"Leave me alone." The dreaded pronouncement fell from her soft, pouty, full lips like a ton of bricks; and it neatly floored me-the way only such a dreadful command can. Yet, it was not one that I was unfamiliar with or that was new to me, either. Oh, no-but that is another story: another dark, scary, sad tale.
She stood, my half-Asian, rather Hispanic-looking inamorata, hands on hips: a bodily gesture and stance of hers with which I was getting all too familiar-and deploring the sight of; even if it did afford me a slight amount of oddly abject arousal given how much of her full, voluptuous body (with it's large, round, firm, proud breasts, wide child-bearing hips and amazing, arousing poetic contours all over)-glaring at me with those soulful, dusky, soft now fiery and hard, eyes.
Her face, much of it's smooth, tawny skin taut, was frozen in a rictus of, if not rage, then hyper-exasperation.
Beneath those ranked lines of lights, beside the dwarfing, linear mass of one half-stocked wall of goods-cereals-in the aisle in which we stood and has our important but impromptu tete-a-tete, and confronted by that harshness and imperviousness present on that normally smooth and happy and welcoming face of hers, all I could do was stumble and stammer...which only incensed her more.
Yet, she was so sensuous and sultry and salacious when she was angry, that I stayed, as I liked to do: I liked to linger near her at all times, for as long as I could when it was viable, and love often filled me and motivated me when she was welcoming and talkative, but now only raw, plain, pure, fiery lust induced me to remain....that and a modicum of genuine curiosity regarding the apparent nadir to which our crumbling situation: our relationship: had sunk that I longed to satisfy. For, if we were over, if we were no longer friends, if we would have no more to do with one another, I wanted to know...so that, in final despair, I could go home and committ suicide that very day, if possible and timely..but then, the late summer traffic was so long and congested! Thus, though her cherubic face had become one that, though still frankly beautiful, assayed to outshine Medusa's-and in it gaze, my tongue was stone, a juddering rock in my dry, coppery mouth and my stance was gelid, my position frore, my station and posture a juxtaposition of frozen and stony.
I stood as motionless as a log, caught and crackling in the anhydrous conflagration blazing unchecked from those eyes.
And, was I concupiescent?
Oh boy and oh brother was I!
I think sometimes that various women-especially, somewhat ironically, the sexiest ones-forget the power that their bodies and faces have over us; either that, or they just don't care...I'm not entirely sure which.
Here's one absolutely definitive and truthful statement about which you can be sure: that many women are one of the greatest-or even THE greatest-psychological torturers and tormentors-and my inamorata and coworker was no exception.
Still, when I last hugged her, about 3 months ago, I had had a large, painfully noticeable erection-and though it was jabbing her upperthight, against which glorious smoothness, tightness and warmth it lazed contentedly-content to remain there-ore perhaps someplace else; but still located on (or in) her body-forever. Yet, did she feel my manhood resting against, thrusting at, throbbing against her then-or, if she did, did she remotely acknowledge it?
No; she didn't!
And now, once again, she seemed oblivious of the sultriness and salaciousness her angry body and face and eyes exuded-and also the tent that began to irrupt from the crotch of my pants, that I tried hard to conceal, even going so far as to rip a cereal box from the wall and hold it against me, thus hopefully hiding it!.......and as she glared at me and said a few further things-most of which, perhaps given their apparent superfluity in the heat of this crucible and in light of her recent pronouncement, were ignored at the instant of their verbalization and vociferation by me-I remembered one other of the four major times (there had been literally hundreds of minor ones) in which she had aroused me to the point where she had awakened my slumberous manhood....not, of course, that this is the key thrust of my story, but: It had been one night, early on in my tenure at the supermarket, when her and I had not known each other very long, and this had been about six months ago, though now it seemed and odd confluence of time in which, to my memory, the outlandish yet wondrous incident seemed to have happened both a thousand years and one day ago; anyway, I had been out retrieving the many wayward carts of the establishment as had then been my wont of a late spring's balmy evening and, preparatory to the nightly temporary closure of the store, lining many of those carts I found and collected in three to six rows in the area between our store and the nearest one: a video store: which consisted structurally of only one wall, a vast, outspreading roof and a floor paved with concrete, in which the only constant landmarks-though even some of these would shift positions over the days and weeks and months and years-were trash barrels (especially the trash barrels would be moved often) three soda vending machines lined up like the usual suspects at a witness viewing, and one, lone, rusted bike rack, at which I always parked my accumulated cars nightly. Now, on this particular evening, my inamorata, while on her break, adjourned to the...........................................................................................................................
Author's Note: This story, while partly autobiographical, is largely embellished and exaggerated and hyperbolized in order to effect laughter, to heighten tension and to increase humor. It is very descriptive, especially in a borderline risque way, in order to continue that comedy. For, the tale might not be funny if that was not the case-if I had not used that particular ancient device. Still, for all intents and purposes, because I just started it last night, it is yet unfinished.
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