The Sex is Still Always Just Fine

The Sex is Always Just Fine

“Oh honey, the sex was just fine. The sex is always just fine–”

“Arched back? Gasping for–”

“What is it you’re reading these days?” Connie centered her sweating Arnold Palmer on the cardboard coaster then dabbed her lips with a linen napkin. She examined the contour of tendons under the slack skin on the back of her hand. “But really you’re on the right track there. He was funny.”

“Mmm. Doing it with a guy who makes you laugh is the best.” Lisa popped a cherry tomato leftover from her salad in her mouth and Groucho Marxed her blonde eyebrows. Seeds spurted out of her lips.

“Ew, no,” Connie said, but Lisa continued waggling her eyebrows. Connie grimaced and looked away. “Stop. Just stop. No, what meant was he was comical.”

“What? Then his thing did stand-u–”

“Finish that sentence and I’ll walk the check on you.” Downtown Denver was never a cheap place to eat, but the Palomino in particular prized its cuisine. Lisa sat up straight and put her hands primly in her lap atop her creme skirt. Connie doubted that pose would last after what she said next. “No. He’d clearly seen too much porn.”

“Ahhh, the bush freaked him out?”

“Jesus, Lisa!” Connie sputtered. The pair of women froze like nuns in a bathhouse as their unnoticed waiter topped off Connie’s glass with more tea. He departed with a professionally blank face, but Connie would never eat there again.

Connie warmed to the thought of the next thing she would tell Lisa, but she reached for her ice-filled glass because of the thing she would not. “He was fascinated by the panty-lines on my hips. He kept tracing the indentions in my skin.”

“Cool?”

“Was that a question or were you agreeing?”

“Whichever.”

“Cool. It was cool.”

302 words on day 745

Pah Facilè

I liked yesterday’s effort enough to return to it to fill in some blanks. The one obvious hole I placemarked and the lack of concrete character description, Please note: the French phrase title of this entry and it’s use in the body is purposefully misspelled.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/glennoi/1798325422/sizes/l/

The boatman assured the men, Victor, Lars, and Daniel, there was a bike trail on the other side, but Daniel continued to press him for details.

“First part hard…pah facilè?” Daniel asked. He pointed to the bank where the bow of the longtail was headed then sketched a diagonal grade up the cliff wall where he imagined the trail might be.

The boatman swapped grips on the motor, waggled his head, and said something in Vietnamese accented French. He pointed to the same spot on the bank then drew a vertical line up the wall instead. Four hours later the three made camp at the top of that wall by collapsing in the leaves and mud next to the last motorcycle hauled up.

“We should of paid him,” Daniel said. He brushed sweat from his forehead and red face with an equally wet arm. A patch of mud transferred as a stripe from his eyebrow to the part in his blonde hair.

Lars grunted and asked, “To take us back across?”

Daniel nodded.

Lars grunted again.

“We should have,” Victor echoed without lifting his head out of the dirt or taking his eyes out of the canopy and clouds. His stale blue t-shirt read “The Best Ride in Vietnam”; a new hole at the shoulder showed a little blood beneath.

“Jesus. You too? You two kill me sometimes.” Lars pulled himself into a sitting position, back leaning on Daniel’s bike. They were ten days into their journey and his once crisp Fu Manchu had begun to blend back in to the rest of his dark beard. “I mean, fine, we all know Danny’s a pussy, but you Victor?”

“What, me? I’m no pussy. That—” Victor’s muddy and bloody forearm went up at the elbow and dropped pointing in the direction of their climb. “—was four hours we could have ridden, Lars. Gotten somewhere.”

Lars fingernailed mud out of the shocks on Daniel’s front fork and sighed. “But the long way. I say this four hours saved us twenty or more down your road.” Daniel and Victor had heard this plea of Lars’ several times before breakfast, before they came across, before they climbed half a day.

“So you say, so says the pussy.” Daniel pointed to himself.

Lars snorted a laugh through his nose faster than he could get it out of his mouth, but Victor didn’t give him a chance to recover before he again echoed his twin brother, “So says the pussy.” Lars choked and sputtered after that.

[a paragraph of description for pace. Gah! Ran out of time again. Well this awesome mystery paragraph would have been packed with jungle sounds and ambience. It would have ended with an air horn sound coming from a boat in the river below; I probably would have made a deft, elegant, and ironic parallel to the sound of a factory whistle.]

“Well, we’re here now.” Everyone knew that. “Burning daylight.” Everyone knew that too.

519 words on day 732

First Part Hard

Update: a slightly more edited version of this post to read instead.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/glennoi/1798325422/

The boatman assured the men, Victor, Lars, and Daniel, there was a bike trail on the other side. Daniel pressed him for details.

“First part hard?” Daniel asked. He pointed to the bank where the bow of the longtail was headed then sketched a diagonal grade up the cliff wall where he imagined the trail might be.

The boatman waggled his head and said something in Vietnamese accented French. He pointed to the same spot on the bank then sketched a vertical line up the wall instead. Four hours later the three made camp at the top of that wall by collapsing in the leaves and mud next to the last motorcycle hauled up.

“We should of paid him,” Daniel said.

Lars grunted and asked, “To take us back across?”

Daniel nodded.

Lars grunted again.

“We should have,” Victor echoed without lifting he head out of the dirt or taking his eyes out of the canopy and clouds.

“Jesus. You too? You two kill me sometimes.” Lars pulled himself into a sitting position, back leaning on Daniel’s bike. “I mean, fine, we all know Danny’s a pussy, but you Victor?”

“What, me? I’m no pussy. That was four hours we could have ridden. Gotten somewhere.” Victor’s muddy bloody arm went up at the elbow and dropped pointing in the direction of their climb.

Lars fingernailed mud out of the shocks on Daniel’s front fork and sighed. “But the long way. I say this four hours saved us twenty or more down that road.” Daniel and Victor had heard this plea of Lars’ several times before breakfast, before they came across, before they climbed half a day.

“So you say, so says the pussy.” Daniel pointed to himself.

Lars snorted a laugh through his nose faster than he could get out of his mouth, but Victor didn’t give him a chance to recover before he again echoed his twin brother, “So says the pussy.” Lars choked and sputtered after that.

[a paragraph of description for pace]

“Well, we’re here now.” Everyone knew that. “Burning daylight.” Everyone knew that too.

349 words on day 731