Her Apocrine Allure
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom
July 2, 2008, San Jose, CA:
“You’re trouble mister,” she smiled, pushing me away.
I was buried nose-deep in the heady pit of her neck, inhaling deeply, intoxicated by a sultry mix of feline heat and the poison she called her personal line of perfume.
It was a hundred and four and we were deep and punch-drunk in the heart of Texas, sipping on some sweating Lone Star and Tecate beers. Two empty shots of Patron lined with crusty-salt ( "training wheels" the sassy waitress called them) with half-eaten lime wedges sat next to the bottles on the bar. Old Elvis tunes rang through the joint from a jukebox in the corner.
You fooled me with your kisses
You cheated and you schemed
Heaven knows how you lied to me
You're not the way you seemed
She fanned herself with the paper menu, “Wheh! Oh, Lordy, Lord. I’m feeling hotter than a whore in church. What are you doing to me mister?," she intonated, like a siren wailing under the full moon.
I grabbed the arms of her stool and pulled her in again, my knee sliding in smoothly between her damp legs.
She pressed her naked knees together (she loved to wear dresses— "I have a whole closet full of them," she once beamed to me proudly, her dimples curling higher than I've ever seen before); she squeezed them together almost as if she was trying to exorcise that aching feeling; the one that I now sensed. Much like a K9 smells through to a femme fatale tightly wrapped in black leather or a seisomograph feels the trembles of trouble at the fault line, I felt something ornery acoming on, a certain redolent pulsation now emanating from between her whet thighs.
Looking awry at the floor with a shy smile that almost fooled me, she spoke softly, demurely asking, “Have I ever told you that I’ve got a problem with my knees?”
I cocked my head in the same curious manner that dogs do when their masters confuse them, and then squinted, trying to see through my suspicious mind, furrowing my brow so that I just might remember.
Alas, I was caught in a trap, and I couldn't get out, even as I gave one good last shove of the surly lash that was now cocked warily, like a pious pirate ready to plunder, above my one good eye.
Knowing I was hooked, she placed her hands, one atop the other, on my captive knee. And then, looking at me straight in the eye, she leaned in to whisper, al the while digging deeply, “…You see, the problem is that whenever I’m around you, I can’t seem to keep them together…”
Momentarily dazed and confused by the vertigo of her allure— the girlish voice meant to disguise a vixen's intentions, the apocrine waft of her perfume that was now pulsing in synch with the aching drumbeat of my desire, and the sharp pangs that were now coursing up my thigh as she pressed her sharp nails into it— It took me a long moment to understand.
Once she saw the slight curl of my lip, the reassuring tell that told her that, indeed, I felt the pain, she informed me through clenched teeth and a wicked smile of satisfaction "'Vamp,’ the color is ‘vamp,' mister.”
It was then, then that I understood.
"What is second sight? A gift? A training? Or is it simply that suddenly within the brain a thousand impressions, ideas, sights, sounds, and smells coincide to provide an impression of what is to be? The mind gathers its grain in all fields...” Louis L'Amour
(R&O thank you for the inspiration)