I hide in the open, in broad daylight, a street walker too scared to get caught behind the desk they hire me to sit in, down in the most remote place, while she and the men wrapped around her fingers, try to figure out what to do about me, me, fearing she might actually get to be my boss and fire me, so, I walk in the heat of sun, desperate and scared, counting off my life with each step, if not the 13 steps to the gallows, then enough to hang me with, could she really be a boss and would she fire me if I piss her off again. I walk looking over my shoulder at her fact that his not there, the image of her eyes burned into the back of my brain.
I look at the video of her with the band years out of date and I think I might have fallen for her even then become a groupie offering her anything for just One look or even a pat on the head black top orange skirt in one film other outfits and others she always the same the center of my attention of fixation I might have had long before I fixated on her for real before I even knew who she was not a rockstar yet a bright spot on the stage thick with old men playing old songs none of which mean anything to me without her on stage with them maybe it's hindsight me thinking this and attraction that might not have been any attraction at all I later felt attracted to her and maybe in the depths of night listening to her other songs I still imagine myself as her groupie and maybe I always will
I keep thinking of that old lady at that old people's home who walked around claiming she needed a man to fuck, and how impressed she was by the sheer honesty of that need as if we old people had the same needs young people do, only can't just go into some pickup bar and pick up someone when there are so many young people to choose from, though hearing her say how much she admired the old woman made me admire her, even though saying it where she did in front of our boss shocked me and made me wonder if I will need it too, the older I get
(Below is the message from the mafia don widow as part of the exchange of stories -- giving you an idea of what her motives were, when I was trying to keep it a simple change of stories)
don't think you are getting what I am trying to say. Totally hypothetical and will use you and me for lack of
creating a character. Suppose.... I would daydream about you at council meetings,
watching you at parades, at debates, watching the characters you become in your
films, etc., etc. various daydreams always wondering if... Now suppose (again, just using you as my character minus the
reality) you were doing the same thing about me, daydreaming as I speak to an
official, watching me walk in the parade, admiring as I work with an animal
rescue or stare as I care for an elderly patient. Neither one of us know nothing about each other but we share
the same daydreams, wonderings, fantasies about each other. If one or both of
us learned of this and both decided to persue those dreams it could be a
magical relationship. That is why I say I wonder, especially since many people
classify me as "unapproachable" I wonder if there ever was mutual
daydreaming going on... sorry it took me so long for this reply, I had to read my
story one more time before I put it away for now.
After yesterday’s email exchange, I kept thinking about you.
I didn’t completely fall asleep, but woke in fits, thoughts running through my
head.
I kept thinking of the first time we met, and how I had to
struggle to keep my gaze from watching the swell of your breasts where your
shirt dipped.
As I lay in bed, I kept imagining what they would feel like
if I eased my hands under your blouse, feeling each nipple between my
forefinger and thumb.
Of course, it couldn’t stop there. Where my fingers go, my
mouth wants to follow, and from wishing my mouth on yours, I dreamed my mouth
slowly eased down as my hands lifted your shirt, tongue playing off the tip of
each nipple, licking as if ice cream.
How this was possible in a place so public as that, remains
a mystery, but the more I pondered you, the more alone we seemed to be, just
the two of us, now seated on the same side of the table, my hands easing under
your shirt and skirt for more contact with your skin, something electric
sparking in me whenever my hands made contact.
While no candle glowed during our first meeting, I imagined
one now, the movement of the flickering flame reflected in your dark eyes along
with the image of my face as I rose once more to kiss your lips.
I felt as if a real fire burned in both of us, growing more
out of control the more my mouth melded with yours, my tongue seeking out yours
as if I imitating the love making I most desired. Feeling you pressed against
me, feeling your tongue and lips, feeling your bared breasts against my chest,
made you even more irresistible.
Then, somehow in my imagining, we are both naked, my over
you, craving contact with every inch, as if I needed to every part me to feel
every part of you, my mouth finally working down into the space between your
legs.
I taste you even as I dream, and feel the tip of my tongue
dancing over you and around you and into you, as if we really were in the same
room, and I really knelt before you, though the growing pain between my thighs
testified to my desire that in my dreams, I ease into you slowly, moving in and
out, feeling your breath against my cheek, my eyes open, staring into your
eyes, my mouth now repeating the motions from below, my stare studying the
growing look of haze that pleasure brings in your eyes, me moving much more
quickly than I want, needing to make this moment last, needing not so much the
explosion that will soon follow but the continued contact of flesh, me needing
to keep the contact, to forever touch on every inch, our movement only making
the pleasure more intense.
But as in all good things, I feel me exploding inside of
you, and then, wake up, sweating, and full, and still aching for you.
I originally wrote this after the poet and I went on a trial cruise she was covering. But I was uncomfortable because of the sexual and S&M implications, although i always knew it would be a song.
