On my way to a café, the other day, in one of those towns
where the uber hipsters hang out, I thought I’d park my car a little further
away so I could get a little refreshing walk in. I crossed the street and made
a quick left, heading to the café in the middle of the block.
Ahead of me were two young women. One of them had a head of
bright blond hair with dark brown streaks in it, topped with a blue thingy wrapped
around her hair ending in a long ponytail. She had on a colorful; I don’t know
what you call it, a Halter top that exposed her belly button and a blue, short
skirt that had frills on the ends near her knees. On her feet were
beige-colored platform style shoes with straps that went up her ankles.
All of a sudden, she rolled her ankle, tripped and went
down. She rolled over on her butt and as I walked to her to help her up, I
noticed that she had no underwear on. It seemed like an eternity as I reached
for her hand to help her up. She looked at me for a moment and said, “Did you
like what you saw?”
I said, “No. You could use a trim or a Brazilian, maybe, or
dye it the same as what’s on your head.” I smiled, and turned into the café. I
then ordered a coffee, black, no sugar or cream. I wanted a brownie, but they
didn’t have any that day, so I got one of those large, soft, chocolate chip
cookie. I went and sat down on a vacant sofa and waited for my comrades to
come. I was going to read some of my poetry, that day.
I was just about to get comfy when that young lady marched
over to me. She stood there for a second then bent over to say something to me
that only I could have heard.
“Are you some kind of pervert?” She said…her eyes wide, her
face almost expressionless. I was shocked, but only for a second or two.
Looking dead into her eyes I said, “Youngster, I have seen,
touch, tasted, and played with over xxx women in my lifetime. I am over xx
years old and that,” pointing at her crotch, “doesn’t excite me as much as it
did when I was your age.” I looked up at her and smiled, then added, “Besides, a
pervert would have had a camera and took plenty of pictures. My camera was in
my pocket.”
She straightened up and put her hands on her hips. I noticed
the corner of her lip started to erect into a tiny smile. I figured she wanted
to burst out laughing, but she didn’t. She turned and started to walk out of
the café. I noticed, as she walked away, her rear end was sashaying, a definite
prominence that she didn’t have as she was walking down the street.
At that moment I realized, I had lied to her. Something I
don’t do often, fibbing, not telling the truth. I did get excited, just a
little, a tiny bit. Just enough to let me know, I’m still human.
Forty-five minutes later, as I sat listening to one of my friends
read their poems, that youngster walked back onto the café, over to me and
whispered into my ear, “can I get a ride home?”
