For a full, entire beat, my body, mind and soul are not my own.
My breath dissipates with startling ease, my lungs collapsing on themselves as oxygen exits my brain. I find myself actually suffocating inside my own body while a synthetic penis stares back at me.
It happens so quickly but, somehow, plays out in slow motion; like hitting fast-forward and pause at the same time.
It’s only a second and, yet, it’s enough time for my mind’s lens to vividly capture the image at hand:
A lifelike, purple mold of human male genitalia, laced with protruding, visible veins along a shaft that tops off into a bulbous, mushroom tip. A shorter, curved appendage protrudes from its side, extending into two tiny “ears”.
My hands jerk of their own volition, like a massive shock wave just ripped through each bone they house. Before I realize what’s happening, the box slips right out of them. In a spaz, I accidentally drop it, jolting in my seat like an unattended fire hose.
With the horror of a thousand bloody blades, I watch the vibrator fly out of its habitat…and land on the dashboard.
Right next to Zane’s hand.
I blanch instantaneously, literally feeling my life force drain from my skull. For a split tick, it’s like I’m trapped in a bubble, wrapped up in water and soap film instead of muscles and cartilage, frozen. Unblinking. Unthinking.
My brain scrambles like watery egg whites, its signal lost, irretrievable. A second blends into eternity and back again, and my very existence crumples beneath the weight of reality.
I can’t believe what’s actually happening. What’s taking place.
It genuinely feels like I’m dreaming…until my eyes meet his.
My lips twitch as blood continues to leech out of me. But nothing leaves them. Nothing can.
Impulsively, I reach for the dashboard; pure, reactive instinct taking over, my hands moving on auto-pilot.
And all hell breaks loose.
Without warning, the synthetic, man-made device roars to life at the graze of my fingers. The abrupt motion and sound slams me into another dimension, and I damn near leap out of my own hide.
Crushing mortification descends on me like a beast on the brink of starvation, holding me hostage within my own corporeality as the universe raises its middle finger with a smug grin.
The vibrator turns on, buzzing almost angrily; its loud, electronic hum overshadowing everything, like a swarm of violent bumblebees. Each tremor sends it adrift, roving about on its belly like a slighted, oversized caterpillar, its furious chanting punctuated by the clunky clashes of its head against the driver’s compartment.
And, yet, death shows no mercy, forcing me to live out the most degrading twenty seconds of my life in full.
With the distinct feeling of being remotely controlled, I eventually manage to get a hold of it, my wrists turning to plastic, as though they’re battery-operated, as well. My insides twist themselves into countless knots at the sensation of fleshy silicon gyrating against my palm. A blend of horror and guilt and shame and humiliation.
My skin sears itself a million times over, palpable fire emanating from my ears and cheeks. I can practically feel the sweat on my temples dissipate into a cloud of steam and smoke. In a hysteric daze, I clamor for the off switch, frantically pressing down on every button I can find as hard as I can.
The combination of the phallic object’s electron-driven frenzy and my severely clammy hands ensures each desperate attempt is a Herculean labor, like trying to hold on to a live eel out of water.
It’s as if the thing is throwing a giant, lewd tantrum, screaming at me for no apparent reason. The incessant, obscene drone drives me half way to the loony bin, my hands and heart spasming in tandem with it.
Through a heightened mesh of confusion and madness, I manage to turn it off somehow. Finally, it falls silent, going motionless once more. I grip the inanimate object in a vise, imbued with a piercing urge to strangle the life out of it even though I know it can feel no pain.
Scowling, I fling the little fucker—no pun intended—back into its box, shutting the lid and re-clasping the closure with inhuman speed. Anger swirls inside me, bringing my blood to an uncontained boil. I feel raw. Open. Pulled apart from every direction. Like the cardboard at my feet.
I can’t even accurately describe the degree of humiliation flooding my veins. It’s all I feel as I flip the flaps back in place, holding them closed, as if doing so will make the vibrator beneath them disappear.
Flustered beyond function, I sit there for several seconds, as immobile as the object that just caused my sweeping demise, like I’m waiting to snap out of this insane nightmare. But only audible, labored breathing ensues.
Panting, my gaze slowly travels to Zane again, my heart beating so hard and fast I have to literally place a hand over it. I open my mouth even as it trembles, my hands shaking, as if with residual tremors from the adult toy they just held. I try to apologize, the words getting stuck together in a raspy stutter, my voice choking inside its own box.
The silent driver squarely meets it with his; narrowed, feral eyes looming. Penetrating. My stomach instantaneously ruptures as I watch a grin tickle his beautiful lips, clearly amused.
God, I think I’m going to throw up.
They dip to the package briefly. Intently.
“Your cousin seems awfully thoughtful,” he lauds, starting the ignition and putting the car in drive.