"In general, I’m good at beginnings, the drama of wooing and seduction,
the honeymoon phase. That’s what it’s like with me and relationships;
I’m not very evolved when it comes to attachment." - The last city I
loved: Tel Aviv by Shaun Levin
When the door bell was rung by a woman in ivory high heels matched with her ivory linen top, a man in his forties opened the door. He was wearing a velvet blue shirt and black jeans. His hair styled and wet. It would appear that he had just stepped out of the shower. He took a look at the woman in high heels and pulled her close and started to kiss her before she had dropped her bag. The woman blushed and kissed him back. She had long straight brown hair and large sunglasses. She was carrying a cell phone and seemed to be just finishing up her call.
"When did you get home?" She asked.
"About five." He answered. His back now towards her as he started to prepare drinks. "Cocktails? I want you to meet Captain Jack." Captain Jack, as it turned out, was the neighbor's cat. A big, fat, lazy, beautifully blond and gray haired cat who was in the courtyard, waiting to be received, properly.
Woman wanted to kick off her heels. Man eyed her shoes and said, "No, keep it on, baby." She smiled and immediately knew what he had in mind. Man had taken some limes and cut them up. He was then bringing two tall glasses to the counter, where a mini bar was built and set up just so. She began to drink this tropical drink filled with lime, rum, coke and mango juice. An odd combination, but in a hot summer day like this, it felt natural.
"Here is to Florida." She said.
Man in his forties smiled. His mother, as she learned, was remarried and moved to Florida after she and his father divorced. He had sometimes visited her in Florida. He's the younger son and had a older sister. He grew up in New England and schooled in Boston, and moved to San Francisco in early 90s and found a home in the Haight, then in the Mission. Man worked at the Ivy League of the west during the week, but often had downtime to create his art projects, elaborate, funky, one of kind art installation. He had a following. When he had shows, sometimes women lingered after, and stayed in his place. He liked women. There was no type per say. Blondes were his favorite. Older, younger, Jewish, German, Swedish, and occasionally, Asian. Women who thought he was creative, smart, and terribly handsome tend to linger after his exhibits, and when he had too much to drink, he was not so choosy. Then there were those old flings from the 90s. Women who stayed in his life sometimes, would contact him for a quick hook up. Everyone wanted sex sometimes. And those that were not the complicated kind, conducted between two consenting adults in their late 30s and 40s, were the best. Everyone knew everyone from before. A quick get together, easy sexual encounter, then people went back to their lives, as if nothing happened. Those were the lives of unmarried people. It never changed. He never had to change, and he saw no reason to change.
Woman remembered this man she once dated. He told her that his parents moved to Florida after retirement. It was one of those places every retiree from the Midwest and the East Coast moved to. She wouldn't move there. She'd move to France, like any respectable woman who's independent, she'd move to Europe. Four seasons, rain, snow, sun and leaves turning brown and grapevines were ripened to be picked. Not like Florida, it's always humid and hot, even in the winter.
Man was gorgeous. Every time the woman decided that she was unsure, she just needed to remind her that the moment she set her eyes on him, she'd be fine. Man was slim, 5'10", and had an incredible sex drive. And he liked to talk. Talked nonstop about any and all subjects under the sun. He knew so much. All she needed to do was to ask a question and they were off to the races. He had an opinion on everything, radical views, and a perfect, elegant way to convey his thoughts to her. She wanted sometimes to just listen to him talking. Listen to him talking about the world, the economy, the political and social injustice of America, the changing city that is called San Francisco, his childhood, his days in Boston, his observation of the disappearing bums on the street in the Mission. His art projects. She would listen and find herself getting wet. She was turned on by his words, and that was before she even knew that they were going to be good in bed.
Through the door into the next house into the garden filled with fragrant flowers and fruit trees was when the next unexpected thing happened.
One moment they were sitting in a secluded section of the garden, completely private, then the next moment she had her dress hiked up high, exposing her garter belt and black stockings, her left leg lifted onto the patio table and he was inside of her as she was leaning on the patio table. A mirror behind a bunch of bamboo trees leaned against the wall, reflective of what they were up to. From the mirror she saw him entering her, first gently then with a force. Her left leg was resting on the table and her right leg stood and she looked back at him as he thrust himself into and out of her.. She admired herself in the mirror. She was curvy and erotic. He was slim and handsome. Sex outdoor. Sex in the broad day light surprised and excited her. The man was gentle and kind one moment, but then he had taken control over the situation and put her in a receiving mode. So she purred like Captain Jack and let him. It had been a long few months. Her last boyfriend had vanished. No explanation, no "I'm sorry". He just disappeared. She thought her heart broke but even with a broken heart one must move on.
She could use a break. He was going to be her break. And with that, she rested her head on the table, and let the evening begin.
When the door bell was rung by a woman in ivory high heels matched with her ivory linen top, a man in his forties opened the door. He was wearing a velvet blue shirt and black jeans. His hair styled and wet. It would appear that he had just stepped out of the shower. He took a look at the woman in high heels and pulled her close and started to kiss her before she had dropped her bag. The woman blushed and kissed him back. She had long straight brown hair and large sunglasses. She was carrying a cell phone and seemed to be just finishing up her call.
"When did you get home?" She asked.
"About five." He answered. His back now towards her as he started to prepare drinks. "Cocktails? I want you to meet Captain Jack." Captain Jack, as it turned out, was the neighbor's cat. A big, fat, lazy, beautifully blond and gray haired cat who was in the courtyard, waiting to be received, properly.
Woman wanted to kick off her heels. Man eyed her shoes and said, "No, keep it on, baby." She smiled and immediately knew what he had in mind. Man had taken some limes and cut them up. He was then bringing two tall glasses to the counter, where a mini bar was built and set up just so. She began to drink this tropical drink filled with lime, rum, coke and mango juice. An odd combination, but in a hot summer day like this, it felt natural.
"Here is to Florida." She said.
Man in his forties smiled. His mother, as she learned, was remarried and moved to Florida after she and his father divorced. He had sometimes visited her in Florida. He's the younger son and had a older sister. He grew up in New England and schooled in Boston, and moved to San Francisco in early 90s and found a home in the Haight, then in the Mission. Man worked at the Ivy League of the west during the week, but often had downtime to create his art projects, elaborate, funky, one of kind art installation. He had a following. When he had shows, sometimes women lingered after, and stayed in his place. He liked women. There was no type per say. Blondes were his favorite. Older, younger, Jewish, German, Swedish, and occasionally, Asian. Women who thought he was creative, smart, and terribly handsome tend to linger after his exhibits, and when he had too much to drink, he was not so choosy. Then there were those old flings from the 90s. Women who stayed in his life sometimes, would contact him for a quick hook up. Everyone wanted sex sometimes. And those that were not the complicated kind, conducted between two consenting adults in their late 30s and 40s, were the best. Everyone knew everyone from before. A quick get together, easy sexual encounter, then people went back to their lives, as if nothing happened. Those were the lives of unmarried people. It never changed. He never had to change, and he saw no reason to change.
Woman remembered this man she once dated. He told her that his parents moved to Florida after retirement. It was one of those places every retiree from the Midwest and the East Coast moved to. She wouldn't move there. She'd move to France, like any respectable woman who's independent, she'd move to Europe. Four seasons, rain, snow, sun and leaves turning brown and grapevines were ripened to be picked. Not like Florida, it's always humid and hot, even in the winter.
Man was gorgeous. Every time the woman decided that she was unsure, she just needed to remind her that the moment she set her eyes on him, she'd be fine. Man was slim, 5'10", and had an incredible sex drive. And he liked to talk. Talked nonstop about any and all subjects under the sun. He knew so much. All she needed to do was to ask a question and they were off to the races. He had an opinion on everything, radical views, and a perfect, elegant way to convey his thoughts to her. She wanted sometimes to just listen to him talking. Listen to him talking about the world, the economy, the political and social injustice of America, the changing city that is called San Francisco, his childhood, his days in Boston, his observation of the disappearing bums on the street in the Mission. His art projects. She would listen and find herself getting wet. She was turned on by his words, and that was before she even knew that they were going to be good in bed.
Through the door into the next house into the garden filled with fragrant flowers and fruit trees was when the next unexpected thing happened.
One moment they were sitting in a secluded section of the garden, completely private, then the next moment she had her dress hiked up high, exposing her garter belt and black stockings, her left leg lifted onto the patio table and he was inside of her as she was leaning on the patio table. A mirror behind a bunch of bamboo trees leaned against the wall, reflective of what they were up to. From the mirror she saw him entering her, first gently then with a force. Her left leg was resting on the table and her right leg stood and she looked back at him as he thrust himself into and out of her.. She admired herself in the mirror. She was curvy and erotic. He was slim and handsome. Sex outdoor. Sex in the broad day light surprised and excited her. The man was gentle and kind one moment, but then he had taken control over the situation and put her in a receiving mode. So she purred like Captain Jack and let him. It had been a long few months. Her last boyfriend had vanished. No explanation, no "I'm sorry". He just disappeared. She thought her heart broke but even with a broken heart one must move on.
She could use a break. He was going to be her break. And with that, she rested her head on the table, and let the evening begin.
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