Several days a week Vladimir Karlov can be seen strolling through the many parks that design his postal district. Some parks have playgrounds with tire swings and brightly colored monkey bars, while others are just long expanses of grass overrun with Frisbees and dogs. Others still, are simple “bench parks,” as he came to call them, where people, usually new couples and the elderly, sit and quietly converse about things Vladimir is much too busy to care about. Still, he listens all the same and though he is uninterested in many of the topics, he looks at the eavesdropping as a way of expanding his world view by learning about the mindless habits, hobbies and holidays of the strangers. On one such occasion, while wandering amongst the benches and their chatter, he thought to himself, “Vladimir Karlov, have yourself a seat.” So, twelve-year-old Vladimir Karlov did just that. He unbuttoned his coat, crossed his legs, and looked up just in time to gaze upon the new savior of all his ailments and creator of all his heartache. There before him, filling white cotton, was the ass of a woman that curved and crushed the skinny black cushion of a bicycle seat, whose springs bounced and played under the teasing weight of her gifts, as she rolled by, legs flexing each cheek, one after the other, casually passing him, flowing but firm, sexual but chaste, pure and full and aching. Vladimir Karlov knew nothing more. That night while Vladimir Karlov was putting on his cashmere scarf, he thought about how much darker his eyes had gotten since the previous day. This, he thought, could only be attributed to his new found discovery of the female ass, or derriere, as Serena had jokingly called it so long ago. Serena was the reason he wore a scarf. The one he was currently tying around his neck with a certain fetishist's attention was a long red number that she had given to him on the anniversary of her country's independence. He had never been sure as to which country she was referring to, but from her accent and the casual grace of her make up application, he had always assumed it was of the Balkans, an area even he, with his expansive knowledge of world history and geography, could never quite figure out. Serena had been drinking quite a bit on that night. It seems many do in celebration of their particular country's independence, something Vladimir had never been accustomed to doing. Why drink on one day more than any other? he always thought. “Drink each night the same as the next and at no point will you ever feel the need to purchase anybody a red cashmere scarf.” “Vladimir Karlov,” he spoke clearly into the mirror, “our eyes are darker than they were yesterday this time, what have you eaten?” With scarf tied, the perfect amount of fabric hanging and tucked, twelve-year-old Vladimir Karlov sets out to find the woman on the bike. His first stop of the evening is a bar with a stage that has lost its purpose. The lights are always out over it and, if you hadn't been there before, it was very easy to run into. He had seen many a man, with arm around his date, barrel into the low-lying stage, sending his drink and his date flying across the room and into the lap of another man. The culprit and the victim were both red faced, one from embarrassment turned anger, the other from shocked-arousal-turned-defense. From Vladimir's experience, the culprit never takes too kindly to the man whose crotch his woman's face had just fallen into. However, Vladimir always agreed with the victim, for if a lady wants to get in there so bad, who was he to stop her, in public no less. After all, he wouldn't want anybody thinking he was a fancy boy. After the accident, a small skirmish would surely break out and would finally be calmed when the lady, whose mouth was just a few breaths away from another man's erect gender preference, would kiss her beau, pull him to the bar, and convince Henry the ol' bartender to replace the drink at no cost. Vladimir used to sit near the stage for just such an occasion to occur, but the inevitable stains on his blazer from whatever red concoction the ladies were always drinking was never worth the quick thrill of their faces so close to fulfilling him. Vladimir needed much more than that, much more than that indeed. Vladimir needed the ass of that afternoon, all else was made for perverts and college boys. Vladimir was looking for his woman. He approached the bar and started in with the questioning. “You seen her tonight, Henry ol' boy?” “Seen who, Vlad?” “My girl, Henry. My girl.” “Not sure who you mean, Vlad.” “She's a real beaut, Henry, a real beaut.” “I believe it, Vlad.” “Well, Henry, here's how it goes.” “Lay it on me, Vlad.” “Get a strong one to get me started because this one, oh this one has really got me worked up. More worked up than I've been in a while, Henry. Not since Serena have I been like this. You remember Serena, Henry?” “Sure I do, Vlad, kept to herself if I remember correct, but still quite a number, black hair, pale skin, and always with the dresses and red lipstick.” “Yeah that's right, Henry, red lip stick, black hair, dresses and all. Boy I forgot she had ever been quiet, but now that you say so, she was pretty quiet most of the time, wasn't she?” “S'far as I can remember, Vlad.” “You got yourself quite a memory, Henry, quite a memory indeed.” “It's a part of the job, Vlad.” “And you do a helluva job doing it. So I'll ask you again, Henry, you seen my girl tonight?” “Can't say that I have, Vlad, can't say that I have.” Vladimir drinks the potion.“Darker than usual, Henry.” “How's that, Vlad?” “My eyes, the scotch, it all seems darker tonight.” “Could be, Vlad, could be.” “Well no use dwelling on it, might as well fill ‘er up, dark or light, I can't do without it.” Henry fills up the glass again. Vladimir drinks it down and looks around the room. He looks harder and harder with his darkening brown eyes. He doesn't see a bike rider amongst the entire crowd. He thought for a second that a girl in the corner could be a bike rider, but he changed his mind when she moved from the corner and into the soft light of the entrance. Nope. That dress didn't ride bikes. Not enough meat. Bike riders ate meat and she was nothing more than a grazer. Nothing doing, Vladimir thought. “Nothing doing, Henry.” “Nothing doing, Vlad?” “Nope, nothing at all. Thought for a second I'd had a bite, but seeing as I don't fish all that often, my luck would've had to of been pretty good for it to be her – and you probably know more than anybody, Henry, my luck just ain't that good.” “Seeing as it's pretty early, why don't you wait her out, Vlad?” “I'm not one to wait things out, Henry, you probably know more than anybody I'm not one to wait things out.” And it was true, Vladimir was never one to wait things out. At the age of seven, Vladimir Karlov had purchased a large plot of land in the Ohio River valley, right along the water. There were stables and acres upon acres of open greenery, with expanses of uncut timber and sunflowers. The deed to the land went for auction when the cathedral bells sounded off at ten in the morning. Immediately, the echoes and calls of absent-minded bidders filled the courtroom. The bids were low, cheap and useless, each bidder barely topping the other as if it were a game of hearts and the prize was a carrot cake made by some pastor's wife. But seeing as Vladimir Karlov had never been fond of carrot cake and though he could have bought the land for much cheaper, he called out the highest bid by seven times the amount of anybody in the room - one multiple for each year he had lived and desired a plot of land with stables, trees, grass, and sunflowers, right along the water's edge. “What's it gonna be then, Vlad?” “It's gonna be another, Henry, and then I'm off.” The next bar had green tables and green walls. Green bar and green door. He had never understood all the green, but not being one to over extend his boundaries when it came to interior design, he had always kept his questions to himself. Vladimir also found green to be quite appealing, for it always seemed to make breasts and asses look bigger and perkier. Green was far and away Vladimir Karlov's favorite color. Vladimir gave a good look around. Asses and breasts shot from every direction and it was hard for him to stay focused on the business at hand, for no matter how devout his passion was for the bike woman's gifts, his efforts were tested with every step he took toward the bar. The green did its job real well and the only thing to calm him down was the warmth of the darkening scotch. “Fill ‘er up, Henry.” “Real nice scarf, Vlad.” “Thanks Henry, Serena gave it to me so long ago.” “Red lips, black hair?” “That's right, Henry, red lips, black hair.” “You seem like you got something on your mind, Vlad.” “She's out there, Henry, just gotta find her is all, but she's out there.” “You bet she is, Vlad, you bet she is.” Vladimir takes the new drink and starts in on it real quick. He surveys the room. There are some potential bike riders, but one can never be sure when there's green everywhere. Everything is extended and enhanced and Vladimir is not one to be fooled into taking the less and thinking it more. He sees his eyes in the mirror beyond the bar and they are browner and wetter than ever. That red scarf though, boy is it looking good, he thinks. “Scarf's looking real good eh, Henry?” “Sure is, Vlad.” “Still not sure what I think about it, Henry, not sure what I think about it at all.” “Real nice scarf, Vlad.” “Thanks Henry, it's growing on me too. Why don't you fill me up and it'll grow on me even more.” “You find her yet?” “Can't tell with all this green, Henry. Might have to head someplace else just to make sure.” “Seems as good a plan as any, Vlad.” Vladimir drinks down the scotch and eyes a woman alone near the door, hanging her coat or taking her coat, he could never tell. Vladimir moves to her in long strides.“Are you giving your coat or getting your coat, young lady?” She was giving her coat. “So you mean to stay here for some time then?” She did. “I'm looking for a woman that rides a bike through the park. I'm looking to take her home and be warmed by her ass. It's perfectly round and pressing. I'm warming just thinking about it.” She wished him good luck. “Thank you, young lady. You look like you might be a bike rider yourself, but I can tell by the way you hang your coat, you're not. If it were any other night I'd love to be warmed by your ass and your breasts, but seeing as it's not any other night, I have no choice but to leave you and move on.” She understands. With that, Vladimir steps out into the cold and moves down the boulevard, the ass of his bike rider now all that exists in his mind as he fingers the cashmere and smells the sidewalk. Vladimir, walking and twisting alone, suddenly awakes when a rush of scented gifts, frankincense and myrrh, and all the classics, embodied in a woman, full and fast, rushes passed him on a bike with the biggest wheels he's ever seen. The wheels are as tall as him and boy are they moving. With the stretch and pull of each leg under her bright red dress, the bike moves ten more feet away. Vladimir charges in pursuit of her long legs, which pull and reach and reach and pull, and her ass flexes and flexes and flexes. Even against his will, he can't help but hope her ass and legs will relax. “Please relax! Please relax and let me catch you, let me hold you, please let me hold you!” Vladimir yells aloud after the woman, but the bike keeps moving ten feet away and ten feet away. He is losing too much ground to his biker woman dream. He can't breathe fast enough and he can't run fast enough. He has too much clothing on. It's all weighing him down. So he runs and strips, throwing his red scarf to the ground and then his black opera coat. Vladimir runs 'til he's wearing nothing but shoes and pants, but no matter the clothing he sheds, he can't breathe any faster, he can't move any faster. The wheels are just too big for Vladimir. The wheels are too round for him.
© 2006 Tyke Johnson |