Coffee, black and…cover your lady parts.

On my way to a café, the other day, in one of those towns where the uber hipsters hang out, I thought I’d park my car a little further away so I could get a little refreshing walk in. I crossed the street and made a quick left, heading to the café in the middle of the block.

Ahead of me were two young women. One of them had a head of bright blond hair with dark brown streaks in it, topped with a blue thingy wrapped around her hair ending in a long ponytail. She had on a colorful; I don’t know what you call it, a Halter top that exposed her belly button and a blue, short skirt that had frills on the ends near her knees. On her feet were beige-colored platform style shoes with straps that went up her ankles.

All of a sudden, she rolled her ankle, tripped and went down. She rolled over on her butt and as I walked to her to help her up, I noticed that she had no underwear on. It seemed like an eternity as I reached for her hand to help her up. She looked at me for a moment and said, “Did you like what you saw?”

I said, “No. You could use a trim or a Brazilian, maybe, or dye it the same as what’s on your head.” I smiled, and turned into the café. I then ordered a coffee, black, no sugar or cream. I wanted a brownie, but they didn’t have any that day, so I got one of those large, soft, chocolate chip cookie. I went and sat down on a vacant sofa and waited for my comrades to come. I was going to read some of my poetry, that day.

I was just about to get comfy when that young lady marched over to me. She stood there for a second then bent over to say something to me that only I could have heard.

“Are you some kind of pervert?” She said…her eyes wide, her face almost expressionless. I was shocked, but only for a second or two.

Looking dead into her eyes I said, “Youngster, I have seen, touch, tasted, and played with over xxx women in my lifetime. I am over xx years old and that,” pointing at her crotch, “doesn’t excite me as much as it did when I was your age.”

I looked up at her and smiled, then added, “Besides, a pervert would have had a camera and took plenty of pictures. My camera was in my pocket.”

She straightened up and put her hands on her hips. I noticed the corner of her lip started to erect into a tiny smile. I figured she wanted to burst out laughing, but she didn’t. She turned and started to walk out of the café. I noticed, as she walked away, her rear end was sashaying, a definite prominence that she didn’t have as she was walking down the street.

At that moment I realized, I had lied to her. Something I don’t do often, fibbing, not telling the truth. I did get excited, just a little, a tiny bit. Just enough to let me know, I’m still human.

Forty-five minutes later, as I sat listening to one of my friends read their poems, that youngster walked back onto the café, over to me and whispered into my ear, “can I get a ride home?”

 

 

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