She worked garden dept. down the hill at the big home center where I shopped. She was young and radiant. Five foot one or two, perfect glowing skin even in the shadows under the brim of her hat. Small Latina, thin-waisted, shapely hips, small but round behind in jeans poking out of the back of her green gardener's apron. Her hair jet black and slowly, almost imperceptibly waving with the methodical movement of her right arm, back and forth as she watered the shrubs. The flowering greens were begging to spring from their 5 gallon containers into moist earth somewhere else but would surely miss her daily affections.
I'd never seen her there before. She was new to town which I found out by asking for directions to the nearest good Vietnamese food. She laughed and said, "They are everywhere but the best is the Pho spot a mile further on the right. Mmmm. Wish I could join you they are to die for."
We talked perennials, watering, climate etc. She seemed well versed in all things garden. I was in dire need of advice with my gray thumbs and it being late in the season. Just enough time left to get things into the ground and for the roots to take hold. I lived about 40 minutes away and 3000 feet higher where the first hard frost could come at any time. Little did I know my own cold snap would be breaking soon.
“What are you up to? You seem to, sort of, be up to something fun?” She smiled slyly frm under her straw hat eyes darting up from her plants and quickly back down to the task at hand.
I told her I was just down from the mountains for supplies and maybe a bite to eat. She said she’d love to go up there and “play around” sometime. I, of course, took that to mean with me. I suddenly grew balls.
“Well, what time do you get out of here?” At that, she chortled a bit, wide smile spreading like she'd just thrown out a line and immediately got a big hit on the lure. It was 5pm and she was going to be there until midnight on this Labor Day Monday.
“Why don’t you go to a movie or something and grab a bite and come pick me up at 12. We can go up there and look at the stars. I can help you plant tomorrow, I’m off.” Why was I not at all suspicious or more accurately trepidatious? This girl didn’t know me from Adam.
“Why me?” I queried when I came to my senses and noticed her looking at from the corner of her eyes, waiting.
“I feel loneliness in your eyes but also great empathy. You don’t worry me.” Who was she, Don Juan?
What could I say to that? How about, “How old are you?”
“I’m 19. Not jailbait, if that’s the question.” She guffawed abruptly and walked over and kissed me on the cheek, splashing a bit of water from her hose on my shoes. “Oops,” she giggles.
“Maybe you should hose yourself down,” I smiled.
“Nah, you wouldn’t want that…just yet.”
Why was I suddenly, head over heels, completely bowled over. Ready for anything. Feeling fearless, sexy, interesting, wanted. Would I make it through the night in one piece? Did it matter?
“Could you bring me something to eat, later?” She was practically cooing. Looking coy, her top teeth over her bottom lip, eyes averted and fluttering a bit. What an actress. She knew I'd bitten. I wanted to take her right there on top of the chrysanthemums.
“Any preference?”
“Surprise me.”
“That’s your department, obviously.”
“Get outta here, before you get soaked. I’ll see you later.” I turned and couldn’t stop smiling as I pushed my cart full of things that grow out towards my truck. “Hey…don’t forget to pay for that stuff.” I turned to see her bent at the waist laughing.
Showing posts with label flirtation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label flirtation. Show all posts
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Friday, September 23, 2011
AUTUMN FALLING
I.
She said, “You could talk the pants off of me,”
I said, “But you aren’t wearing any.”
She said, “See.”
II.
“I met you when I was 14.”
I tried not to remind her how old I was now.
“I knew then we’d always be close.”
Years later, this conversation took place
She is jailbait no more.
She has kids
And an asshole ex
The type of which I encounter more often than not
These days
As a man about town
Where women have exs, children, bills
A smidgeon of spare time
Men have issues
And nights are long
In my arms confessing all.
In a town where my conquests, my flirtations
My formers and coulda-beens
Exist as much through the ether
As in real time face-to-face
Hip-to-hip horizontal bop.
Long distance lovers and dreamers and thieves
Who steal into my dreams and disappear
In the light of day
Or don’t.
She takes pictures for a living
Something I encouraged
A talented eye to try.
Now I look at shots of her
Through the years
And yearn for stories
And more.
We share sexy confessions late at night
She quietly listens
As my voices lowers near whisper
I hear her breath quicken
And she’ll coo in that warm musty voice of hers
Which strikes sparks
From my paused pontificating
As she murmurs
“I’m soaked. Tell me more…”
III.
Three dark sirens
And me strapped to the mast
Willing
Ready
Leaning into their songs.
The first doesn’t sing as much as scream
Panting at the slapping tide
Crashing against her hips
Stinging spots soft from neglect
Her eyes glazed in trance
Having waited for this storm
To rear up and spit its pent-up fury
In her anxious direction.
The second doesn’t sing
As much as dance the silent sound
Around
Serpentine ballet of illusion
Mystery
And pulls songs from around her
Where reflected
Become her own.
She is echo maker.
Creating bounceback
Riptide
Magnetic lunar tug
and light.
The sound that reaches
Here last
Shines as light vibrates
With sound
As creation is energized light
Fliting so quickly
Our eyes see nothing
But radiant
Blinding beauty
Youth of sound and movement
Danced and reflected
Spun like silk thru the tumultuous air
Shaking all still
In attentive embrace of the song.
But too fresh
To grasp the full effect.
Beauty reflects beauty
Reflects beauty
Dashed
To the ancient
Craggy sea.
IV.
Still autumn falls
In spite of our best efforts
In spite of hurried dreams
Storms brew and hit landfall
Floods, quakes
Minor heartbreaks
Blow up your inflatables
Man those paddles
We’re heading to the sea
On a river of you and me.
V.
There are healers
Squealers
Blatant revealers
Circling round my grizzled mop
Wallflowers
Awful towers
Of mismatched powers
Struggling over linguistics
Logistics
And wasted hours.
Tantalizing
Rope tricks
Some Willing Rogers lusty
Ribald
Knotty tales
Spinning captured
Words of rapturous
Love
Snakeskin boots
Apple corps.
Hanging
On this lion’s
Roar.
There are mysterians
Leaving c-c-cryptic massages
Red flesh handprint language
Moist code
To be deciphered
Mulled over
Questioned.
Just come clean.
Where were you on the night of…
Torturous inquisitions
Surveyed
Sexy
What ifs and what ares
Who dids and who didn’ts
Hands behind your back
Gimme some truth, baby
Confess
Melt down
Blab
What you need
Right now
All I ask
Amidst the charade
Is the ghost of reality
A taste on your lips.
~ September 8-10, BBC for Minx, Tiny, Ms. C, Ringer, SubB
She said, “You could talk the pants off of me,”
I said, “But you aren’t wearing any.”
She said, “See.”
II.
“I met you when I was 14.”
I tried not to remind her how old I was now.
“I knew then we’d always be close.”
Years later, this conversation took place
She is jailbait no more.
She has kids
And an asshole ex
The type of which I encounter more often than not
These days
As a man about town
Where women have exs, children, bills
A smidgeon of spare time
Men have issues
And nights are long
In my arms confessing all.
In a town where my conquests, my flirtations
My formers and coulda-beens
Exist as much through the ether
As in real time face-to-face
Hip-to-hip horizontal bop.
Long distance lovers and dreamers and thieves
Who steal into my dreams and disappear
In the light of day
Or don’t.
She takes pictures for a living
Something I encouraged
A talented eye to try.
Now I look at shots of her
Through the years
And yearn for stories
And more.
We share sexy confessions late at night
She quietly listens
As my voices lowers near whisper
I hear her breath quicken
And she’ll coo in that warm musty voice of hers
Which strikes sparks
From my paused pontificating
As she murmurs
“I’m soaked. Tell me more…”
III.
Three dark sirens
And me strapped to the mast
Willing
Ready
Leaning into their songs.
The first doesn’t sing as much as scream
Panting at the slapping tide
Crashing against her hips
Stinging spots soft from neglect
Her eyes glazed in trance
Having waited for this storm
To rear up and spit its pent-up fury
In her anxious direction.
The second doesn’t sing
As much as dance the silent sound
Around
Serpentine ballet of illusion
Mystery
And pulls songs from around her
Where reflected
Become her own.
She is echo maker.
Creating bounceback
Riptide
Magnetic lunar tug
and light.
The sound that reaches
Here last
Shines as light vibrates
With sound
As creation is energized light
Fliting so quickly
Our eyes see nothing
But radiant
Blinding beauty
Youth of sound and movement
Danced and reflected
Spun like silk thru the tumultuous air
Shaking all still
In attentive embrace of the song.
But too fresh
To grasp the full effect.
Beauty reflects beauty
Reflects beauty
Dashed
To the ancient
Craggy sea.
IV.
Still autumn falls
In spite of our best efforts
In spite of hurried dreams
Storms brew and hit landfall
Floods, quakes
Minor heartbreaks
Blow up your inflatables
Man those paddles
We’re heading to the sea
On a river of you and me.
V.
There are healers
Squealers
Blatant revealers
Circling round my grizzled mop
Wallflowers
Awful towers
Of mismatched powers
Struggling over linguistics
Logistics
And wasted hours.
Tantalizing
Rope tricks
Some Willing Rogers lusty
Ribald
Knotty tales
Spinning captured
Words of rapturous
Love
Snakeskin boots
Apple corps.
Hanging
On this lion’s
Roar.
There are mysterians
Leaving c-c-cryptic massages
Red flesh handprint language
Moist code
To be deciphered
Mulled over
Questioned.
Just come clean.
Where were you on the night of…
Torturous inquisitions
Surveyed
Sexy
What ifs and what ares
Who dids and who didn’ts
Hands behind your back
Gimme some truth, baby
Confess
Melt down
Blab
What you need
Right now
All I ask
Amidst the charade
Is the ghost of reality
A taste on your lips.
~ September 8-10, BBC for Minx, Tiny, Ms. C, Ringer, SubB
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
THE EYES HAVE IT
Concert at The Echo, bands I don't know. I crawl in solo and early, walking around before the show, making quick eye contact with a brunette in a hippie dress. Green eyes. Young. Half my age (isn’t everyone?). I get a drink at the bar, move around behind her 20 feet or so back. She’s obviously with some tall, galoot in a plaid shirt. He’s yammering at her about his job, what he does. Her eyes dart around the periphery and back to him when she thinks he’s looking at her, feigning interest. He never asks her a question, or even pauses to allow her a random innocuous comment. In fact, he doesn’t seem to really care if she is listening at all, he just presumes so. For the most part he keeps his eyes up in the rafters as he speaks. Glancing at the stage lights, the big, dark speakers hanging precariously in the corners of the room playing some decent, if non-descript CD of post-apocalyptic, West Coast, 80s punk.
She feels my eyes on her. I look up and down her body slowly, memorizing. She’s wearing a loose, hippie-type dress. Summery, muslin perhaps, short above her knees but low-cut with a little cleavage and a necklace I can’t quite see from 10 feet away in the darkened club. She feels my eyes on her, catching me looking her over. When he glances away from her, rambling, she smiles slightly and glances directly in my eyes. I do not avert. This goes on all during the first act, repeating like the incessant bass line. She seems to know the words to all of the songs. I know none of them. She’s obviously a regular and me just a newbie fan who hadn’t even heard of this band until the night before.
During the break I sit on edge of the stage and watch the crowd mill about. Some mating dances, lots of 20-somethings out for a night of rock n roll with packs of friends. She must be on a first date because who would hang with this moron more than once. Almost every time I look at her she is either already looking at me or turns her eyes slightly trying to be nonchalant and not obvious about it. Why her interest in me, I’m unsure. Other than the fact that my fearlessness at making eye contact might be a bit irregular for someone of her beauty and then again, perhaps I'm obviously just forward enough considering her hovering suitor.
During main band’s set, all sexy 70s harmonies and 90s grungy guitars with flashes of Bakersfield honky-tonk twang. She video tapes the whole thing. While the three guitarist front men are much closer to her age, she doesn’t sing along this set but keeps glancing away from her screen and out of the corner of her eye at me. She has positioned herself between the finally quiet boyfriend and the sweat-wet singers and her date is none the wiser. This has got to be a first date or perhaps the closing moments of something gone on too listlessly long.
Before the encore, he runs off with his peanut bladder, and I figure, impulsively, that I only have a minute or two. I take five steps to my left. Eyes locked on hers, her camera is at her side. Everyone else must presume I'm lurching, aching for rock star proximity in the pit when actually I’m scooching to the right over to her side to say, “Your red light is still on.”
“A-----”, she says her name softly, as if a forbidden secret shared.
“Hi. Who’s the guy? What’s is story?”
“He’s boring. He went to get one for the road. You really want HIS story?”
“No, just yours. You, live in town?”
“Yes, Silver Lake. I’m 25. You?”
“That’s two answers. I only asked one…I live in the mountains.”
“Nice…(she waits)”
“54, though I look MUCH younger.”
She giggles. “Older than my dad,” with a big beautiful smile.
Now it’s my turn to say, “Nice.” She laughs out loud.
“Great hiking up there waiting for you, come on up for a visit.” I smile big. She grins big back. I can’t believe how easy it is to just invite this stranger to my moungtain home, miles away. I’m kind of amazed myself. My balls hurt, they are so big. But I figured the dude would be back any minute. “Seen these guys before?” I ask, meaning the band.
“Seen the opener but not the other guys. You?”
“Nope. But they were awesome.” She giggles again. “You like Jeff Beck?...not Beck, Jeff Beck the guitarist?” Now, I’m throwing it out there fast. I am so sick of wasting time especially when I have nothing to lose.
“Sure, he’s got a girl on bass.” I don’t tell her it’s not that band anymore but I’m impressed she knows that.
“I thinking about trying to get tickets to see him in Pomona tomorrow night. Can I call you in the morning?”
She just recites me her number. Hold on…” I scramble for my phone. She repeats it and I get it in without area code, furtively glancing up to see “Mr. First Date” Coming from across the room, walking slowly concentrating to not spill his two full beers.
I start to ask a question, which she anticipates, “323.”
She was about 5’2”, natural, unpretentious looking girl, brunette, curly Joan Osborne type angelic hair. Pale skin. Curvy, dimpled smile. Eyes green like emerald pools. Nice body from what I could see. Not super skinny but not fat either. I liked that she was direct, only shy in the first 30 seconds of me approaching. She looked directly into my eyes when not casually looking around for her dude checking his whereabouts. She seemed very comfortable with my attentions. Quite nonchalant and natural. Wow.
Looking up, I see he’s about 10 feet away, and closing, hands soaked. She has both of their coats in her arms and he tries to hand her a beer and of course, doesn’t reach to help with the coats. Doofus.
Fortuitously, I get a call from my buddy who told me about the show. I turn and look down at my cell before the guy gets that I’m chatting up his girl. Stand there acting busy, texting, “I’m talking to a hottie.” I put my phone to my ear and then glance up at her and she mouths the words, “Call me,” as he leads her to one of the little tables that were emptying out over by the side wall. I head outside, leaning against a car parked curbside, hoping for one last glance. After about ten minutes, they get booted and stroll out into the night. As they pass my post, I look into her eyes and stick my hand against my chest and make it flutter. She smiles and walks by in Moron’s yammering wake.
I can barely sleep all night, anxious to call her. I wait until 11 a.m. the next morning, Sheer will power, I was thinking she was probably up late and didn’t want her to think I was too anxious. She answered on the second ring and said, before I had a chance to speak, “’Bout time you called.”
“How’d you know it was me?” I laughed.
“I recognized the area code. You sure were forward last night,” I hear the teasing under-her-breath smile curving the vorners of her mouth as she speaks.
“I apologize but I just couldn’t risk not seeing that look in your eyes again.”
“…or the chance of seeing me naked.” Boy, this girl was direct, pretty intense for a girl her age. I felt exhilarated but also a bit trepidatious thinking I should probably keep on my toes.
“So are we going to that concert tonight or is this a booty call?”
“Well, do you have a preference?” Two could play this game.
“How about you come over and fuck me and then we decide?” I had no problem agreeing to that but wanted to make her wonder for a moment. “What makes you presume I want to fuck you?” I queried, unconvincingly.
She hung up.
Oh shit. Now, who’s the doofus? But I could practically hear her laugh in the silence of her far-off room. On the tenth ring she picked up, torturing me.
“So that didn’t take long to decide, now did it?” she sounded reserved but playful, but what did I know, I hardly knew her. “Did it?” This time she said it a bit more forcefully.
“I will do whatever you want me to do, young lady.” She had me and I tested the waters to make sure she was ready and willing as she implied.
“In private, you call me Mistress Ann. I presume you know how to pay me proper respect when you address me?”
“Yes, Mistress Ann.”
“Good. Now when I am ready, I will text you my address and I will expect you there within the hour. I want you on your knees at my front door when I answer it. Barefoot. Now, go clean yourself up.”
“Yes, Mistress Ann.”
She feels my eyes on her. I look up and down her body slowly, memorizing. She’s wearing a loose, hippie-type dress. Summery, muslin perhaps, short above her knees but low-cut with a little cleavage and a necklace I can’t quite see from 10 feet away in the darkened club. She feels my eyes on her, catching me looking her over. When he glances away from her, rambling, she smiles slightly and glances directly in my eyes. I do not avert. This goes on all during the first act, repeating like the incessant bass line. She seems to know the words to all of the songs. I know none of them. She’s obviously a regular and me just a newbie fan who hadn’t even heard of this band until the night before.
During the break I sit on edge of the stage and watch the crowd mill about. Some mating dances, lots of 20-somethings out for a night of rock n roll with packs of friends. She must be on a first date because who would hang with this moron more than once. Almost every time I look at her she is either already looking at me or turns her eyes slightly trying to be nonchalant and not obvious about it. Why her interest in me, I’m unsure. Other than the fact that my fearlessness at making eye contact might be a bit irregular for someone of her beauty and then again, perhaps I'm obviously just forward enough considering her hovering suitor.
During main band’s set, all sexy 70s harmonies and 90s grungy guitars with flashes of Bakersfield honky-tonk twang. She video tapes the whole thing. While the three guitarist front men are much closer to her age, she doesn’t sing along this set but keeps glancing away from her screen and out of the corner of her eye at me. She has positioned herself between the finally quiet boyfriend and the sweat-wet singers and her date is none the wiser. This has got to be a first date or perhaps the closing moments of something gone on too listlessly long.
Before the encore, he runs off with his peanut bladder, and I figure, impulsively, that I only have a minute or two. I take five steps to my left. Eyes locked on hers, her camera is at her side. Everyone else must presume I'm lurching, aching for rock star proximity in the pit when actually I’m scooching to the right over to her side to say, “Your red light is still on.”
“A-----”, she says her name softly, as if a forbidden secret shared.
“Hi. Who’s the guy? What’s is story?”
“He’s boring. He went to get one for the road. You really want HIS story?”
“No, just yours. You, live in town?”
“Yes, Silver Lake. I’m 25. You?”
“That’s two answers. I only asked one…I live in the mountains.”
“Nice…(she waits)”
“54, though I look MUCH younger.”
She giggles. “Older than my dad,” with a big beautiful smile.
Now it’s my turn to say, “Nice.” She laughs out loud.
“Great hiking up there waiting for you, come on up for a visit.” I smile big. She grins big back. I can’t believe how easy it is to just invite this stranger to my moungtain home, miles away. I’m kind of amazed myself. My balls hurt, they are so big. But I figured the dude would be back any minute. “Seen these guys before?” I ask, meaning the band.
“Seen the opener but not the other guys. You?”
“Nope. But they were awesome.” She giggles again. “You like Jeff Beck?...not Beck, Jeff Beck the guitarist?” Now, I’m throwing it out there fast. I am so sick of wasting time especially when I have nothing to lose.
“Sure, he’s got a girl on bass.” I don’t tell her it’s not that band anymore but I’m impressed she knows that.
“I thinking about trying to get tickets to see him in Pomona tomorrow night. Can I call you in the morning?”
She just recites me her number. Hold on…” I scramble for my phone. She repeats it and I get it in without area code, furtively glancing up to see “Mr. First Date” Coming from across the room, walking slowly concentrating to not spill his two full beers.
I start to ask a question, which she anticipates, “323.”
She was about 5’2”, natural, unpretentious looking girl, brunette, curly Joan Osborne type angelic hair. Pale skin. Curvy, dimpled smile. Eyes green like emerald pools. Nice body from what I could see. Not super skinny but not fat either. I liked that she was direct, only shy in the first 30 seconds of me approaching. She looked directly into my eyes when not casually looking around for her dude checking his whereabouts. She seemed very comfortable with my attentions. Quite nonchalant and natural. Wow.
Looking up, I see he’s about 10 feet away, and closing, hands soaked. She has both of their coats in her arms and he tries to hand her a beer and of course, doesn’t reach to help with the coats. Doofus.
Fortuitously, I get a call from my buddy who told me about the show. I turn and look down at my cell before the guy gets that I’m chatting up his girl. Stand there acting busy, texting, “I’m talking to a hottie.” I put my phone to my ear and then glance up at her and she mouths the words, “Call me,” as he leads her to one of the little tables that were emptying out over by the side wall. I head outside, leaning against a car parked curbside, hoping for one last glance. After about ten minutes, they get booted and stroll out into the night. As they pass my post, I look into her eyes and stick my hand against my chest and make it flutter. She smiles and walks by in Moron’s yammering wake.
I can barely sleep all night, anxious to call her. I wait until 11 a.m. the next morning, Sheer will power, I was thinking she was probably up late and didn’t want her to think I was too anxious. She answered on the second ring and said, before I had a chance to speak, “’Bout time you called.”
“How’d you know it was me?” I laughed.
“I recognized the area code. You sure were forward last night,” I hear the teasing under-her-breath smile curving the vorners of her mouth as she speaks.
“I apologize but I just couldn’t risk not seeing that look in your eyes again.”
“…or the chance of seeing me naked.” Boy, this girl was direct, pretty intense for a girl her age. I felt exhilarated but also a bit trepidatious thinking I should probably keep on my toes.
“So are we going to that concert tonight or is this a booty call?”
“Well, do you have a preference?” Two could play this game.
“How about you come over and fuck me and then we decide?” I had no problem agreeing to that but wanted to make her wonder for a moment. “What makes you presume I want to fuck you?” I queried, unconvincingly.
She hung up.
Oh shit. Now, who’s the doofus? But I could practically hear her laugh in the silence of her far-off room. On the tenth ring she picked up, torturing me.
“So that didn’t take long to decide, now did it?” she sounded reserved but playful, but what did I know, I hardly knew her. “Did it?” This time she said it a bit more forcefully.
“I will do whatever you want me to do, young lady.” She had me and I tested the waters to make sure she was ready and willing as she implied.
“In private, you call me Mistress Ann. I presume you know how to pay me proper respect when you address me?”
“Yes, Mistress Ann.”
“Good. Now when I am ready, I will text you my address and I will expect you there within the hour. I want you on your knees at my front door when I answer it. Barefoot. Now, go clean yourself up.”
“Yes, Mistress Ann.”
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