This story is inspired by Jim Steinman and Meat Loaf, who together created Bat Out Of Hell, a futuristic rock n roll version of the eternal Peter Pan story. Apologies to J. M. Barrie as well as I've given the story my own twist. I hope you enjoy it.
*** *** *** ***
It was a hot summer's night and Wendy's body was burning. She was wearing a soft cotton dress with buttons from neck to navel. Half of them were undone. The heat was oppressive and sweat ran in rivulets down her neck, dripping between her firm breasts before the cotton collected it at her waist.
It was too hot for underwear.
Her sandalled feet scrunched softly on the hot white sand as she walked. Gentle waves tumbled onto the beach. Even the ocean was too lethargic to do much.
She was going to meet him, Peter.
It was the last night of her annual vacation. Tomorrow it was back to the city, back to her mind numbing 9 to 5 job. Back to phone calls from disgruntled customers. Emails from dissatisfied managers. Back to the open plan hellhouse that was her job, and had been for the last 5 years, since leaving college. A degree in Social Media doesn't open too many doors.
Tonight she was going to meet him, Peter.
***
As she walked she recalled the original email. The subject line was just a smiley face emoji. At first, Wendy thought it was spam and her finger hovered over the delete key for just one second.
She clicked open.
Nothing.
There was no message, just the cartoon face grinning at her from the subject line. :) π
"Aw, crap," thought Wendy. "Why do arseholes do this?"
Back to work, back to mind breaking tedium.
But that was all in the past.
Tonight she was going to meet him, Peter.
***
A couple of days later, another email popped up. Two smiley faces beckoned to her from the screen.
Distracted, Wendy opened the email. She looked at the email address. Sender, peter@paninternational.com
"At least you are not a Nigerian Prince," thought Wendy.
The new mail alert broke into her daydream. She saw another message.
"Hi, I'm not a Nigerian Prince, sorry."
"No?" thought Wendy, "just some creepy internet troll."
Almost instantaneously the next email popped up.
"As much as you want me to be some creepy troll, I'm not. Trolls live under bridges and I have a treehouse!"
Wendy gasped! She scanned the office. It was 4.50pm on a Friday and most of the corporate slaves had escaped early.
Tentatively, she opened "reply" and typed "hello?"
That was over six months ago. Much had changed in Wendy's life.
Tonight she was going to meet him, Peter.
***
The decision to take some long overdue holiday time surprised Wendy as much as her overbearing manager. Being young and single and attractive, Wendy was constantly harassed by him. Balding, fat and somehow married, he hit on her almost daily. "Wendy, come for a drink," "Wendy, let's go party this weekend." The ultimate "Wendy, do you want to go away for the weekend, my wife's away," had her almost calling HR and his wife at the same time. The image of that call made her grin.
But Wendy was 27. Overqualified for her role, but not likely to find another job in the 'current economic climate,' as her boss constantly reminded her.
But tonight she was going to meet him, Peter.