First Date, part 4

After finishing the fine repast, everyone pushed back from the table with dull looks on their faces. I allowed as how this was the finest chicken I had dealt with in lo many a moon I felt very tired from lack of sleep and said so. I asked if there was a hotel or inn nearby where I might stay. Jen said there was no need as there was a spare bedroom I could use – her youngest son was off at work camp. God showed me the way upstairs and after stripping and plunking down I fell immediately into the golden, treasured slumbers of the woofed and well-fed.

A dreamless sleep was mine from the early evening hours till around 1:00 a.m. when I sensed someone in the room with me. I opened my eyes and saw that Jen, Mother of God was standing before the window, drenched in bluish-white moonlight and what did my wandering eyes aspire but that she was 100% butt-naked. It was a vision that elevated me because friends, she was looking good.

“I couldn’t help but notice you standing there all lovely in moonlight,” I ventured.

She looked at me for a full minute before responding. “Sometimes, a woman needs what only a man can deal out to her,” she said. “A woman has needs.”

I could not disagree and threw off the sheets as she approached, crouched slightly forward, quickly grabbing the business end of my pizzle with electric fluidity and skill. I lay back, my hands folded on the pillow behind my head and let her do her thing. Wow! I had never been confronted with such a bonus deal as this – it had all been quick bump and runs next to cars, in cars or in the weeds with squeaky, blubbering girls. This was like experienced, mature and expert and shit like that.

After some friendly overtures, Jen sprang accurately upon me and began to rodeo me with a rotational vigor that whumped the mattress up against the nightstand occasioning the music box upon it to give forth with a chimey version of “Cielito Lindo”.

My father always told me it was only polite and good manners to hold a door open for a lady, that there was no hurry for a man to go first, so I always took his advice and admitted the ladies prior to my capitulations. It’s a good policy and it paid off and paid off again as Jen made two entrances before I came in behind her. As our sweat mingled and she lay upon me I again noticed someone else in the room. This time it was God. Oh great, I thought.

Jen saw him and said, “Now son, go on back to your room. Your friend and I are working out some man business that I needed to consult with him on.” God spun and walked back out. “Don’t pay him any mind,” she said, rolling off and grabbing the snake again, teasing it back to life. She really looked way better deshabillee and soon I was ready for the bareback rodeo bucking contest once again. “Cielito Lindo” soon was serenading my serene and placid thoughts as I once again held the door open for the lady to enter. Her dexterity, concentration, persistence and vigor gradually culminated in another grand entrance to the realm of transcendent sensations.

I looked at the clock during an interlude and saw that it was now 5 a.m. I wasn’t sure whether we had finished six or seven escapades with the rampaging peacock, but it hardly mattered, her enthusiasm had scarcely waned or diminished. She was really a fun woman to be with, and resourceful too – always finding a way to inject life and jollity into the proceedings. We went another round and this time I climbed on top of her for a change.

She was delighted. “Oh! Oh! Oh!” she cried. “I didn’t know you could do it this way! What is this called?”

“muh muh muh muh missionary, I think.”

As the sun was coming up, she returned to her room and I philosophically contemplated the grandiose splendor of life on planet Earth. But then I started to think: “What if Florrine was done wrong by the rednecks in the muscle car? What would I say to her father when I got back? That I had let her leave with drunken men headed south in Alabama? Aye yi yi! He would certainly kill me. I would kill me if I was him.”

First Date, part 3

I had enjoyed goofing around playing pool and all, but was getting hongry and tired and said as much to the three mooks.

“Well, my Mom is making fried chicken, so we could all head over there,” said God. “I’ll just have her kill another chicken.”

That sounded dokay, so we split for there. Out in front was a cart with an ox and we got into it and rumbled off down a deeply rutted path up a hill. The ride was quite slow and rough and the ox stank, but we sang whaling songs on the way and before I knew it, we had arrived at the big farmhouse. Inside, I was introduced to God’s mother and his older brother, Sten. God’s mother was a tall, dark-haired woman about 35 years old. I couldn’t tell how old God and his brother were, but they both looked to be 19 to 22 years old.

“Would you like to help me with the chickens?” asked God’s mother.

“Sure, Mrs. God,” I said.

“Call me Jen,” she said and headed out the side door from the kitchen to the yard in back of the house. We went into a fenced in chicken yard and the chickens clucked, jumped and squawked around the yard. “They’re not used to you, but they’ll settle down,” said Jen. We stood there for a while and sure enough, the chickens went back to their hunting and pecking, chicken-walking around the pen, roosting and other chicken stuff. As I watched, Jen slowly bent over and pace at a time approached a red hen in the middle of the chicken yard. She got closer upon her, then quick as a snake, reached out and in one motion, twisted the bird’s head off. The chicken then ran around in a circle, headless.

“Wow!” I said. “That’s amazing, Jen!”

“Would you like to try it?”

“Sure.” I picked out a chicken, pointed it out to her and she nodded. The bird was off to the side. I bent slowly at the waist, while visualizing the job ahead of me, the motions required rehearsing in my head. I paced slowly toward the bird, who was brown with some blue flecked feathers. It pecked the ground while circling slightly. Before long I was in reach of the bird. I paused while the bird accustomed itself to my presence then reached out and detached its head neatly, as Jen had done. It was deceptively easy.

“You’re a natural,” said Jen.

I smiled as the chicken wound itself down. I noticed that she had the first chicken in her apron. The sun was low on the horizon, throwing shadows across the barnyard. It was a most reassuring rural scene. After “my” bird plunked over quite dead, I picked it up and we went into the house.

When we got back into the house it appeared that we had caught the four guys at something. They were red-faced and quiet, shifting on their feet. Oh, well.
We played cards as Jen plucked, cleaned, cut up and fried the chickens and rolled and baked biscuits. By the time dinner hit the table I was nearly drooling with hunger like the Hound of the Basketballs or something. We all said a short prayer to God and he answered by saying, “Dig in!”

First Date With Florrine, part 2

We rode along at 80 mph in the rising sunlight, drinking brews and listening to live Led Zeppelin bootlegs, which were from mainly uninspired, poor quality concerts, poorly recorded and heard through the car’s low-fi automotive playback system while we were not thinking too much about the present or future.

The redneck passenger regaled Florrine with histrionic presentations of how he and ‘Eddard,’ the driving redneck had just returned from burning down the barn of a man who had “mis-payed” them. It sounded like the most noble barn-burning ever and Florrine seemed to see the point of view of “Rock”, the story-teller perfectly well. I figured she was going along to get along, but in retrospect, over-estimated her.

I started to think, ‘well this is fun, but I gotta turn around somewhere,’ and asked ‘Eddard’ if I might be let off at the next town, “Arbritonlia” whose name I had seen festooned on a highway mileage sign. Eddard acceded and stopped at the Abritonlia Main Street exit. Florrine, however, made not a move to exit the muscle car.

“Hey,” I said. “We got to head home sometime.”

“You go ahead, I’m going to keep going South. Is that okay with you fellers?”

“Sure,” they said.

“Uh, well okay then,” I said happily from under the combination of beer, sleep-deprivation and pain pills. “I’ll see you back wherevering.” I felt really good and didn’t actually think much about this turn of events. The car sped away and I forgot where they said they were going, didn’t catch the license plate or any other nagging little details.

Sure, this seems like a good little town. I strolled down to the everytownsgotone “Come Back Inn”, where I saw two guys smoking cigarettes out front who looked like they were doing an imitation of chimpanzees or gorillas smoking cigarettes – they would take a drag then admire the cigarette, puff out smoke with pleasure and animation, then shake their heads and look around pleased as all get out. Now, its funny when you see simians in humanlike poses and expressions but not as funny when humans do simianlike operations. Its more like a mildly perturbing annoyance.

I smiled and said, “Hey fellas, how’s it going?”

They interrupted their chimpsmoke gymnastics to say “Hi, buddy,” and “Hey, how you doin’?”

“What you mooks doin’ here? Is this place cool and all that?”

“Oh, yeah yeah, we hang here all the time, this is cool here,” said the bigger mook.

“This gotta pool table and all that? I’ll shoot ya some?”

This got their attention. They nodded, grimaced and starting smoking more in earnest, grimacing and “ahhh” ing as they finished their butts. Then we went in and got some beers and a table. I felt right at home. I was shooting some real lousy pool, couldn’t roll a ball straight or sink anything. These two mental midgets were beating my pants off but it was all in fun whilst the hours dribbled away. They talked about how they wanted to learn kung-fu and what movies were cool (monsters) and which weren’t (cowboys). These guys weren’t bright by any measure but they was ’ight.

Then some dude in a faded yellow t-shirt walked in and the short mook said, “Hey, its God.”

I shook the dude’s hand. “You’re God, huh? I was wondering when I’d be meeting you. Can you show me some billiard miracles?”

“Sure,” said God. “Rack ‘em.”

The big mook racked ‘em and God took his cue and hit the break. All the balls went in pockets, the cue ball backing straight back to in front of his cue where he hit it.

“Damn, let’s see something else,” I ventured. This could be a trick, I thought, but hey, maybe this guy is God.

The next break’s balls also all went smartly into holes – the rack wasn’t even tight.

“Pretty good,” I opined. “What else?”

Next God jumped the cueball into the rack peeling the back rightside stripe ball into the corner pocket and jumping the cueball back on to the middle ball of the rack, where it balanced.

“OK,” I said. But maybe you’re somebody else, not God, you know? Could you do something so GOOD, that I know you’re not a demon or something?”

“Like what?” he asked, all innocent.

“I don’t know.”

to be continued

A First Date With Florrine

On our first date, Florrine fell asleep on the way home, like in that song "Wake Up, Little Susie" and in response, I just kept driving all night long, winding up in another state. Of course, then my $300 car broke down...irrevocably.

I pushed the dang thing off the road and began taking all of my valuables - mostly spare glove-box lightbulbs and empty plastic toy alligator heads out of the trunk and putting them into the many pockets of my vintage GI field jacket.

Really, I hated to waken Florrine - what a damn mess I had gotten us into and she was so innocent and didn't really know me very well. How did she know I would do something this idiotic?

"Florrine, wake up, we're in Alabama or something."

"What?" Florrine looked askance at me, not really recognizing her situation. "What happened? I ought to be home! I gotta go to school!"

"What the hell? You're still in school?"

I was now officially absolutely beflummoxed. My usual course of action had resulted in bad troublems again. Troublems that reefer wouldn't cure.

After an hour or so of skilled negotiation, I got Florrine back on the same page with me and we were on the shoulder thumbing a ride. I was trying to form an image of what to do as the sun crested over a hill and into my eyes, giving me a massive head-ache. I choked down a couple of pain pills without the value of any water as a chaser.

A couple of wild rednecks in a muscle car stopped and admitted us to their world of automotive abandonment. "Have a beer," the driver said cheeringly, pointing to a cooler on the back seat between us.

I took him up on that, pulling a Schlitz (my favorite) out of the box. "Hey, buddy, we're kinda lost here. Which direction are we going on this road?"

"South," he said.

To be continued