The Gap

So finding myself put to the task by the man who likens himself to a relative, I had no arousing tales of port-o-potties. And I wondered how rays of light could be so erotic and surmised it was the thought of my bare ass against cotton that could put a smile on his face. Or was it the handprint left behind along with the sting?

So this one is for the ninja who has kept me company in the sun while letting me take drags of his smoke so I can still claim I am not a smoker…

I used to love the Gap. Yes, that uber-trendy store that has proliferated like Starbucks. And it’s not because of the cotton twill cargo pants or the fleece hoodies that last but one season. No, it was never about the clothes or the ads featuring celebrities who haven’t stepped inside the store. And it wasn’t because Sharon Stone wore a Gap turtle neck to the Oscars.

For nearly a year I got to love the Gap until I was banned. Technically I think the term is 86ed. I am not sure it’s all Gaps but it certainly includes one particular store in which I was told never to return. I discovered the Gap in the heat of a lustful affair. He lived with his parents and I lived with too many roommates. And he wore Gap clothing. It all started innocently enough with a simple trip to a simple store to buy “the basics”. As we perused the store, I felt conspicuous in my motorcycle boots and pink hair. And we clashed as he pulled out jeans and shirts that looked exactly like the clothing he was wearing. Not wanting to be left alone in what felt like a page from 1984, I followed him into the dressing room. I had assumed I would wait near the entrance of the dressing room area when he motioned for me to follow him inside.

The four walled room was complete with a 3-way mirror and a door to the floor along with a neon-colored button to summon for assistance. I am not sure if it was the fluorescent lighting or the whiny voice keeping time to the beats that attempted to be known as music that got me so charged up. But as I watched the khaki cargos slump to the floor, I found myself pulling him close. Sitting on the rejected items, I found the bench to be the perfect height as I cautioned him to keep his voice down.

We began to have a weekly rendezvous at the Gap. And with each meeting we became more and more adventurous in the little room now filled with wool as the weather changed. I often wondered if the cameras caught our little secret and if anyone ever watched.

Then it all came to an abrupt stop. Perhaps we were being too inconsiderate, it was the holiday season after all and people actually needed a dressing room. The knock was loud and the voice even louder as we were asked if we needed any assistance. I remember my friend breathlessly answering, “No, we are fine”. The staff person knocked again, but this time told us we needed to vacate the dressing room. We dressed and then opened the cardboard door only to find ourselves face-to-face with one of the salespersons and what I assumed to be the manager. The manager looked disapprovingly at the both of us and told us she knew what we were doing and that we should be ashamed of ourselves. I turned reflexively away so she didn’t see my smile or hear my giggle. She then asked me if I thought this was funny. Truth was, it was funny, so I responded, “yes”. The manager turned even redder and told us to leave. She emphasized the fact that we were no longer welcome in the store and that we were not to return.

Unfortunately, without the Gap, we really had nothing in common. It’s now been years since I have entered this American clothing staple. I often wonder if the store still holds the same titillating power and whether my picture is located near every cash register under the word “86”.

Warm

I woke from the crack of the sun peeking through my shade. As I opened my eyes I couldn’t help but feel betrayed by the dawn. His breath was barely audible through the sound of the rain and the wind. And I watched as the cross-eyed beauty gingerly tiptoed across the bed hopeful I would fill her bowl once again as he slowly turns on his side gracing his hand across my stomach then gripping me and pulling me close. Perhaps it was the tickle of her whiskers or maybe it was the rumble of her purr that momentarily stirred his slumber.

And for this moment it’s warm and I feel his breath against my neck and I smile.

And for this moment, there is only still. And even as minutes pass, the warm air emanating from the radiator is only occasionally rippled by the click of the metal. My blue-eyed girl now nestled in the crook of his knees. And as I lay here in this nest of cotton and feathers and fur, I can’t help but think of the sun as the mistress who will soon entice my lover away.

But for now we are here in the warmth of my room now awash in shades of pink. Our cheeks now kissed by the rays peering through the window as they begin to shine upon us. I hold my breath as if to hold time immobile hoping to have this last just a little bit longer.

And for this moment it’s tender as I feel his breath against my neck and I smile.

Blow Job

Believe it or not I was a late bloomer. I was painfully shy with guys I liked and tended to put myself in the role of “one of the guys”. I was a tomboy complete with a skateboard and my Van’s. I remember one of my first crushes was on Joe Lopes. I had met him in the pages of Thrasher magazine. And in my 6th grade mind, he was totally “dreamy” – a rough and tumble skater guy who was old enough to drive. Really it was his board that I had a crush on, but nonetheless, I considered him my first crush. I used to take my Joe Lopes skateboard everywhere. I was 12 and didn’t really know how to ride. But I had saved up all my babysitting money just to buy the board. I would meet “the guys” down at the park near my house and we would ride together.

Finally, in 8th grade, one of the skater boys invited me to his place to skate on his half-pipe in his backyard. We actually never got around to skating. As soon as we got to his place, he kissed me. It was my first. I remember the look on his face as he pressed his lips against mine. As we stood there lip-to-lip, I had my eyes open until he stuck his tongue on my mouth. My eyes then shut and I could feel my toes curling and my heart beating against my chest. I was “in love” at least for the next hour.

I remember floating down his driveway after I realized I was late for dinner and rushing to get home, so I wouldn’t get in trouble. Oddly, I stuck my thumb out thinking that hitchhiking a ride home would the best solution for getting home closer to on time. And of course, the first car to pull up was the police. Yes, being arrested for hitchhiking after my first kiss may have contributed to my hesitance in getting involved with boys. If a kiss could get me arrested, than what next?

It wasn’t until high school when I would kiss a boy again. The first week of my freshmen year in high school, I invited my friend to spend the night. The plan was to sneak out to meet a couple other freshmen boys at the park. We snuck out the window and started to walk down the street toward the public park. I remember the rumble of the engine of the Mustang that pulled up along side of us. It was two senior boys. They asked us if we wanted to go for a ride. Being young and very naïve, we said yes. They took us to the local public pool and we hopped the fence to go skinny-dipping. One of the boys held my hand and this is when I had my second kiss. This time I wasn’t floating so much. I was nervous with this older “man”. We kissed for a while until he placed my hand between his legs. I could feel him getting harder, but I really had no clue what to do. He then unzipped his pants and pulled himself out. I remember just staring. I was now looking at his dick and then looking up at him. Then he whispered, “Give me a blow job” as he pointed down at himself.

Not wanting to come across as inexperienced, I naturally did what seemed the most logical thing to do. I puckered my lips and brought them close to the head of his dick and then I lightly blew. Nothing happened. I then blew a little harder but this time I blew up and down the entire shaft. Still nothing happened. I was perplexed. So I took in another deep breath and blew a bit harder. This time he asked me “what the fuck are you doing?” I responded, “um, giving you a blow job.” He then stated, “you are supposed to put my dick in your mouth.” I remember thinking that there was no way that thing was going in my mouth. And I think the only sound I could mutter was “oh”. I think my lack of enthusiasm over this prompted him to take my hand and stroke him up and down. Eventually he “popped” and I washed my hands off in the public pool. We climbed back over the fence and I hugged him goodbye. My friend and I walked back to my house as I told her about stroking him, purposefully leaving out the part about blowing on him.

The next day at school someone had written “slut” on my locker. Apparently, between leaving him at the pool and arriving at school the next morning, it was now rumored that I had lost my virginity to both him and his friend during the course of the evening. And not wanting to out myself as totally inexperienced by revealing the actual events of the night, I let the ink stay for the week. I never did date any guys from my high school from that point forward.

Ye Olde Hut

I have decided that the only thing that is predictable about the Hut is its unpredictability. Although it seems predictable that I have now gone to this bar a total of 4 times and each time a perfect track record for attracting crazy. But what is unpredictable is who else seems to be at this place. I had originally wrote about the Hut in a blog about Carmen. It took me a while to go back to the Hut, since my meeting with her included an ambulance and a temporary leave from Johnny Cash. When I finally returned to the Hut with a bunch of friends as well as my younger bro and his wife close to a year later, I was again finding myself face-to-face with crazy. That night would be remembered by the presence of Hung. Hung was exceptionally drunk and would not leave our table alone until I told him he really needed to go.

Last night, thinking I would run into nobody I knew I decided to meet a blind date at the Hut. Seriously, I had quizzed several friends for a bar recommendation that included the caveat that the bar needed to be frequented by no one I knew, have no cover and have more then beer. As I approached the bar to order a drink, I realized I knew many of the patrons crowded around the bar. Hoping they wouldn’t notice, I order my usual, Maker’s neat. The unknown men sitting against the bar loudly commented only drawing attention to my drink and me as well as the attention of the acquaintances I knew from my local coffee hangout. After getting my whiskey a space at the end of the bar opened up and I sat myself down awaiting my date. He arrived and sat himself besides me and we began that long arduous process of getting to know each other, otherwise known to me as the “interview”. Within moments an older bearded man dressed in a sailor suit sat within centimeters of my date. Any closer, he would have been in my date’s lap. I must have been staring as I watched him sidle up to my date as close as possible. I was waiting for my date to say something, but instead the guy yelled across my date, “can I buy you a drink?” I said no thanks and asked him if he normally sat that close to people. I felt uncomfortable for my date who seemed to lack the ability to mark his own space. The drunk dude looked at the guy next to me and didn’t seem to care that he was nearly sharing a barstool. He then stated, “no one wants to sit near me because I am drunk”. To which I responded, “well no one likes a super drunk dude”. My date shot me a glance as if to say, “I can’t believe you just said that”. Thankfully the drunk dude went away.

Shortly after, a biker I knew from coffee shop walked up to me and blew in my ear. I just giggled, knowing I could care less what the date thought, since it was not as if I would see him again. If he hadn’t cock blocked me, I would have cock blocked myself anyhow. I finally told my date I needed to go and also let him know I wanted to wish him the best of luck. I didn’t feel a connection.

Tonight it was another homeless drunk dude. This time I was with my best friend, Monkeyman. Monkeyman not only encourages my sassy behavior, but has come to expect it,. He was well aware of my previous experiences at the Hut and we both had pondered whether my crazy magnetism would be in effect tonight. True to form, a homeless guy entered the bar dressed in an oversized down coat and immediately bee-lined towards me. Frankly, I hadn’t really even noticed him enter the bar, my attention toward Monkeyman as we chatted away. The homeless guy first asked if we had any spare change to which we answered, we had none. He then mentioned that we could buy him food. To which we said no thanks. He looked at us both as if to say, why aren’t you giving me anything. We waited for him to go away and then giggled to one another over my perfect track record. But the evening wasn’t over. He returned. This time with a patron of the bar.

I watched as the man who originally asked us for spare change was now offering it to the patron to feed the pool table. The homeless guy then began to accuse Monkeyman of talking. In reality Monkeyman and I were simply watching this guy dig through his pockets for change. Monkeyman responded that he had said nothing, to which the homeless guy said if you don’t make a move on her, as he pointed to me, than he would. I then chimed in, “do I have a say in this?” To which he responded, “no”. He then returned to his game as Monkeyman and I shared a laugh. Monkeyman and I decided it was time to go as the homeless guy reminded us that he had 3 more minutes to make a move on me before he would step in. I giggled as I said, “is that so?” Rather than anticipate what the homeless guy was going to do, we chose to down our shots instead and make our way to the next drinking hole. It may be another long while before I go to the Hut again.