Suddenly, as if by a particle accelerator, our escapade was erased and it was closing time...we had killed it dead and everyone made their separate ways home in defiance of all law...and the Jewess had shown me just one more aspect of her nine-headed self and I was content...
There is, locked indelibly in the mind of any capable reader, the need to finish off the Jewess, the Kabala lyric tale of her hairbreadth influence on myself, which didn’t transpire until the following December, so rightly on the heels of the blue-balled tryst of Tanya...and there we were, Gus and I, driving US 36 from Denver and a sweet night of bean burgers and beer at the Wyncoop Brewery in Lower Downtown Denver, the old haunts of Neil Cody and Jack Duluoz and their Benzedrine vapor history...as we came down the final approach hill between Superior and Boulder, at the apex of which a swell of relief breath will fill the lungs and heart for the green sweeping expanses, when the Cellular phone rang in my hand and the late night voice of Scorpio appeared in my ear with the information that the Jewess was inquiring as to my whereabouts in the bowels of the Sundowner, and that I should hurry because, as Scorpio put it, “She was hot to swot.” So dropping off Gus at his mall-side location dwelling, I hurried the ten blocks to the select and reject underground swilling establishment known by locals as the “Downer” and located the Jewess in the smoking section and approaching her as an abstract concept, gave her an arm-wrapping and side kiss at the cheek level...all was certainly well.
I took a couple knees outside the smoking room, a great occasion for the both of us, and said a small prayer to gain a certain favor from the almighty and watched those smokers red-faced in their purple grey death mist: a tall athletic mason, a harem of frat lords, a couple muscle car chicks, cut off long sleeve flannel muscle shirts, business in front party in back coiffed and by God the Jewess in the middle to make my heart bleed...I was dead heat walking right into her aura and I knew I had come for strange reasons into this world...We talked and we muddled through nervousness and common interests of the sexual nature, but like every small glib conversation in a drinking establishment, there wasn’t much heart in it...I knew the Jewess and I could talk the poem line but at this point we hardly knew how to get each other into bed which was where it wanted us got to...So the Jewess and I sauntered out of there and mounted my mother’s purple Cherokee chariot which I deftly maneuvered to her confines off canyon blvd right on a branch of Boulder Creek, childhood inner-tube and girl chase river of brightening memories...she shared an apartment with another woman who was already sated in REM and we quickly moved to the bedroom (tho’ I failed to mention that the J had only invited me to come in for a few minutes, a quick drink or something)—The Jewess was trying to sort out her heart over her 43 yr old stag and I could see her tripartate reason hold for getting me involved: 1. Because I was it 2. Because she wanted to make her man jealous and 3. Because she was just one horny woman. It was night. I wasn’t asleep. And beautiful tears had blossomed in my eyes. Strom Thurmond was not dead. Jessie Helms was not dead either. I lay on the bed of the Jewess Caesar-like and expectant of news that would be breaking news that might, as for my marriage, show me that rainbow in Reno was a false omen, or that the naked upper half of the Jewess was suddenly there before me in her 1:30 am half-light parapet midwinter pose, and let me tell you Lefty those perfect breasts stood up immersed in themselves like spring iris bulbs deep in their yin garden beds, every hint of the temptress perfectibility in woman there in those verisimilitous mammary organs piped up and belying her very circle of darkness, the areola funeral fugues of hind stat desire & rushing up through my very limbs as I lay in repose watching the utter genius in her movement as she made the way to the bed and where we commenced to admire her “upward optimistic tits” like my old man thoughts, for the Jewess was quite fond of her breasts and was turned on almost to the point of madness by my seemingly endless interest in them...I spent literally an hour coursing across her lovely chest, kissing her neck, her lips when I could get them, her ears...she had a fantastic deep earth moan and breath outtake from that beautiful mediastinum...the root of the lungs...must carry that much of celestial information, for the breath is the song, the connection, the link to the primordial, the one taste heart...so close to the central ticker, the push behind voice, a woman in ecstasy was like nothing else...
-Michael Price
