CONTEMPLATING YOUNG LADIES
A friend has suggested that I should hookup with party girls from Daly City, tattooed slags from Hayward, or desperate women cruising the Vegan shelves at an upscale supermarket.
Saints preserve me, even start going to a synagogue and scoping out the thirty-something single women.
Either that, or pop roofies into some girl's drink and hope for the best.
I believe the words he used to describe the ideal match he envisions for me were 'spinner', shopaholic Philippina, hoochie, and therapeutic.
He comes from the flower-power era. They had different ideas back then.
Just like today's free spirits have different ideas - casual perversion, loaded old guy, and quickie in a parking lot.
Let me present three "ideal" situations in narrative form.
TRAIN STATION PLATFORM
They saw each other on the perron at Bad Schimmelarsch one autumn day. He had never seen anyone so beautiful. She wondered why that creep was staring at her.
He found her eyes, even from a distance, to be enchanting, entrancing, engaging.
She became more and more uncomfortable - what was it with men? Why did they all seem to have just one thing on their minds?
He was subconsciously aware of the roseate glow through the thin fabric of her blouse, betraying the pert presence of aureoles and nipples, the focal points of her girlish bosom, but he did not focus on that - her profile held enough charms that those fine details, strange to relate, faded from his attention. She was convinced that if the stranger could, he would slap her down on an oiled tarp, strip her clothing off her body by brute force, and leave her bruised and weeping.
As his train headed north, he could only wonder: what would have happened if he had actually spoken to her? Seated in a train towards the south, she was glad that he had not approached - she had been ready to emasculate him with her hat pin.
For the rest of their lives, both of them regretted the missed opportunity.
He came in out of the rain, initially only in search of shelter. She waited between the cash register and the espresso machine for the occasional customer and did her trigonometry homework in the interim.
To him, she was a vision of feminine grace and vulnerability, he was staggered at finding someone so enchanting in such a depressing venue.
She thought he looked nice - thoughtful, kind, and rather intelligent. She lowered her eyes shyly.
He stuttered out his order, and wordlessly she made him a cappuccino. She blushed. He paid. He placed a five dollar bill in the tip jar, she didn't notice because she was looking down at her hands. He went and sat in the window seat, trying to keep his mind straight. Accidentally he spilled his drink into his lap, then silently, quickly, and discretely left, hoping she wouldn't notice the giant wet spot on his pants. She didn't - she was too busy trying to keep from sweating.
Such a nice man!
He never went there again, convinced that she must have thought him a right freak. She stayed at that job for another ten months hoping he would return, finally in desperation and horribly repressed sexual frustration running off with a chinless insurance salesman who cheated on her the very first day.
Last we heard, she was thinking of getting contact lenses and going back to college. The insurance salesman had meanwhile settled down with a tacky Philippina from Pacifica, who maxed-out his credit cards buying designer shmatte for all of her relatives in Quezon City.
THE GIRL ON THE BUS
Every day he took the same bus at the same time. Not because he was necessarily a regular man with a set schedule - as long as he arrived at the firm by eight, nobody said anything. It was because of her.
Seeing her every morning was the high point of his day. She always waited two stops up at seven fifteen. She was so neat! Starched shirt, pleated skirt, her hair pulled back in a thick ponytail. Bright intelligent eyes and a little pert nose. A trim young figure.
He would look at her out the corner of his eyes, and dream of what he could do with her. Massage oil, fragrant bath soap, stroking her slim gold body till she melted. Oh!
She, meanwhile, rehearsed the lesson plans for the day - her students left her drained and weepy by mid-afternoon. How she longed for a strong handsome man, not too tall - she was quite short herself - to sweep her off her feet and make intense passionate love to her! Why, that gentleman who was always on the bus would be just fine! He looked so sweet. So thoughtful!
In his mind he was fondling her round parts, stroking her inner thighs, lavishing little rabbit-like kisses all over her glowing abdomen!
She wondered what it would be like to feel his fingers on her shoulders, along her back, behind her knees, his lips and tongue touching, stroking, probing, and slithering all over her naked body!
They never spoke to each other. A few years later she finally finished her thesis and married an elderly physicist. She spent the rest of her life getting tiddly at academic functions and playing golf on Wednesdays and Saturdays with other sexually frustrated faculty wives.
He got fired from his job for a very minor matter, and eventually ended up committing brutal war-crimes as a mercenary in West-Africa, dying in horrible agony of haemorrhagic fever at age thirty-three.
* * * * *
You see? There is no guaranteed happy ending.
Even nice people - especially nice people - do not always find what they want, and when they do they might not know how to make the most of that chance.
My heroes are not the tattooed potential addicts with attitude, nor the big busted college grad harlots that populate bars and night clubs, but the more discrete well-behaved people with secret passions.
Loud, brash, bed-hopping singles are not appealing.
Promiscuous girls in bars aren't my type.
I don't mind looking at the shenanigans of today's young 'singles'.
They are indeed entertaining - slutty self-indulgent behaviour is ALWAYS fascinating.
Haven't been there, do NOT want to do that.
Life is too short to drink Starbucks.
A nice person, or bust.
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