Friday, April 18, 2008

Uh-OH, Quiet Man!

Yesterday was Wednesday April 16, 2008. It was a long day. Very long.

Fred’s problem was festering in the midst of getting resolved. He was optimistic, and I was suspicious. Quiet Man was just pensive.

To start the day, I was in my office. I was just finishing with someone who asked me if I saw the paper. I did. My brother called me in the AM.

“Did you see the paper today?”

“No, why?”

“Just read it,” he said and hung up.

I read the paper on line and I see Fred made it’s headlines. Uh Oh, was what I first thought.

I had called Fred at the store, he did not answer. He usually arrives at 10 am and it was well before.

I ring Quiet Man. He did not read the papers. He was jovial and optimistic. He tells me that Fred is still home.

So I emailed him the article and we agreed to meet later for coffee.

It was around 1 pm and I called Ricky about something.

“Hello, Love!” he says, “I was just going to call you!”

Ricky is very sweet.

“You were?”

“I just passed your office and noticed you were there.”

“Well, where are you now?”

“Can I come over?”

“Yes, why not?”

And he keeps me on the line while I notice him in the parking lot.

“What is wrong with you Ricky, you are in the parking lot and you are still talking on the phone? Why don’t you just hang up and come on in?”

He started to laugh. “You see me, eh?” he said.

So Ricky comes in and he has this thing about keeping our chats to ourselves, meaning do not tell Quiet Man. I think it has something to do with Quiet Man telling me Ricky likes me.

“No,” said Ricky, “I will tell you what they think. They think we have something going on.”

“WHAT?”

“Yeah. That is what they think,” and he laughs.

Quiet Man and Fred asked Ricky if he knew where I lived. He said yes, he drives by almost everyday.

“Do you ever visit her?” they inquired of him.

“No,” he said.

But that was not juicy enough for them. Ricky said they are in some kind of life crisis or something like that thinking about sex all the time and imagining other people having sex.

Well I did not know if I agreed with that or not. Probably not.

I told Ricky I was dying for a nice smooth coffee. I was pretty tired and Quiet Man did not call.

“Do you want to have a coffee Ricky?”

“Yeah. But I have to go and see Fred first. I will meet you at Starbucks.”

“I want DD.”

“OK, but how are we going to do this?”

“Do what?”

“Don’t tell them we met today.”

“OK, no problem.”

“Let me call Quiet Man first and see if he answers,” I told Ricky.

I rang him and it went to voice mail. I made Ricky hang out for a few minutes while we talked the logistics of getting a coffee and he called Quiet Man for me on his phone to see if he answered. He did after a good long ring. I rolled me eyes at Ricky and he rolled them right back to me.

“Ok, see you at Fred’s,” he said.

“OK, I will get my DD and you can go to Starbucks.”

So I go back into my office, come out again and get into my car.

I decided to go to McDonald’s for an iced coffee. I go around the drive through, wait on line and then started to drive out.

I see Quiet Man in a Lexus in front of me. What on earth was he doing there?

I got behind him and started honking the horn and yelling out the window at him to stop holding up the damned traffic. He is waving his hand out of the driver’s window. I laugh heartily, easily amused by my childish antics.

I follow him to Fred’s store. I park next to him and he gets out of the car laughing.

“Hello Muse,” he said rolling the R’s in my name in that deep guttural speech of his.

“Hello Quiet Man,” I replied, “You don’t answer the phone?”

“Oh Muse, I no answer because I am busy,” he started. I debated whether I should point out I knew he answered for Ricky about ten minutes later and decided against it because I told Ricky I would not divulge his coming to my office to say hello.

So we laughed. It was good for me to see him. I can’t help but let him be a tonic for me, a source of pleasantness I need.

“So what were you doing at McDonald’s?”

“Oh, Ricky tells me he was here buying coffee, but he was not, he at Starbucks, so I was leaving, Muse, to see Fred.”

“Oh,” I replied not really believing it. Why can’t he just admit he was probably eating lunch at McDonald’s? Such information certainly cannot be harmful, can it?

We go into Fred’s store and we go in to the sanctity of the back office. Ricky is there with him and he greets me as if he had not seen me ten minutes earlier.

“Hi Ricky, how nice to see you.”

“Hello, Muse, very nice to see you,” he says as he rises so that Quiet Man and I can sit together and he can continue on with Fred.

“So Muse, what you think?” is the first thing Fred wants to know.

So we discuss his dilemma while they drink Starbucks and I down my DD.

We decide we will go to support Fred later that afternoon with his problem as it was displayed in the local paper.

So Fred has to leave in a hurry. Quiet Man tells me to meet him at his office.

I arrive there and he is in the parking lot with Ricky. They are admiring a luxury car that Ricky was contemplating purchasing, noting he already has one in black.

“Quiet Man, Fred said we have to be there by 4:30, not 5:00 pm like you wanted. We will miss it.”

“No Muse, they start later.”

“No Quiet Man they are not.”

So after waiting for the bantering about this car between Quiet Man and Ricky, I drove with Quiet Man in my car to go and support Fred.

It was a boring conversation during the fifteen minute ride.

We arrive at where we were supposed to go. We sit in the back as planned and we see Fred walk down the aisle. Then we see the rest of them follow.

“Ah, Quiet Man, we missed it.”

So we go outside and see Fred. A reporter is there to speak to him.

The problem was not solved, it got worse.

So Quiet Man drives with Fred back to the store were we agree to go and talk. Fred was visibly upset.

Upon arriving at the store, we sat in the back, talking about what happened. We hash and re-hash it all around.

It was a little bit beyond 7 pm and we leave the store.

The three of us are standing on the sidewalk. It was kind of awkward. Fred was down in the dumps and Quiet Man was unsuccessful in bringing him out of it.

“Do you guys want to go and have a cup of coffee or something?” I asked, trying to see if Fred wanted to keep talking about it more.

“No, no, Muse, I will go home,” he said, ”You go with Quiet Man.”

“No, Freddy,” said Quiet Man, I go with you to give me ride to office.”

“Do you want me to give you a ride?” I asked him, seeing how Fred was not so enthusiastic about it.

“Yes Quiet Man, let Muse take you.”

“No Freddy,” began Quiet Man.

“Why not Quiet Man?” interrupted Fred.

Exacerbated, Quiet Man says, ”I have to talk to you about something.”

“What is your problem, Quiet Man?” I demanded, “Why don’t you just say that to begin with so we don’t have to guess?”

He smiled at me.

“Muse, I may call you to go have drink with Mr. Wrong later,” he said under his breath.

Whatever. That was my reaction.

“You no have date tonight, do you?” he continued?

“No, I don’t have a date tonight,” I said sarcastically.

So I hugged Fred goodbye because he was leaving on a trip the next night and I did not think I would see him the next day.

I get into my car and I was famished. I did not eat all day. I was supposed to go the gym, but decided I was too tired. I decided to go and get a grilled chicken snacker at McDonald’s without cheese. So I did.

I was going to go back to the office to do some work, eat my snacker and then decide what to do next.

I just pulled into my parking lot and my cell rings.

It was Quiet Man.

“Muse?”

“Yes, Quiet Man?” I said, “Too bad I have not heard from you in so long.”

“Oh, whatever you say Muse,” he laughed.

“You want to have a drink with me?” he asked.

“Well why did you just not say that when I just saw you?”

“I no want Freddy to know. He ask questions.”

The second man today to keep a secret with me.

“OK, where do you want to go?” I had to now put my snacker in the fridge at the office because I did not want to take the time to brush my teeth.

We made plans to go to the next state to a nice place I have not been to, or at least since it changed hands. I was happy to be the guest of a man at an upscale bar. I drove to his office were he was waiting for me at my request so we could drive together. I hate walking into a bar to meet a man. I much rather arrive with him.

We arrive at the place. We park in tandem and he leads me to the front door. There was a man waiting to greet us as we enter.

“Good evening,” he says to me with a wide smile.

“Hello Gianni,” said Quiet Man to this person. He knew the blond haired man with a thick wave to his hair. He actually kind of reminded me of Kirstie Alley’s ex-husband, I forget his name.

“Gianni, this is my friend, Muse,” said Quiet Man.

I reached out to Gianni and firmly shook his hand as is my way. He had a wide and broad smile as he took my hand to greet me.

“A table, tonight, Quiet Man?”

“No, Gianni, we here for drink,” said Quiet Man, who is very gallant. He holds the door for me and he ushers me as if I was a delicate doll.

We seat ourselves at the bar. Quiet Man waits for me to seat myself on the barstools before he retires on one. Why does this man have to have such impeccable manners? Why is he so attentive to how to treat a woman as a lady? It confuses me, knowing him the way I do.

The bar also has a white linen restaurant. The lighting is seductively low, sleek and modernly attractive.

The bar is dark, shiny and sexy. There are three people present across to our right. An older couple and a man who appears well to do, sitting by himself. He is white haired and donning a cream sports coat with a pink striped open necked Polo long sleeved shirt. It was stiff with a buttoned down collar.

Quiet Man knows the bar tender.

“Allo, Carolina,” he says, “this is my friend, Muse,” he emphasizes.

She held her hand to mine. I was open, happy and forced myself to roll with this crap introduction. I was annoyed that I did not want a night of meeting people. I wanted to sit with him and drink. Talk to him and enjoy my friend, to whom I am utterly attracted.

“What you order, Muse?”

Earlier that day I had mentioned having Captain Morgan for the first time and was amazed that it was very smooth. I told him that my brother’s friend, who is interested in me, introduced me to the soothing stuff.

“I don’t know, Quiet Man, maybe Vodka, you know, it’s pretty much my drink.”

“You want Captain Morgan?”

“NO!” I scolded him, knowing his implication.

I ordered Belvedere on the rocks with a lemon and lime. He finally orders Bacardi and Coke and had to settle for Bacardi Gold and Coke.

We sat under the soft glow of the bar lights. He tells myself and then verified with Carolina various mish mashes of information about Mr. Wrong wanting her, or that the Dentist (who is repulsive to me) likes Carolina.

“Is her second job a stripper?” I interrupted him.

“No. She probation officer.”

So he leans into me to assess the other patrons. I sense he knows all of them. Of course he does. He is an Aquarius. They know all sorts of people. Carolina told us she was a Scorpio. No wonder she kept her distance with the inquiring Aquarian.

“Muse, you been here before?” I already told him this when he picked the place, but when it had a different name and owner. It was a while ago, about two years or more.

“Yes, I told you that.”

“You come here with boyfriend, no?”

“Yes,” I whined, “I told you that before.”

The Vodka was running through my veins at a rapid pace; not having ate, it took a good hold.

He wants to order something to eat.

He calls Gianni over to tell me what they had. I did not want anything I told him.

“How you no want, Muse? It is very good. Prosciutto, you want Prosciutto?”

“No. Get what you want.”

So he orders some elaborate dish. It comes with two tiny crostini with a bruschetta like topping, but it was not runny and the parsley, tomatoes and onion was so neatly and finely chopped it looked like teeny tiny building blocks.

“I no touch Muse,” he indicated to the tomato.

“Oh, I see,” I said to him, ”I will eat it for sure and then breathe on you.”

He despises onions. I informed Gianni of this who was quick to want to remove them so not to offend Quiet Man.

“No, Gianni, you leave here. I no touch. Muse eat.”

So he ate the thinly sliced ham with his fingers.

I pushed it around with my fork. He was encouraging me to ingest it, but if I ate anything, the Vodka would return it, I told him.

We were getting quite drunk at this point. My Vodka glass was a wonderful globe like work of art. It was delivered to me filled to the brim, with delicate ice cubes floating in it as it they were created for the glass. I was poking the bottom of the glass with my red swizzler stick, piercing the lemon and lime rinds floating around in my glass.

Quiet Man was to my right. I was wearing high heeled boots with flared pants with embroidered patterns around my hips and my ass. I had on a crew cut butter yellow long sleeved top that was loosely cut after it tapers from the around the waist line. It hugged my bust line nicely, showing it off. The yellow matched the yellow in the embroidery that graced the sage color of my pants.

I mostly sat crossed legged at the bar. He was mostly standing next to me.

He dialed Mr. Wrong, who I did not in particular want to see. Earlier in the day I had questioned Quiet Man about what was the fascination with he and Mr. Wrong? I accused him of being gay, which usually gets to him.

“Muse, Mr. Wrong is nice man,” he said, “He is good, good man.”

“So what. Why are you always with him? It is kind of sickening that you both go to the strip club.”

“No, we go different places Muse. Last night we drink at bar and he had fun telling me stories from college and he sing songs.”

“What, he sang songs to you?”

“He has nice voice, Muse.”

“Do you hear how you make it sound?”

“We drink and he sing.”

What he meant was they were rip roaring drunk and they sang god knows what, like two drunken sailors.

“You know, Mr. Wrong wishes he could divorce wife. But he has no chance.”

“Why? Mrs. Wrong has no clue either that her husband apparently feels this way.”

“The girl, she is still young. He no want to hurt her,” he said as he gutturally pronounced the ‘u’ and rolled the ‘r’ in hurt. The wrongs have a teenage daughter. Quiet Man calls her the girl.

So Mr. Wrong answers.

Quiet Man then puts his head to mine so our faces are touching so I can hear Mr. Wrong talk to Quite Man, who thinks his conversation is private.

I cannot help but notice how soft his face felt on mine. Wisps of his hair brushed against my forehead. I was not that interested in what Mr. Wrong was saying until I heard that he was unable to meet us, er, Quiet Man.

Quiet Man tells me he will not come because Mrs. Wrong is home and expects him to be as well. Little does she know how much Mr. Wrong does want to come and see Carolina, you know, the object of his current desire.

I asked Quiet Man about Belina, the other object of his affection, supposedly. He had this big explanation about it but it was not that interesting, and in the middle of it I interrupted him.

“Well, according to Dane, Quiet Man, you had something with Belina.”

He stepped back to look at me. I was giggling.

“Muse!” he said “Belina is my friend.” And with that I had to rehear about how they became friends, she knew no one and he helped her find her way. He had to remind me how much Belinda likes myself and my mother.

“Yes, yes, I know Quiet Man. I am not saying I do not like her, I do. You know what I mean.”

“Whatever you say Muse,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. When he says that, whether in jest or in annoyance, it usually means he will not argue with me and let me make any and all accusations to which he will pleasantly agree.

As the banter between us grew, we laughed hysterically together. We feed off of each other like moths to flames. He is a welcoming recipient to my issues, my barbs in jest, my one up on you remarks. He laughs and in intervals, returns my volleys.

So we are interrupted by the man in the Polo Shirt.

“Quiet Man, how are you tonight?” he shouts over.

“I am fine, Jules,” said Quiet Man, “I want to introduce you to my friend, Muse.”

“What are you doing with such a beautiful woman?” demands Jules. He was quite large, but with a nice face.

I rolled my eyes. These gratuitous remarks between men, a showing of respect. The top dog game.

Quiet Man holds his hand towards me as if he was on the Price is Right, showing off his wares.

“She is beautiful, no?” he said proudly.

So after the fanfare, the peacock show, the couple sitting next to Jules, seemed odd. Quiet Man whispers to me he will tell me later who they are. Which he did. It was the sister of the woman who cuts his hair.

“You remember Muse, the boy I had call you? That is aunt.”

Geez, what a freaking side show. I am thinking his wife is going to find out and get the wrong impression, well at least about me. I don’t even know if those people know Mrs. Quiet Man. I decided to not think about that.

Quiet Man taps my forearm gently.

“Muse, I go out. I come back.”

He was going to for a smoke. He is a chimney, poor thing.

“So, I heard what you do for a living,” pipes in Jules.

We learned prior that he was a Taurus. Quiet Man said, “Muse, you believe in that?”

“No, I just like to see if the personality trait is on or off, and it usually is on. It has served me well.”

He did not believe. So I said, listen, I will tell you what that Jules is like.

The love of food for a Taurean can be legendary. I explained to him I dated one for a very long time and went into explanations about dating one.

“You call boyfriend Muse, he no like me, no Muse?”

“No, Quiet Man, he does not like you, but I am not dating him.”

As we were chatting, we see the kitchen send out plates and plates of food. They placed them around Jules.

I poked Quiet Man and we laughed. He could not believe it. I told him to watch the way he ate. It would be delicate and deliberate or shoveled in. It was delicate. Jules was savoring every morsel. His eyes rolled in his head.

“Oh Muse, you are right,” laughed Quiet Man. We tried to keep it between ourselves, but Quiet Man was pretty loud.

We interrupted Jules’s eating, which is not a good thing. I was annoyed with him that he was trying to hit on me when Quiet Man was out smoking.

“Muse, you have a card?”

“No.”

“Well I do. I will give you two,” he said, you can write your information on the other and hand it back.”

So I did, because Quiet Man was not there and I needed something to do.

When Quiet Man returned, I filled him in. “I know, Muse, when I go, he talk to you. I know.”

Jules was not my type. He boasted about his wealth. Like I cared. He flattered himself. For all his efforts, which any effort on the part of a Taurean man towards any female, be sure it is energy not wasted. If they like you, it is obvious. And Jules was obvious.

Jules was also pretty controlling, believing I should be going along with him and his idea of me or whatever he was trying to discuss with me during the short smoke breaks Quiet Man was taking.

Knowing how to anger a Taurean, I snapped hard at him, directly and bluntly. He rudely throws his hand up at me to tell me, you don’t bother me and I won’t bother you.

Fine, I said to him, I am not the one trying to talk to me, you are. Like I would back down from him.

He turned his immense girth to the side so he was not looking at me. The poor chair was all I thought.

Quiet Man returns and we ignored him. I told Quiet Man that always happens to me. I always attract that type of man. If there is a Taurean male within eye shot of me, be sure they will trot their immense chest like figures towards me.

So Jules become emboldened. These men are quite stubborn when they want something or someone. There is not much difference in their minds.

“Ah, you know, Muse,” he geared up to try and trample me, the typical Taurean male reaction to not getting their own way when they care to do something about it, ”I am not the one here who is with a married man.”

He thought his aim was sharp and deep.

“Since you failed to understand it the first time, I will explain it again to you: I am his friend,” I said loudly while looking directly at him. “You don’t know me from Adam, and you think you can tell me about myself and him? You yourself just boasted you are married with six girlfriends, and looking at you, god know what they look like.”

He just looked at me. So I continued on.

“If you can’t understand the concept of a friend, which obviously cannot, since you find it acceptable to have six girlfriends when you have one wife, keep your unwanted assumptions to yourself.”

“I speak from experience,” he bellowed, “I know what I am looking at here.”

Of course Quiet Man is outside smoking and he comes in and Jules stops. I tell Quiet Man and he laughs. I told him I can handle myself.

So Jules decides to talk to Carolina. Quiet Man and I are watching. We continue to drink.

Jules seeing me and Quiet Man enjoying each other, just talking and laughing, decides again to address me.

“Carolina is one of my girlfriends,” he announces, quite proud of himself.

“Really?” I mocked.

“From the neck up,” he motions using his hand, trying to be charming.

“Prove it. Ask her,” I told him.

“Ya, ya, Muse,” I hear Quiet Man comment.

So he asks her and she blandly agrees with him. He found satisfaction, so he thought.

“But she will never be your girlfriend from the neck down!” I yelled over to him.

After that, he left me alone.

“Allo?” I hear.

“Who are you calling now?”

“Ricky,” he said with the heavily rolled R.

“Oh.”

I was getting very drunk by now, the Vodka was strong.

Quiet Man had long finished his Barcardi. He then found out from Carolina that there was no more Bacardi in the place. He decided to drink what I was drinking. He previously took a taste.

He gets his and is disgusted. It has a bad, strong taste, he said. Well, it is straight Vodka pretty much. You need to squirt the citrus in there, I told him as I did it for him.

“Sorry, I put my fingers in there, by mistake,” I told him.

“I no care, Muse. Put your whole hand.”

“Oh, you are sick,” I told him, smiling sideways to him.

He took another sip and it was not to his liking.

“Well what kind of woos are you? I can drink this and you cannot?”

“Ok, I finish Muse.”

So he did. When it was time to get the next drink, after much fan fare, he orders the Vodka again.

I was putting on my Dior lipstick in light pink. Carolina seems fascinated by it, why was I doing that?

“It is very moisturizing,” I informed.

I slathered it on for effect.

Jules was watching me across the bar.

“It is very light, but it makes your lips sparkle,” said Carolina.

It must have caught Jules’ eye.

Quiet Man’s phone is ringing. He talks for a while and says, here, you talk to her.

I motioned to try and find out who it is, but he shoved the phone at me.

Freddy, mouthed Quiet Man. Fred called in; Fred who Quiet Man did not want to know we were together.

“Oh, hi Fred, “ I said, trying to not be obvious, “How are you?”

“I am Ok, Muse,” he said.

“I wish you were with us,” I said to salve his ego and make him feel better.

“I do too,” he said.

And then I gave him back to Quiet Man. The weirdo.

Jules decided to leave the bar with his numerous doggie bags. He made a quiet exit.

Ricky then rang and he was lost. Carolina was trying to get Quiet Man’s attention when he was chatting with me, but he ignored her. I had to tell him, they were changing bar tenders, she had to go home.

So Ricky arrives and we have a chatty male bartender, who Quiet Man also knows. It is at this time that Quiet Man is very drunk and loud and attentive to me. The bartender was hanging out with us when I wished he would leave. Ricky orders a merlot. Quiet Man teases him about it, being a girly drink. It was well past ten at this point.

During the night, especially when Jules was entertaining us with trying to hit on me, Quiet Man was making me crazy. I had to act like nothing was going on. I had to ignore his hands running their way around my back. He gripped the ends of my hair that sat hovering over my ass, in his fingers, stating he loved that head of hair. To whom he was talking to I don’t know. He was just talking.

When I first feel his hand slip into my waist band, I almost jumped. The waist band on my slacks sat on my hips. His hand was smooth. He would run his hand in and out of my waist band and sometimes run it up the side of my exposed hip to my waist, as we spoke to each other. He would pivot his fingers on the small of my back, then open his palm to place it on my skin. His hand was smooth and rough in a manly sort of way. It was kind and gentle. He massaged me with his hand, by gently running his hand back and forth. It was not sexual in any way, but comforting and protective. He was so comfortable with it, as if we were together.

I enjoyed the smoothness of his hand. I enjoyed when he grabbed my shoulder and would pull me towards his side to hug me. I enjoyed looking into his eyes and laughing. I was just enjoying this man pay attention to me by holding onto me as if I were his.

I know I cannot be nor could he be mine. I am fine with that, but because he shows me affection, does not mean I have to reject it.

Whether that changes ever, will be an incontrollable, guilty act. This is the temptation I try to over come.

I do not know what he was thinking because I acted as if he never touched me. I continued on as if he was keeping his hands to himself. He continued on the same. It was like the white elephant in the room about his desire to touch me.

So Ricky is with us and we begin to joke with each other. We squeal at a cleverness only drunks know about. Quiet Man begins to speak about me.

“Muse, I wish you were my wife!”

Holy shit, what is he doing?

“Muse is beautiful giurrl. No Ricky?”

“Yes, she is!” agreed Ricky.

Quiet Man then tells Ricky what Jules was doing.

“What you do, Ricky, if you were here?”

“I would have told him to stop insulting my wife!”

And they squeal with laughter. I laughed too.

Quiet Man admits he was attracted to me the first time he laid eyes on me. He tells me that Bobble Head asked him what he found attractive about me.

I was pissed. He never told me he spoke to Bobble Head about this at all. I quiz him and he tells me it was probably during New Years.

“I say to Bobble Head, Ricky,” he told Ricky, “Muse is very sexy woman. I like the way Muse’s body is, it is very sexy. I like Muse’s way of moving. I like way Muse looks, I tell Bobble Head.”

Ricky is laughing. He is humoring his drunk friend. He gives me an acknowledging wink.

I start to interrogate Quiet Man. I was furious he was creating an impression I did not want. I am sure his reasons for telling Bobble Head this was to direct his remarks about me to Flat Foot. So does he think how does it look for a married man to be saying these things? Well, according to him, in that group, they all check out each other’s wives and they have a favorite they want to bang. It is sick, so they may not think anything of it at all.

“Muse,” he says, feeling emboldened. He had his hand in my waist band again. He began to gently squeeze my skin.

“What!” I say back to him.

He then grabs me from my seat, he pulls me towards him, his grip around my hips and runs his hands across my stomach. I was shocked. I could not believe this man.

He places me between his legs. I am sure he wanted me to press up against his groin. Not that I did not think of that myself.

I had to keep reminding myself I am just his friend. His friend.

I wanted to lean into him, hold his head in my hands and relentlessly tease him to the point where he would take charge and make me pant by anticipating his kiss. At the thought of his breathe on mine, I began to swoon.

Collecting my thoughts, I laughed. He was staring at me. I had Ricky to my left. He did not raise an eyebrow to my current position between Quiet Man’s legs. His thigh was feeling pretty good to me right then and there, but I had to eradicate any erotic thoughts. How I longed to touch him back, to touch his cheek to mine, hold his face and look into his eyes, letting him do whatever he wanted. I didn’t let it happen.

So I decided when I was finished thinking things I should not, I stepped back and he let me out from between his legs.

I stood next to him. We began to argue like two bantering lovers. The suggestive rants where thrashed back and forth. The sexual electricity was firing from end to end.

Ricky shook his head and told us, “I don’t know how you two don’t love each other.”

We continued to tease each other. My hand was leaning on his leg or his was on mine. He would laugh and grab my head and look into my eyes, his forehead on mine. He would then release me to look at me.

I had on more of the pink Dior lipstick. I was wondering if he liked it or not. I certainly did. As I was thinking of what it would be like to kiss this man, I had my lips slightly parted and my eyes slinking into a sultry state.

Quiet Man who was standing up by now, looking at me, without warning, grabs my head with his hands. He pulls me towards him and kisses me open mouthed.

I felt his lips part as I refused to open mine. He was kissing me with my mouth closed. I could not believe he was doing this. He kisses me none the less. I felt his moist and soft lips on mine. He then pulls back.


Uh OH.

All I could do was act like it did not happen. Ricky saw it. The bartender saw it, but I did not care. It did not happen.

After a while, Quiet Man, who took a sip of his drink, looks down at me, and says “Muse! what kind of lipstick you have?” as he wipes his mouth, apparently not liking the taste of Dior pink.

“The kind you wanted,” I told him laughing. What can you say to a man who just grabbed you and kissed you like that?

He must think me so odd; he makes a move and I stand there like a dead woman. I refuse to open my mouth, or kiss him back.

I think that if he did that in private, it would have been a different story. I do not know if I could not kiss him back. If I did, I know it would not end there. So, in a way, it was good the way he did it-so it would not get worse.

We end up leaving the bar since they were closing. Ricky was our designated driver. He has a big truck with a full back seat. We both sat in the back.

“Ricky, you must really feel like a taxi man,” I said.

“Guys, can someone please sit in the front!” pleads Ricky.

“No, Ricky, I stay with Muse!”

So we sat. Quiet Man had busy hands back there. He finally decided to lay his head on my lap. I could not help but hold his chest or stroke his soft hair. I wanted to kiss him as if he was my child. An innocent kiss. But I did not. He held my hand on his chest for a while, until he decided to answer Ricky’s pleas for where we were headed.

To the strip club of course!

I told him I was not going there.

“Muse, where else can you get drink in this city at this time of night?”

“I don’t care.”

By this time, Ricky had his truck parked in the lot for the strip club.

Quite Man pleads with me to go in. I would not budge. We run through my reasons. He pleads, “Muse, you will be with two men, they no think nothing of you.”

“I don’t care. I am not going. Ricky, will you please explain to him what I mean?”

So Ricky explains. Quiet Man is now out of the truck. He explains he just wants a drink. I don’t care.

He begins to pull me out of the cab by my feet until he can grip my calf.

He finally understands I will not go.

“You stay in truck then, that is what you are saying?”

“Yes, I will stay in the truck. You go in.”

“No, I want you go with me. We have a drink and we leave.”

“No.”

So he gets back into the truck and we decide to go eat eggs at the diner.

The diner. Do you think we had a fun waitress? No. We get the freaking ugly assed miserable pork chop, for those of you who don’t know, it’s a Portugese.

Quiet Man is still a little drunk and he sits next to me. He has his arm around the top of the booth above me. He runs his hands up and down my thigh that is closest to him. He plays with my hair. If my legs are crossed he slips his fingers between my thighs just enough so they are held. I continue on as if he is not doing any of these things, regardless of all the old bitties watching him caress me. Some of those women decide to flirt with my handsome Quiet Man. Well, he is not mine, but he is in a weird way. I felt comforted while his arm was around me, my head, if I so chose, fitting snugly underneath his arm into his armpit.

He is polite to those ladies, but he like I, does not care to be interrupted by strangers when we do not want to talk to them.

So on the way back to get our cars, he sat in the front seat. He reached his hand back to grab onto my legs. He reached further and gripped my thigh, squeezing it. He was conversing with Ricky who probably knew what he was doing. He kept driving and talking. Mainly, he was holding my hand, rubbing my palms, intertwining his fingers in mine, rubbing my fingertips between his or holding my cupped hand in his. He was feeling the smoothness of my fingertips. I would run my smaller hand into his palm. The soothing relief it was to have his hand in mine was a good tonic for me. It released my worries for the moment. It upped my confidence, knowing his attraction to me. Regardless of its consummation, I know he wants me and for now, it is enough.

After a while, I would reach over him in the front seat. He was now speaking politics to the point Ricky and I could not stand it any more.

So I place my hands gently over his mouth as if to make him stop talking. He holds my hands with his while kissing the inside of my hands. His lips and soft and velvety. I remove my hands from his mouth and I stroke his hair as we are riding down the highway to where we had our cars.

We pull into the parking lot next to where we parked. We continued to talk for a good while. Quiet Man kept his grip on my hands and legs. When I felt him release, I knew he was ready to go.

To my surprise, he leaves the truck and gets into his car. He does not wait for me to finish talking to Ricky. He has his door open and says goodbye to me from there. How odd. I smile and wave goodbye. He smiles back.

As I follow Ricky to the highway, I see Quiet Man drive away in the opposite direction. My cell rings.

It is Ricky. He talked to me until I was safely inside my home.

He is a sweetheart all around. That is why I tell Fred and Quiet Man I ‘love’ Ricky.

5 comments:

Glamourpuss said...

Goodness me, that's fire he's playing with for sure.

Puss

Gucci Muse said...

Yes, Puss, the heat was intense. So glad I took fire safety. :)

SoozieQ said...

I've sort of been in the same position for a long time now. Still can't really openly talk about it on my blog though LOL. Anyway, I have to say that I went ahead and jumped into the fire and have loved every minute it of it.

Not that I'm condoning being with a married man, but there is something big between the two of you Muse. Sometimes people don't date or marry the right people and it takes finding the right one to make them see it if you know what I mean.

Gucci Muse said...

SJ-wow, I would have never guessed that about you from your blog.

I am so torn about this man. I don't want to be involved with a married man but I want to be involved with him. I don't want to be the other woman, I don't want to ruin his marriage, hurt his wife or his kids. And I should point out that he should be thinking these things as well.

This blog lets me talk about something I cannot talk about with those around me.

It was he who presented himself as single for months, so in that regard, in my mind, it is hard to undo the attraction I had for what I thought was a single man. The attraction was established and then became forbidden, but it, the attraction, never went away. That is the hard and scary part. That is the struggle. It is not a faucet I can turn off.

SoozieQ said...

Well Muse it is a taboo enough thing and enough people knew me and the guy that read the blog that I didn't want to take any chances with it. He was very unhappy in his relationship and I was patiently waiting for him to leave her so I could tell him how I felt.

The problem with men is they are always afraid of change and I started to think he would stay just because it was familiar unless I went ahead and did the crappy thing and laid it all out on the line. So I told him figuring one way or another I could get on with my life. Low and behold the man loved me and just didn't think I felt the same way. Needless to say it bothers me that someone got hurt in the process, but she'll thank me one day for saving her from what was a very unhealthy relationship. They just didn't work well together and everyone saw it but them.

The fact of the matter is he probably presented himself as single because he wanted to be because you are everything he wants. You two have this fire together and I was almost jumping out of my seat when you said he finally kissed you because I knew how you felt having just been in the same situation. There is this excitement because you waited so long for it, but in the back of your mind you feel guilty.

One way or another you need to find a way to play this out. You will have an awful time moving on while you have those feelings for him. What you two have is amazing and it comes through on your stories.

I really hope this all works out as well for you as it did for me.