The Toyman’s Tale
You know it’s not all about me. Okay, well usually it is.
But while I’m stuck betwixt and between a number of personal dilemmas, how
about a simpler tale instead regarding life’s more basic pleasures…
The thing about a window seat at work is sometimes, on a
slow day, one gazes wistfully out of it a little longer than he ought. I was
having a slow day recently. And maybe that was partly because I was, as usual,
too caught up in my current whys and wherefores. Anyway, first I saw him, then
I saw her; at which point my head made the necessary two plus two equals we all
know what. After that I’ll concede my imagination did the rest. But I’m pretty
sure even the great Sherlock Holmes would have given similar credence to my
subsequent “elementary” deduction.
My city-based offices are a few floors up (I still take the
stairs for those same buttock toning reasons I once let you in on), and over
the road (on my side) are a bunch of swish, converted apartments that has one
of those trendy outside stairwells rather than a lift. Even though I’ve worked
here some while, I’ve never really paid much attention to the comings and
goings in those flats before, dedicated as I have been instead to my
professional glory. This was a different day though, one more reflective than
objective, and so that’s why I spotted them.
He was young, about early twenties I’d say, tall, naturally
good looking in a tangled dark haired, pale celt kind of way complete with easy
going grin. She meanwhile was maybe mid or more fortysomething, black suited,
high heeled, businesslike hair and make-up, gym-toned and as undeniably sexy as
any older woman pin-up there is. They were side by side-ish but he slightly had
the lead, probably why I noticed him first, and even though my mind was also
wondering how the hell he could afford such a gaff (even to rent), it was
fairly obvious it was to his flat they were headed as I saw keys jangling in
his free right hand (maybe he was just some kind of work from home dotcom
wunderkind – I mean it was the middle of the afternoon – he certainly wore the
right kind of obligatory designer jeans anyhow). The other thing I immediately
clocked was how awkward he looked. Sure he was the one doing the ushering but
it was she who had the poise, the calm, the half smile and the tact to hold
back and not totally dictate proceedings, which I reckon would only have served
to make him feel even more gauche than he seemingly appeared. This might be her
show then, I surmised, but she at least wanted him to co-star.
They were merely smalltalking, nodding heads, but god I
could tell he was excited in a semi-apprehensive sort of way, while hers was
more surreptitious but apparent nonetheless. And as they headed for the door,
and as I couldn’t help but inwardly picture what was complimenting those sleek
black stockings underneath that respectable yet easily removable skirt, I
grinned somewhat slyly and simply left them to it.
I guess it was about three hours or so later, just as I was
contemplating calling it a night myself that they emerged, both a little more
flushed, she now very much ahead by a nose, he far more chilled out and
Cheshire cat smug. The smalltalk and nodding was back, but it was visibly
easier, the result of intimacy spent and a younger man’s reticence thrillingly
dissolved. Oh but she had a ring too – I’d missed it earlier but there it was,
its tiny sparkle on the appropriate finger as bright as a hilltop beacon.
Well well!
Not that I was (or should be) judging. I mean I’m sure I’ve
been there more times than he has, so to speak. Still a small part of me was a
little envious too; after all he’d most likely just enacted many a very young
man’s fantasy and something I’d actually never had the fortune to experience
myself since on that front, as I’ve told you countless times before, I was a
little older before such irresistible trysts started happening to me. And you
know even though these days it’s not supposed to be about all that, I’d like to
think it wasn’t some negative Mrs. Robinson scenario that had just occurred,
but instead something of mutual and positive design, even if she had still been
the one doing the real seducing – which I continued to suspect was most likely
the case, albeit subtly. Yes I know I myself have warned about all that casual-ties/casualties
stuff, the cons over pros of friends with benefits and those emotional
landmines which can play havoc with one’s sex life, but fact is sometimes maybe
all we want is to just get laid and to hell with the consequences, even if we
try to dress it up otherwise because that’s what all the magazines, talk shows
etc say we’re supposed to do.
That’s why as they disappeared from view back down those
stairs, laughing while discreetly touching arms or hands, I stopped my
wondering about the possible complicated backstory behind this clandestine
encounter and all the perhaps more difficult challenges which may be lying in
wait for them; not to mention the whole morality issue such situations
obviously give rise to.
You see you only get a single shot at life and its all too
fleeting highs; so for me once they were out of sight the credits rolled and
they got their happy ending…
By Bastian Dash – read more by him on TBWxtra on you personal home page
Comments