Magpie Tales 135: She Holds the Ocean

Venus and the Sailor, 1925, by Salvador Dali via Magpie Tales

Sinking into her gelid depths
drawn under by aphrodisiac waves
pillowed between gravid curves
pulling me across the rail
swells upon a Mare Libido
into which I fall with abandon
never to be seen again

The Ponytail Files, Volume 3: The Sap is Doomed

This will probably cement my reputation as a sap.  What happened was significant enough that, as a writerly chap, I knew I'd probably pen something about it even before it was over.

As usual, it involved a member of the fairer sex*.  It involves a question I had to ask myself:  Do women, in general, know the true power they seem to have over dopes like myself?

The afternoon was gorgeous, great weather, and I was in pursuit of sandwich at a local cafe-bakery.  Sitting down to tuck in, I was facing the door where I had a good angle for people watching.  People watching is one of my favorite things to do while noshing.

So, I was sitting at the table when she came in.  She was a blond, 'the kind of blond that would make a bishop want to kick a hole in a stained glass window'**. She was walking towards the direction of my table, so I had a great line of sight. She was quite attractive, but it wasn't that in specific that grabbed my attention.  It was The Gesture.

She reached up with a well-turned hand, and tucked her hair behind her right ear...and I almost fell out of my chair.  How did she do that?  In that moment, I felt like a goofy teenager again, thoroughly entranced by such a simple but amazingly feminine gesture, one that almost never has failed to gobsmack me.  I found it hard to take my eyes off of her for almost the entire time I was eating.

These gestures have been and continue to be an Achilles' heel of mine.  And I cannot explain it.  All I know is that women in general seem to have these somewhat unique ways of moving, of existing in space-time, that are my kryptonite.  These ways are to my mind innately feminine in the deepest, most mysterious sense.  They are motions or looks that I think of as 'sacred feminine' in some way, and in most cases they reduce me to the level of a awestruck puppy.  This has the unfortunate side effect of making me too foggy-headed to have the presence of mind to actually try talking to some of the ladies who have had that power over me.  I'm afraid I'd open my mouth and I'd sound like the adults in the Charlie Brown cartoons.  Or just stand there, slack-jawed and saying "You pretty."

Longtime readers know I have written of this phenomena before (HERE, HERE, HERE and HERE).  So you can see the history.

I think I'm doomed.

So, if you see me staring?  Please know its because I'm stunned, and at least you'll know why: it's because I'm a sap.

---

*The use of that phrase, in and of itself, is enough to brand me a sap.

**I heard that line on a radio comedy bit years ago.  Loved it ever since.

Return of The Ba-Donka-Donk

As many of you may recall, I chronicled my first street encounter with 'ba-donka-donk' HERE. More precisely, my first encounter with the term outside of a television show. That has officially changed.

Ladies and gentlemen, last week, I had my first remote encounter with a real live ba-donka-donk. Right there in front of my car. It was while waiting at a stop light, a major intersection on my daily commute. It is a busy intersection, one with significant foot traffic in addition to the cars. I have seen a lot of derrieres cross the road at that intersection, fodder for idle observation whilst wasting time waiting on the light to change. Derrieres of all shapes and sizes, some very nice, some spectacular, even. I wouldn't say that any approached 'ba-donka-donk'-ness, however, at least as I am familiar with the term.

This one was different. 

It was...big, but not outrageously so.

It was...round, but not abnormally so.

It was...encased in jeans that approached the level of paint rather than fabric. It appeared to meet all the criteria for classification as a ba-donka-donk.

She, as the kids say, had it goin' on.

The road was still littered with snow and slush, the median piled with snow. This young lady was even wearing low heels, and doing a commendable job of navigating the hazards, with skill and grace and...workin' that ba-donka-donk. Wow.

To my credit, I did not start singing "Baby Got Back" by Sir-Mix-A-Lot*. Also, bumper sticker exhortations notwithstanding, I did not honk at the ba-donka-donk**. Perhaps next time, when I am not so gobsmacked by the sight of a ba-donka-donk in the wild.

I leave you now with a bonus video that never fails to make me laugh like a hyena. Turn it up loud and shout it proud:

*Who knighted him anyway? And for what?

**'I Did Not Honk At The Ba-Donka-Donk' - a hitherto unpublished story from the vaults of Dr. Seuss.

Nice Rack!

Oh, baby. Mmm-Mmm-Mmm, would you look at that! What a mighty fine set of curves you got there, if I may be so bold. Thrusting yourself out like that, laid out in all your glory in the pages of that magazine. I believe I actually drew in a sharp breath when I flipped the page to find your picture staring back at me. Sleek, smooth, shining out: my first thought was, Oh Lawd would I like to get my hands on THAT! Somehow I managed to avoid drooling on the page. That would have been plain bad manners.

Still, you got me. I knew it right away. I had that shiver that ran down my spine and landed on that spot that makes me…well…you know what it makes. I love it, but it makes me a little embarrassed at the same time, you know? My ears turn red or something and my heart starts to race. I get that weak-in-the-knees feeling. People can tell. They can look at me and just know. ‘Something goin’ on in that boy’s head, and other places besides!’ they say, smirking as they stifle a laugh. Shame on me. I try and hide it, but sometimes its just no use.

Darling, why do ya do this to me? Why do ya get me all lathered up with no place to hang?

Whew. Had to stop and fan myself. It was getting a little warm in here. I know, it seemed like it could be nothing but a dream. I was falling in lust with a photograph, for cripes’ sake! Plus, being married and all, carrying on with you was going to be a serious problem. I couldn’t think of a way to explain the sudden trips out, the smudges on my shirt, the mysterious phone calls to arrange for our trysts. And the money! No way to hide it, not in a joint account. Not to mention trying to bring you into the house!

What was I going to do? Damnit, why did it have to be that way? The magazine lay open before me, soft focus photo in a sunny yellow room. You on a backdrop of white fabric (?), up against a wall (?), I couldn’t tell. The stirrings inside could not be ignored; I felt the fluttering in my belly, the blood rushing through my veins and pounding in my ears. Oh, my dear, there was so much we could do together, so much I wanted to share with you! I wanted you all for myself. We could spend so much time with each other, I could buy you shiny trinkets and drape them from your sweet-oh-so-sweet curves! In fact, I already had some things for you, waiting for you in that special room at home. The one in which I spent so much time, in a daze, dreaming of you and hoping we could be together. Forever.

I could take it no longer. I was determined to make you mine. And so it was resolved. With trembling hands, pounding heart, and dry mouth I made the call that would change our lives forever. The voice on the other end of the phone was pleasant and sweet, but she said you weren’t there right now, but she could take a message, let my darling know I was interested. She would let me know when you arrived. I said yes, please, curves like that I can wait for.

Hours passed. The phone stayed silent. It became days, still nothing. I was panicking. What was happening? Where were you? Finally, the phone rang, catching me in the middle of a daydream of you. I leapt out of the chair. The voice said you had shown up, and would I like to pick you up? Of course I did, I had coat on and keys in hand before I hung up. I drove as fast as the law would allow to get you, my lady.

I walked through the door. Your attendants were smiling, greeted me warmly, brought you out to me. You were silent, as was I. Your beauty was overwhelming, and those curves! Hah! My heart was in my throat as I spirited you back to my car. It was just you and me, now, and I couldn’t wait to get home. The drive was a blur, I don’t remember it very well. Our special room was waiting, new curtains waving in the breeze with sunlight streaming through the windows illuminating your new place.

We both seemed to shaking as I hurriedly stripped off your garments, ripping some in my haste. Neither of us spoke. Finally, you were naked in my hands, curves all soft and smooth against my palms. I smiled in ecstasy as I held you up against the wall. The sun warmed you as I slowly fixed you in place. I pushed gently, making sure you were okay. It was done. I brought out those trinkets I promised you. On you, they looked so good, I took a picture, so I could always enjoy a little “sump’n-sump’n” anytime I wanted. I just couldn’t keep you to myself:

You gorgeous thing. You had me at Williams-Sonoma.