Monday, August 29, 2011


People should not live alone. Having another person in the home keeps you sane and out of trouble. Folks who are by themselves may do strange things, and there will often be times when it’s a whole lot better to have another person in your life. Or at least a companion who can keep an eye on you and makes sure you’re okay.
Someone familiar who looks out for you.


I really don’t know how that woman would have gotten home safe and sound without a friend. I was returning from Walgreens with my shampoo and bath soap when I nearly bumped into them. They were standing in the darkness right on the corner where the tall leafy tree near the bus stop blocks the streetlight. The one in the dark blue sweater was leaning back against the wall, saying “but I’m so tired, I wanna sleep here”. Her friend was telling her “Cindy, no, only two more blocks”.
I’m tired!
I asked if they needed help. Cindy’s friend first said no, then changed her mind and explained “we live up the street at Leavenworth, but she’s zonked and can barely move….
No problem, ma’am, we can do this all together. I’ll hold her on one side, you hold her on the other, and we’ll frog march her up the street.
The first half block was no problem. Cindy was surprisingly lightweight – her hair had more bulk than she did. The breeze ruffled it this way and that, and it glowed in the soft gold from the streetlights that were out of focus and floating above us in the fog. Up by Larkin Street it seemed that Cindy had suddenly grown heavier. Her friend Laura was walking uphill backwards, pulling Cindy uphill by her right arm, saying “come on girl, just a little bit more.
When Cindy nearly fell I braced her. Laura stopped to brush her own hair back with both hands – the breeze was really blowing it around – and twisted the dark mass into a knot behind. Cindy had started to snore, and growled fiercely when we trotted her across the street.
Cindy was pooped! Cindy was cold! Cindy wanted her warm fluffy pillow!


In the second block, to explain Cindy’s zombie-like condition, Laura told me that they had just flown back from London, nine hours, and had just dropped their bags off at the apartment before going out for dinner and a drink. Laura had slept all the way, and was fine. Totally fine. Cindy, however, had been wide awake since five o’clock in the morning London time. Cindy had been up for twenty four hours. And Cindy hardly ever drank. Even one glass of wine was unusual.
Tonight she had consumed a gin and tonic.
Cindy came briefly alert to correct her – “two, I had two of them, and they were goooood”.
Good, I surmised, meant strong. The bars in our neighborhood pour stiff drinks.
The memory enlivened her enough to make it to the next corner without much effort on our part. The fog was thicker, the golden blobs of the streetlights barely visible, despite the stronger breeze at this elevation. The wind was colder and brought in dense swirls of fog.
Cindy’s sweater was pearled with moisture and her hand was sopping wet.

I’m bloody freezing!

Bloody? That must be the effect of two weeks in Blighty, OR the gin and tonic. It effects your speech.
Welcome home, Cindy. The reason why this city is for lovers is because you can only be a heat-vampire when you're holding on to someone.
Like me, for instance. I’m quite warm, I’ve got energy to spare.
I too was surprised at the thickness of the mist. This has been a cooler summer than normal in San Francisco and it’s been absolutely beautiful at night.
Everything looks slightly erased and timeless when veiled by grey silk drifts, the harsh details of daytime are softened and gentled.
And while visibility is obscured to the point that you cannot even see one end of the block from the other end, you are surrounded by a sea of warm amber – the droplets in the air carry the glow from the streetlights further, gilding the haze.
That, alone, was a good reason to help two women uphill, even though my own dwelling was now a block and a half behind us.

Cindy was delineated by white fog fur on the wool of her garment, which emphasized her curves. Her friend Laura looked slender and more mysterious; the coat that hid her figure seemed crimson hued – moisture had darkened the fabric and made it appear velvety and soft.
Indirect light made both women look extraordinarily appetizing.

There are far worse things than struggling up hill with a tiddly ("tired") woman and her bright-eyed companion. Especially of both of them seem like nice people.
I'm very fond of nice people.


I’m guessing they were in their late twenties or early thirties. I’m not a good judge of age, and while both of them were very attractive, I wasn’t really paying attention. When you’re helping a lady up the street, who is leaning against you and nearly asleep, you may occasionally feel a soft round pressure on your hand under her arm as you steady her. Especially if she has a large bosom, seemingly made much more so by the sweater she is wearing. There is something so warm and inviting about breasts, and I was forcing myself not to imagine what they felt like under different circumstances.
Fortunately the ethereal beauty of the nightscape helped.
Until the next boobquake, of course.
Laura, in her dark red coat, looked trimmer and smaller. I couldn’t even begin to guess her figure, and under those circumstances that was a profound blessing.
When we stumbled at the curb, her coat flew open, but Cindy’s frontage thwopped against my stomach and completely distracted me.
Good heavens.
White women can be quite large.
Laura righted herself, and said by way of apology “she’s usually not like that”.
I very nearly exclaimed “you mean they swell up when soaked?”
In retrospect, I shouldn’t be surprised if that were indeed the case.
It would explain an awful lot.


In a few moments more we were at the door to their apartment building. Laura helped Cindy sit down on the steps, and draped her scarlet coat around her friend’s shoulders. Cindy looked more vulnerable leaning against her than she had seemed before, with her head drowsily on Laura’s shoulder.
Laura’s lips were slightly parted, she was panting from the exertion of helping the bigger woman home. Laura’s lipstick nearly matched the carmine of her garment and she looked pleasantly pouty.
Did I already mention indirect light? It ALSO does wonderful things to cheeks.
Are you two going to be alright now?
Laura assured me that they would indeed. She’d help Cindy take a long hot shower to warm her up, then shove her into bed.
After that she would have a cup of coffee and watch some television on the couch. They’d be fine.
Thank you so much for helping me, it would’ve been difficult if I had had to drag her uphill by myself!

I bade them goodnight and headed back down the hill.
When I got home I was wondering what would’ve happened if I had offered them coffee at my place instead. Caffeine combines nicely with the female of the species, far better than alcohol. Perhaps Cindy would’ve woken up and energetically bounded up the slope all by herself. Heh.
If they had needed a hot shower, they could’ve monopolized the bathroom and gotten all steamy in there.
How wonderful to take a bath with someone else after a long day!
I would’ve left a tray with hot mugs outside the closed door.
And a plate of cookies, just let them splash for a while.
They could’ve used my shampoo and new soap.
And would’ve felt comfy again a lot sooner.

I’ve got big fuzzy towels.

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solicitously amphibious said...

Nice, cold shower when you got home?

Anonymous said...


The back of the hill said...

Threesies are an interesting intellectual conceit. But in practise, it would not work.
Divided attention means, inevitably, that someone will feel displeased.
And you should NEVER displease a woman when she's within mayhem range of naked parts of you.
It just isn't wise.

One of these days I'll have to tell you about the gun nut I used to know in Berkeley.

Anonymous said...

Training, diet, exercise, practice. Start with two smaller ones and work your way up to three large ones.

The back of the hill said...

That's quite a lovely indea for a pervert such as myself. But I am also a realist and a romantic.

I can sustain a relationship with one woman. Preferably of a reasonable size.

Three large ones would give me a headache.

Anonymous said...

Or you could simply schedule them on alternate days i.e one for Monday, Wednsdays and Fridays, and the other Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays (with Saturday reserved for prayer and boozing, eh?) Well, at leaast untikl you re-build your stamina.

The back of the hill said...

Nothing wrong with my stamina.
Threesies, in any form, lead to ADD and broken dishes.

And your suggestion reminds me of this movie: [大丈夫日記].

If Chow Yun-Fat couldn't handle it, it probably can't be handled.

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