As is so often the case, I have no reason for this brief story. I only hope for your enjoyment. 'Bolivia' because, let's face it, what else is there in life?

Flaxen Mastery

'It was a blonde. A blonde to make a bishop kick a hole in a stained glass window.'
(Farewell, My Lovely, Raymond Chandler 1940)

When the stranger had called his name in the nowhere that defines any space in the Middle East, he'd known without turning that she'd be a blonde. And a superior specimen at that. Such a sultry tone never seemed to escape ugly lips; miraculous though it was that a law enforcer failed to disappoint. And when he'd faced the agent who would herald his inevitable return, he'd already decided how his name would sound if spoken in a position other than vertical.

His was a problem not remedied by multi-skilled brunettes or viciously creative redheads so recently in his many rented beds. It's an evil shade, this sun-kissed hue his hands itched to grasp by the greedy handful. That he wasn't one for self-denial brought a host of troubles frequently worth even an unsavory cost.

Blondes were a revelation, a quick path to a seismic religious experience. But clearly the holy, righteous Lord hated him, endowing him with a sinister appetite that stirred an avalanche every time an example of God's flaxen mastery walked past with legs longer than his criminal record. And yet completion always found him stridently praising the Maker whenever golden strands accompanied the body beneath him. He wouldn't refuse darker shades, but in comparison that aching pinnacle arrived with noticeable hollowness.

On a night when the celestial bodies were smothered by a tar-coated sky that, she remarked, was cut from the pattern's soul, he admitted his predilection for fair-haired women. A casual toss of loose hair he'd yet to clutch with covetous fingers and he ready to confess a great deal more. Only, shortly thereafter, he stopped speaking altogether.

Because her hand was where it shouldn't be. Clearly the sacred, blameless Lord loved him, forgiving even his most inventively constructed transgressions. The proof of this was meticulously investigated in an adequate vehicle under an erratic street lamp. Soon the stubble she disclosed as a turn on was brushed against the apex of evidence that her shade is entirely natural.

And it all got quite biblical from there.

Zaedah thanks the faithful readers who keep coming back for more. Particularly TrippyCookie, Beaglicious, Piratesmiley, Xeen Cyr, Noturgur, Medicgirl, Ocein & Wjobsessed. And of course, Sare K who never logs in! Thank you all for your recent and very kind visits to my cyber-droolings.