Tuesday, September 20, 2016

Hot Pants and Bermuda Shorts

Rural Rest Area Near Home—August, 2016

I was invited to a sex party on a Saturday night.  It was late enough so I could actually go.  The afternoon before the party, I was able to stop at the rural rest area after taking several departing employees to the airport…

I pull in.  It’s always cooler here with the trees and a breeze.  The first person I see is the camisole and panty man from the bookstore.  Today he is in the same camisole with a pair of hot pink short shorts.  He sees me and drops his McDonald’s bag disdainfully into the trash can.  He gets into his little sports car and peels out of the parking lot.

At the moment there is only one other man here.  He wanders over to my driver’s side window.  I recognize him now—I’ve seen him in years past but not this year.  He leans on the car to chat.  He carefully unzips his loud Bermuda shorts and pulls out a rather undersized salami.

“It’s good to finally see you again,” he says as he brazenly strokes his meat.  It hardens—not a centimeter longer.  “The pickin’s have been lousy here this summer.  You’ve been missed.” 

“Well, good to know I’m needed.”

At that moment a semi brakes noisily out on the road.  My personal flasher just has time to cover himself before the trucker pulls in.  I watch the loud shorts waddle away to his car and slink down into his seat so it looks like he’s asleep.

I have a party—I don’t need to wait around. 

I head home. 

With a smile on my face.

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