( Continuation of "What A Friday Night - (Part III)" )
Along 42nd street, our Pakistani cabbie eased out toward Queens Borough Bridge. Traffic was relatively easy at past 11:00 midnight. Atop the corroded bridge, the panoramic landscape of the well-lit Manhattan was everything spectacular. Beaming stars serenaded the cloudless skies. And the temperature was all arid.
Passing through the uncontested Queens Blvd., the driver revved up the engine to the max. Seated next to Ces, my wild imagination was equally in full throttle as I gripped her hands. My hysteric impulse was building up. And it would not be long before we’d hit our final stop.
In front of her apartment, the taxi finally ground to a halt. “Howsh my drivungh, sir”?, asked our gloating Pakistani driver. “You’re the man”, I replied and handed him thirty five bucks. The cab skidded in seconds and vanished out of sight.
“I’m not sure if this is right. I’m all by myself”, Ces lamented. I dismissed her plea and pretended I didn’t hear it. I just followed her lead. She then fingered her front-door key from its bundle and then unlatched the knob. She rolled the door half-open and sliced through in. At the corner, she reached for the touch lamp and tapped it gently. The light faded in – barely enough to illuminate every space in sight.
Inside her one bedroom apartment there was nothing but a ladder, gallons of paint, a can of thinner, a pair of unplugged spotlights, roller brushes, pieces of sandpaper, and stained dailies. No furniture; no fixture. Well, there was a huge fridge, a laptop, a Nikon D80 camera attached to a tripod, and a 16 gig iPod. “I’m moving in tomorrow”, she said.
“Please be seated”, she continued while motioning her hand to nowhere. Realizing there was nothing to sit onto, she told me to get comfortable, instead. Down on the floor, I was admiring the mocha and white combination of her yet to finish apartment wall coating. I was all the more astonished when she told me she alone painstakingly painted them.
“Water or soda”?, she asked. “Water, please”, I replied. When she turned her back and walked to the fridge, my eyes were fixed on her five-foot-five voluptuous frame. Her tight pants hugged her rear perfectly. Her long black hair looked soft and shiny. She was outright gorgeous.
She handed me the bottle of water and made a quarter turn to her bedroom. “Be right back”, she said, quite teasingly. When she closed the door, my mind was racing. My testosterone was raging. My body temperature was boiling. My heart was throbbing. And my blood pressure was rising.
I was a picture of a bull ready to wallop the conquering Spanish matador. The bull in me now saw something in red on that matador. Those horns were hornier than ever and with all its might, the bull in me could tear the matador apart in no time. And so it seemed.
When Ces emerged from her bedroom, she was wearing an overall denim jumper with oversized pockets on her chest and a matching dotted bandana to her hair. On her left hand was a pint of paint. On the right was a paintbrush. “Don’t tell me you’re going to labor those walls tonight”, I declared irritably. “Why not?”, she replied. “There is no tomorrow. I have everything in schedule – the U-haul truck, my mom, and a bunch of friends are all set to give me some hands at noon tomorrow”, she continued.
In capitulation, I set aside all my fancy desires. I grabbed the roller brush and dipped it intensely into the paint pan. I couldn’t stand the smell of the paint. The truth was, I’m allergic to it. I usually throw up when I’m exposed to it long enough. I needed to score some points and fought hard to keep myself stay up and about.
Ces attacked the kitchen walls and I assaulted the bedroom’s. Inside her bedroom, found the inflated bed with two pillows, a blanket, a Victoria Secret nightie and a fresh underwear. I set my eyes on her fresh underwear and then completely ignored it. Calm down, bull, I thought.
After an hour, Ces appeared from behind. “Hey, you’re doing a great job”, she said gleefully. Yeah, right, I thought to myself. I was a bit dazed now. “I should have been here since day one. This is one thing I’m so passionate about. I would love to do those meticulous details”, I said in complete reversal. “Thanks. You don’t have to. I should be done early morning tomorrow”, she said confidently. She grabbed her VS nightie and fresh underwear. And then headed to the bathroom.
As I plunged myself into the airbed to reorient my spinning head from the nauseating odor of the enamel paint, I could hear the water rumbling through her bathtub. Suddenly, my heartbeats were in rapid succession.
When she emerged into the door, her scent eclipsed the aroma of the paint with the flirting smell of her perfume. I was salivating inside and was holding it back so hard to conceal my rabid desire. At the same time, the aroma of that chemical paint was quickly taking a toll on me.
She tapped the touch lamp lightly and the light turned dimmer. I was blown away by the sight of her incredible figure silhouetted through the light cast on her. I wanted to fix my eyes on her but the overpowering smell of the paint seemed to pierce into the center of my brain. I was having double vision now and my stomach was turning upside down.
When she drew herself closer, the bull in me was no longer spitting wildfire. I was completely engulfed. And the matador celebrated in triumph. PART V WILL BE OUT SOON…
- Too Good to be True?
- Bridge of Life
- Answers to Hollywood Trivia
- Let's Do Hollywood!
- Answers to Last Week's Trivia
- Let's Play Trivia!
- Slumdog - Oscar Favorite (Repost)
- Can I See Your ID?
- Thanks for the award, Goddy!
- Happy Valentines!
- Sorry, I Can't Come
- The Compromise Stimulus Package
- History Repeats Itself
- Faces of Graft and Corruption
- Corruption via Collusion
- My Superwoman ( my valentine )
- Cha-Cha Away!
- What a Friday Night (Part IV)
- What An Incredible Hobby
- ▼ February (19)
( Continuation of "What A Friday Night - (Part III)" )