An Offer Not Sampled … Part III Conclusion

slow-dancing[1]

Here is the 3rd and concluding installment of my story about my neighbor Becky. In case you need a refresher, here is part 1  And here is part 2

You have to understand. Becky is attractive. Becky is sexy. Becky is fun loving. But Becky is oh, so conservative. What she was doing was so unlike her! And don’t forget, this was a neighborhood back yard party.

I think I began to sweat. Not for me, of course, but for Becky. If her husband found out how she was behaving, what might he think? What would his attitude going forward be towards me?

I looked around. To my surprise, no one seemed to be watching. The Baptists, including the nosie-parker husband, seemed to have already left. Everyone else was either dancing, had their face in their drink, or were too far away in the dim light to really see the action going on in front of my table. And my neighbor seated beside me, Jimmy, wasn’t going to be spilling any beans. I could count on that. Whew! I’d lucked out so far.

Just then the music changed, and a romantic slow song came on. I can’t remember the tune, but what I certainly do remember is Becky coming around the table, and almost forcibly getting me up to dance with her. We had hands on each others’ hips, which allowed a one foot separation between our bodies. That was good. I felt strange, in that I was quite comfortable with Becky, while at the same time, feeling very uncomfortable. On reflection, I chalked it up to being fine with her, but sensitive to the possible neighborhood gossip. Our conversation went something like this:

Becky – “At last I have you up dancing. I thought it would never happen.”

Marty – “Well you know I would love to dance with you. I just hate the gossip that might come out of it.”

Becky – “Oh don’t be silly, Marty. Nothing’s happening. We’re all good friends here.”

Marty – “Uh-huh”

Meanwhile I am looking her up and down. I mentioned the dress, right? And I know my growing erection has been noticed. We’re just too near each other for it not to have been. I’m not embarrassed, of course, that I have a hard-on and I know Becky knows. We’re both adults. I feel confident she is pleased.

Becky- “We’re good friends aren’t we Marty?”

I swallowed hard. “Yes, of course we are, Becky.”

Becky- “Well, maybe we should get friendlier.”

While I really liked where I thought this was going, I actually didn’t like where I thought this was going.

“Umm, maybe you’ve had a few too many gin and tonics, Becky.”

“Maybe I have” her eyes twinkled back.

And with that, we both decided it was probably wise to call it a night.


I thought of that evening 4 years ago as I chatted with Becky on her lawn. How she and her husband split, sold their lovely house and divorced. And now, Becky introduced me to her new fiance who had just driven up.

As he and I checked each other out, my analytical mind began to calculate. Was I wise to have not pursued things? Their marriage was already on the ropes undoubtedly, so any involvement I would have had with Becky wouldn’t have changed the outcome. And she would have been lovely to have. But I would not have known that. When Becky and her husband broke up, I would have had in the back of my mind some guilt, feeling that I must have had a role. So things were probably better as they were.

But then I also thought of the future. A bit longer term. I’m thinking Becky and I are going to stay in touch. Stay good friends. Because the future can last a very long time. And I have a feeling the fiance might not last.

 

 

 

Midweek Fantasizing … The Letter

This hasn’t happened. It’s a total figment of my imagination. I just kind of day dreamed it the other day.

Cassandra came to see me in my small corner of your globe. It was just a quick visit on a Saturday. She managed to stop off for a day on the return trip from some business thing-ma-jig she was on. So I thought I had better make good use of the time I had with her.

We strolled leisurely down by the water, close and occasionally touching, but no PDA. Neither of us are really into that. She was enjoying seeing me relaxed in my village, in my element, where I’m very comfortable.

The mid-afternoon sun was becoming quite warm so I suggested it was time for a cold beer. I had planned ahead. Cassandra thought this was a superb idea and we headed for a nearby bar. The pub’s outdoor patio was lively and perfect for people watching, a Cassandra-favored activity. I knew this, but instead I suggested we find a table inside.

“Why Darling? It’s so lovely outside. And lots of people.” She knows that in my climes, we need to take advantage of any sunshine we can get.

But I was firm … “No Baby, I want to go inside. I think my pale skin has had enough exposure for today.”

“Ok” she pouted, “if that’s what you want.”

“It is,” I sweetly smiled. I knew it wasn’t making my girl happy, but I rarely do things without a purpose. Cassandra well knows this, but for some reason she didn’t further question my choice.

We found a small table at one end of the bar. It was far from crowded inside and we had our pick of spots. The pub’s dark wood finishes all around would be very warm and cozy on a chilly winter day, but this afternoon they lent an air of coldness and an almost gloomy vibe. Cassandra was not her usual beaming self. I just inwardly smiled. The server approached, raised her eyebrow toward me, and indicated in the affirmative when I ordered two pints of a local brew.

“Oh look,” I said. “Maybe there will be a group performing” as I nodded to a nearby corner where there was a stand up microphone sandwiched between an electric keyboard and two large congas.

“Hmmpphh. Maybe. I hope so.” Cassandra retorted.

And just as she finished snarling her words 3 grizzled veterans of the 1960s strolled up to the mike and instruments. My kind of guys!

“This could be fun!” I said, hoping to drum up some interest. No reaction.

The “boys” immediately broke into Ray Charles’ “Georgia On My Mind“. And it was good!

The songs began to roll out out in a constant stream, mostly blues, and then some older pop hits. These boys were taking no breaks!

Now Cassandra and I are alike, and at the same time,  so very different. I’ve touched on these things before, but I should also tell you she plays the piano. Classical. Me? I’m musical, too. Ask me anything about the British Invasion.  Same part of the brain I figure … only a different mix and quality of neurons.

Cassandra’s mood was rapidly improving despite the dark interior of the pub.

“The singer reminds me so much of Joe Cocker” she chimed in as she tapped her foot to the groove happening a few feet away.

“Mmmmhmm” I answered while slurping my ale, trying not to choke as I chuckled.

She was correct, of course. He sounded a lot like Joe … a small register higher, and an itsy bit less of a rasp, fewer arm and hand gestures, but the similarity was irrefutable.

“I love Joe Cocker!”

“I know” I smiled. “You used to hear him while riding in your daddy’s truck when you were small.”

“That’s right! How did you remember that?”

I smirked downing another sip. Cassandra was full-on giggly-happy right now.

I told her how I had first been exposed to and got into Joe Cocker, as a young barman in a South London pub, pouring pints while watching him on telly on Top Of The Pops.

The band then did an unbelievable rendition of Ben E King’s Stand By Me. I think this was going to be a Celebrate the Great Ones Recently Gone Saturday for the band.

There was pronounced applause from every corner of the room. The bar was totally full and fully rockin’ at this point. The singer smiled broadly. As the cheering ended, the singer looked towards me. I smiled and not so discretely nodded back to him.

In my mind, Joe Cocker was absolutely the best rock interpreter of other peoples’ songs. He covered songs as well as, or often better, than the original. Think about With A Little Help From My Friends, or You Are So Beautiful, Ain’t No Sunshine, and several others. Including the one that I had prerequested … heh heh … The Letter.

On cue, the piano played the familiar opening chords and I watched as Cassandra’s eyes lit up. She knew what was coming …

“Come on, Baby! Let’s dance!” I shouted.

“Yes!” she laughed. “I don’t care if we’re the only ones!”

This is one thing Cassandra and I have never done … danced.

And we did! My lord she’s a great dancer. Such wonderful rhythm as I twirled her and swung her, as I hugged her, I dipped her. We danced cheek to cheek, we laughed. And I watched the older audience eat it up watching us … the vintage male with a few moves charming the hot blonde babe.  The raised eyebrows and nods of first disbelief, then comprehension.

All to The Letter.

We had to leave. The bulge in my jeans was much too obvious now. It needed to be taken care of. ASAP.

Here’s the late great man himself. This reminds me I need to get one of those hot, black female bass players for myself.