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It was a warm Thursday night I saw her first.

She was sitting on the bench that faces the merry-go-round I run at the local fairground. She wore a skirt and blouse. Unusual, I thought, since this time of year most everyone was wearing summer gear – shorts, halter tops, minis. At least her outfit was blazing white, and she wore sandals. Some deference to the heat, anyway.

I had not seen her put anyone on the ride, but there were a couple of teens who coulda belonged to her. She looked to be on the good side of 40 from this distance, but I had the feeling that if I got closer, she might look even better. Fat chance. I was tied to this whirly thing.

Even sitting, I could tell she was tall, cause she had those long good legs that just don’t stop. I did my best to remember what she looked like, catching glimpses of her as the horses and chariots went by.

And she was my weakness – a red-head.

When I got around to noticing again, she was gone – just like that.

It happens a million times a year doing this job. Someone shows up, you want to connect, but a minute later, she’s gone. Sometimes they come back, but mostly not. Her I didn’t see leave with anyone.

Like a dog going back to the spot where you dropped a fleck of meat one time, I found myself checking that bench every chance I had that weekend. Stupid, I thought.

So you can imagine what a shock it was on Sunday night when I saw her there. I was riding the deck, keeping order in the thin crowd of loud-mouthed teen-agers, when I glanced over, and there she was. I know I did one of those comic things, a double-take, but by the time I looked back, she was around the corner. I ran ahead to get around the corner again to see if I had been imagining it, but no, there she was. This time she was wearing a red checked dress, short, showing off those great legs.

I stepped off the inside of the ride, keeping her in sight, and checked the timer. Thirty more seconds until it wound down. I stepped back up on the deck, and walked back toward her. I stepped off the ground side, and waited for the timer to kick in and stop the ride. There are always a few riders who need help getting off, but I wanted to see if this lady was connected to anyone. The ride stopped, the crowd left, half of them running back to the entrance again. This lady did not seem to belong to any of them. No one acknowledged her. I did get close enough to see wedding rings, though. Big ones. I helped the two youngest riders off, and they ran to join mom and dad, and I stepped back the entrance, to start all over again.

Great, I thought. Here she is, and you can’t even say anything.

She’s married, you putz.

Yeah, but she is here alone.

She looks sad, I said, and I don’t want to intrude. That is no way to get close to her anyway, saying something when she wants to be alone.

You don’t wanna get close to her. You just want to BE with her, you putz.

Yeah… a guy can dream, cant he? I mean, after all, what’s a carousel for, if not for make-believe?

She disappeared sometime during the next go-round. And I KNEW this time I’d never see her again.


My dreams that night were full of meet-cute schemes.

A sudden downpour that left her gasping for breath and dry clothes, which I happened to have.

Meeting in the parking lot, where she was stumped by a flat tire on her family wagon. ( o yeah? where’s the FAMILY, you putz?)

Noticing her purse left behind after she had gone, and locating her and giving it back to her.

Yeah, I see that in all these stories, I’m the hero.

Nothing-jobs like this one will do that for you. When you are a sometime writer, a not-very-successful-sometime-writer at that, you take what you can, so you as much time free to write as you can manage. That is where I found myself.

Spinning yarns all day in a two room apartment, selling a story now and then to the tabloids and pulp magazines. Just enough encouragement from my editor to keep me going, like the English class from hell.

Spinning kids and lovers by night.

The job was not bad for people-watching, if you liked to do that kind of thing. Thing about this lady was that I was drawn to her, not to her story so much. I didn’t care if she was dull as dishwater, with no story at all. I wanted to get to know her. Too late, I figured.


Until three nights later.

Same bench. Just appeared. I didn’t see her coming.

Hmmph. Shows what YOU know, putz.

Stop calling me that!

There she was, this time in a yellow short set, so far her only concession to the heat. She looked like a million bucks.

Okay, putz, either YOU talk to her this time, or I will!

Yeah? You go ahead.

I will!

I stepped off the outside of the ride, a little run-step to keep from falling, and walked over the other side where she sat. I looked off where she was looking, and saw she was just edirne escort watching the ride go round. Not quite a 1000-yard stare on her face, just thoughtful.

What was it in Macbeth? Screw your courage to the sticking post?

I walked to a spot near the bench, and said, “Hi, again.” Too late, I saw that she had kicked off her sandals. Bare feet. O geez.

She looked my way, and smiled. Well I have to tell you, if I had not been smitten before, I was now. This was a 1000-watt smile, and she did not look at all sad.

“Hi.” Her teeth were white, her smile was to die for, and her blouse was cut low enough I could see the beginnings of the tops of her breasts.

“I…er…” PUTZ!! “I noticed you have been here a lot.” No answer, but she had not turned me off yet. “Would you like to ride? Uh, free rides to repeat customers.”

GEEZUS!!! Did that sound as stupid as I felt?

She smiled, though, and slipped her feet back into her sandals, and reached up her hand. Now THIS was a lady. She expected me to help her up, and of course I did. I might not be the classiest guy around, but I knew when to help a lady up.

She rose, and I had been right – she was tall, nearly 6 feet, even in low sandals. Put her in high heels, I thought, and – whoa.. enough of thinking about that!

She did not let go my hand as we approached the deck of the ride. She stepped on easily, with all the grace those legs promised, and moved effortlessly to a bench seat behind a white horse, with green accoutrements. She looked up at me, and I realized I had to say something.

“You make the ride look better already,” was all I could come up with.
Nonetheless, I was rewarded by another of those megawatt smiles, and moved off to tend the timer and make sure no one was walking around, other than me.

In a few minutes, the ride wound down, and everyone moved off, everyone but her. I got the ride started again with a new bunch, and moved to where she sat looking out now, at the crowd. “Thanks for staying.”

She smiled back again. “It’s nice up here. Thanks for asking.” Her voice was low, well-modulated, the timbre of a rich string instrument.

“So,” I said, with courage I did not feel, “what’s a nice lady like you doing hanging out around a place like this?”

She smiled, and patted the seat next to her. I made a gesture she understood, that I had to keep an eye on the rest of the ride, and I remained standing. “My kids are both away for the summer, and my husband works 24 hr shifts, every third day. So, I’m alone.”

There was no import in the way she said it, no invitation. I nodded. That would explain why she was here one night, and skipped two. “You’re alone, and you like merry-go-rounds?”

For the first time, a hint of sadness crept into those eyes. They were… hell… they were both brown and green, and about the loveliest thing I’d ever seen. “I like carousels, yes.” She pulled the necklace away from her chest – a carousel horse.

“I see,” I said, not sure I did. “Gift from your husband?”

She nodded.

“Well,” I said, “I just didn’t want you sitting out there if you wanted to ride.” I smiled at her, and left to do my walk-around. When I came back, she was gone.

I can’t say I was completely surprised.


Nor can I say I was surprised at myself, three nights later, when I looked at that bench so often I nearly wore the paint off. Nor can I say I was surprised that she didn’t show up. I mean, after all, how much carousel watching can one person do?

Nor did she show up three nights after that. I lost track of the three-day intervals, and stopped looking. It hurt less that way.

When I looked out a week or so later, and saw her sitting at ‘her’ bench again, the sudden idiotic smile on my face told me how much I had wanted to see her again. It was all I could do to keep from waving at here like a silly chimp or something.

I managed to get to the end of the ride, before I went that way, and said hello to her again. She nodded, and again put her hand out, to be helped up. I obliged, and led her to the deck of the ride. This time she was wearing a set of short pink overalls, and a white top. It was not cut low, but the thrust of her breasts made it clear that she was a fully grown woman. She still had sandals on. For the first time, I noted her toe rings, two of them, and her toe-nails painted in multi-colored designs. Instead of the demure seat, she stepped onto the stirrup of the biggest horse on the deck, and swung into the saddle. She smiled down at me, and I moved off to let the rest of the customers back onto the ride, round and round again.

I stood near her, watching her for the sheer joy of it. This was a woman happy in her skin. The ups and downs of the big fella she was on seemed to be driven from inside her, instead of the mechanism we had so lovingly restored. It seemed she was the one powering the ride, instead of being dragged along.

She surprised me by saying, “What are you thinking?”

I surprised myself by telling the truth. “I was thinking how much I’d like to see you away from here. Even if it’s only for a cup of coffee.”

There was no change in her face. But no acceptance, either. No reward for being honest about how I felt.

Finally, she said, “You no doubt have lots of girlfriends.”

I said, “Ma’am, I’m 50, and I work in a carnival. I’m not exactly what you would call a winner.” I smiled, trying to show I was not unhappy with my lot in life. “But, I can be interesting for short periods of time.”

I was rewarded with an out-and-out laugh, a big hearty head-turning laugh that made me smile. “I bet you can,” she said.

Once again, she did a Zorro on me, and disappeared. At least this time I thought I might see her again. As I closed up the ride that night, and did the bookwork that goes with the receipts, I thought about her, and what the skin on that back might feel like under my hands, what it would be like to kiss her, to feel her hot breath on my shoulder. “Stop it!” I chastised myself. “She gave you NO encouragement whatsoever, so stop it!”

The carnies parked out in a grass lot that turned to mud when it rained. I pulled to the edge of the lot toward the street and looked left and right. A small red sportster sat on the wrong side of the road, parking lights on. I glanced at the driver. It was her. She stared at me. I turned off my lights. There would be someone else behind me in a second or two wanting to get out of the lot and head home. Suddenly her lights came on, and she roared by me, handling the little car like a pro. I didn’t hesitate. I followed, as quickly as my one-lung machine could, but I was not about to let her out of sight if I could help it.

She wasn’t trying to lose me. Once she turned left, and traffic cut me off. She waited. As soon as I made the turn she jetted off, expecting me to keep up.

We wound up out by the interstate, in an all-night coffee house, bustling even at 1am with truckers ad tourists. She parked out away from the buildings

I pulled up beside her, and waited. She opened her door. And stepped to my truck, pulling open the door. “We can leave my car here,” she said as she sat down, reaching for the seat belt.

“Oo—kay…” I said. “Where would you like to go?”

She looked at me, without accusation or expectation in her eyes. I failed to take the hint. “You do live alone, don’t you?” she asked.

I drove. It was 15 minutes to my place. I made it in 9.5.

We walked up the one flight of stairs to my apartment. While I am not a neat-nut, I knew I would not have anything to apologize about as far as my place was concerned. I kept it looking pretty spiff. It was what I did instead of writing, when writing wasn’t happening.

So far, neither of us had said a word since leaving the truck stop.

I reached around her to unlock the door. She turned into my arms. Her kiss was insistent, urgent, needy, and wet. And she felt just as good in my arms as I knew she would.

I managed to break for air, and said, before opening the door, “Wait!”

She backed off for a second, obviously puzzled, and reluctant. “What?”

“Your name,” I said, “I want your name.”

She smiled and whispered close in my ear – “Debbi.”

I noted she didn’t ask mine.

I pushed open the door, and we moved inside. Before I could turn on a light, she had my arms around her neck, my body against hers, leaning back against the door. I fumbled to get the security chain on. Later I realized I had been lucky to be able to think even that well. This lady was a serious lover, and demanded anyone’s full attention.

Now, kissing has always been just something a guy did to get to the good stuff. That all changed in about 10 milliseconds. I realized I was in the middle of a world class kiss, and did my best to keep up. This lady was a serious kisser. Her lips pressed against mine, moving, feeling, hungry all over.

Her tongue grazed my lips and teeth, and just as quickly darted away. I gave chase, and got trapped between those whiter-than-white teeth. Now, somewhere in here I noticed I had a raging hard-on, but that seemed back-burner stuff, while on the front burner was this barn-burning kiss. I stopped thinking about how her belly felt against my dick, or how her tits felt against my chest, and just .. felt. I gave it all up to the moments we spent kissing. Our heads revolved around each other, my head tilted so my forehead was nearly on her shoulder, my hands roamed her back, catching on the brass fittings for these overalls. I gave up and just held her, tightly, squeezing her to me.

I know I could have hurt her, being so insensible. But she not only didn’t mind being held so tightly, she returned it, in spades. She held me closely, her head upturned. It never even occurred to me to break this kiss. I didn’t want to for one thing. And if I had been able to think about it, I would have thought that stopping this kiss now would be dangerous: she might kill me.

So we continued. The apartment was black. The only light came in thru the open window over the dining table. My computer setup was all there. Somewhere in my mind I had thought if I ever got her in this situation, I would try to keep her interested by talking about writing. She was not interested in that, at the moment. Neither was I.

Her breath hissed in and out of her nose. Her lips worked at mine. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I again noticed she had breasts, magnificent breasts. I tore one hand away from rubbing her back, and moved it up to her chest, toying with the flesh between us. Her nipple was already taut, hard as a pencil eraser, and twice as large. I tweaked it, gently, and was rewarded by being bit on the lip. A sharp intake of breath, but she would not let me go. I thumbed her nipple again, harder, and got bit again, only not as hard this time. I must be going in the right direction.

From somewhere, I got the strength to pick up this handful of woman. She held on tightly, and lifted those magnificent legs to strap herself onto me, squeezing me at the waist, breathing hard. I walked to my bedroom, in the dark, a thought running by that I was glad I had the place picked up again, now for an entirely DIFFERENT reason. We reached the bedroom. I walked us to the bed. I put a knee on the bed, and eased her onto the cover, not daring to let go, or break this kiss. As far as she could tell, we were in Egypt or on the moon. She had not opened her eyes since we had entered the apartment.

Her legs were already around me. I ground into her, wanting to transfer some of these great feelings from my dick to her pussy, even through 4 or 5 layers of clothes. I eased up kissing her, pulling away only far enough to be able to see her eyes. I was long past the ‘Why me?’ thoughts. I was just going to take what came, and hope for more. Our lips barely touched as I moved my hand to her tits again, this time moving between them, feeling one nipple, then the other.

I leaned down to her again, but before we could start another marathon kiss, I whispered directly into her ear, “I’m going to undress you, slowly.” This earned me a moan, and another clasp to keep me close.

I forced my way away from her for a moment, and realized I was going to struggle with unfamiliar clothes in the dark. Not wanting to take a chance on her having second thoughts, I decided to err on the side of darkness, and feel my way around her clothes.

I found the clasps at the top of the front of the overalls. I managed to caress her tits quite thoroughly as I unclasped the metal stays. I smiled down at her. Our eyes had grown accustomed to the dark, and I could see her face clearly now. She was not smiling, but wanting. I flipped up the shoulder straps to lay on the bed, and pulled down the top, again taking advantage of the closeness to rub against her tits.

Her shirt was ribbed. Somewhere between the door and here, she had shed her sandals. Much as I hated to be even that far away from this wondrous person, I held her overalls and moved away, hoping she would take the hint. Something about the way we already were together let her understand. She lifted her hips and I slid the shortie overall over her knees, and onto the floor.

Enough time had passed since we had had to stop kissing. I bent to her. I could have waited until she was nude, but that was too long to wait. I wanted more of those kisses. Now. She pulled me to her, wrapping her strong arms around my neck. Our lips met. Which is as much of an understatement as, say, ‘Rockets are loud,’ or ‘Black is dark.’ We didn’t meet so much as flow together. I had the fleeting impression that we had incandesced into fiery pillar, swept up into the heavens on the wings of magic chariot. Some part of my mind kept wanting me to say ‘WAIT!’ and slow down and take this in slower, appreciate it more. But I knew that to stop would be madness. Her mouth welcomed me. I had to learn how to kiss, all over again. This was new.

Her legs wrapped around me, now only one layer of clothes on her, all of mine still in place. ‘Hell with THAT,’ I thought. I did every contortion known to heated-up-man to get my clothes tugged off to a point I could break this kiss for the least possible time and still get these clothes away from me. They now weighed 14 tons, and I wanted them GONE. As quickly as possible, I was on her again, now only in a t-shirt and shorts, my arms around her, pulling her to me. Her legs went back around me again, pulling me into her. She could not help but notice I had a half ton of steel between her legs. I tried to be less insistent, less eager, trying to show I was appreciating this new found art of the kiss. I would have been content to be there still, kissing her, rubbing her back, legs, breasts, looking into her eyes.

She pushed me away. I stood on my knees, already missing the pressure of her legs against my waist, and her tits against my chest, and her lips on mine. I tried not to pout like a child who had just lost a sucker.

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