|03 March 2006|
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Candy Dice—Kama Sutra instructor, aswang annihilator, Harvey N Bunda (2D)
Title: Candy Dice—Kama Sutra instructor, aswang annihilator
Name: Harvey N Bunda
a commision work for manual magazine, i did this in painter 9
Candy Dice stood out like a sore thumb at Departure Gate 88 of the JFK airport. She was running to catch her flight to Manila. Her shoulder length flaming red hair was growing sticky with sweat; her denim mini skirt was riding up as her legs moved. The contents of her faux zebra print carry-on bag rattled along with her frantic pace. Onlookers were amazed she could run so fast while wearing a pair of high-heeled, pointy-toed hot magenta patent leather boots.
“Miss Dice, here is our selection of wines, would you like one before the plane takes off?” The stewardess in first class asked as she looked into Candy’s tired green eyes.
Candy selected a 1995 vintage South African white wine because it reminded her of the three days she spent with her most cherished lover on the planet—a Belgian pizza chef, whom she hadn’t seen in five years.
She fell asleep shortly after takeoff, missed a gourmet lunch and dreamt of him.
While Candy had earned a degree in Medieval History, she made her fortune by being a very shrewd card player. She also made money as the world’s greatest female Kama Sutra instructor. She had spent four years in India studying Sanskrit, several forms of yoga and the Kama Sutra.
In this sense, she was like a high-end assassin or spy. She could afford to be picky with her clients and there was a lot of protocol before anyone could meet and talk to her.
She arrived in Manila and felt the heat and humidity hit her. She took off her long, zebra print coat--which matched her carry-on bag--revealing taut, muscular, yoga-toned arms and shoulders showing through a deep green tank top.
She saw the sign. “Welcome to the Philippines! A bird-flu free Asian country!”
“Ah yes,” she thought, “It may be bird-flu free, but it’s not aswang-free. But never mind, I can handle them.”
Everyone at the immigration line was pretending not to look at her as she shuffled through her bag for passports and papers.
Everyone pretended not to notice her as she waited for her giant blue violet duffle bag to come out of the luggage carousel.
She got her bags at midnight.
By late afternoon the next day, she found herself at a beach not too far from the northernmost tip of Luzon. She recognized it by the shipwreck, which looked strange and eerie blanketed in the dawn fog.
She quietly entered Alejandro’s room; he looked pale. All traces of the cinnamon skin that wrapped itself around her last summer were gone.
The moon was full. She knew what she had to do: First, ask that a large drum be filled up with salt water (she would have preferred a tub but there was none, the conditions were spartan). Then she had to put on her favorite red bikini, rub some Dead Sea salt scrub on her skin, take out her diving knife and hide in the closet with his surfboard, board shorts, log book of humpback whale migration patterns and smelly old Jonah Hex comics.
At three in the morning one of birds perched on the windowsill quietly flew down on his bed and turned into a bloodsucking, scaly, brown and green aswang with yellow eyes.
Candy knew the thing was at its weakest when it was drinking blood. Immediately, she pounced on it, the Dead Sea salt protecting her from its menacing tongue. She did an aikido move and pinned the creature down on the floor with two of its limbs behind its back.
The aswang was now in the large drum of salt water, Candy threw half the container of her Dead Sea salt scrub in there too. When the town witch and holy man would break the spell and turn her back to her natural form as an empanada maker, she would also have soft, moisturized skin.
For the next week, Candi cooked him all matter of soups—squash, organic tomato, lentil and chicken for which she used a special Jewish recipe.
On the sixth night, the cinnamon color had returned to his skin.
She was patient and now it was time to take out her iPod and portable speakers and put on her Strictly Boudoir Vol. 3 playlist.
Soon, Marvin Gaye’s voice wafted through the misty air.
“…I'm hot just like an oven
I need some lovin’
And baby, I can’t hold it much longer
It’s getting stronger and stronger…”
And Candy got down to work.
The next day, not only did his cinnamon skin return, his cheeks had the color of cherries, he and Candi tossed a foamy football, paper airplanes and a frisbee in the air.
The day after, they drove back together to the city. He was going to meet his Romanian girlfriend and take her out on a picnic while Candi was getting ready for a serious game of “Scene It” with old friends.
Life was good and smelled like a bakery.
She was Candy Dice. The world’s greatest female Kama Sutra instructor and nothing could touch her. Because she had the privilege to make love and not war.
also check my gallery at http://soulspline.cgsociety.org
|03 March 2006|
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