One for the Holiday

One for the Holiday
         
         Work is never done (so the old folks say). I’d like to think that I am learning the true meaning of this old cliché. Maybe I’d like to think so. Either way the dice roll, I never can honestly say that I get a vacation from the grime that clogs my mind…“do this young man”, and “honey can you help me with…”.
         I recently was asked by a working buddy what I did over the M.L.K. holiday in a passing breath. Well, I couldn’t combat the question with anything that would sound as intriguing as your most nine to fiver, so I proceeded to fill my cup of coffee with a slight finesse and returned with something so arousing that even I got off at the notion. He impatiently awaited my response as if it truly was some sort of passing inquiry.
         “Go on then. Let’s hear it.” He said with some degree of smugness.
“Well, I…”
“Yeah.” He returned confirming the obvious.
“I banged my best friends’ mom!” I unloaded.
         The look on his face became suddenly enthralled in my response. He turned quickly to the coffee maker and kept filling his coffee until it over flowed onto his slacks. George had never been very reserved in his over bearing confidence until that point. He’s the sort of guy that tries to pass off as a mans man. The kind of guy that always has something to add to the conversation. He is more of a specialist at adding to the tail end when everyone agrees simultaneously to the topic, as if the act is confirming the existence of his high intellect and experience to the collectives’ simplicities. He was 40 to most people in our offices 30, but that didn’t change the fact that when you looked into his soul that there was a sort of falsity hiding that everyone noticed but could never prove.
“Come again” he said as he realized his leg was on fire.
“Yeah while my girl was on her soirée with her friends, and Mike was on his clubbing escapade on Friday night, I got a phone call from Mike’s mom and we hooked up.”
“But she’s 57 years old John”. He said in an intrigued yet disgusted way.
“And?”
“She’s almost like a grandma damnit.”
“But you gotta admit it comes with experience and passion.” I returned.
“Yeah, that and cob webs and the smell of a dank sewer. Common man, seriously.” He said trying to pry some truth.
“Nah, man I seriously did. I went to her house and got the nasty on.” I continued.
“Well what happened?” he said with eyes wired with an erotic curious trance.
         I knew that I had to make the story stick. So, I though of the most erotic school boy fantasy that I could muster. I actually winded up telling him about a dream I had had in the 10th grade about my high school friends’ mom Miss Coppola. Single mom in her early thirties. She had Mark when she was fifteen and was left to raise the child alone. She was still sexy by God. Built strong, and built to last. Except this time I was playing it off as though it had real meat to it. Coincidental yeah? 
         “Well she called me about 4:30 before I left the office and asked if I could help her move some furniture. I asked if Mike was around to help. She said that his over protection ends when his Friday nights out is interfered with. She then…”
         “Wait a minute are you telling me that Mike still lives with his mom?” he interrupted.
         “Yeah, ever since Gina and him split up he’s been back with his mom for a little while so he can regroup…so he says.”
         “Man you have been friends with Mike for almost 10 years. What the fuck is wrong with you?” he exclaimed with his disapproval.
         I kept on nonetheless. Only the strong survive I thought.
         “Never mind.” I returned and began to walk off waiting for the “please don’t stop” plea coming from this vain form of a man.
         “No.No.No. I was just stating the obvious John. Go on. Go on. Don stop there. So what happened when you got there?” he said over my shoulder begging for the details. I let him have it.
         “As I was saying…I said that I could lend a hand and asked what time should be there. She said that around 6:30 and that Mike would be going out immediately after work and that her couch was too heavy to move and now it was stuck in the middle of the hall. She said that she didn’t want to bother her son while he was recovering from the break up. I said sure and hung up the phone.
         I got home and checked the messages to see if Jennifer had called after arriving at J.F.K. As expected she never failed. “Hi honey. I love you”. Yada, yada, yada. So I jumped in the shower and enjoyed a cooled beer before leaving. I called to tell her I was on my way and she said that she’d be waiting with a cold beer waiting. So you can see its already going to be a good night.
         I got to her house around seven. I think it must have alerted the whole neighborhood with my Cobra humming through the streets but I pressed on. I pulled in as if in a rush and ran up to the door with much eager. And let me tell you if you saw what I saw you’d probably done the same damn thing I did.”
         “Whatcha see?” he said locked in.
         “She said out loud “Is that you Johnny?”. I yelled back “Yes Mam! It sure is.” “Let yourself in sweety.” I went in and there she sat. Legs spread open just enough to see her long since charted treasures and proceeded to ask, knowing that I was looking, “You think you can move this or do I need to call someone else with more brawn?” I tell yeah George I was stumped.”
         George stood in amazement at the precession to this far fetched tale of young man meets fabled seductress in the “Hush Hush” suburbia in which we live. It was more aimed at the morals that were being raped now that I think about it. With his silent gawk I continued.
         “At this point I drooled and debated to myself to help her with it or not…which led to the chance/ non-chance encounter. Sure, I weighed in all the factors. I concluded that since my “old lady” was away and that I always was curious what it would be like that I would live up to this fantasy. Besides, what would it be like “to find that when I died that I had not truly lived” as someone once wrote.
         Without a word she first proceeded to slowly get up and walk around me to close the door. It was the shut that was heard around the neighborhood, so to say. I felt that I was in the “Graduate” and it was just another setting and scene from the movie. She handed me my beer and ran her fingers across my lips as if silencing any doubt that this was wrong. And I I’ll be damned if she didn’t pull down my pants and get me off in the foyer. Beautiful man. As I sat there caressing my lips to a cold beer in the sunset, she helped herself to caressing what was underneath my pants.
Next she decided to elude my finishing by slowly rising up and walking up the stair case asking me silently to follow. It was like she knew new juices were about to unload their taste.  With my body all jacked up I hunted the prey. I was about to say something but she interrupted and said “Not words, just actions.” I did what a good boy would do…what he is told. Now, I never claimed to be a Don Juan but at this point brother I must felt how it must at least how it must feel to be so desired by women.
At the top of the stairs she led me into the darkest corners of her bed room where she literally grabbed my head and pushed me down to her lower quarters. With respects to her previous sunset toast, I reciprocated with my own ode to lust and the ABC’s. I won’t comment on the aroma coming from her, but it actually was quite sweet actually. After I put her atop her own massive peak we proceeded to move on to the other act. That part went on for at least another hour. So that was my weekend how was yours?” I finished with a sip of my coffee.
He couldn’t say a word. I guess I was glad since his common touch is to fondle most conversations with his enlightened ending statement were everyone agrees and says “Oh”, “yes”, “good point”, and “I agree”. Instead, he stood there in utter and complete awe coupled with disbelief.
“Yeah” I said. “It was a feet to top, too bad its all bullshit”.
He would have started laughing at this point except the dismay was overwhelming. The only thing that seemed to come out of his mouth was a stream of disarranged vowels. As for me, I turned and walked of to enjoy the moment of leaving him without a word, as well as the cold remains of over sweetened coffee blended with my cheap, second rate, cream. To bad my real weekend was just working at the office on reports due on Wednesday. I hummed an old tune and off to my desk I went to call my lady. “Not bad” I thought to my self."Not bad at all."

           
-M.L. Lights