rugman
05-08-2004, 3:16 PM
So I get around a bit. I travel for a living. That’s my thing, and being single, unattached, I get into it whenever I can.
It’s kind of a free lifestyle, I suppose. Get to explore the things I want. Get to be rather honest with my intentions. You know?
So on one of my business trips I encountered this woman. It was kind of unusual in that I was in Europe and they, the Europeans are supposed to be all cynical and used to the vagaries of human behavior, surprised by nothing.
And I’m just this lone American, traveling as a visitor in Europe. So I felt out of place, overwhelmed by the rich culture.
So I walk into this Italian restaurant, well, in Italy.
I’m not stupid. She’s sitting there at a table with some guy.
I instantly hate him. He has Important Hair and a suit that tells me he spends his money on nothing else.
Okay, so, I’m balsey. She’s beautiful, blonde and not entirely satisfied with her company.
That’s where I come in, as I see it.
“Is he boring you? If so, I have something alarming to show you.”
She pulls her head back, looking at me like I’m drunk, which I am.
Fire in his eyes, challenge offered and accepted.
“Hey,” I say, “you could waste time with this twat, but he can’t reach into your mind, into something that would speak to you, entertain and grab into your heart and stop it cold, on the edge.”
She raises one delicate finger. Just one. And he runs away like some kind of scalded dog. Kind of amusing if you think about it. The conquest of Winning.
Both of us look at the walls, avoiding the obvious retreat. Unseemly, that. Not quite what either of us would have expected.
So, now I’ve shown my bone fides, so to speak, time to lay ‘em on the table.
But I’ve been through this before, know the routine. Show some woman that some men are willing to, eager to, show them pleasures they’re not accustomed to is old hat for me. So, back into the usual routine: looking for a good fix, a scratch for the itch. Maybe she’ll really take a shine to it, and pursue it with her own chosen one. These little things never last long. Either I have to leave or she does. These things always end up as some kind of high-speed introduction for the woman.
Crash course in alternate pleasures. Whatever, my cynicism has no bounds these days.
For me it’s a slow motion, temporary, bite at the apple.
If she gets it, great. If not, fuck it. I’ll move on.
But she is rather attractive. I’ll admit that, at least to myself, and when it’s useful, to her.
So I sit down in the seat recently vacated by my sappy, poorly prepared predecessor.
Chased the Euro-boy away. Gee, that’s unique. Heh.
“I saw you a few minutes ago and I think I saw you seeing me.”
“So? You want a prize or something?”
Sparky, I think to myself. Not unexpected, but not the usual fair, either. Interesting.
“Yah, well, I have a gift for you, but I gotta know if you’re able to handle it”
She looks at me with her head tilted, beaming “gawd don’t bore me anymore”
“You see,” I say, “I’m a special believer in the beauty of women”
“Ya, ya ya. I’ve heard this all before,” she says, reconsidering whether she was right in dismissing her previous suitor.
“Naww, shucks, I’m just a simple man, overpowered by your beauty, dontyaknow”
“Bullshit.”
Ouch. She knows English pretty damn well and now I’m going to have to pull out the headlights, the eyes, the Meaningful Look that always does it.
Convince her of your honesty and your intent, you bonehead!. So I pause and look deeply. Intimately. Truly.
She has my attention now. I don’t do that for everybody. I don’t think anything’s here, but, well, WTF.
So we sit. Two cynical, jaded people. Across the table from each other, and neither one of us knows what kind of pleasures we have in store for the other.
Got the unexpected direction up my sleeve, though. Got the advantage. I’ll surprise her and blow her frickin mind.
It’s what I do.
Most men won’t do this. And if they would they wait for some kind of okay signal. Not realizing that it’s a dangerously exciting thing for women. Something from left field.
Unexpected. Heh. I’m on it.
“Well,” I start. “The thing I thought about when I saw you is that I believe you’ve never been worshipped before, and that a woman as beautiful as you are should not go through life without being adored, placed on a pedestal and pleased. Pleased. By a selfless lover.”
Left eyebrow goes up. Returning the stare she says, “oh. Really.”
Damn it. My heart is now beating fast. I hate that. It tells me that I’m too interested. Too desiring.
I could say this has never happened before but that’s BS. I’m too-often taken in by that crap, captured by a woman willing to play the game. Too confident in herself. That’s the thrill and the danger. Better if she’s not expecting. At least then I have the advantage.
She may not know, may not be experienced, but her mind and soul are prepared to get into it. Ready for adoration. Expecting it as her due in life.
“I, uh,” shit. Stumbling. Nice.
“Yes?” she says, challenging, coquettish.
I’m hearing: “you got something to show me? Something interesting? Something that will be at least momentarily interesting? Well... do you?”
She’s not saying that in words, but a lot can be carried in a raised eyebrow on a pretty face.
Fuck. Okay. Retreat. Shore it up. Rebuild the ego.
“Well, you see...”
“Shut up, will you?” she says.
“duh...”
No shit. I really said that. I said, “duh.” Can you believe that shit? I was instantly 12 years old again. Christ. Somebody put a nail in my head. It was that quick.
I never stood a chance.
It’s kind of a free lifestyle, I suppose. Get to explore the things I want. Get to be rather honest with my intentions. You know?
So on one of my business trips I encountered this woman. It was kind of unusual in that I was in Europe and they, the Europeans are supposed to be all cynical and used to the vagaries of human behavior, surprised by nothing.
And I’m just this lone American, traveling as a visitor in Europe. So I felt out of place, overwhelmed by the rich culture.
So I walk into this Italian restaurant, well, in Italy.
I’m not stupid. She’s sitting there at a table with some guy.
I instantly hate him. He has Important Hair and a suit that tells me he spends his money on nothing else.
Okay, so, I’m balsey. She’s beautiful, blonde and not entirely satisfied with her company.
That’s where I come in, as I see it.
“Is he boring you? If so, I have something alarming to show you.”
She pulls her head back, looking at me like I’m drunk, which I am.
Fire in his eyes, challenge offered and accepted.
“Hey,” I say, “you could waste time with this twat, but he can’t reach into your mind, into something that would speak to you, entertain and grab into your heart and stop it cold, on the edge.”
She raises one delicate finger. Just one. And he runs away like some kind of scalded dog. Kind of amusing if you think about it. The conquest of Winning.
Both of us look at the walls, avoiding the obvious retreat. Unseemly, that. Not quite what either of us would have expected.
So, now I’ve shown my bone fides, so to speak, time to lay ‘em on the table.
But I’ve been through this before, know the routine. Show some woman that some men are willing to, eager to, show them pleasures they’re not accustomed to is old hat for me. So, back into the usual routine: looking for a good fix, a scratch for the itch. Maybe she’ll really take a shine to it, and pursue it with her own chosen one. These little things never last long. Either I have to leave or she does. These things always end up as some kind of high-speed introduction for the woman.
Crash course in alternate pleasures. Whatever, my cynicism has no bounds these days.
For me it’s a slow motion, temporary, bite at the apple.
If she gets it, great. If not, fuck it. I’ll move on.
But she is rather attractive. I’ll admit that, at least to myself, and when it’s useful, to her.
So I sit down in the seat recently vacated by my sappy, poorly prepared predecessor.
Chased the Euro-boy away. Gee, that’s unique. Heh.
“I saw you a few minutes ago and I think I saw you seeing me.”
“So? You want a prize or something?”
Sparky, I think to myself. Not unexpected, but not the usual fair, either. Interesting.
“Yah, well, I have a gift for you, but I gotta know if you’re able to handle it”
She looks at me with her head tilted, beaming “gawd don’t bore me anymore”
“You see,” I say, “I’m a special believer in the beauty of women”
“Ya, ya ya. I’ve heard this all before,” she says, reconsidering whether she was right in dismissing her previous suitor.
“Naww, shucks, I’m just a simple man, overpowered by your beauty, dontyaknow”
“Bullshit.”
Ouch. She knows English pretty damn well and now I’m going to have to pull out the headlights, the eyes, the Meaningful Look that always does it.
Convince her of your honesty and your intent, you bonehead!. So I pause and look deeply. Intimately. Truly.
She has my attention now. I don’t do that for everybody. I don’t think anything’s here, but, well, WTF.
So we sit. Two cynical, jaded people. Across the table from each other, and neither one of us knows what kind of pleasures we have in store for the other.
Got the unexpected direction up my sleeve, though. Got the advantage. I’ll surprise her and blow her frickin mind.
It’s what I do.
Most men won’t do this. And if they would they wait for some kind of okay signal. Not realizing that it’s a dangerously exciting thing for women. Something from left field.
Unexpected. Heh. I’m on it.
“Well,” I start. “The thing I thought about when I saw you is that I believe you’ve never been worshipped before, and that a woman as beautiful as you are should not go through life without being adored, placed on a pedestal and pleased. Pleased. By a selfless lover.”
Left eyebrow goes up. Returning the stare she says, “oh. Really.”
Damn it. My heart is now beating fast. I hate that. It tells me that I’m too interested. Too desiring.
I could say this has never happened before but that’s BS. I’m too-often taken in by that crap, captured by a woman willing to play the game. Too confident in herself. That’s the thrill and the danger. Better if she’s not expecting. At least then I have the advantage.
She may not know, may not be experienced, but her mind and soul are prepared to get into it. Ready for adoration. Expecting it as her due in life.
“I, uh,” shit. Stumbling. Nice.
“Yes?” she says, challenging, coquettish.
I’m hearing: “you got something to show me? Something interesting? Something that will be at least momentarily interesting? Well... do you?”
She’s not saying that in words, but a lot can be carried in a raised eyebrow on a pretty face.
Fuck. Okay. Retreat. Shore it up. Rebuild the ego.
“Well, you see...”
“Shut up, will you?” she says.
“duh...”
No shit. I really said that. I said, “duh.” Can you believe that shit? I was instantly 12 years old again. Christ. Somebody put a nail in my head. It was that quick.
I never stood a chance.