Breakout

For about a month after our first meeting I worked intensely with Max Prompter, eight hours a day or more every day of the week.  Not only was he fervent about helping to polish my book to a professional level, but he showed me all of the tricks involved in setting up a social network to insure future success.  Until then I had no real conception about how many such websites existed.  Sure, I had heard of the early forerunners--some of which were still around--like Facebook and Tumblr, Linkedin and Mammie'sMilk; but VoyeurDaze, SelfieHeaven, LikemePleas, WannaBeez?--no.  Max also taught me everything there was to learn about keywords and hashtags and how to use them to maximum effect.

He was so certain that what we were involved in producing was going to be a phenomenal success that some of his confidence began to rub off on me.  It was after one such satisfying day, after he had gone and I had consumed two extra post-dinner Somales right before going to sleep, that I realized just how quickly the changes would come.  I had crawled into my bunk and dropped immediately into a profound sleep.  Sometime in the middle of the night I thought I heard the cell door open and shut rapidly.  I lay listening for movement; when I heard nothing for several minutes I decided I had dreamed the incident.

But when I rolled onto my right side and faced the wall somebody slipped into the bunk, a warm naked body snuggling against me.  My first thought was "Nanime," but a whiff of citrus-blossom perfume told me otherwise.  It was her:  Hortensia.  When I turned I could just make out her face in the thin green glow of the computer's power-on light.  She was smiling.  She was beautiful.

"How did you get in here?" I said.

"I have my ways."

"Why are you here?"

"Why do you think?"

I didn't know what to think, but I was already aroused in a strictly non-platonic way.

She said, "I love your main character--he's rugged, yet sensitive, intelligent and emotional all at once.  He's impulsive, but not pushy, practical, yet willing to take chances."

"That's quite a compliment coming from you."

"It's the truth," she said, accidentally brushing against the stick of pepperoni that had suddenly materialized in the bunk.  "It's time for you to breakout."

"Breakout?  This is a maximum-security facility."

"Not that kind of breakout, payaso.  The kind where you emerge on the literary stage as a legitimate player."

"Really?"

"Absolutely.  You have no idea what I'm going to do for you.  You'll be out of here before you know it.  I've already arranged for them to reduce your sentence from two books to one, and you'll only have to share an equal cut on all profits from sales.  I have connections in the film industry.  All I need do is call in a few markers and we're on our way to movie magic.  Before we're through people will be throwing money at you to write a sequel.  You'll be the most famous prisoner ever released from Paso del Norte."

"Why?  Why do all these things for me?"

"Because any man who can write a main character like this one deserves nothing less than ultimate respect--and success."

Our faces were just inches apart.  We stared at each other like leading actors in a movie.  We looked at each other's lips, carefully examining them.  We cocked our heads as we went in for the kiss, our mouths converging in agonizingly slow motion.  It was undeniably the tenderest kiss I've ever had.  Her breath was so sweet I momentarily worried about halitosis, but she seemed satisfied.

I said, "You're doing everything for me-what can I do for you?"

"I was hoping you'd ask," she said, pressing her warm, nude body into mine.  "Ever since I first read this book there's only one thing I've wanted from you."

"Anything."

"Let's cuddle through the night.  Let's avoid ruining this special metaphysical relationship we're embarking upon."

"Cuddle?"

"Yes, cuddle."

I did as she requested, and within a few moments she was snoring softly.  Half an hour later the blood finally started coursing again through the rest of my body.