We met there, again, the other night. She made eye contact with me and bit her lip. Standard first steps of seduction, I think, but if she did not do it then I would have complained. She combed her hands through her hair, ran them over her chest, and dangled them at her hips. Her bracelets jingled around her tiny wrists and sounded like the tail of a rattlesnake. Now we’re cooking with grease, I think as she initiated her deadly concoction of ‘cat and mouse’ with ‘playing hard to get’.
Women, I think, they get off more on the art of the tease than they do on the actual act of sexual misconduct. Well, some of them, at least. Some of them are like ‘forget first, second, third base or a home run, we’ll just burn the whole stadium down’. Not my girl though. I would have thought to myself, typical, but this girl, hah, *phew*, she is far from it. I knew just as soon as I thought that comparison word, that word of feminine sacrilege, then she would have heard it, and I would have to work twice as hard to win her back before this meeting ended.
The world of cosmic, neon noir that me and her share is a place that cannot be described when compared to the simulation world of today. Our scenery changes, as does our attire and situation, and there has never been a repeat episode when it comes to the seasons of our story. Our home lies in the alleyways of yesterday, the messy beds of today, and the bare beaches of tomorrow. In this temporal plane, time stands still.
You can spend a lifetime trying to practice self control, but here, you relinquish that chore and let free will run rampant. In this world, letting go is sometimes safer than holding onto. ‘Sometimes’, being the key word, is our tease that dances from ‘wait’ to ‘maybe’ to ‘okay’. It’s like comparing horse’s reins to lit sticks of dynamite.
Which one am I getting to grab tonight, I ask myself.
She walked toward me, slowly, gingerly, with purpose, moving her hips from side to side. Her dress hugged her body like vacuum sealed plastic. Her precisely planted footsteps sounded like stilettos grinding into broken glass. Each time her heels hit the floor, a floor that is darker than a nightmare’s closet, her steps light the surface with fluorescent fireflies. Her skin shone lukewarm and looked like sticky caramel.
When we finally got face to face, the walls started reflecting a colorful glaze based upon the changing moods that existed between our bodies. She wanted me to say something first, as always, but that is only because she wanted to have the last word. She is a woman, right, I think. I dared not think, typical, the word that currently rested on the tip of my tongue, because she would have heard it. The moment I slip up is when she slips in, and that situation can have both pros and cons attached to it.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Looking at you!” She replies.
Don’t think the word! Don’t think it! She’ll hear it as soon as the thought enters your brain. Typ-, typ-, typ-.
“Don’t be like that!” I command with a grin.
“Be like what?” She asks with a grin.
Typ-, typ-, typ-. Don’t lose the fight in the first ten seconds! You’re doing good so far!
“Be like you’re being,” I reply. “I do not want to waste what time we have here answering questions with more questions.”
“Then what would you like to do, dear?” She asks.
She is a sorceress. Leading questions. Open replies. Her tongue is the belly of a serpent, and her mannerisms are the fluid movements of warm water jellyfish. She plots her next move like the tail of a scorpion, waiting to paralyze its next victim. She can plot all she wants because she’s typi-, typi-, typi-.
“You want an honest answer to that question?” I ask. “You want to know what I really want to do, right now, with you? I thought we were beyond the rhetorical foreplay?”
“The real question is if you want to honestly reply to something you decided just as soon as you first laid eyes on me,” she states with confidence. “You undressed me before we even had a chance to speak so don’t act like you’re the perfect gentleman, now, all of a sudden!”
She grinds more glass with her stiletto and inches, better yet – millimeters, closer to me.
“Tsk, tsk, you know better than that, teasing a poor little girl like me! Shame on you!”
See! I knew it! She knows the plot before I even think it. She even knows that I want to think the word that I have already somewhat thought. She knows she’s being typic-. Oops! Almost slipped. I bet she has a book of spells in her little purse. I bet she came here on a broomstick. I bet she has a bubbling cauldron in the middle of her living room floor.
“Oh, you hush those lips! I am a gentleman! I’ve always handled you like the finest and most fragile silk in all of the land,” I reply. “I’d cover you in bubble wrap and carry you around in my pocket if I could.”
I shake my head at her. She smirks at my last comment, glances at the pockets on my pants, then brings her stare back to my eyes, slowly.
“You really want me to stand here and answer questions that you already know the answer to just so you can further torture me? Does that make you a true lady? Tell me that!”
I get frustrated. She gets turned on. I think to myself, how fair is this exchange of power?
“Do you want to stand here and talk away this encounter or do you want to put some of these words to action?” She asks before smiling.
Her composure changes as she ruffles my feathers just so I will ruffle hers back. The feeling compares to fluffing a pillow by pounding it with your fist when you know you are going to gently lay your head on it. Have you ever covered your mouth or bit down on something before screaming so the sounds will be muffled? She would have me do this every night if I let her. I think about my next witty comment and try my best not to think of the word that plagues my brain.
“What are you thinking about so hard over there, mister?”
Don’t think it! Do not think it! Don’t! This is a trap! The snare was set as soon as she started walking over to you.
“Who? Me?” I ask. “Nothing!”
I try to throw her off by repeating myself.
“Nothing! Nothing at all!”
“You sure about that?” She asks. “Looks like something is on your mind!”
She smiles again. Her teeth are polished white like newborn ivory. The fabric of our clothes are made out of the opposite poles of a magnet. I can taste the air around me, only because she keeps moving closer and closer.
“Go ahead! Spill it! I’m all ears, lover boy!”
Typica-. Whoa! Wait! You were one L away from letting it slip, you fool! She may think she controls the plot, so let her as long as you control the ending. It’s a trap! All of it! Repeat after me : ‘she controls the plot – you control the ending! She controls the plot – you control the ending! She controls the plot – you control the ending’.
During this exchange, the walls of our room reverberate cotton candy clouds and sunsets. Silhouettes of a pair of hands rubbing their fingers across the drywall appear and interlock like floppy pretzels. Circular wavelengths ripple from our feet as we apply pressure to the floor. This is our aquarium, and the only way we can breathe is to be alone together.
She steps closer to me and plays with my lapel. Her lipstick is fresh. Her perfume arouses my nostrils like fried foods at a carnival. Her hair falls over her shoulder bones like a wedding day veil. I see the tips of her canines as she slowly breathes through her mouth. I begin to perspire. She wants to draw blood, and the only victim she wants to feed on for the rest of her life is me.
“Yeah, I’m sure! It’s nothing of importance,” I reply. “Just another night, if you ask me, so let it go!”
“Want me to slip this dress off?” She asks. “I’m tired of wearing it anyway. It’s just another barrier between me and you.”
She brings her finger to her mouth and bites it.
“The fewer obstructions we have, the better off we will be in the end, eh?”
Typical woman, I think. Typical, typical, typical. I bet her middle name is Typical. I bet her momma’s maiden name is Typical. When she was young, I bet her dog’s name was Typical. She was born in a town called Typical, and I bet her favorite food is a dish called Typical. If she started her own business, the name of it would be Typical. I bet the name of her underwear, if she’s even wearing any, I take a glance, – by the looks of it, no – is branded Typical.
“Wait! What was that? Did you just call me typical?” She asks out of nowhere.
She bats her eyes.
She takes her hand, pops my right shoulder, and slowly grins. I try not to smile and admit my guilt. I realize that I have been busted but cannot visibly express it. She cannot read minds. Or can she, I think to myself. I bite the inside of my cheeks and figure out how to lie to her and not ruin the night.
“Huh? Who?” I ask. “Me?”
I try to act oblivious to my thoughts.
“What are you talking about? I have not said anything of the such nor would I?”
She rolls her eyes at me but in a gentle way. I continue with my defense and twist it into my offense.
“Come on! You know me better than that, don’t you? Give me a little more credit, please!”
She forcibly grabs both sides of my dress coat and brings me toward her.
“Say it!” She commands in a whisper.
“Say what?” I ask back in a whisper’s whisper.
Uh oh! What do I say? Think quick on your feet. She is a woman and has caught me red handed. This is another trap. She is a global fur trader, and she’s looking to rid every man of their hide. Oh no, oh no, what do I do? What do I say?
“If you want to satisfy me, then say it!” She commands again.
She tightens her grip on me. I am a sizzling hamburger patty roasting inside a hot charcoal grill.
“Do you want me?
“Yes!” I exclaim. “Why?”
“Then say it!”
Her eyes look into mine. My eyes look into hers. Her lips are so close to my lips that I can taste them. All I do is look at her until I give in and follow my own instincts. They haven’t failed me so far – well, somewhat. I say the first thing that comes to my mind. I cannot cross my fingers. I’m scared to because I know she’ll see me do it.
“You are far from typical, baby,” I answer. “I would never think anything like that.”
I do not break eye contact.
“You are a lady unlike any other. One of a kind. A unicorn in a prairie of horses and donkeys. No one could hold a candle to you, much less a flamethrower. If you were a deck of cards, you would be the one that is placed back into the box because nobody deserves to touch you with their grimy hands and toss you around. You are my queen. I am your king. The world is our board, and I’m always ready to play! You know this!”
She stares at my mouth. She does not run her tongue over her lips to apply moisture before rewarding the first correct answer of the night. She wants our first kiss to pull apart like fresh velcro.
She controls the plot – you control the ending, I remind myself. She controls the plot – you control the ending.
“That’s what I thought!” She exclaims. “Now, where were we before you interrupted our night by thinking that I was typical?”
The walls of the room glow pink, to purple, to blue, to green, to orange. The fluorescent colors cover the walls like wind blown sheets. The floor shoots long tailed stars underneath our feet. A low rumble vibrates and tickles the inside of our bodies. She continues to keep her eyes open. I keep mine open. I’m scared if I close them then she will disappear forever. She fears the same thing.
Before our lips touch, I remember that I control how this story is going to end, and I know she is going to let me by the way she looks at me. She is finished with the plot for now. Her mind is on to other more important things.
“Where were we?” I ask and play dumb.
We exchange each other’s breaths. We feel like two love sick scuba divers sharing one oxygen tank in a still water sea. We begin to fuse together like fishnet stockings. I pull one spaghetti string strap across her bare shoulder. She consents by smiling and lowers her bony blade for one half of the dress’ descent. I know I’m about to unveil the most priceless work of art ever created and, for the moment, I have it all to myself.
“I think we were just, about, here…”
Thank you for your time :
If you’re far from typical, tell a friend about this post – I Dare You
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2 Replies to “She’s Far From Typical”
I like this one but I’m not sure i understand it. It’s written very good and detailed. Love you.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Haha, it’s okay. Thank you. The devil is in the details, I guess. Love you too.