(This was written by the scavengers of Snell-Hitchcock dorm and submitted by a Miss Goldberg - Ulli)
It always begins the same way. I am reclining by Botany Pond. My feet dangle, the toes dipping languidly in the water. I am testing its warmth and attending to my terrapin's needs. I feel so alone, as if there is an empty cavern within me. I hum, you couldn't tell that I've been cry-i-i-ing over you... Suddenly I hear a full-throated tenor voice call out to me, "Pretty woman! What a lovely terrapin you have."
I turn with a torpid sigh. It could not possibly be the man of my dreams, but, lo and behold, it is he. Roy Orbison steps out from behind the ancient stone archway and runs his hand languorously through his raven locks.
"Hello, Roy," I say breathlessly, "Thank you kindly, but I am not walking down the street." I blush. "Also, my terrapin is named Jetta."
"You do not need to walk down the street to be pretty, my dear," responds the dark-haired and glamorous Roy huskily. His voice excites butterflies in the core of my being. "You are prettier than a picture," he says dashingly.
I feel my heart swelling within me into bliss. I hardly dare to believe, but I long to believe that dreams really do come true. The days of my loneliness seem distant. I have sat by this pond so often, while students walked around me talking of breeder reactors or an ugly but useful armadillo. All those times, as lonely as a single planet in vast space.
"I would have it that I am here for you, my sweet," he says. "How shall I comfort you?"
Every ounce of my throbbing heart yearns to tell him what I felt, what I thought, what I needed.
"I..." I pause, trying to regain some composure. "Roy, if I may asků" I pause, almost ashamed.
"What is it, my dear?" he asks.
This, at last, gives me the courage to speak.
"May I perchance wrap you in clingfilm? It would please me greatly, and I am certain that I can do it with but a single roll," I say passionately, unable to hold back any longer.
Roy pauses. He gives me a long, measured look with his penetrating eyes.
"Yes," he says. "If you can, you may join me on stage at my next concert, a reward for your toils and a gift for a beautiful woman. However, if you fail, the beautiful terrapin that has so titillated my eyes is mine."
The stakes are high, but I am most ecstatic. Never before have I felt such distended satisfaction, such surging power.
I invite him into my living room and bid him stand in the center of the room. I refrain just barely from sighing with delight as I survey the gallant figure that he cuts. I bring forth the clingfilm.
I begin at his ankles, working up his body slowly. I relish each voluptuous moment of clingfilm adhering to his clothes, his smooth skin. I wrap him like a caterpillar in his cocoon, pupating until I would set him free. He is covered head to toe in glistening clingfilm, perfectly fettered and at my mercy. The light hits him in a ray of glorious sun and the clingfilm lights up like a thousand shimmering stars.
"You win, my dear," his muffled, but still mellifluous voice says from within his gleaming cocoon. "I would beg your indulgence now to set me free of my bonds."
"No, Roy," I respond, overwhelmed with confidence and certainty. "I will keep you here for another hour." A giggle slips out of me.
I lay Roy gently down on my couch, his entrapped form an alluring translucence against the cushions. We talk for a while on subjects banal. His muffled voice thrills me, and I feel something stirring deep within me. I imagine that it is the effect of great admiration and happiness. His frustration swells, but I harden my heart to his pleas for release. Eventually, I stand to tend to Jetta's needs. When I return, I find that he has fled from the house; how, I do not know.
No ticket comes, no invitation to join him on stage at his concert. I muse, with regret, that I may never hear from him again.
Weeks later, an anonymous letter arrives at my door. It reads, quite simply, "You were so beautiful." I hold it to my heart and know, deep down, that I had accomplished something; that someone had noticed me; that I am no longer alone.
A deep, melodic voice sings out, "oh yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah... only the lonely..." The voice fades into the distance, leaving me only with only broken dreams and an aching heart.
It always starts the same way.
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