Everyone deserves their own personal tragedy. One to keep near their heart like a locket, so in the throws of their passion they can remember it and cry. Their lover will fondle them gently and assume the damp spots tears of joy. In all reality its the glue that holds sanity together, and a small part of them dies.
I haven’t fucked in awhile. You know that twitchy feeling you get when all the lays are shitty and the alone time doesn’t cut it. You need a good partner to dance with; and as you twirl the floor, she gasps for breath and you smile because you know she’s never danced with someone like you before. And even as the song comes to an end she’s already danced through several crescendos and you both need to stop if only to catch your breath.
That was my hunt as I stepped through the wrought iron gate that encloses the small Pelaggio community. I step on to the curb and take a deep drag from my cigarette as I hike up my collar for protection from the cold. My short walk takes me to boondocks, the shady bar down the road. The slick smell of gin pervades my senses as one of the more inebriated women literally falls into me.
“Wanna fuck, man?” she slurs as saliva runs down the side of her mouth and onto what was once respectable imitation wood flooring.
“Not likely.” I push her off of me. She catches her balance on a stool just in time to fling herself onto the next person entering the bar. I take a seat at the counter and watch as this more receptive man takes her through the back door into the parking lot.
“I don’t usually see her get turned down. She’s easy but she’s cute.” I look up to see the motherly bartender stressing forty beaming down at me with caring.
“I’m not looking for an easy fuck.”
“Well it’s always more fun to have to work for it.”
“Maybe some conversation for a bit, some wining and dining, yeah?”
“You don’t want someone young anyway. No experience.” I looked up at the motherly face again and see not caring but incestuous lust and I take my leave of her. This place is too far gone for my work.
So I drive; a part of town I don’t normally see. College town, where young girls taste the sweetness of college life and the bitterness of semen in a single night -this is better hunting grounds.
I find a bar called “The Sportsman” and I saunter in with the cool confidence of knowing. I slender dame with an innocent smile and smart glasses sits in a corner by herself, only she isn’t by herself. No. I am sitting there with her and giving her sideways comments hinting at what I might want, with just the slightest flair of indifference.
As I laugh with the thoughtfulness of age I proclaim to my one woman audience, “One of these days I’m going to find myself in a one life stand with some girl I met at a bar!”
“One life? Haha! What is that supposed to mean.”
“It means we don’t know where night’s experiences take us. And that is what’s so special about them.” She touches my arm and looks down shyly. Looking up slowly she bites her lower lip.
There it is! Expectation! Interest! She feels that surge of power and confidence as she realizes this man in a dark coat thinks her a catch and will soon be taking her strongly against the wall of his art studio.
“I have to head home soon,” I smile at her with sincere welcome. “but I’m having some friends over later. Maybe you’d like to come?”
She smiles and comes so very close to accepting when I cut her off suddenly.
“I know my friends would get along with you. You’re the spitting image of my wife, so I know they’ll love you.” A deep, cutting grin.
The confidence pours from her like a gusher. Insecurities of youth bubble up and she can’t help but let the smile fall off her face as she quietly curses herself for misreading my signals. He was just a nice guy, he wasn’t interested in me at all.
“Are you married? No? That’s fine, my other friends are, but we don’t mind making some room for the odd single person in the group.”
“Actually I have somewhere I need to go.”
I frown convincingly, years of practice paying off with abandon. “That’s too bad. Perhaps another time.”
“Yeah, for sure.”
I get in my car and drive off, tactfully failing to mention that I haven’t gotten her phone number. I drive back home and step back out onto the curb and light my second cigarette for the night. I love smoking after a good fuck.
The twitching is gone, but the fact remains: for you to wear levi’s a child in Malaysia has to live in sweat shop misery. I’m a bit of a pyro, but that doesn’t mean you get to judge me. I don’t do it because I hate pages, I do it because I love watching it burn.
MOA ~ Andy