Let's Play

By Chrissy

I stepped through the portal and into the room..

My wide eyes wandered over the crumbling plaster walls and down to the sagging bed, its covers moth eaten and grimy. I looked around slowly. I honestly hadn't expected it to be so tangible. So real. My God! I could almost taste the thick, dusty air. Still smell the lingering aroma of stale tobacco smoke.

I heard a noise in the bathroom and turned in that direction. My breath caught in my throat. HE was there! He was shaving himself. It was absolutely incredible. I was right inside the movie 'Desperado' and HE was there with me. My beautiful mariachi. The character who had figured so prominently in my fantasy world since the year 1995. The year I lost my heart and soul to a movie star.

My startled heart began to pump crazily and for a moment I thought I might turn and run. It was overwhelming having him so close, so near. I could even hear him breathing.

I struggled to contain myself. Be still my heart! BE STILL, dammit! I had no time for a heart attack now. Not now! I had paid good money for this. I didn't want to miss a single detail. My eyes ran over him greedily. He was turned away from me, leaning into the mirror as he shaved. His hair hung messy and loose, almost half way down his back - its curls mussed and uncombed. He wore the white cotton shirt. It appeared relatively clean. No blood stains yet. But I noticed that it was frayed and grubby around the cuffs. I gaped at the pants. Oh! those infamous pants! Silver chains glinted in the dull sunlight. They were not tight, nor were they baggy. They clung to him perfectly, outlining hard buttocks and strong thighs. Oh my God! Those pants!

So intent was I on my examination of his attractive body, that I did not notice that he had seen me. Suddenly our eyes locked in the smeared mirror. His amber gaze bore into mine. Honest to God! It was as if I had actually touched a live wire. His eyes were as direct and as powerful as I had always imagined.

The hand that held the straight razor stopped in mid path and I saw a quick look of puzzlement cross his features.

"Who are you?" he asked. We continued to gaze at each other through the smudged glass of the mirror.

Of course I had planned everything I would say. The script was blueprinted in my mind. But the fact that he was there, right before me, more beautiful than I could ever have dreamed, had dulled my senses. My mouth opened stupidly, but the carefully scripted words would not come.

"How did you get in?" He turned to face me. His gorgeous eyes roved slowly up from my feet over my body to my face. I saw a lazy smile and a look of admiration in his eyes. My gaze left his and I stared down at myself, pleased with what I saw. They had converted me into a reasonable Carolina facsimile and I was dressed in the black 2-piece outfit she had worn in the movie. Somehow, I had inherited her youth as well as her buxom, curvaceous figure. Hey! This virtual reality world REALLY rocks!

His eyes slid from me across to the bed. I followed his gaze. The black guitar case stood open on the bed revealing its deadly arsenal - guns, ammunition, hand grenades, the whole shebang. He turned and strode into the room toward me, wiping smudges of shaving cream from his face with the heel of his hand.

He seemed so commanding, such a powerful presence, my thumping heart began to pump even faster and I suddenly tasted fear. Would he take up one of those guns that fitted so perfectly in his hand? Would he twirl it on his finger? Would he kill me? Bullets could sting in this virtual world, that's what they had said in the briefing room.

But instead he moved with a kind of forceful grace to the bed where he began throwing the weapons into the red-lined guitar case.

"What do you want?" he turned to look at me. He smiled, his eyes running over me again. Obviously he did not see me as any kind of threat, in fact I thought I saw amused desire in his gaze. Still, he would think me a fool soon if I did not find my voice.

"I know where Bucho is," I blurted suddenly. Wow! I even had a Spanish accent. This was SO COOL.

Keen interest filled his eyes. He moved toward me. "Bucho? You know Bucho?" He was taller than I imagined. He looked down at me through narrowed eyes. He was SO CLOSE, I could smell him. Smell the earthy masculinity of him. My muscles turned to liquid. I begged my knees not to buckle.

He tucked some messed hair behind an ear and stared intently into my eyes. I could feel his soft breath on my face. He was more handsome, more perfect that I could even have dreamed in my wildest dreams. I wanted to reach out and touch his chest, so strong, so hard, glistening with sweat.

"I know where he is" I stammered. "I can take you to him." I could? Why did I say that? I wasn't following the script at all.

At my words he became alive with action. He pulled on the black wool jacket and slammed the guitar case closed. "Come on," he said, taking my hand in his and leading me from the room. "Let's go." Darned heels! I tripped on the rug. "Come ON!" he urged, tugging at me.

Obviously we did not need too many words of introduction or explanation in this virtual world. We ran down the steps together, my breasts jiggling, my long black hair flying. "Wait, wait," I cried, just like Carolina. He had two evil looking guns tucked into his pants and he took one of them and handed it to me. "Take this," he said. It was heavy and cold and weighed down my hand.

We exited the dilapidated building and found ourselves outside on the sidewalk in the bright sunshine.

"I have a car," I said. And there at the curbside was the ugly gray jeep. Flinging the guitar case into the back he leaped into the driver's seat, whilst I demurely opened the door and climbed into the passenger side. My head jerked back as we accelerated away from the curb at lightening speed. The pedal was pushed to the metal as we sped through the streets of the town and I glanced around for seat belts. There were none. I shrugged. Of course there wouldn't be seat belts! What was I thinking?! I was in VR land!

We were flying along the roads. We left the town way behind us. My hair billowed behind me, I could not talk for the rushing wind in my face. Although I had told him I knew where Bucho was, for some reason he seemed to know which way to go. We chewed up scenery at incredible speed when, all of a sudden, there was the red house before us. With a screech of dusty brakes, he stopped the jeep and I finally could find my breath.

"I don't think this is the place" I gulped anxiously as he climbed from the jeep.

"THIS is the place" he returned.

"Listen," I gasped. "I have something to tell you."

He turned back to me impatiently. "What?"

"Bucho is your brother," I found myself saying.

His brow creased in puzzlement. "What did you say?"

I figured it was only fair to tell him. Otherwise he would walk into a situation without being prepared for the shock of seeing his own brother face to face. I wanted him to have the upper hand because Bucho would surely be taken off guard.

"It's true" I whispered carefully, "he is your brother." I watched as he pulled the guitar case from the back of the jeep.

"How do you know this thing?" he asked.

"I just know, okay?" He stared at me for a few seconds as if trying to figure me out.

"Who ARE you?" he questioned again.

We were both startled by the loud report of a gunshot coming from the house. I began to experience genuine feelings of pure panic. That gunshot sounded too real for comfort. Nothing was going the way they had promised in the briefing room.

The guitar case swinging in his hand, he strode quickly toward the house. I stumbled after him. He turned to look at me. "I'm going with you," I said, struggling to keep up with his giant strides. With a resolute shake of his head, he flicked his cigarette butt into the grass at the side of the road.

When we entered the compound I was prepared for a dozen of Bucho's men to be standing with guns in their hands. But the area was deserted. The mariachi and I stood for a few seconds looking around when the sounds of a heated argument came to us. Bucho and his right hand man were walking through the archway that led from the back of the house to the front. Their voices were raised in anger.

"He's been nothing but a loyal friend to you, Bucho. He would have taken a bullet for you. You killed one of your best men. In front of all the guys, you killed a good man."

Bucho waved a hand impatiently, "I had to teach them a lesson. I sent those men out to find him. We knew exactly where he was. And what did they do? They fucked up. They let him get away. They let him slip through their fingers. I am surrounded by fools. Imbeciles! They have to understand that when I give an order, I want it to be carried out. I demand respect."

"Respect?!" the man cried, grabbing Bucho's arm roughly, "Don't you understand? They don't respect you, Bucho. They hate you." he glared. "Yeah, that's right. Hate! They hate you. You know what? *I* hate you."

Bucho chuckled nastily. "So you hate me? So what? Do you think I give a fuck? You work for me. You don't have to like me, do you? I don't like you. In fact, I think you are a shit-faced ass licker."

Bucho angrily grabbed the man's shirt and glared into his eyes. "I sent you on a mission. An EASY mission. I sent you to find one man. Just one man. The guitar player."

"He is a myth, Bucho. The guitar player is a myth." But as he said the words his eyes alighted upon the mariachi and myself as we stood watching.

Seeing the alarm in the man's face, Bucho slowly turned to face the two of us. I watched as realization hit the two brothers. Bucho's eyes slid down to the guitar case and then back to the face of his brother beside me.

"YOU! My own brother! All this time it was my own brother." He pulled a gun from his shoulder holster and came up to my mariachi. He shoved the nuzzle hard into his beautiful neck. "My own brother has been killing my men. Destroying my life."

"Your men killed the woman I loved. Your men shot my hand. Your men ruined my life," returned my mariachi softly. A breeze stirred his hair. I sighed. He was SO beautiful.

But my spine stiffened with fear when Bucho's cruel mud-coloured eyes suddenly slithered across to me. "And who is she? Is she the woman you love now?"

"She's nothing to me. I don't even know her name." Jeez! Well, thanks a lot, mariachi!!

Bucho took his gun from his brother's neck and suddenly it was pointing at me. "I don't believe you," Bucho sneered. "You have killed my men, destroyed my business. Now I must kill the woman you love. It's only fair."

I heard the click as he cocked the gun and I realized the situation had turned ugly. What was going on? Were they all asleep in the VR control room? I had paid good money for a night of hot passion in a clean motel room lying in the arms of my handsome mariachi. What had happened? I seemed to be living in the celluloid snippets lying on Robert Rodriguez' cutting room floor? If I died, I would be totally pissed. I would demand a full refund. I would sue the pants off of everybody!

I screwed my eyes tight and waited for the bullet. Would it hurt? Would it sting? Then I remembered that I held a great big silver weapon in my hand, and it was loaded. With my eyes still closed I raised the gun and pointed it blindly. My shaking finger pulled the trigger. The damn thing had such a kick it jolted right out of my hand. The noise was deafening. I opened my eyes to see Bucho lying on the ground, a red stain spreading across his chest. Holy Shit! I'd killed him. I had actually killed a man.

"Get out!" the right hand man yelled at us. I could hear the raised voices of Bucho's men as they moved around from the back of the house. "Get the hell out right now!"

The mariachi took my hand and together we raced outside to the waiting car. "It's Christine," I cried.

"What?" he asked as we ran.

"Christine. My name is Christine. You said you didn't know my name," I gasped. It was hard to flee in high heels.

He smiled, his eyes crinkling. We had arrived at the car. "Well, Christine," he breathed, his eyes on my heaving breasts. " Did I thank you?"

I shook my head and jumped into the passenger side. "No, you didn't!" I said smiling teasingly. I LOVED this bit. The sun was setting, its golden rays danced on his handsome features as he looked at me.

"I will," he smiled.

"I want you to thank me right now," I grinned mischievously. He smiled even wider and leaned in to kiss me softly. "Thank you," he murmured softly.

"Thank you for killing him," he went on, his accent as sweet and as liquid as honey.

"Thank you for being his killer instead of me. Thank you for making it possible for me to live my life without the weight in my soul of knowing that I had killed my own brother. Thank you, Christine." He leaned in close. He kissed me, our mouths open, our tongues touching and playing.

Oh my God! I had felt tongue. El Mariachi had tongue kissed me! Being kissed by my beloved mariachi had dissolved any remaining brain function I possessed. Still, I wasn't going to need a brain any more, was I? Not to think with, anyway. Surely I was going to get my promised and paid-for night of hot sweaty passion.

He climbed into the driver's seat. "Aren't you going to throw away your guitar case?" I asked.

His beautiful brow creased, "Why would I do that?"

I shrugged. I couldn't expect this virtual world to be EXACTLY the same as the movie, could I? And, anyway, I had suddenly discovered a plastic credit card in my hand. And, as we drove along the highway, I noticed a nice, clean Holiday Inn on the horizon. I just KNEW that a bottle of Banderas red wine and a dish of delicious Banderas paella awaited us in the luxurious penthouse suite.

I placed my hand on his muscular, soccer playing thigh. "'Pull into that hotel," I said, leaning my head on his broad shoulder. "You're gonna wear yourself out thanking me, El Mariachi, cuz it's gonna take all night long."

He smiled, "I'm up for it."

"Oh, I'm sure you are!" I grinned back. "I'm sure you are."

His eyes crinkled.

It took only minutes for us to check into the penthouse suite. Only seconds for us to be naked. Only a moment for him to be hard and for me to be wet.

"Let's play," he grinned as he took me into his arms.