Thursday, March 29, 2012

She - Yes!



Augustus had always thought that he would find it in the rain. No, not IN the rain per se, but while it was raining. Tears - the drops were, tears of the angels. At least that was the way She will explain it to him later. They met - in all places; Portland, Maine...

He was there for no reason other than he was killing time between life stops. SHE was born there in Portland. Burned out at 52, Augustus Simon simply left a rounded and bored wife, claiming he was going on a bread run. Bread, ha-ha. He turned left on Emory Avenue and he never looked back. He had met responsibilities, sore to speak, so ASS's egress from Trenton was somehow justified.

How ridiculous was the notion about life, the one about happiness. So stupid, happiness. To Auggie, life was a continuum of flat ennui with a few high points. The apices, as it turned out all involved rainy days. His college graduation, the birth of Weenie, hitting the Lotto, and scoring an Eagles cheerleader all happened on rainy days...

Not to be disregarded, making love on cool and rainy interludes, when the sheets were cloyingly damp, burned his brain like nothing else. Maybe it was the heavier air which made the smells of sex addictive? He was never sure why, but for sure, when it rained his Arthur Treacher got as heavy as a ripe mango. Madge, his once skinny wife who long ago bore a resemblance to Zoe Saldana, called his penis Arthur Treacher.

SHE worked in a diner called Becky's, on Commercial Street. Unadorned in a Maine way, she looked like she had worked lobster boats in another life. To look at her, wouldn't turn a stone over. Simple could have been her name. Innocent, naive even, SHE waited on the counter-anchored-baldy-man day after day during his autumnal hiatus Down East.

It rains a lot there, in Maine. Since it's warm only two months a year, the rain is almost always accompanied by cool temperatures and the heavy humidity only found along the coast. Portland is a harbor. In a peculiar way, Portland's clime is an aphrodisiac for Mr. Augustus Spain. Paradise it isn't, but Portland does have a charm...

And so it came to pass this morning that the thick fingered A. Spain spilled a hot cup of joe on himself. Yup, right into his groin. She could have been a fire person, the way she came around the counter to douse out the flames. With her wet, microbe laden top rag at the ready, She mopped him up with the dexterity of a plastic surgeon. It was then, at that moment, when the two of them got close enough to smell the other. Some say sex is all in the smell. Yup...

But the immediate trigger was the realization that She was more or less rag groping him, right there at the counter of Becky's. Once the exigency of the burn was over, they exchanged a little too long eye lock. Passion is really easy, if a person is in tune. For Augustus and Trenton boys in general, signals are often missed - but not this time. Blue, blue are her eyes and even without any makeup she was splendidly enchanting. Funny thought Aug, how he could even think splendidly enchanting... they were words he never used.

Once She had been married. It was a union of dis-harmony. For reasons having to do with smell (or the lack thereof), Bert Blohaven and She couldn't make a go of it. No kids came of their effort. The divorce was sterile and without much fever. After all, they are both Mainers. In Maine, Halloween is celebrated like every other holiday - without fanfare and brio. Understated... almost without costumes and color.

Not too long after the spill, August Spain got up to leave. Leaving a fin tip for a six buck breakfast was the least he could do, considering. She was surprised at the generous toke...

Er, oh no, that's too much, you donna have to...

Laughing, aw gotta give a lil extra today, for the mess I made...

Folks leave bigger splotches than that and just walk out willy nilly.

Taking two steps back towards the gray formica counter, he took a shot...

Umm, any chance we could have a lunch or somethin' one day?

Staring at him or through him, he couldn't tell, she smiled. It was an odd smile, one he will come to know about later. It was a smile he would see after she orgasmed. Joy was that smile. Yes!

If Augustus S. could look into the future, which he couldn't, he would have known right then and there that he and this wait-lady were going to find out about things only found in Harlequin romances.  It is so nice to know that such things can really happen. For most people, their day-to-day Pablum hollow sated them. Ever smell Pablum? Ever see Pablum? Pablum...

It was raining as he walked down Commercial Street. Not cold enough for snow, the wet nonetheless chilled him. He will be glad to reach his third floor rented condo at Chandler's Wharf. As he moved along, his head was filled with...

Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!

Like a canyon echo he couldn't get that sound out from between his ears. Nor could he erase the sight of her smile. Hmm, if he only knew...




Yes! 

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