Naughty, Naughty, Naughty

Saw a girl today. Reminded me of another one, as she squeezed past me in the confines of a small store aisle. Young, secure in her beauty, not afraid of another good looking woman. Especially not one who is so much older. All bubbly and giddy, that she’s ahead of me in this game of life.

And I remember letting her think I’m aware of this, all affable graceful surrender to the youth before me. A few light barbs to show I haven’t retired yet, a light flirting with the nearest alpha male as a sign I’m still in the game and that my age can be an asset too. Hoping all this will hide the pathetic old woman who is never going to get that pretty young intoxicating flesh, who is way past the point where a smile and swinging hips and eye contact is going to get her what she wants, who needs to work her charm and doesn’t have the time to do it.

But I still dream of her. Occasionally. Of that southern drawl, of the endless long, blond hair, of the words exchanged and what I could read into them… And in my dreams I let the fanciful notion that she was trying to charm me, and I rebuked her, linger around. I let it fill the air with promise, because I’m never going to be proven wrong anyway.
~~~~~~
‘Five casings, no hits. Oh, by the way, I'm Calleigh Duquesne. Don't ask me how to spell it. Southern.’

‘Catherine Willows. Southern ... Nevada.’

And he laughed. But only for the obvious joke. He didn’t get the irony.