Passion on the Plaza
2:35 PM. Motivated by hunger and a plummeting blood glucose level, I hankered for a hot pastrami sandwich. The destination, Piggy’s Deli. Pulling into the parking lot, I fairly salivated in anticipation. To my great disappointment, I learned that the deli closed at 2 PM. Dang! What to do now? OK, I know. I’ll proceed to Erik’s Deli Café and see if I can acquire the coveted pastrami. Certainly they’ll have some, but could it possible be as good as Piggy’s?
By automobile, it didn’t take long to reach Erik’s. In a beeline, I traversed the parking lot. At last; Order placed!
Awaiting the delivery of my gustatory fantasy, I selected an empty table next to a window. An adult female with her back to me, age undetermined, sat ensconced at a contiguous table with head bent forward while apparently deeply engaged with a book. A colorful, yet indistinct, tattoo partially covered the nape of her neck. Resisting the temptation to lean forward and further examine the tat, I took my seat pondering her possible rationale for skin ink. Clearly, it wasn’t for her viewing pleasure. Could it be for someone else? Who then; a lover, perhaps?
Sipping my water, with lemon, and glancing around the restaurant, my gaze fell upon wall mounted antique farming, ranching and woodcutting tools. The window provided a view onto a plaza with tables and benches for patrons from several establishments. A number of people enjoyed the plaza. Seated facing me, and close enough to be easily observed, was a young couple I’d guess to be 19 or 20 years of age. They dressed contemporaneously in the style of their age group. The drinking behavior of the male drew my attention. With a cup sitting upon the table, he hunched over sucking on a straw. Was he going to eat his meal similarly? I mused that he might just as well consume his repast from a dog bowl. The female hoisted a gallon jug and downed a slug of water. Offering nothing more of interest, I turned my attention elsewhere.
Erik’s pastrami is good, but my vote goes to Piggy’s. After consuming half of the sandwich, glucose level heading toward normal, my attention refocused on the couple.
The plaza trembled with a new pulsating energy. The young woman, whom I’ve dubbed Lolita, exuded a fervent sexuality. Face bathed in love, or perhaps lust, she leaned into her companion stroking his arm. Reaching up and encircling his neck with her left arm, the fingers on her right hand seductively caressed his face. Kissing his neck, eyes, and face, she devoured his lips, which were subdued and yielding rather than participatory. Simultaneously, Lolita’s left hand transitioned to the top of his right leg as fingers slid down the inside of his thigh, rested close by his crotch and undoubtedly sent hot shock waves through his gentiles, into his belly and altering his breathing.
Surprisingly, the recipient kept his hands to himself. Could there be a reticence, or perhaps an embarrassment, on his part? Obviously, she was his for the receiving. I thought, “Why are they still sitting there?” “Why does he not take her somewhere private?” As Lolita’s reluctant stud, he couldn’t help but be stimulated. Hell, she affected a grizzled old man observing from afar. My gawd, another positive result of discontinuing Lipitor.
Imagine this contrast: I’m stuffing my face with pastrami while watching a peep show; my neighbor’s face is still buried in her book; the Reluctant Stud is looking uncomfortable; and Lolita is on fire. As to the remainder of the people in the plaza, I had not a clue.
Reluctant Stud walked away from his temptress to a nearby trash receptacle. Returning, his noticeable protrusion evidenced that he was not indifferent to her overtures.
Lolita arose from the table. Her allure featured: a halter-top that exposed ample breasts; and a broad band of uncovered flesh, flat belly and back, which isolated the cropped halter-top from low slung, tight fitting stretch pants accentuating firm buttocks.
As they were walking away hand-in-hand, I could only imagine where the young stud’s hands will most likely be placed as she brings him to herself, luxuriating in and quenching the hunger within them.
Something stirred deep in the recesses of my mind. An acknowledgement of youthful mad passion offered and received; a recollection of times past.
Lunch finished; I stood. Passing my neighbor, I found her to be rather plain, fiftyish, with large eyeglasses. She abandoned her book and gave me a neutral, non-committal look. She missed the entire show. Had she witnessed the spectacle, would she have acknowledged the raw exhibition of passion? Would she recall old hungers? Or, might she currently enjoy such delight? Then again, she might view the whole affair as sordid, a pornographic public display.
Returning to the parking lot, I spotted Reluctant Stud speaking to an older male and unmistakably in no hurry to exit the area. Lolita was gone, undoubtedly leaving his body with surging male hormones. Unless I miss my guess, the only thing Reluctant Stud is likely to have gotten out of this business is physiological tension begging for release, and a deep ache in his loins. Teased but not pleasured. That figures!
By automobile, it didn’t take long to reach Erik’s. In a beeline, I traversed the parking lot. At last; Order placed!
Awaiting the delivery of my gustatory fantasy, I selected an empty table next to a window. An adult female with her back to me, age undetermined, sat ensconced at a contiguous table with head bent forward while apparently deeply engaged with a book. A colorful, yet indistinct, tattoo partially covered the nape of her neck. Resisting the temptation to lean forward and further examine the tat, I took my seat pondering her possible rationale for skin ink. Clearly, it wasn’t for her viewing pleasure. Could it be for someone else? Who then; a lover, perhaps?
Sipping my water, with lemon, and glancing around the restaurant, my gaze fell upon wall mounted antique farming, ranching and woodcutting tools. The window provided a view onto a plaza with tables and benches for patrons from several establishments. A number of people enjoyed the plaza. Seated facing me, and close enough to be easily observed, was a young couple I’d guess to be 19 or 20 years of age. They dressed contemporaneously in the style of their age group. The drinking behavior of the male drew my attention. With a cup sitting upon the table, he hunched over sucking on a straw. Was he going to eat his meal similarly? I mused that he might just as well consume his repast from a dog bowl. The female hoisted a gallon jug and downed a slug of water. Offering nothing more of interest, I turned my attention elsewhere.
Erik’s pastrami is good, but my vote goes to Piggy’s. After consuming half of the sandwich, glucose level heading toward normal, my attention refocused on the couple.
The plaza trembled with a new pulsating energy. The young woman, whom I’ve dubbed Lolita, exuded a fervent sexuality. Face bathed in love, or perhaps lust, she leaned into her companion stroking his arm. Reaching up and encircling his neck with her left arm, the fingers on her right hand seductively caressed his face. Kissing his neck, eyes, and face, she devoured his lips, which were subdued and yielding rather than participatory. Simultaneously, Lolita’s left hand transitioned to the top of his right leg as fingers slid down the inside of his thigh, rested close by his crotch and undoubtedly sent hot shock waves through his gentiles, into his belly and altering his breathing.
Surprisingly, the recipient kept his hands to himself. Could there be a reticence, or perhaps an embarrassment, on his part? Obviously, she was his for the receiving. I thought, “Why are they still sitting there?” “Why does he not take her somewhere private?” As Lolita’s reluctant stud, he couldn’t help but be stimulated. Hell, she affected a grizzled old man observing from afar. My gawd, another positive result of discontinuing Lipitor.
Imagine this contrast: I’m stuffing my face with pastrami while watching a peep show; my neighbor’s face is still buried in her book; the Reluctant Stud is looking uncomfortable; and Lolita is on fire. As to the remainder of the people in the plaza, I had not a clue.
Reluctant Stud walked away from his temptress to a nearby trash receptacle. Returning, his noticeable protrusion evidenced that he was not indifferent to her overtures.
Lolita arose from the table. Her allure featured: a halter-top that exposed ample breasts; and a broad band of uncovered flesh, flat belly and back, which isolated the cropped halter-top from low slung, tight fitting stretch pants accentuating firm buttocks.
As they were walking away hand-in-hand, I could only imagine where the young stud’s hands will most likely be placed as she brings him to herself, luxuriating in and quenching the hunger within them.
Something stirred deep in the recesses of my mind. An acknowledgement of youthful mad passion offered and received; a recollection of times past.
Lunch finished; I stood. Passing my neighbor, I found her to be rather plain, fiftyish, with large eyeglasses. She abandoned her book and gave me a neutral, non-committal look. She missed the entire show. Had she witnessed the spectacle, would she have acknowledged the raw exhibition of passion? Would she recall old hungers? Or, might she currently enjoy such delight? Then again, she might view the whole affair as sordid, a pornographic public display.
Returning to the parking lot, I spotted Reluctant Stud speaking to an older male and unmistakably in no hurry to exit the area. Lolita was gone, undoubtedly leaving his body with surging male hormones. Unless I miss my guess, the only thing Reluctant Stud is likely to have gotten out of this business is physiological tension begging for release, and a deep ache in his loins. Teased but not pleasured. That figures!
posted by Paul Coambs | 9:50 PM
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