Teardrops are a collection of short, slightly sad stories (but remember, there are tears of joy and of love), that exist for a brief moment before they are wiped, and shed every Sunday. Or when they are ready, whichever comes last...


by Antheros

Joanne, drunk, told me once that her dream was to be a movie director. I mean, if she had said that she wanted to be a Hollywood movie star I'd not have given it a second thought, but she didn't want to be an actress. "Di-rec-tor", she said, rolling her tongue. "To make movies. Could even write." She giggled. "Movie scripts." She giggled again. I never saw her drunker.

The next day, hungover, I called her. It was late afternoon of a Sunday, and I wanted to know if she had survived; the hello she uttered proved that she did, but barely. "Just wanted to know if you survived."

"Right, yeah. Sort of. I'm with a terrible headache."

"Me too."

There was an uncomfortable silence, something that never happened between us before. "We'll talk later, OK?" and she hung up.

We never mentioned that night again.

Joanne travelled a few months later. "Take care of my plants," she asked me. She had ferns hanging all over her apartment, orchideas, violets, spices. Whenever I entered her apartment I felt in a jungle.

I decided to turn the TV on while I was there. Watering all the plants would take half an hour, and I the sound of TV would break the monotony. There was a tape sticking out of the VCR, and I mindlessly pushed it in. I didn't want to watch it, I just pushed it in. But the VCR turned on and started to play the tape automatically. I'm glad I wasn't holding the watering pot, because I'd have dropped it. The TV showed a couple, naked.

"Hug. And kiss."

It was Joanne's voice, but I didn't know the couple. The man looked vaguely familiar, I might have seen him before, but I couldn't place when or where.

"Take her to bed."

It was Joanne's apartment, her bed. The camera moved, and it was clear that it was a handheld. Joanne was probably behind it. I watched, mesmerized, the scene unfold. She said what they should do, and they did it.

"Hold her. Kiss her again, with passion. Now, move down, to her breasts. Suck them, lick the nipples, nibble the flesh. Moan, Judy."

"Judy" started to moan.

"Eat her, like your life depends on it."

The camera moved around the room, wobbling a little. The man was doing a thorough job, Judy had her eyes closed, her head thrown back, her hands pulling her nipples.

"You are enjoying this, aren't you?"

Judy nodded, obviously around. It was not a cheap porn movie, it was real. Judy was really enjoying it.

"Make her come, Bill. She is ready to. Just stick a finger in and lick her clit."

Judy came not long after that, cries of joy.

"Fuck her now. Don't be nice, she wants it rough."

Porn never turned me on, by I was hot now. I was fighting the urge to masturbate.

One minute later they were going at full speed, and so was I.

A few days after she got back we went out, and got drunk again. Not as drunk as that night, but drunk enough. We split a cab, and I left her at her place. As she walked out of the car, I said something.

"You know, Joanne... If you ever want to direct a movie, I'd love to act in it."

She looked at me surprised, her chin almost hitting the floor, then just shrugged and smiled a very wicked grin.

See, we can all achieve our dreams, if we just don't care much about tiny details.

26 Dec 2004