L.A. Woman

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November 1, 2013 · Posted in Commentary 


Okay, it’s not all a tragedy.  It’s the river of life.  The only way to keep from dropping to the bottom like a stone is the pursuit of pure, unadulterated, unrestrained libido.  Throw orgasms up in the face of the Grim Reaper, I say.

Fornicate until you and her swim in a river of Jism.  During wartime, they say, people breed like cats.  It’s biology. Perhaps in the face of death, or of divorce, the impulse is the same.

So, okay, one day I was so damned horny I went out prowling,  with the full intent of finding someone.  I did.

Her name was Eve. I found her sitting in a mall parking lot in Silver Lake. It was just natural for me to sit down beside her and strike up a conversation.

Eve was half-Irish, half-Mexican.  And a kind of a street person.   She had a most memorable face, one that I thought combined the most handsome aspects of the two peoples.

It was an early spring morning after an El Nino storm. She was wearing a sort of hippie shirt, that hung down lazily, to allow sporadic glimpses of her generous breasts.  In retrospect, I suppose she was certifiably loony.

She would talk, on and on, about Jack, her one true love who had died on the concrete floor of the Los Angeles River from an overdose. She told me Jack could make love to her through another man. I was evidently deemed that other man.  It took a hamburger or two to get her home, and then, at my suggestion, she took a shower. We lay naked in the bed that first night, and let the fire in our groins slowly simmer.   With the passion of a starving man faced with a red-bloody steak, I savored her entire body.  But I was afraid to make love to her. I didn’t have a condom.   Though, I think, even if I had, I probably would not have made love.  Condoms destroy the enjoyment.

The next morning, she and I drove to Tommy’s, a nearby burger joint, and I bought her a hamburger before she hit the streets.  Up until then she hadn’t spoken Spanish. (She also knew some Arabic, a bit of French, and Eskimo, which told me something about the number of men she’d known, and convinced me I was right not consummating what we began.)

But at Tommy’s she spoke Spanish.  It was at that moment I   truly saw her Mexican heritage.  She spoke it to the guy behind the counter, whom she later told me wanted to “go party” with her.  But this guy was working, and I was with her.  Even so, I’m sure he would’ve gone and played with her.

And I think Eve made him uncomfortable quickly.  He must have deduced she was loca.

She may have been, but she showed me I still had some embers left in my ashes.

I didn’t see Eve for a while.  She was supposed to come over one day but didn’t show.  When she did, finally, two weeks later, I was bone-tired. I wanted nothing more than to go to bed–alone. I heard her laughing on the porch, and at first didn’t recognize her laugh, the laugh of a young girl ready to party. So I went to the door and found Eve, her fleshy thighs overflowing her shorts, and her breasts barely contained in her loose top. Later she told me she’d taken off her bra just before she arrived.  It was cold out there, one of those rare L.A. evenings when the Fahrenheit could barely stay in the 50s.  I wasn’t pleased to see her.  But that abundant flesh convinced me to let her in.

“Come on in,” I said.  We lay down eventually, but this time she insisted on money.  I found fifteen dollars.

“Make a wish,” she said, gleefully, shoving the bills into her purse. She didn’t understand that I wanted to turn her on. She told me turning her on wasn’t the point: I was the needy one. I put on a rubber. I certainly didn’t want to have sex with her without a rubber. But, luckily she didn’t even want intercourse.

We settled on mutual masturbation.  I watched as my fingers indented valleys into her breasts, and felt her nipples harden– and begin to look like a mountain relief map.  I turned her on, and was glad I was able to–even if she said she hadn’t wanted it.  We both came.

“You sound like an ocean when you come,” she said, with admiration in her voice.  She imitated the sound of the roar of the ocean.

Later I told Eve that she shouldn’t just drop by.

The rest of the day was a mess. I couldn’t sleep that night.  Eve puttered around as I tried to.  By six the next morning, I told her to go.

I finally managed to sleep a couple hours, then tried to resurrect my busy day.

Still and all, I will always have some good feelings about Eve, though I avoided her phone calls after that.  She was the first woman I lay naked in bed with after my wife left me.  She and I didn’t do much sexually.  I felt nervous about her, as I said, but it was damned good being naked with someone and not feeling funny about it.  It was nice to run my hands over a woman’s body, and feel that familiar woman feel next to me again.

But Eve wasn’t quite what I had in mind as a life partner.


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