Rena’s Mazerati Sunset

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maza3RenaMazerati Sunset

Rena and I sat on our hillside watching the western sky turn into a rainbow, and
then beheld the first stars appear in the thalo blue richness of the sky. This
was to be our last night on our mountain before we descend to the land of
mortals below.

I sat above her, and thus she used my legs and knees like a thrown, a leather
bucket seat, her beautiful arms resting on me as I caressed her shoulders. A
warm wind came up through the pines and oaks, and the strong smell of dry golden
grass was like a perfume that still lingers. This aroma is my solace, at knowing
what she had in store, for herself, just herself.

This beautiful Midwest girl was born in the body of Ferrari, a Mazerati, in a
little town in Nebraska, and for seventeen years she lived like a old crone in
the home of her dear Grandmother. My God, she was in a walker at seven!
“Oh, Rena, do be careful! Watch out for those garden pebbles, They can trip you
up! Now, let’s go watch the backward sprinkler till it gets dark.”
Before I came into her life, her plan was to take that beautiful Mazaerati body
to college – and conquer Lincoln – for starters!

Look out Lincoln, here come Rena Ferrari Mazerati, Italian film goddess! Look
for her to burn some rubber down your street on her way to the campus where
there are a hundred good looking men in great bodies, they out of their mother’s
home, too, and there is no one to stop them, all that healthy stuff, the years
they played on the swings and jungle gyms, coming down to this – College Mating
Time!

If I was born in her body, there would be no way you could talk me into parking
my Mazaerati in that old barn in back of the Monastery, then go into the field
and pick potatoes and radishes for the communal stew. No way! I mean, my God,
your’re a godly sex machine, the sexist car alive, and………besides, she had
already parked herself in a little tent atop a mount overlooking the town of
Monte Rio – for forty five fucking days with a hippie who was not going anywhere
in life, because wanting to be someone, is not cool.

O.K. This is/was true! But Rena didn’t have to be anybody either, because she
was so fucking beautiful. It just – grew on her!

Rena wanted to have a few more lovers, that will fine tune her cylinders, her
moves, her love making technique, before she takes it out on the autobahn – and
really opens up!
I was already in her dust, and, was trying to be fair, make it easier on both of
us, by telling her;

“I would do the same thing, if I were you!”

“You would! “Oh thank you! Thank you for releasing me, and approving of
everything I want to do!”

I love Rena like my own daughter. She never knew her father.

Of course I made this conversation up, because, when I pointed out the planet
Pluto to her, I slapped an invisible ball and chain on her ankle while she was
distracted.

“Where’s Pluto?”

“See that tiny little star at the very tip of that pine tree!

About Royal Rosamond Press

I am an artist, a writer, and a theologian.
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