So here’s a light-hearted short, for a change of pace. For the 2020 FlashNano challenge (https://nancystohlman.com/flashnano/ )
I don’t know that he was my first love, but I’m pretty sure I was his. Tall, dark-eyed, dark-haired, with a rambling, knuckle-dragging masculinity, he did capture my attention when he swung by the theater. He grunted a greeting, gazing at me from under his heavy unibrow. He wasn’t much of a one for words, but I could tell his intentions by a certain animal shyness in his demeanor. Maybe I shouldn’t have encouraged him. The fact that he was chained up and behind bars should have given me caution, but sometimes you just have to flaunt respectability and go with your heart.
I’d just gotten off a very bad relationship with a very slippery guy, a sinewy singer at Hollywood’s Jungle Book nightclub, whose eyes, while hypnotic, were always checking the room for a more tender, nourishing bit of nibble, or someone he could practically swallow whole with those, now that I think of it, pretty creepy eyes of his. And there was plenty of prey to tempt a guy like him: blondes, brunettes, and redheads with more curves than a California coastal highway. Imagine my surprise when he abandoned me for some messy-haired man cub. I’d had no idea!
Well, I was probably better off without him, even if my ego was a little hurt. I’m not accustomed to being rejected. I’m the original blonde bombshell from the Midwest, pretty enough to get away with being sweet and innocent on the outside, with maybe just a touch of dark on the inside. Most males find that intriguing; I’ve been known to keep them on a short leash for as long as six months before they give up on me. I always leave them feeling good about themselves; it’s not their fault if I’m discerning about who I want to spend the rest of my life with.
And being tossed off for the man-cub, who incidentally lost interest in the old snake after their first assignation, may explain why I was so very friendly with the big hairy guy, even after our very questionable introduction. I knew his name was Kong, and he had some royal connections to a small island kingdom in Indonesia (being a sweet-faced girl next door from Missouri, I appreciate the pull of an exotic male as a lover. Maybe that makes me shallow. I don’t know and I don’t care.) In any case, he seemed sweet, and very sweet on me. It boosted my flagging spirits, and made it very easy for me to let him pick me up.
I said to myself, I said “Fay, here’s this nice guy from the jungle, seems sort of sweet and innocent, and those muscles are certainly impressive. You could do with a different kind of guy. He may be The One. You never know, and you certainly won’t if you don’t give him some encouragement.”
So yes, I let him pick me up. I made it easy and he did, literally, pick me up. And he’s been nothing but a gentleman to me in our deep forest New York retreat, bringing me soft pine branches to sleep on, an old fishing boat full of water for bathing and drinking, and the crispiest apples from the orchards upstate. It’s all strictly vegetarian fare because of his gentle, sensitive nature, you understand.
Sure, a girl could once in awhile go for a steak, a little gin cocktail, maybe a strawberry shortcake for a surprise dessert, and I would kill for a cup of espresso. But he gives me all of what he has, with such gentleness and care, that I don’t miss those things that much. He really is a great guy, and like I said, a real gentleman. I feel so safe with him. And that counts for a lot.
So maybe he’s not my first love, and maybe I don’t know what this crazy thing is that we’ve got going here, but maybe, just maybe, he could be my last.
© Liz Husebye Hartmann (2020)