Amiga ISO Collection/AmigaDemoCD2.iso/ASCII/TEXTE/SEX/ENGLISH/EROTIKK1.LZH/EROTIKK1

Text File | 1991-04-25 | 10.8 KB | 189 lines

    We were just kicking into a version of Get A Daytime Job when
she walked in. Damn she's hot. My attention was warped so that I screwed
up the progression, earning me a dirty look from the lead guitar player.
I didn't care. It isn't as if we ever get through a song without some
sort of screwup.
    She sat down at one of the less filthy tables in the bar (Our
band wasn't good enough to play in a not-so-filthy bar yet). I turned
back to the drummer to try and get back on track. The song survived
slightly mangled and we fell apart on cue, as usual.
    Jim, the lead guitar player, gave me a what-am-I-gonna-do-with-you
look and call a set break. I slipped neatly out of my guitar strap and then
spent two minutes trying to get the damn thing to stay leaning against my
amplifier. She was waiting patiently for me to finish being manually inept.
    "Becky, I really glad you made it." as I strode to the table. Okay,
'strode' isn't too accurate. Hard to stride in a bar stuffed full of chairs
tables. Let's just say I didn't fall down and leave it at that.
    "You guys sound good." She spoke as she stood up. It took me a second
to realize that she had gotten ready for a hug. I did clasp her awkwardly
but the moment was shot. (Beauty 1, Suave 0)
    "We really aren't that good, and I did screw up again. You see if
I don't pay close attention, I get lost in the 16-bar blues around bar
9." Amazingly, she didn't seem instantly bored by my explanation. I skipped
further detail and deftly switched the subject to food.
    "How about something to eat? I get starved about this far into a gig."
About the only good thing about the bar was that it served a mean Double-
Meat gyro. If my band could play well enough, we wouldn't play there.
    "That sounds great." We walked to the bar and I stood nervously until
the bartender had time to wait on us. (Our band's salvation was the fact that
the bar had a really loyal hard-drinking crowd that would fill up the place
if we played there or not)
    "Two Meaters, and ..." and turned to get her drink preference and
found her talking to Jim, the guitar player.
    "two Cokes." A pushed a $5 bill across the bar and turned back.
    In the first case, I shouldn't have been jealous. Jim had a steady
girlfriend in our lead singer, and Becky and I had no commitments. Strangely
enough, logic didn't seem to seep into my thought processes when I decided
what to do next. I interrupted the conversation abruptly.
    "Hope you like Coke, Becky" My tail feathers puffed high in challenge
to Jim for mating rites of the female. He didn't notice.
    "Jim was just telling me about the benefit you two did last December."
Jim turned innocently to me. I realized that he had given me an excellent
starting point for a topic. He even got out of my way by mumbling something
about rewiring for the second set.
    "Yeah, well. We got together with our drummer and played at the
Buckeye Youth Detention Center. We 'opened' up for a Reggae band who was
a lot better than we were." Two seats at the bar opened up and we snatched
them.
    "Just you, Jim and a drummer? What about the rest of your band?"
    "Most of them had gone home for Christmas by then. We just did a
little power-trio kinda thing."
    The gyros arrived and I attacked mine ravenously. So fast that
Becky started laughing at the white sauce dripping into my beard. I started
laughing too and flicked a bit of sour cream at her. ( I hit the tip of
her nose, one-in-a-million shot, eh?. I figured I'd hit her eye and she'd
go home to take care of the burning disfigurment. Well, I thought that
during the flight time of the sour cream blobule)
    Luckily, laughter seemed to be exponentially motivated that night
and we ended up gasping for breath, our nearby bar mates finding reasons
to move away from us to a table. I felt relieved, as the earlier tension
was broken and I kind of laughed off my possessive emotions.
    By the time we finished our gyros, Jim was calling me from the stage
over the microphone. I sheepishly hurried to my bass and zipped through some
quick tuning checks that confirmed my suspicions. I was way out of tune. So
another five minutes was shot with me playing with my pitches.
    When we finally got started, we played Goodnight Saigon, and Hey Joe
without a break between them. Then we went on to Talkin' 'Bout a Revolution,
Hello Hopeville, Sweet Home Chicago, and Knockin on Heaven's Door. (OK, did
I ever say we weren't eclectic?)
    The highlight of my night was when I got to sing one of the few songs
that I do; Little Wing. I closed my eyes and sang with all my feelings that
I'd been cultivating quietly inside about Becky. I thought I was fantastic.
Jim and the keyboard player told me it was cheesy afterwards. The drummer
added 'maple syrup like'. I didn't care. It impressed Becky (remember? the
only one who matters in this little play).

    I was still riding high on her words when we were packing our gear
and loading it into Gary's Ford van. Becky had stayed until we were done and
I was fantasizing about walking her home (No I didn't drive. The bar is kinda
close, okay?)
    After some terse agreements about next rehearsal and remedial blues
lessons for me, I took my leave of my R&B compatriots and sought out my
focus of the evening.
    She wasn't there.
    '*******SHIT!*******', I thought loud enough to hurt my mental ears.
    A quick interrogation of the bartender revealed that she'd left a few
seconds before. I ran out of the bar and slid to a stop on the sidewalk.
    No where to be seen.
    I began to run back to the dorm, when I heard a voice from behind me.
    "Not leaving without me, are you?" (thank you God. Again)
    "No, no. I was just running after you. I thought you'd left without
me."
    "Heaven forbid. Too dangerous for a sweet little thing like me." Yea,
right. She could take out anyone of my roommates, easy. Just get them into
a scissor lock with those swimmer's legs of hers and....
    That actually didn't sound like too bad of an idea.
    I didn't argue with her and mimed about in my Big Strong Macho
Protector role for a minute. She laughed. (I was getting good at that).
    We didn't talk for much of the way home. Actually, we were across the
street from the building when we finally stopped.
    "You know I'm not tired at all." She stated it firmly and resolutely.
    "What do you want to do?" I asked innocently hoping she wasn't
thinking innocently. She started walking away from the dorm, back to the main
drag. I followed until she found an all-night Greek place. We went in and
got some baklava and Coke. (Don't tell me about calories. I don't want to
hear it).
    Without out much prodding by myself, she took the baklava and fed me
pieces she'd broken off with a fork.
    "Oh to be Emporer!" I sighed majestically. She laughed and stuck a bit
of honey up my nose, which I of course projected out of my nose by laughing,
causing disruption to the table next to us. We cracked up. I wondered if you
could permenently damage something by laughing too hard or too much. After
one look at her grinning with tears in her eyes, I decided I didn't care.
    The manager was giving us a dirty look so she (*note*) paid for our
meal and we skeedaddled. ((I've been dying to use that word in a story))
    It was getting quite late, so we headed back to the dorm and let
ourselves into the locked lobby. Both elevators were sitting there waiting.
We hopped on one and she pushed 10. I took a bold (from my point of view) step
and didn't push 12. I couldn't tell if she noticed or cared.
    The trip was too short. My nervousness level was reaching redline.
I stepped off the elevator after her.
    "What's your room number?" she asked. If I didn't need my key to get
in, I would have said something sophisticated like "1203. Come up and see me
sometime."
    No... wait. That was some movei actress or something, right? Kind of
glad I didn't say it, I guess.
    Split-seconds after her question my mouth did what my brain seemed too
preoccupied to do.
    "1203."

    ...trumpet fanfare. THE MOMENT had arrived. Her doorway.
    "I had a really nice time tonight." Agonizingly typical, I could almost
hear her continue with '...still be friends...' or some equivalent variation.
    I was so caught up with myself I almost missed the next thing she did.

    She kissed me.
    No I didn't take her into my arms, gaze deeply into her soul by way
of her eyes, and kiss her heart to mine. I forgot to _do_ anything.
    The kiss. Hmmmm. How to describe it without dimestore cliches.
    Well, it was a lot more sticky and slippery than I'd anticipated. And
it was very sweet. But that was the baklava I think.
    About all I can say is that is was wonderful. It was the kind of kiss
that let's your heart soar out above the world shouting 'SHE KISSED ME'. I felt
strong and caring and warm and sexy all at once.
    There wasn't anything electrical about it. I didn't feel sparks or get
jolted so I put doubt into that tired description.
    Before I knew it, it was over. She drew back a few inches and looked
into my wide-eyed face.

    Luckily, my instincts took over. (If my ancestors had had my brain to
lead them through courtship, the Wardens would have been snuffed out long ago)
    I kissed her back.
    This wasn't as incredible as the first, not being out of the blue or
anything. But it was definitely something I'd like to make my life's pursuit.
(JACK WARDEN ** KISSING BANDIT had a nice ring).
    I held her lips in mine. My breathing brightened me with her
subtle perfumes while deafening me with it annoying noise. She pressed back,
instigating subtle movements and shifts of lip-to-lip alignment. I learned
quite a bit from her those fleeting seconds. I suspect my kissing improved
greatly.
    But as all things do, the end of the kiss came. I really wasn't getting
enough air and I was having a hard time from slobbering over her face as her
shifts got slipperier. I didn't want to end it but somebody had to do it.
    I pulled back and drew in deep breaths trying to see if some of my
sensations were due to lack of oxygen. She smiled, gave me a quick peck, and
opened the door to her room. She had dexterity I didn't even dream of. I hadn't
felt her unlock her door during the kiss.
    I looked into her room like a Viking gazing upon Valhalla. She was my
personal Valkyrie, drawing onward to paradise. But not really.
    I realized that her doorway was a border to be crossed another time.
    She finished scribbling something down and handed me a scrap of paper.
    It read    '293-7340. Call me tomorrow?'
    "With the greatest of pleasure, milady." I bowed.
    "Goodnight, Rebecca." I spoke it as if I were crafting a figurine of
finest gold.
    "Goodnight," she replied and closed her door.

    I made the walk back to my room slow. I wanted to savor the aura I
felt. The only thing that made me go to bed was the anticipation of the next
day. Tuesday.



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