damn the celebrities and their infernal affairs! No matter how hard we try, they always make our lives look bad

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