will knock on my door and cup her hands around her eyes and peer through my windows to see if im home, and sometimes i answer and sometimes they take advantage of me and sometimes i even like it.
normally i resist the temptation because i really don’t want anything from them, and as much as a good fling might make for a good fling, i have rarely met a hottie who understands this concept and after a while they start to make themselves comfortable and wear out their welcome.
but today i feel ornery. austin powers would say randy, rene would say naughty, and the king of pop would say dangerous.
friday night and i planned on drawing a hot tub, snipping some rose petals from the bushes and sprinkling them around the floor and light candles like “when doves cry” and turn the music on low and recuperate this old body of mine.
ive abused it. ive worn it out. ive taken advantage and im sorry, brittle bones.
you’ve carried this mixed up soul around for over a century of rock n roll and ive never done the damage to you that ive done this summer and im sorry.
but murphys law says there will be a ding dong at the doorbell and rosalita doesn’t ring twice. she might have a friend in from out of town, she might have a cousin, she might have an ememy. she might come alone. things start off nice, we’ll hug, we’ll chat, she’ll pop open a dr. pepper and pour it in her glass and see if i have any french bread which i wont and she’ll look at me pleased.
french bread means brie, brie means wine, wine means i have had company, and shes a jealous neighbor
and im an unapologetic man.
she’ll try to be sexy, but she doesn’t need to try, she just needs to lean over.
i have a friend who has a bell on his night stand and he tells his girlfriends, of which he has many, fucker, that since we live in uncertain times, he would prefer it if they rang the bell when they wanted what they wanted.
he told me that the other night he had a woman over who knew this procedure and walked into his room and “tripped” and knocked over the bell.
oopsie, she said.
but make no mistake, my life is nothing like his, and his is nothing like yours, and instead of a hot tub, i’ll probably twist open a cold beer, flip on the tv and pass out before ten only to be awaken by a rerun of night court, completely sleeping through the little tap tap at the door.