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September 4, 2010 / Gio

A One-Night Stand That Lasted Six Months

Baby was inured by life’s corruption yet softened by my tenderness. Everyone carries a bit of baggage or has a story to tell or is masking a furtive closet skeleton. She’s been burdened too heavily too soon; the deadbeat dad, the teenage mom, the beer-battered domesticity, the kicking of a habit, the use, abuse, of drugs, and from men in waddling clothes, the never-ending rehabilitation of the soul and all of those unrealized dreams that would normally invade a woman twice her age.

She allowed me to stop her internal hemorrhaging, a tutelary, if only for a moment, but the bandage of life that I offered only opened other wounds and ultimately reopened the very things that I was trying to heal.

A world apart yet swimming in the same pool of tranquility, we had been given a chance to learn something from each other. She would stare at me with her dreamy eyes and envy my stability and adore my empathy as I basked in the plotted, intricate complexity that had scripted her harsh life. I was sincere in my attempt to bring peace into her life, to show her the difference between holding a hand and chaining a soul, yet I could not control the fact that all of her agony added to the Freudian arousal of my ability to give her that psychosexual panacea and breathe a new life into her.

I lit her Newport for her and gave her an espresso cup to use as an ashtray. I never smoked and I only liked tobacco when I tasted it on her tongue. Like a medieval monk in search of a saintly relic I would kneel before her and quietly examine her every motion, each shift, every squirm, the excitement of the eyes, the invitation to proceed.

“You are so gentle” she whispered.

I filled two champagne flutes with a late harvest Riesling from South Australia, the honey, the apricots, the ripe figs, the flickering of a dozen candles, the song of myself which I played for her as I continued to build upon the seduction, the slow eroticism, the girdling energy of anticipation, desire, and impetus…in the soft kisses, in the length of a stroke, in the fragrance of skin, and the sodden panties in the infancy of the night as her soft caterwauling of discovery signaled for the untied steed to begin its tumescent stride and ride the rolling hills while still stroking legato.

I would smell the sheets after she was gone and get turned on by the scent she left behind; shampoo, perfume, tobacco and that feline odor blended into cotton aphrodisiac.

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One Comment

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  1. Jodi / Sep 4 2010 7:17 am

    Awesome Gio. Never knew you were a writer! Rock on!
    Xo

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