Perky Girl on Rollerblades

The following is my entry into the NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Contest – had 24hrs to write a 1k word thriller, set in a tanning salon which had to have rollerblades incorporated into it. As Joan Collins once said, I adore a challenge. Pleased to say out of the thirty people, where only the top 15 were considered “placed”, I scored the 14th spot with this story and got points to help me progress in round two.

So here, for your pleasure my gentle reader is: Perky Girl on Rollerblades.

Tuesdays, 3 pm.

That was his standing appointment. The forty-five-minutes a week secret behind his self-proclaimed all-natural, California glow. Which made Del Ray’s, a run-down, beach adjacent tanning salon, the single stop on producer Tate Ander’s schedule that didn’t include his entourage.

Amelia paid a lot for that piece of information, and with more than money. As she hugged the front counter,  rocked back and forth on her purple rollerblades, and pretended to not notice Tate Anders walk up for his appointment. It had been worth everything. She smiled at him.

Perky Girl on Rollerblades. It had been the part Amelia had gone to read for Tate Ander’s next movie. When she was still hopeful. When she went by Jane. The part was small, but a tiny part in a big movie was still good for getting noticed. He pushed his agenda. She resisted. He took her anyway. The part went to another girl, and Jane was tossed aside broken.

Amelia took that perky girl on rollerblades persona and crafted it as her own. She wore the rollerblades everywhere. Squeezed into outfits that left little to the imagination and embodied the upbeat perky attitude. It worked. The new look and attitude got info and Tate’s schedule. From it she discovered the onl y moment she’d be able to get him alone.

Getting hired at Del Ray’s had been a challenge. There wasn’t an opportunity, so she created one. After their receptionist failed to show up. The third time in a week. It took little to convince the owner, Zak, to give her the job. Especially after their vigorous interview. A few weeks to gain everyone’s trust, and then efforts focused on casually flirting with Tate. After each time, she’d throw up in bathroom.

“You alone?” Tate was pleased when she nodded her head and bit her finger. The groundwork had paid off. Presented with the chance for it to be just them, he couldn’t resist.

Amelia traced her fingers along her collarbone. Then walked them down between her breast as she explained it was just her. His eyes were drawn where she wanted them, and like an obedient dog, he followed. She didn’t want to risk him recognizing her, not just yet. Not after all she’d planned.

The fake appointments for that afternoon. The same ones who called and canceled in the morning. Amelia convinced Zak that the newly opened window was the perfect chance to take the staff out for lunch. She graciously volunteered to remain behind. There was only one customer at three, and she’d take care of him.

Amelia wheeled around the counter and tapped her fingers on Tate’s chest motioning for him to follow. “I put us in the back.” She licked her lips and skated backwards down the hall. Her hips pivoted, she spun around a couple times, letting his eyes feast on her. He’d already started undressing as he followed.

It was the last room, and she’d already prepared it for him. She rolled in first and waited for him as he closed the door. “You mind?” She leaned against the tanning bed and stretched out her legs. He hoisted them around his waist and unlaced her rollerblades. His fingers traveled while he slid them off, groped at her thighs, tried to sneak past the edge of her shorts.

Amelia teased that she liked it. Inside she died a little more each minute. Would there be anything of her left? It disgusted her. Having to use her own body as a lure. Once it was done.  There’d be no more touching, no more sex, no more revealing attire. She’d be free the prison she’d crafted to get one moment with him.

Amelia grabbed the small clear, unlabeled plastic bottle from the table next to her. “Let me rub you.” She bit at her bottom lip. Made every glance, every touch, as alluring as possible. He didn’t object. Didn’t question the oil. It repulsed her to touch him, but necessary. She spread the oil covering his body with it. The way he had covered hers with bruises, bites, and shame.

Tate was preoccupied with her ass. Not noticing her rub oil on his face. Through his hair. The rear end he had dismissed as too boring to be on film. It made her laugh. It hadn’t been boring when he decided to hold her down and violate it. As he grabbed it by the handful now, he spoke only of its hypnotic power.

His words made her vomit.

She forced it back and covered with a cough. The sight of the pathetic middle-aged producer made her laugh internally. With his weak erection lazily pointed at her, and a stern look that told her he demanded servicing. It’d be the last time anyone would be forced to see him in that position. No one else would have their dreams destroyed, not like Jane’s.

Amelia paused only once, not to rethink her actions. Those were set in stone. But to savor the power she had reclaimed at that moment. Amelia thought of the other girls as she slowly sunk to her knees and rubbed the oil up his legs. The oil, a gift from a friend who worked in special effects, was highly flammable, yet odorless. She slathered it over his crotch, stroked him with it. He became harder, moaned and pleaded with her to keep going. Amelia obliged his request and ensured his focus remained on the back of his eyelids.

Everything positioned exactly where she had planned. Amelia slid her right hand under the table and grabbed the already lit, soft pink grapefruit scented candle. In those last few moments, she held out hope that he would see through the persona. That he’d register her face, and realize it was the woman he had wrecked.

There would be no such epiphany. His eyes remained closed as she brought the candle to his genitals. She stood back and watched the flames consume him.

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