Thursday, July 31, 2014

Alcyone, Chapter Seventeen: Love and Genitalia

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Seventeen

Besides the obvious sexual rush, ol’ bird buddy, my burgeoning affair is ripe with espionage. Here’s how we carried out our first meeting.
           
It was Tuesday afternoon, my hormones working themselves to a boil, when I found Guido bareheaded, the cowboy hat positioned just-so against his neck. I replaced it, cocking it leftward in that carefree Desi Arnaz tilt, then took the earliest opportunity to grab some java and head out for a break with Mr. Pan.
           
I had to wait for Donno to finish mowing the courtyard, then I slid away the magic stone and pulled out a matchbox from Donatello’s Restaurant in Tiburon. INside was a neatly folded slip of lavender paper with the following message: The gander remains a goose till Monday. Our most supreme set of bars is a concealable handgun. Fly the doubloon and I will come to worship the Teflon.
           
My first thought was that Juliana had seen too many James Bond movies. But I know she had her reasons. The gander remains a goose refers to a Canadian goose, meaning Scott is in Montreal till Monday. Set of bars refers to Cage, and since Cage invented chance music, Our most supreme set of bars means our best chance, plus a concealable handgun, a Saturday Night Special, so Saturday is our best chance. The doubloon refers to a gold piece – my signal banner, and she will come to worship at the what is commonly coated with Teflon – a Pan. Got it?
           
I took the message with me and left the matchbox for future deliveries. That night, I made a call to my pal Geoffrey, and composed my response. I couldn’t be so clever as Juliana, because my response included a lot of specifics, but I figured it was an unavoidable risk.
           
So! Here’s how it played out (please hum the theme from Mission Impossible).
           
Seven p.m. As the sun nears the Pacific, I stroll from my apartment to the Shorefront Motel. I check in with Geoffrey and Flora and duck into their apartment for the beginnings of a Scrabble game. I am playing half-assed, forsaking a cigar in order to keep my breath minty-fresh, and Geoffrey, in his usual humor, is limiting himself to synonyms for sexual intercourse (lay, boff, shag, boink).
           
At the same seven p.m., Juliana heads out for a walk down the hillside streets of Hallis to the Humpback Diner. She sits at a table in the back, orders a bowl of minestrone and pretends to read the Chronicle, all the while planning her escape.  After finishing her meal, she leaves her payment and a generous tip, heads for the ladies’ room and, after freshening up, continues out the adjacent door, a little-known back exit giving way to the rear lot of the Shorefront. She crossed to Room 14, the door of which has been left graciously unlocked by Mr. Urban.
           
Fifteen minutes later, the same Mr. Urban takes me to the bedroom of his apartment and into a spacious walk-in closet. At the back of the closet is a removable panel with a combination lock. Geoffrey dials around and, and slides open the panel the reveal the bathroom of Room 14. (Geoffrey theorizes that his motel, which is equipped with several of these passageways, used to be a bordello serving the local lumbermen.)

I give my mentor a fond cuff on the shoulder and emerge to find Juliana Kross laid out on the bed in a gown of snow-white satin, slit all the way up to reveal the length of her right leg and a few inches of hip besides. Requiring no further invitation, I kneel at her feet, with the idea of working my way up.
           
And get this, Audrey: Juliana is an oral fetish! She waited until I was flat on my back, buck naked, sporting a woodie to beat the band, then retreated to the bathroom, leaving me with instructions to close my eyes, and think of anything which would cause me to lose my erection. And promised an ample reward if I succeeded.
           
I decided to replay one of those classic anxiety nightmares. I’m back in college, it’s finals week, and I have neglected to drop a class which I’ve never once attended. Say, Elementary Physics. I pass the test or I fail. I wasn’t sure if it worked, but soon I detected the rustle of Juliana’s satin and a pleasant warmth around my personal arousal indicator.
           
It seems that Juliana loves the control, the immediacy of response, of a penis growing to firmness inside her mouth. Her husband, who must be a flaming idiot, doesn’t like letting someone have that kind of control over him. I imagine he ain’t into bondage, either.
           
Beyond the physical comeliness and sexual enthusiasm, there is a real power to this woman, Audrey. I envision a lighthouse sending out beacons. The sharpness of eucalyptus. The first step into freezing ocean water. To feel it running along my limbs, to find myself inside of it, it’s too much. I am a ruined man, a cowboy on an asteroid.
           
The brightest Pleiad left the Shorefront at one in the morning with a gentle, long-held kiss to my cheek and a backward glance. Her alibi is a late-night movie at the Pacific Theater down the street. As for me, I made use of the cable TV to watch the lacrosse championships from Columbia, Missouri, then crept into the closet, past a sleeping Flora and out to the front desk. Geoffrey gave me an enthusiastic hug – exultant in my pleasure, no matter how ill-advised – and sent me stumbling back to my apartment.
           
I am so thankful that I can write this to you, Audrey. Otherwise I might burst. But I do require absolute confidence. The Krosses have friends everywhere, including Big Sur, so consider yourself an undercover agent. I can’t even tell Jackie, for fear the information might put her job in danger.
           
I will be writing more often, but not visiting as often, and next time south I may want to abduct every homer you’ve got. And, of course, I won’t be able to partake of any shenanigans, because I am ah honest, monogamous adulterer. I hope to make it up to you with tantalizing reading material.
           
I apologize for sending two pigeons, but I had to get all this down, and I didn’t want to cripple poor Gertie.
           
Hope things are well with you, the shop, and Lieutenant Katie. Give my pigeons a kiss.
           
Love and genitalia –
           
Scootie


Photo by MJV

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