Yet Another Saturday Afternoon

Bouncing from the caffeine to the alcohol, and back again, and back again, again, he was resolute in his desire to write something IMPORTANT. Still, it came in dribs and drabs, and was not at all satisfactory to him. And satisfactory must be understood here in the sense of him being satisfied, no easy task, as every woman that he has ever known will gladly testify.

So he looked her squarely in the eyes. Los ojos, those damnable glorious orbs that captivated him the very first time he ever saw them.

"I want you. More than anything on this planet. Right now."

"Drop dead. You are not in love with me. You are in love with you, and only a little in love with the idea of being in love. And even at that, I am at best in third place."

"You do not know what you are saying. You're just scared. Scared of what might happen if you gave yourself over to me. Admit it."

She squinted, just a little, but mostly for effect. "I admit nothing to you, you sad, sick, lonely little man. I give you nothing, and you leave with empty hands, just like you arrived." She smiled at the last of that, an impish smile that she always used to good effect.

"I know your game, here, baby. You are trying to get the best of me, you are trying to get me on the ropes. Good try, good try."

"I try nothing. I do. And I always get my man."

"Take me then, if you always get your man. Take me here, right now, and prove yourself. I am not going anywhere."

"Ah, but that would be too easy. And I am never too easy. So you will wait. And wait. And when I am ready, I will have you. Not a minute sooner."

"This is why I love you, mi amor. You take complete control of me, and you laugh about it."

"Ha ha ha," she said, as she closed the door.

June 4, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

No comments:

Post a Comment