You just never know when you’ll bump smack into your past, like a wall you didn’t see.
There I was stretching after my run, when I notice a man’s familiar face, with one too many age spots gracing it, coming my way. Speaking of age, the little devil…the last time I saw this guy, he looked like Gary Cooper.
You have to wonder how you must seem. Is he thinking…wow…she used to be so hot, now look at her. She weighs 8 pounds with bones that could impale me.
A little back-story: Charles, I’ll call him, is Dutch from a very notable, aristocratic family setting him up in business in the New York art world sometime during the early 90s, when money fell from trees as if the Mint just made more, a concept not lost on me.
We were introduced by my former friend and neighbor, Trudy, as we sat at the bar of an Upper East Side bistro waiting for a table. Charles, then in his 30s, was quite the looker. 6 foot 2, legs that wrapped around you like Christmas ribbon. Impeccably dressed with tawny hair he kept just a bit too long, a subtle hint he walked on the wild side. I was at once hypnotized by his British accent with just the tiniest hint of a Dutch boy’s. Me being at my hormonal highest, almost levitated at, hoo do you do.
Well, before the maître d’could say, right this way, Charles and I were in a cab heading to his place. Hey, when thin girl had an itch back then, she didn’t fool around, actually she did, and apparently, so did Charles. After the ploy of, hey…we’ll order in, we found ourselves fucking in the shower like football players after a big game. Of course in this case, the big game was our youthful, sexual appetites always having the first and last say.
But back to the present. “Hey, doon’t I new you, foom soom place?” he said, looking at me like an old stick of familiar furniture. One can’t be too insulted not being recognized after nearly 30 years when last seen, was naked as a jaybird, to quote Truman Capote.
“Yes, I believe you do,” I said, in full squat letting him know, though rusty, my flexibility is still intact.
He still can’t place me, so I say, “How bout I give you a coupla hints?…I was wet, wild and willing, a little hungry, and paid for the cab.” ho hum
SB
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I am pleased to say, that’s never happened to me. I guess living in the same place for decades on end might inform the chances? You can’t go back, even if you’re still there.
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Never say never there, matey.
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Never in the past is acceptable, surely? Maybe “this far” or “to date” or “in living memory” might suit better?
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Thank you, Professor Higgins. 🙂
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Ironically, I share a singing talent with Rex Harrison. 😉
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That’s because…you’ve grown accustomed to her face, on the street where you live, and still can’t figure out why a woman, can’t act like a man….oh…and I hear…as much as thin girl can hear…that fucking rain is still on that fucking plain. 🙂
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Who would cast someone who couldn’t sing as the romantic lead in a musical? Thinking Rex in My Fair Lady and Dr. Doolittle; Lee Marvin in Paint Your Wagon; Richard Harris in Camelot; &c.
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And Mick, of England
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Thirty years does make a significant difference. I was the main organizer of our 40th high school reunion for a tiny class of 32. We all knew each other inside and out. It was a good thing I knew who was coming because it gave me a clue of who to look for. I didn’t know if I went to school with the husband or wife with some of the couples.
I recently had a strange (and goofy looking) older man greet me in the grocery store. He had all his teeth, but they each pointed in a different direction. Turned out to be a crush I had while in grade school.
I love the clues you gave your Dutch Boy, but since he didn’t remember you instantly I’d say he was clueless or suffering from a bit of dementia.
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You know men Skinny, unless it’s love, like you with you and Pookie, women are just one endless buffet table. Like asking what he had to eat at some sporting event in 1993..
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You were a wild girl!
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What do ya mean was? 🙂
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After so many years, you’ll have to give him a break Susannah…he didn’t recognize you with your clothes on…😂 ~Elle
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That’s right…thank God…LOL
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I’d be flattered at “familiar”. Lord knows young horny men only have one thing on their mind and it’s not making memories.
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Come to think of it, he probably did recognize me from the waist down. 🙂
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I love the last line. “and paid for the cab.” 🙂 Also, you didn’t finish the story. Did he ever guess who you were?
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He finally said he did, but I’m still not convinced.
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