Christian Droulers

Agile and flexible programmer

I wonder what it’s like to be me

Every morning I wake up like any of you. I walk into my bathroom and take a leak, like most of you. I then eat breakfast like all of… Well not much of you. But after, unlike all of you, I take the time to ponder about my life. Every single morning I think about why I build that facade of straight clothes, cold make‒up, old hairstyle and uptight attitude. I wonder if I really am happy, and the answer has never changed for years.

I later push the door leading outside and feel the breeze brushing over my skin. I unlock the door of my beautiful car for which I’ve worked so hard. My brand new dual rotary engine roars to life and off I go. I see head tuns as I pass by people, music bursting from my huge speakers. Sweet, sweet escape. And so I spend the day, working slightly slower than before. At the end of my day, I drive up to a fast‒food restaurant and screw those carbs, I want a burger. It tastes so good, I wonder why I never eat here. Food fills me and I feel good, just now, just here.

Later, it’s getting dark, I’m heading home when I pass by a club. Suddenly, I feel the need to dance. I park my car a block away and get out. Then think again, I can’t go in there with those clothes! I’m wearing a skirt that goes down lower than the knees, a loose blouse with long sleeves. What was I thinking when buying those? I rip off half my skirt and sleeves, untie my blouse and tie it in a knot over my chest. I also let loose my blonde hair. As I walk in the club, the guard checks me out subtly. I feel a chill up my whole body as every guy at the bar looks at me with wide eyes when I sit at the bar. And I love it! I buy a drink and gulp it down. I can’t look that bad since everyone’s checking me out. I drink another shooter and jump on the dance floor, I never danced like that before. I guess the strong alcohol’s going through my veins by now. A young man, twenty or so, approaches and leads me into dirty dancing. I’m going wild. He’s hot.

At the bar, later on, we chat a little, still drinking.

‒ You’re a good dancer, he says.

‒ Thank you, I could say the same to you, I answer with my sexiest voice.

Follows a nice conversation interrupted by gulps of alcohol. It finally ends when I ask, out of nowhere: “My place or yours?”

He shuts his apartment’s door and already I’m all over him, kissing him wildly. He takes his shirt off and unties my blouse as I moan in pleasure, caressing his muscled body. He rips off my bra and sticks his face in my breasts. Later on, we were both screaming each other’s names into the black night.

4:00. “Best. Night. Ever.” I think as I start my car. I hope he’ll call me, I left my number on the night table, but too much happened tonight to stay there. Still, I don’t feel a bit tired and I believe I could fly right then and now. I pump up the volume and drive away. For once, I really enjoyed the driving, accelerating enough to feel my body crushed on the leather seat. After a couple of yellow lights, I have to stop on a red light. A young punk in a semi‒souped up Civic stops as well and looks at me. Then, and right there, I feel the need for speed. I smirk at him, he frowns.

‒ I’ll race you, punk, I shout over the music.

He answers with a rev of his tiny engine. The pipe amplifies the sound but doesn’t even compare to my engine’s huge roar of 238 horse power. I redline the engine just before releasing the clutch as the light goes green. I’m pulled hard on the seat as I shift into second gear, already beating that poor old lil’ Civic by metres. But he’s not letting go right away, I upshift three times before really beating him. It’s too much fun, I upshift again, reaching the sixth gear I seldom use. Pushing the engine to its limit. 210kph, insane, I love it, 220kph, exhilarating, 230kph, I’m drugged by the adrenaline. I can hear the engine roaring with all its power. What I don’t hear is tires screeching.

I died happy.

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