Home Thoughts From Abroad? No, From a guy.

[jones jones]

I think I may have posted these thoughts on FG a while back. I mean I don't like keep a dossier of what I post but do rely heavily on my photographic memory. Yes, I do have one. Are you surprised? You shouldn't be ... I mean after all, I am the Chosen One!

Words Written on a Lonely Night.

Lonely, alone she offers all she has left ... herself and I find myself diving into those eyes.

Kazam! I watch her cross the road and walk up to my car. She taps on the window and I let it down. She leans forward and her face and perfume are close to me.

"Hi. I saw you inside just now." She jerks her head in the direction of the building behind us, "In the club watching me."

"I was watching you?"

I recall her sitting across from me at the bar and I thought then that she was far too young for the vodka and coke she ordered.

I watch as she places a cigarette between her full black painted lips and I think maybe a lollipop wouldn't have looked out of place she was that young.

”Yeah at the bar."

I study her, her eyes are large and the makeup above and below them make her look a a racoon.

"Gotta light?"

"Sorry I don't smoke."

She taps a long black painted fingernail against the dashboard.

"Lighter ... down there next to the ashtray. Hey can I get in please?"

"Sure" I unlock the passenger side door and she slides onto the seat, her short black leather skirt making a squeaking noise.

She pushes in the lighter and taps her fingers against the dash impatiently while she waits. It pops out and she holds it up to the cigarette, then she takes a deep draw and exhales thru her nostrils.

"Oops! Didn't think to ask if you minded ... me smoking I mean.”

"Its okay. " I reply, the lie slipping easily off my tongue. Usually I never allow anyone to smoke in my car.

She kicks off her high heel shoes then draws her legs up onto the seat, the skirt riding up her thighs. She folds her arms across her small breasts and looks across at me.

"I'm Donna … hi."

I think to myself why it is that prostitutes always call themselves by such high class names?

"So Donna, what are you doing sitting in my car smoking? Do I know you?"

My question seems to amuse her and she giggles, coughing as she chokes on some smoke.

"You want to have sex with me right?"

"Excuse me?"

"Come on man." She giggles again. "I saw the way you were looking at me at the bar. What were you thinking then?"

"Mostly that you were far too young to be there alone at this time of night."

"I'm not that young."

As if to emphasise her point she turns and lies back against the door then without asking me, puts her black stockinged feet in my lap.

"No? So exactly how are you then?" I ask, my gaze going involuntarily to her crotch and a flash of white lace that’s a stain against all the black she's wearing.

"Nineteen?" she smiles and tosses the cigarette butt out the window behind her.

"Yeah right." I scoff. "You're sixteen max."

She shakes her head and folds her arms again in a defensive way.

"Fifteen but yesterday I was fourteen. Its my birthday today."

"Jesus!" I avert my gaze and stare out the windscreen. "I have a daughter older than you. Oh and happy birthday."

"Maybe but you can't have sex with her can you? And thank you."

“For what?”

“For saying happy birthday.”

"Oh. You're welcome. You're a hooker ... right Donna?"

"Nooooooooo.” She laughs and then coughs again.

So maybe it wasn’t the smoking that made her cough last time. She's most probably a junkie.

“But I sure as hell ain’t mother Theresa either." She goes on.

"Then why you keep talking about sex?"

"Cos women do that kinda stuff nowadays."

"Bullshit. Number one ... you're a kid not a woman and number two ... I'm old enough to be your father."

"So? Big deal. Your thirty something. Wow! That mean I can't have sex with you cos you're too old?"

"If you're not a hooker," I ask, "why do you keep asking if I wanna have sex with you? You short of cash?"

"No ... yes ... maybe." She answers, giving me three options.

"Did my wife send you?"

Donna gives me a look. "I don't even know your name man so how would I know your wife? And why would she like send me? Is it your birthday too? You figure I'm like a present?"

"Hardly." I smile at the notion that Robyn might ever entertain such a thought. "We're getting divorced you see and I thought maybe you were gonna set me up."

"Like we get it on," she says, "and then I have this guy who jumps out and takes photos?"

"Something like that." I reply.

She gazes at me for a while gnawing at her full lower lip. "So do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Wanna have sex?"

"No I don't Donna."

"Then why were you looking at me that way in there?"

"What way?"

"The way you were at the bar."

"I don’t know. Guess I look at all women like that."

"Like you wanna have sex with them?"

"Yes … No."

"Well make up your mind stud. Is it yes or no?"

I turn and study her again. The black clothing, makeup, nails, pale face and large eyes. I so wish there was a sparkle in them but there isn't.

"Yes except for kids. I'm not a paedophile."

"Having sex with a fifteen year old isn't considered that. "

"Yeah right."

And here endeth the first lesson ...