La Dolce Breve, non Piccolo

October 15, 2013 at 2:40 pm (Cosmic Encounters, On the road again...)

I still got it goin’ on.

I’ve been going through relationship heck the past couple weeks. Debating whether the woman I love is worth it. Deciding if I want to keep trying to fix what may be forever broken, or if it just needs a ton of emotional super-glue. In the meantime, I have been living and sleeping alone, with all that entails. (Translation: Climbing-the-walls horny.) So I’ve been spending a lot of time riding the bus with the headphones on, sorting shit out.

Meg has been a sport through all this. She’s mourning the loss of The Marshal, who will talk to her on the phone but is otherwise ignoring her. She hates Rain deep down, but is nice about her when I am present. I see the eyeroll every time Rain’s name is mentioned, and I get snark almost daily for something, but I give her equal shit about The Marshal’s verbally abusive ways, so it balances out.

Meg has been loaning me her food stamp card for survival purposes. I took it to the Freddy’s on Hawthorne and made it there right at closing.

Dongs and HosI bought food for one, junky stuff. (NOT junkie stuff. No needles, cotton or caps. Just chips and frozen pizza, bachelor stuff, mmmkay?) I walked to the bus stop a couple blocks away so I could puff some weed while awaiting my ride.

Hawthorne on a Monday is typically quiet. I saw a busker hustling down the street. He heard the flick of my lighter and looked my way. I scowled. No, I don’t have a cigarette, I don’t have a light, I don’t have any spare change, I don’t even have ANY change. Fuck off. I am happy to report he understands body language.

I took a couple small hits on the smokeless, tapped the ashes and stashed away my cosmic utensil. I stared at the pizza joint across the way, hoping the frozen one I was going to try would be anywhere near as good, when a large WHAP! hit the back of the bus shelter. I looked over my shoulder, expecting to see a Dirt Urchin with his hand out. Instead I saw a tipsy couple walking quickly away. The lady’s purse must have hit the back of the shelter. Oh well, now I’m awake…

After a minute, the lady whose purse hit the shelter walked up. She smiled and sat down on the bench next to me. “My boyfriend thinks I’m an asshole.”


“I’m sorry for hitting the shelter like that. That was a dick move, even though I don’t have a dick…” She giggled. I could smell something distilled.

She had short blonde hair, dressed expensively. About thirty, I’d guess. Her leg brushed against mine.

“I just figured it was an accident. No biggie,” I said.

“No, I was trying to provoke a fight. I saw your hair and I got mad.” She reached up and touched my hair. “It’s very nice, by the way.”

“Thank you. I figured I’d grow it out one more time while I still can.”

She asked if I was homeless. “Nah, just shopping late. Borrowed my friend’s food stamp card, so I’m not starving.” I figured I’d throw a little poverty into the conversation, in case her guilt could be assuaged by handing me some cash…

We talked about age, and death. She was intrigued when I told her how old I was, and how old my dad would be. She quizzed about my health in a roundabout way, and I let her know as gently as possible that things still worked down there. The way her knee was rubbing against mine, things were already starting to pay attention…

“So, you are happy with life? I’ve been getting depressed.” She pouts nicely.

“I have a good life. I’m healthy, everything works, I am happy for the most part. I mean, I’ve got beautiful women coming up to me at bus stops in the middle of the night, chatting me up. I don’t know a lot of guys going through that right now…”

“Well, looks like I’ve lost my date. He thinks I’m an asshole anyway.”

“Too bad… for him.” I kept the eye contact going full-tilt. I could see the bus about ten blocks away. Now comes decision time: Do I let the groceries sit and thaw for another half-hour (or more) on the off-chance that dream-catch here has an apartment nearby and I could get invited? Or is her boyfriend who thinks she’s an asshole standing in a dark doorway, seething because his hottie girlfriend is flirting with a homeless-looking guy on a dark street just before midnight?

I’m betting it was a dick move to make her boyfriend jealous. I would happily enable.

I stood up from the bench. “Damn it, my bus is here, I could talk to you all night. I’m on Hawthorne all the time. I’m Charlie, by the way. What’s your name?”



She appreciated my name-pun. She shook my outstretched hand, seeming a bit confused by the gesture. My hands were full with two bags of groceries, or I would have offered a hug. Then my balls got as big as my head, and I made my move.

I kissed her full on the lips.

She was surprised, then responsive. I wish I’d started about five minutes previous. I managed to keep my tongue in my mouth, but her soft full lips, just slightly parted, sent a spark from the tip of my head to the base of my heels. I pulled back and boarded the bus without a look, but there was no denying the Cheshire grin painted wide on my face. I was dizzy from desire, and on fire inside.

Dan, my bus driver, said hello. “Having fun, are we?”

“Dammit, why do I have perishable groceries at the most inopportune times?!”

“What?” asked Dan.

“Did you see that tall blonde I was talking to? Oh Jesus marryin’ Joseph, I wanna go back. Turn this bus around, please?’

“What?” Dan is gay. If I’d been kissing a tall blonde dude, he’d be all questions.

So, for the rest of the night and all of the day my mind has been on fire. Will I ever see the sweet-lipped Dolce again? Will she be hammered enough to share a bus stop with me again? Will her boyfriend who thinks she’s an asshole have called it right? I know I’m in a vulnerable spot emotionally right now, and crawling all over a supermodel-lookalike might make me feel better. Just sayin’.

I can scratch one thing off my bucket list. It came up in conversation a while back. If I stand up straight and comb my hair back I can pass for six feet tall. To the best of my recollection, I have never kissed (romantically) a woman taller than me. While it didn’t become my mission in life, I became aware and decided to do what I can to correct the matter. If memory serves, it took me about two months.

Dolce, you were my first. If you catch me before I go back to being the faithful, long-suffering boyfriend I seem doomed to be? You could be *that* first as well. I know I’ll be all eyes in a certain neighborhood for the rest of my days.

Or until the next supermodel comes along.

1 Comment

  1. burdturgler said,

    Wow, quite the adventure!

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