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    Sweetly Cursed
    Sweetly Cursed
    Sweetly Cursed
    Ebook298 pages4 hours

    Sweetly Cursed

    By Cameron Glenn

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Steve and Julie are an attractive and accomplished newly engaged couple in their early twenties who discover a book in a barn called "If You Read This You Will Die" which sets about a series of inflicting "curse trials" including jealousy, lust, disgust, rage, stupidity, self-pity, depression, and then death. "Sweetly Cursed" is a fun titillating read which also offers some deep and thoughtful questions about love, personality, marriage and destiny.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherCameron Glenn
    Release dateDec 29, 2015
    ISBN9781310148088
    Sweetly Cursed
    Author

    Cameron Glenn

    Cameron Glenn grew up the third of seven children in Oregon. As a child he dedicated hours to the pursuits of basketball and cartooning, as well as waking up way too early for his paper route in order to earn money to buy toys, candy and comic books. He also loved to read and write, which he continues to do voraciously. He currently lives in Salt Lake City after having earned a BA in literature from Boise State.

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      Book preview

      Sweetly Cursed - Cameron Glenn

      267

      Sweetly Cursed

      By Cameron Glenn

      Smashwords Edition

      Copyright 2015 Cameron Glenn

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      SWEETLY CURSED

      CHAPTER ONE

      She rolled over while in a dream. Her lip brushed against his bare shoulder. She awoke thinking her lip had split open causing gushing blood, hit against a stone boulder as she tumbled down rapids. She pulled on her lower lip. It tingled, but no blood. She remembered where she was and smiled blissfully. She lay next to her fiancé Steve. They were both naked. They lay in a hay loft in a barn after the wedding of Steve’s college friend Chad.

      Shit we fell asleep Julie thought. How’d we fall asleep? That wasn’t supposed to happen. Her mind questioned but her body knew the answer. After euphoric explosions and sweet sexual release that Niagara Falls powerful, the overwhelmed body has to shut down and reload in order to recalibrate what the usual reality of things feels like. Loose itchy hay stuck to her damp back; before sleep the hay had looked like gold and felt like the burning pink cloud pinned to the sunset she had seen as she had run, hand in hand, with Steve towards the barn; a playful spontaneous champagne buzzed escape from the dwindling party to satisfy carnal lust. He slowly opened his sleepy, heavy eyes and peered into her eyes. The full moon out the barn window glistened in the dark. She loved his mused up hair and bleary eyes look; him disarmed. She pressed her palm against his flat hard chest and he tensed.

      Your hand is cold, he said.

      I feel hot, she said.

      You look hot, he responded.

      They both snickered over the cheesy line.

      She scooted closer to him, nose to nose. Crickets chirped and frogs in the nearby pond croaked. He extended his tongue which touched the tip of her nose and then sucked it back in. He tried to be quick, like a frog tongue snapping, unleashed at a zipping fly. In his grogginess he had been slow and sloppy. Still, she understood his intent; she got his joke.

      Ribbit, he said.

      She smiled wide. What a gift, she thought, to share a strange and goofy sense of humor with such a stud of a man. He mirrored her smile. He wanted to make her laugh.

      This is fucking poetry man he said from his throat, mockingly mimicking a section of Chad’s best man, Trevor’s, wedding speech. That had done it. She burst out in a laugh. During Trevor’s toast he had held up a thin red book he had self published and said: I wrote this inspired by Chad and Jessie’s love. It got a bad review, but the reviewer just didn’t get it: this is fucking poetry man. The line had elicited everything from gasps, groans, tight lipped sneers, tight lipped smiles and giggling, from the old, the middle aged, the children, and the twenty-something’s in attendance, bemused, horrified, shocked, to hear the dirtiest of curses spoken out loud during a supposedly family friendly affair. Steve and Julie had both burst out with an almost inappropriately loud laugh, covered their mouths and then looked at each other, both knowing Trevor had just given bloody birth to a beautiful baby of an inside joke they’d share for probably a decade at least, if not the rest of their lives. It wasn’t just the swear that so amused but also the fact that Chad’s childhood friend Trevor (just an acquaintance to Julie and Steve), a gregarious and otherwise charming seeming man, had used the occasion to, first of all, promote his apparently crappy book, and secondly, used the occasion to vent against some disparaging critic.

      What time is it? Julie asked.

      Who cares? Steve responded.

      Did they see us? Julie asked. Julie didn’t want to break the willful illusion her mother held in believing that her beautiful, smart, accomplished and spiritual twenty three year old daughter were waiting until her wedding night to offer up her pearl.

      Who cares? Steve said again.

      Her arm rested over his solid chest. The wood beams under the itchy hay they laid on felt uncomfortably hard and cold, contrasted against the soft warmth of his flesh. They had striped so quickly; she wondered if their cloths were nearby and if they’d be difficult to find now that it was dark. She rolled her head over his collar bone and kissed. The man you plan to marry should open new worlds to you, make colors appear more vibrant, thunderstorms more electric, the air lighter, cause your eyes to widen, your taste buds and skin cells to tingle with more sensitivity. Steve accomplished all of these for her. He introduced her to wonderful new music, literally and figuratively. She had thought she had been in love before him but after him she realized she hadn’t; only sappy teen puppy love, distant one sided romances and sad and embarrassing infatuations; only pretty sandcastles washed away and melted into the tide. Steve was a steel tower one hundred stories high, a Casino in one story (there’s always a gamble in every relationship, but gambling can be fun and worth it, especially when you feel a winner). She had thought she had an orgasm before Steve but he made her realize she hadn’t really; or not the glitter from exploded stars rushing through your bloodstream way his touch could make her feel. While musing over him she sometimes stopped herself, ashamed that she allowed herself to indulge in too many romance-novel type clichés; putting people on pedestals is unfair after all; she knew this from personal past experiences dealing with some cute, mostly creepy boys basically worshiping her. Yet other times she allowed herself to indulge in the possibility that more truth than fantasy was contained in Steve’s near perfectness. Handsome, funny, bold, young at twenty four, already with a good solid job at a bank doing noble work mostly in loans and fraud; in school, pursuing an MBA in finance. (Some of her friends who were attracted to rebel types thought he was a little boring but she found him thrilling. Those same friends would agree that he was also handsome, charming, and perfect [there’s that word again] for her; quick to qualify their opinion that they didn’t think she was dull or anything).

      Julie Goodwin and Steve Williams had met at a swanky New Years Eve party at the EMP museum in downtown Seattle, while she was home from Stanford over Christmas break. She had caught his eye; she and her friends had noticed him checking her out and she felt flattered and intrigued. They instantly clicked; he said she looked like Arielle in her sparkling sea-foam green dress, she said he looked like Prince Eric. He had asked are we both Disney dorks and she had replied don’t tell anyone, I’m trying to keep my edgy-cool vibe; both later would admit that, through the pulsating pumping electronic beats the Little Mermaid ballad Kiss the Girl had swam through their heads at that moment. They had their first kiss at midnight. They got together physically nearly every weekend, him visiting her at Stanford, her trekking up to Seattle. After Julie graduated with a B.A. in English literature she moved back to the Puget Sound area and begun a promising job at a top interior design firm. Their relationship accelerated. He purposed during a stroll along the sand at Golden Gardens Park; he had arranged for her to find a large pink clam; she picked it up, opened it and gasped at the sight of the diamond ring. She spun and looked down and saw him on one knee, beaming up at her. Perfect. A sensation of gratitude towards the universe welled up in here. She felt as sure as she had ever felt anything before: this was meant to be.

      Chad and Jessie’s wedding was the first wedding they had attended together as an engaged couple. The barn sex had been mind blowing.

      Once more? Steve suggested.

      Do that thing you do, she playfully recommended.

      What thing?

      Where you turn fluffy pillow talk into the dirtiest smut.

      He laughed again. I’m a hummingbird heart racing a billion beats a minute, in desperate want of the nectar from your pussy flower.

      Julie laughed. "Now that’s fucking poetry."

      Stand up, Steve said. I want to see the moonlight caress your curves.

      She obeyed. She posed. He ogled her, the silver moonlight spilled over her generous and taut feminine shapes. I want to live in this moment forever Steve thought. Freeze this image. Is it possible for her to look any sexier than now? She is a goddess. God I’m so lucky.

      Flutter over here hummingbird, she cooed.

      He obeyed. She clutched his hair in tight fists to keep her quivering legs from giving out as he worked on her. They then switched positions and she returned the favor. He held off and spun her around and climaxed inside her. They lay back over the hay, panting, uttering gibberish exaltations and snuggled together.

      It’s funny, Julie said. Night, dark, in a barn, surrounded by nature; I’d normally be afraid in a setting like this. This is horror movie set stuff here. But I feel so safe, so protected, so warm, so happy.

      What do you fear? he asked.

      She smirked, unsure if he were being playfully frivolous, tossing out a cliché pillow talk type deep question or making fun of pillow talk deep questions. But she decided to take his query more seriously than maybe he intended.

      That it’s all too perfect, she answered. That it can’t be so good. This good. Forever. Love like this never really lasts long. It all dies.

      He thought this over. She had given a more serious answer than he had intended. Sometimes she shocked him with her blunt honesty and her ability to say so much, give him so much to think about, with so few words. In contrast, some of his past girlfriends could natter on for hours with phrases and thoughts so vapidly light they’d float away before even having the chance to enter his brain. Julie had just uttered a valid and troubling fear. What if we’re at a peak and it’s all downhill from here?

      Pledge to always stay in the moment, Steve suggested.

      I solemnly vow, Julie answered teasingly through a smile, riffing off of the wedding ceremony they had witnessed earlier. What do you fear? she asked.

      Nothing, he said, wanting to sound brash and brave. Yet a list ran through his mind. Fear of not making enough money. That you’ll leave me for someone rich, better looking. You could probably have anyone; athlete, actor, celebrity. Yes, I know it’s an irrational fear, you’re not that superficial, but I saw you reading that romance novel about the alpha male billionaire. I can’t shake the feeling that that’s what all women, including you, really want. Fear of not being good enough, and even that I have this fear may be proof that I’m not good enough. Yet I can’t, I won’t pretend with you or the world; I can’t live that way. I love you, he said.

      It was just the twelfth time in their three year relationship she had heard him say this out loud. She had kept a tally. They weren’t the type to use the phrase as abundantly and cheaply as saying hello and good-by.

      I love you too, she answered.

      We should probably go, he said.

      They stood up and exchanged shy glances over their glistening naked bodies again, still shockingly exposed in the dim light. They then searched in the darkness for their cloths. His black slacks, tan jacket, white shirt and purple Italian silk tie lay crumpled next to her red backless lace crochet dress and pink panties. As Julie reached for her dress she felt cold little paws scurry over her hand. She shrieked and snapped her hand back.

      A mouse, Steve said. He reached into his jacket pocket. Thank god, my phone’s still there. He turned on his phone and tapped on the flashlight app. They both winced at the sudden brightness. They used the light to finish dressing and search for Julie’s gold earrings and necklace.

      They climbed down the rickety ladder to the main floor of the barn. The wood below them creaked as they stepped. Julie spit away a spider-web strand which had somehow gotten in her mouth.

      Funny how something so Amish quaint and cute can turn so Halloween-y creepy, Julie said, surveying the rusty farm tools leaning against the wood wall.

      You no longer feel protected? Steve teased, squeezing her with his left arm as his right hand held the phone light.

      I’m still floating, Julie said breathily back. Although truthfully it did jolt her how quickly the warm ooze of after sex comfort seeped out of her as she had descended down the hay loft. She had never been the jittery type, yet the nagging urge to leave the barn grew more urgent, like the feeling of wanting to flee a dark room where you suspect a killer is lurking. She brushed off her fright as irrational; of course it’s irrational; the only factor which transforms an old Amish barn from being cute and quaint to sinisterly scary is mood lighting and imagination.

      Steve also felt a strange unexplainable and irrational fright which he tried to dismiss. He didn’t believe in ghosts. The ugly, heavy nauseous feeling which seized him, robbing him of the tingling after sex glow, must have some non paranormal explanation; maybe some nearby rat carcass or spider egg nest. A demonic sounding hiss screeched loudly. Julie shrieked and tensed, her fingernails clawing Steve’s biceps. He jolted and swung the light towards the sound. Two green tinged quarter sized eyes shined back. The orange bob tailed calico cat hissed again, showing fangs, then ran off, knocking over a pitchfork. The iPhone light struck a glossy surface leaning against the wall next to the pitchfork. Julie and Steve looked at it, curious, immobilized by the competing forces of wanting to leave and wanting to move towards the object. Steve stepped back while Julie stepped forward, then Julie turned towards the exit while Steve moved towards the object. They exhaled awkward giggles like two strangers twice blocking each other as they pass along a sidewalk.

      Just see what it is, quickly, Julie suggested.

      Curiosity killed the cat, Steve said.

      The cat ran away—just go, we can try and exchange witty banter in the car later, Julie said, slapping Steve’s shoulder.

      Steve walked briskly towards the object. He picked it up with his left hand.

      What is it? Julie asked.

      A book, Steve answered. He wiped his thumb across the glossy cover. A paperback. Thin. There’s no dust on it.

      What’s it called?

      If you read this you will die, Steve read.

      Julie let out a cackle.

      What? Steve asked through a smile. He loved her laugh, especially when it burst out with the suddenness of a popped balloon.

      "I just find that really funny. Like that Ring movie right? If you watch this you will die."

      Anyways, that’s weird, Steve said. He leaned down to place the black book back where he had picked it up. Then he stopped. Do you want it?

      Um… not really?

      Me either, Steve said. He couldn’t release his grasp as if the slick cover were flypaper glue. Maybe this thing is valuable he thought, and then wondered why would it be; why’d I even think that; this isn’t like some buried pirate treasure or anything. He decided he’d toss it at Julie. If she caught it, maybe she’d keep it for a day; if she let it drop, they’d leave it. Heads up.

      She saw the book float through the air towards her. Although not a total frilly girly girl, she never developed expert catching reflexes. She flinched and turned her shoulder towards the hurled object. It hit her chest, landed in her arm, and slid in her hand. She looked at the cover and read the title. It didn’t seem quite so funny, reading the title compared with hearing it said out loud. If you read this you will die. Steve was right; no dust on it. The cover felt cool. She flipped through the pages; they felt warm like they’ve been freshly xeroxed. She held it to her nose and sniffed. She liked the smell; fresh glue and ink. Strange. Very strange. Steve placed his hand on the small of her back, startling her.

      Let’s get out of here, he said.

      Julie unzipped her elegant Gucci handbag and stuffed the book in, thinking, why not. She took out her iPhone and turned it on to check for missed texts, messages and tweets. She smiled thinking about updating her Facebook status as: In post-sex bliss, yet kind of frightened, but all right now.

      They walked out of the barn, his arm draped over her shoulder, her leaning against him. Once in the open field the full moon provided enough shine to allow Steve to turn off the light app. He checked his messages. As they walked over the tall unruly grass towards the designated parking area on the far side of the pond crickets leaped to avoid their steps. I thought you’d be back by now. Don’t go missing again now, his mother had written him. What does she mean ‘again’ he wondered. The frogs croaked louder the closer they came towards the pond. He turned off his phone and looked up at the moon, suspended in the sky like a silver shining beach ball. Beautiful. Funny, he thought, how the full moon has come to symbolize both horror and romance. Both romance and horror encapsulated their shared moments in the barn. Well, animalistic wolf lust deliciously satisfied and then the slight jitters anyways. Walking hip to hip, arms in arm, an epiphany struck Steve. Love is greater than fear.

      Julie noticed him looking up and she too stopped and looked at the moon. She smiled at him. She loved it when she caught him appreciating the beauty in nature. She could tell when he was in awe of some natural sight by the content, relaxed and satisfied demeanor he’d exude while he soaked the wonder in. Many don’t really take the time to notice simple little pleasures, their noses too stuck in their phones in acts of various forms of both self absorption and self escape.

      Steve smirked, his reverie wandering over the amusing thought of wondering what the ‘memory island’ would look like, from the barn memory just created, under the premise that his brain was like the brains of the cartoon characters in the Pixar movie Inside Out which he had recently seen with Julie. Maybe a giant boner tower.

      Julie looked at him. "What are you smiling at?’

      Just struck by an epiphany, Steve answered.

      Yeah? What’s that?

      Love is greater than fear.

      She turned and faced him. That’s beautiful, she said sincerely. She thought of fear again. That question: what do you fear? Time causes rust, like that on the old farm tools in the barn. Spark and freshness fade. You sink in the mud of routine grim if you stand in grim for too long, and then no one will want you. She feared he wouldn’t love her forever. If they keep their hair, men seem to age better than woman in how ‘rugged’ is an adjective usually used as a compliment when applied to men and as an insult when applied to women, she mused; just another gender unfairness.

      Two cars were in the parking space alongside Steve’s mini Bentley. A girl leaned against a Ford Focus smoking. She wore the hideous bridesmaid dress, fluffy peach poof’s meant to resemble flowers but looking more like giant wads of gum attached to the shoulder and hip. They approached closer. Steve recognized the girl as Zelda, Chad’s raven haired little sister. Zelda; great name, cute name for a precocious child and an elegant adult; underused due to the only famous Zelda, the jazz age writer’s wife, being most famous for going crazy. Still, both Steve and Julie had it on their future baby names lists. Her cheeks were smeared with once damp now dry heavy mascara, giving the impression of war paint.

      Well if it isn’t the cute wittle barf bunnies back from a screw, Zelda spit with slurred speech. "Everyone hates you, you know. Everyone!"

      Excuse me? Julie challenged.

      She’s drunk, Steve observed.

      Just drunk enough to tell the truth. I heard you grunting up their like pigs. Screwing like banshees. Then it was quiet. We thought you’d fucked yourself dead. She then burped out a laugh.

      Julie looked at her feet in embarrassment. Had they been loud? She hadn’t thought so, but they both had been wrapped up in the moment. She thought the barn distant enough from the main thinning out gathering that they’d be secluded, safe from potential eavesdroppers. Yet also, the quasi-public outdoor setting had also been part of the appeal and thrill; the fear of getting caught.

      Rich little plastic Ken and Malibu Barbie. Dull perfect little dolls. Hump buddies, Zelda barked, then added in a slurred mumble more to herself: everybody hates you.

      Okay, you know what? Julie began, tensing and stepping forward. She hated blonde resentment and stereotypes; a major pet peeve being called Barbie and plastic. Guess what, you can have more fun, and be smart. Her hair grew naturally thick and gold. Not like she had some little princess upbringing, despite being blessed with a monetarily successful father; her parents divorced when she was twelve, she’s had a disproportionately large number of pet dogs and fish die on her in unnatural freak accidents, she dealt with jealous mean girls drama, and her older sister Candice had spent time in a mental institution for, among other things, thinking she had magical powers and could talk to crows. Stressful stuff!

      Steve held her back. It’s not worth it, he said. He turned towards Zelda. You don’t have your keys do you? he asked, implying that she should not drive while drunk.

      Why do you think I’m still here? Zelda said snidely. Have you told your dumb blonde doll about us yet?

      Shit Steve thought.

      We made out at a frat party when I was underage. I thought I loved you, you know. You broke my heart.

      She’s drunk, Steve said.

      Let’s just go, Julie said.

      They walked past Zelda quickly yet gingerly, like passing a homeless person on a sidewalk who you fear might spit on you. Steve opened the door for Julie then walked to the driver’s side and got in. He started the car. "Go

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