Daydream

A man's fantasy life gets a little too vivid for him | short fiction

Lenny pulled the stark black ’52 Plymouth over to the side of the road, “What the Christin’ Jesus is that!” he said to no one in particular.

Off in the distance something was kicking up quite a disturbance in the field. It could have been an animal of some kind, but whatever it was it was violent and chaotic.

Lenny squinted his eyes real hard and tipped his hat down to block out the sun, but he still couldn’t quite make out what it was. So he decided to lean up against the fender of the Plymouth and wait it out, the day was insanely hot and Leadbelly was playing on the radio and Lenny didn’t have nothin’ better to do.

So he settled and he watched.

Five minutes passed and the thing was still twisting and blowing up dust like a devil in a dustbowl. Lenny’s mind began to wander and the most strange thoughts and visions started presenting themselves to his, normally inactive, right hemisphere.

A scene built itself up frame by frame in his melon shaped head, a scene which found Lenny the unwitting hero of an attempted alien attack. The dust storm he was watching turned out to be a flying saucer and small green men came out and approached Lenny with violence in mind.

Lenny wasn’t afraid because he knew their weakness.

He casually leaned back against his car, took a long puff of his cigar and blew smoke all over the antagonistic little fuckers.. At once they all grabbed their tear drop heads and began screaming in a high pitched warbling tone, their skinny little bodies vibrated and split resulting in a mess of white mush all over the ground. The alien spaceship turned tail and rocketed off like a spooked varmint.

Just then a big black limousine pulled up and a pair of the sexiest legs Lenny had ever seen slinked out of the back door; they belonged to a fiery redhead who was a dead ringer for Lenny’s all time crush, Ann Margret.

She walked up to Lenny slow and sultry and whispered, “Thanks for saving the planet Lenny Harbosch, how can I ever repay you?”

Lenny felt the answer to that question rising in his baggy trousers.

“Well, I. .I. . .I’ll t-t-try to think o’ sumthin’ miss.” Lenny stuttered, the sweat dripping from his brow.

The bombshell looked Lenny up and down with those smokey green eyes and said, “Why don’t you ‘CUM’ back to my car and we’ll talk about it.”

It was about then that poor old Lenny ejaculated in his trousers, standing all alone on the side of highway number six, on a hot summer day, watching a twister.

People are so peculiar.