When winter turns to spring turns to summer fall.
The summer falls like a feather, slowly through the later months. With sweet emotion, the taste of which comes on the Indian winds, the off-shores. The south swells fade west, but nothing really from the north just yet. The water's still warm. Spring-suit weather. Two millimeters of neoprene and short sleeves. Just to keep the warm breeze of a windchill off in the early morning or just before sunset.
What a lovely time to be in LA. The summer crowds are pretty much gone after Labor Day, the kids are back in school. The tourist are always around though, but less so after the turn, and it's more international now. Americans only travel in the summer. The morning fog flies off for the winter early. And September and October are beautiful months, working at the shop, dinners at Mike's house, bars and house parties on the weekends. Jessica, Megan, Emily the boxer, that trio of Italian girls, that German girl, and at the very end there Madelyn.
I met Jess when she came into the shop looking for a wetsuit. By the look of her, she was a size 4, and I've always had a thing for size 4's. It's a great size. It's the right size for me, I'm not a big guy. She looked good in the suit, she was a skinny girl. Cute, delicate face. Soft-spoken. Frail's not the right word, but it wouldn't be far off. I imagined I could probably break her if I fucked her hard enough, and when I ran after her to give her my number scribbled in pen on a piece of receipt paper, she very innocently handed me one of her business cards in return. It said she was a writer, very innocently. We had dinner the next week, Sushi House, I think, she lived just a block down from the place. Then she took me home and we got high and watched Yellow Submarine on her little laptop because she didn't own a TV. We watched it on a tiny couch in her living room that pulled out into a mattress sort of thing without the metal framed one would usually associated with a pull-out. the cushions were all connected, more like a plush tongue rolling out to ready for an acid hit. There was no acid to be had that night, we just took hits of some good weed from the the tiny pipe she had, and when the movie was over, she rolled onto me, and things got very, very physical, but no one's underwear came off. "I'm not going to fuck you on the first date," she told me.
I said, "That's fine. I understand." Two weeks later we were fucking for hours at a time. We never once used rubbers. When she was on top she rode quick with quick hips and short tight circles like she was trying too hard to get hers. Trying too fast. Moving too quick. She liked it when I fucked her hard, and she could see me in the closet mirror. She liked it when I fucked her in the kitchen when she was thirsty and trying to pour a glass of water. She liked it when I fucked her while she held onto the door-frame to keep from falling over. She would always go weak in the knees if I thrust into her particularly strong-like. I did it all the time. It felt good.
When I think of her, the word that comes to mind is mousey. A brown-eyed girl. She was smart, and she worked for a small advertising agency, and the slight signs of stress and work and life showed in the corners of her eyes and the red veins that would spider across them. I will say this: she was adorable and her skin was olive smooth. And I was addicted to fucking her for some time.
At the same time, I was seeing Meghan as well. I'd met her at the shop as well but she was different. I only sport-fucked Meghan, but she loved it. We were each other's sex toys. And she lived two blocks from the shop, which was highly ideal. She wasn't skinny like Jess. Her hips wouldn't dig into me while I was digging into her, so I fucked her even harder. And all she would say was, "Fuck me harder, fuck me harder, fuck me harder." So I would try to oblige, and it felt good and we both sweat through the nights and the early mornings that I spent there.
She wasn't shy like Jess. She didn't look it either. Blond hair, sharp blue eyes, loose red lips. I'd caught her eye-fucking me, and she asked me to reach a dress that was too high for her. The way she said it made me want to fuck her right then and there, middle of the store on a Sunday. But instead I taped my number written on a piece of receipt paper to the clothes she had me pull down and put in a dressing room. She texted me while trying stuff on. She texted dirty things and told me to meet her after work, which I did, at the Irwin hotel. There's a bar on the roof, and I ran into her on the elevator up, white lace dress, and we just started making out. She tasted like vodka drinks, and when it got dark she took me to Gjelina's for dinner. "Let's get a bottle of nice wine," she said.
I said, "I don't think I can afford a bottle of nice wine. Not here."
"Stop it. Just stop it. Let momma take care of you." She was a nurse. She covered the whole tab, which came out to around $150. I returned the favor with what I could back at her place, all leg squeezes and shudders and eyes rolling into the back of her head. I even threw a back massage in for good measure. She deserved it. And she was dirty, and she liked it rough and athletic.
When it rains, it pours in Santa Monica.
