Chosen Mate

"They are real!" Harry said emphatically, glaring at the drunken brothers sitting across the bar from him. Billy had fallen off his stool, assisted by the wildly flailing arms of his larger brother; but Billy usually did anyway; and Bob, trying to keep from falling was holding tightly to the bar, tears in his eyes, howling with laughter.

"So faggots are trying to take over the world?" Bob gasped trying to catch his breath then exploding again into alcohol assisted howls of amusement. Harry sighed and lay his head on his arms crossed on the bar and spoke from their shelter.

"Not faggots fool, fairies and they're everywhere. Everything on this planet except for Man and ape are fairy folk. Plants, birds, insects, animals, and fish are all fairies or fairy related with kings, queens, princesses, princes, and noble, or gentlefolk that rule over each family or clan. He turned to call the bar- tender. "Sandra, when you get time, three more beers please." She nodded.

He turned back to brother one, who was pouring the rest of his bottle down his bucket mouth; he was getting most of it in too. He smacked his lips, whacking the empty down on the bar top, wiping his chin. He sat for a moment then started laughing again; wiping his foam filled face, then his eyes.

"So a fish fairy could tell me where all the big bass are, maybe a big suckerfish." He bellowed between gusts of laughter.

"It's possible Bob, but tell me," he paused "what's in it for the suckerfish?" Bob started choking out sounds. Harry could not tell if it was laughter or indignation. Hopefully there would be fresh beer soon. Maybe he could deaden the noise with alcohol. He was not hopeful of that though.

Sandra walked over to the corner of the bar, fine boned and fair skinned; she had fresh beers. Her long hair, that was not quite red or brown, fell down to the collarbones showing in the v of her blouse. Slim, with upturned breasts, a small waist, and healthy buffed arms, Harry thought she must be about the tastiest morsel of womanhood he knew. She might be in her late 30's Harry thought; but it was hard to tell.

--Too young for you. Spoke the voice in his mind that he called the Oldman.

She did not wear an excessive amount of make up; but he was damned if he could tell if she wore makeup at all. With her flawless, slightly olive complexion, it was hard to tell. There was a small scar at the corner of her right eye. You would miss if you were not paying close attention; Harry always did. Skynard played on the juke, "The Four walls of Raiford". She looked in his eyes. 'Oh Jesus save my soul,' Skynard sang. Amen, he thought as he looked in hers. They were a pale frosty blue and seemed to reach to the bottom of his soul, laying bare all his lusts, secrets, and dreams along the way. His heart beat faster as she moved to the corner, with the bottles of beer held by the necks.

"Are you telling those fairy tales to them again"? She said double knocking his bottle like a judge's gavel as she set it before him. Order in the bar, he said to himself. She looked at Bob then Billy, who sat up a little straighter under her disapproving look, as she deposited their bottles before them. Then her attention turned back to Harry and held his eyes; one eyebrow arching, and those eyes became a bit sharper as she waited for an answer.

"I should know better by now." He said tearing his own eyes away down to the beer. "Buy you one?

"Mmm," Sandra considered for a beat. "Only if you tell me a bedtime story"

--Innuendo, I like that, Oldman declared.

Her eyes captured his as he looked up, startled surprise, shock, and wonder on his face. Oh, man! This was new. Sandra never played games and was usually sparse with her conversation. He struggled against the paralyzing pin of her gaze like a butterfly prepared for study.

"Ahh," Brilliant conversation he thought. Those eyes damn it! "Ahh, you don't look sleepy."

She looked away, something like embarrassment or frustration on her face. Checking the few other patrons in the place, she saw that all were busy, content, and well supplied with drink. She returned her appraising gaze back to him and began addressing the points that brought her to this conversation.

"You come in here twice a week, never on the weekend, always when I'm working. You watch me more than the wide screen but try not to let me see it. I don't miss much do I Bob?"

"Just me when I'm gone." Bob said with a grin. Billy smiled at the bar top, avoiding her eyes.

"Bob we miss you when you're here." Her eye had not moved from his during the interruption; they were still captives, willing captives as she chastised Bob then turned her silken voice back to him.

"You are always polite and quiet except when telling your stories. You're good looking in a kind of old man way and you smell okay." She looked at him with her appraising eyes.

"Thank God," escaped from his mouth before he could stop it. Her eyes became filled with mirth.

She laughed, musical laughter that ended when she picked up his beer and drank, draining a large portion. She carried the money and his beer to the till. Turning her head she hit him with those incredible eyes once again that tore his from her sweetly filled jeans. She took another pull of his bottle and placed it back in front of him, lounging on the bar top close to him. Her scent was sweet.

"Well? Are you afraid your story telling skills aren't up to it or is it something else? Do you have problems with some other skill?" Picking up the bottle, looking full in her face, he drained it in three long swallows. How erotic he thought, drinking from the same bottle as a beautiful woman.

--Are you going to answer that question? Oldman asked.

--Which one? Shh, he answered the inquisitive nagging thought.

No, my skills are adequate, I suppose. It's been a while since I've used them. Do you believe in fairies?" He asked suddenly; painful tension played in his eyes. Again the amused appraising eyes searched his.

In answer, she looked to see if anyone was listening or watching; then, she brought her leg up to the bar top. Wow, was she ever limber. She looked again, pulling up her jeans leg to expose a tattoo on her ankle. Tinker Bell, he saw, looking closer. One finger crept out to caress the saucy cartoon. Little fists were on her slim hips, her chin upraised with a defiant expression.

--Tattoos tell a lot about a person. What does that tell you about her, Oldman asked.

"Nice work." He said as his finger continued to trace the lines of the tat. Sandra shivered and removed her leg to the safety of the floor. He frowned as his fingers slid off her ankle.

"Bye Tink," he said looking back at Sandra. She flushed, color spreading from cheeks to shoulders, glanced down the bar and left to chat and fill glasses and drinks. Left by himself with no beer and no distraction, he pondered just what and how much to tell her. He was still deliberating with himself when she came back with beer.

"On me." She said. Harry couldn't help it.

"Before the bedtime story?" The look came again, searching.

"No such luck; gimmie your spiel." Her eyes were a bit speculative though.

"O.K. long before written history..." He started. She shook her head in negation.

"No, no, no," Sandra broke in." Wrong story; tell me your story. I want to know about you." Her eyes had gone serious now. There was no trace of the playful banter from before. He held her stare for a moment then took a monumental drink, then another. He began babbling out his life to her.

"I'm an old guy. I smoke; drink, but not excessively. I have a hard time sleeping at night. I don't hear particularly well; there were too many years of loud music, motorcycles, and guns. I lost my job about a year ago; my wife left two days after that. There's been no one since. I've almost gotten over the hurt but...I'm so..."

He paused. He had started to say lonely but it was more than that. Heartbroken came to mind but that would not be accurate either. It was like a bruised muscle that hurt every time used, so you tried not to use it. He glanced up, shrugged and then continued without an explanation.

"I haven't found a regular job. I work at my shop at home doing a little leatherwork and woodwork, but it's not commercial type stuff. It's more artsy higher end stuff. I've just started getting my disability from social security 'cause I'm an old beat up guy. She laughed.

My appendix burst back in. ...'68? I didn't have a clue that it had happened. The doctor I went to see told me I had the flu, so I ate aspirin and Alka Seltzer and little else for five days. After screaming in pain most of the fifth night my friends took me to the emergency room. The doctors took a blood count then carried me straight to surgery where they sliced my beautiful young body from navel to sternum. They said that they used 'buckets' of saline to wash me out and that I was extremely lucky to be alive." He drank again eyes focused on the past, silent.

"Shit, I miss the good old days when you could smoke in a bar. So ...months in the hospital while recovering, enough antibiotics to cure most of Africa's illnesses, and a scar that reminded me of an ass crack where my six pack used to be. Then there were the wrecks."

She placed a hand on his forearm at a call from down the lightly peopled bar and said.

"Wait." Then she left to circuit the bar again.

--She escaped just in time. Oldman said.

"She asked." Harry replied to himself, looking quickly around to see if anyone heard him.

He wandered over to the pool table and shoved in quarters. Bob stumbled over to rack the balls and gossip as Harry shot making a solid ball on the break then looked for other opportunities.

"I haven't seen Sandra talk to anyone that much in a long time," Bob said. Harry made two more balls, saying nothing. His mind more on his own internal conversation, missed, and then lost interest as Bob cleaned the table off. Billy came over with two fresh beverages and more quarters. Harry left them the table and returned to his stool. Sandra came back.

"Another beer?" she asked. She leaned on the bar, closely. Her scent was as intoxicating as drink.

"Nah, Got any coffee back there? I could live on the stuff if it was possible."

"I'll make a fresh pot. Take a few moments if you care to wait."

--Come on. Oldman taunted. You started, go ahead.

"I can wait if you smile before you go" Harry said quickly; an embarrassed look on his face betrayed the flirting words. She lit up a ten-thousand-watt-smile that gleamed from her teeth and disappeared over her shoulder as she turned and walked into the tiny bar kitchen. Damn nice girl, Harry thought. He wondered what size jeans she was wearing. Billy stumbled to where Harry sat and spoke drunkard for a couple of sentences. Harry just nodded because he hadn't a clue what he had said. Encouraged Billy rambled on.

Sandra walked up and leaned on the bar, a chin resting in her supporting hand watching and listening while Billy spoke on and on. She exchanged a sighing glance of long-suffering with Harry. She leaned over, putting a hand on Billy's shoulder, and whispered in his ear for a moment. Billy straightened up quickly, staggered away, and found a chair by the pool table and sat.

Harry followed Billy's trek all the way over to the chair turned back to find 'her' gone again. His frown turned into a grin as she came through the kitchen door with two steaming mugs. She was still smiling.

"Sugar," she inquired with upraised eyebrows.

"Yes 'darling?"

"Mess with me and you'll drink it black." She was right, that was an old joke.

"You know I like that blue stuff if you have any." He said quickly. She produced a small crock filled with assorted sweeteners from under the bar. Harry dosed his coffee and stirred while looking back at Billy. Bob was there also. They were head to head talking full bore. He looked back at Sandra. She was watching them also drinking her coffee black as those frosty eyes lost temperature.

"It seems like you've got them pretty well trained." He said to her silent appraisal.

She continued to watch the two for a moment, not speaking, although Harry could swear her ear twitched at him as he spoke. Her head turned to face him but her eyes had stayed on drunkards two for just a moment, and then revolved back to his. Piercing pale blue orbs flashed as she spoke.

"Those two are like weeds; you have to chop them back every so often." Her eyes turned liquid as they looked in his. Smiles played hide and seek behind her full pouting lips that looked like some tasty fruit. He looked up then down, again avoiding her direct searching stare, until her silence forced him to look again into her eyes. He tumbled into their deep well. It seemed like he fell a million miles in a hundred years.

"Harry?" She prompted. His eyes refocused; her face was there again. Sipping at her mug, she waited patiently for him to answer.

"Sorry. I got lost in there for a moment. What did you say to Billy?"

"Trade secret", she replied, "sure you really want to know?" There was just a hint of frost now.

Harry thought about that. Anyone who could get Bob to shut up had his vote of confidence. He was happy with the results, and cared little for the process.

"No, I'd rather get lost again." Then he opened his soul to her eyes. She tore a chunk out, smiled softly, and looked at the small watch on her wrist. She turned, changing to her boss lady face.

"Last call folks; drink up." Turning back to him she said, "Stay."

--Woof, said Oldman. Harry looked at her with a 'puppy dog gaze. His mind supplied the lolling tongue that flapped in his head, panting in canine imitation. She walked away down the bar, picking up glasses and trash, looking at Billy and Bob as she strolled. They saw her and were on their feet and moving toward the door unsteadily.

"Goodnight Harry." Bob said as he passed by. "Bring me some of those cigarette cases to the station when you get a chance. I'm almost out." Harry waved.

"Will do," he answered as he stood and followed them into the parking lot. Lighting up and smoking while he waited. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sandra peeking through the window in the door.

--Dang! She's checking up on us. He blew smoke into the cool night air, ignoring the window and Oldman. He tried not to crack up watching his two friends. They crawled their big redneck asses into Bobs ancient Toyota Corolla, wound up the rubber band, and puttered away down the ally in a comparatively straight line.

What a wonderfully cool summer night it was. There was not a cloud in the sky. The stars sparkling down seemed as happy and pleased as he was. People wandered out to their vehicles chatting and laughing. He entered the bar again, heading for the restroom. Sandra was swamping out the business end of the bar as he walked by.

"There you are!" she said, "I'm almost done. Just hang out until I finish. It won't take too long."

"Be right back, pause for the cause you know." He said as he pushed the men's room door open. Passing the mirror, he caught his reflection and stopped turning to face the man standing there. A man who had not made his mark on life, but life had certainly made its mark on him. I haven't a clue what's next do you? Shaking his head, he turned and stepped up to the urinal. He was in full stream when he heard the door open behind him. He had thought the bar was empty. Before he could look, he heard her voice behind him.

"Doors are locked and everyone's gone." Sandra said behind him. Two hands touched him then, gliding from his shoulders to under his arms, then around his chest in a snug hug. It was like an electric shock. She laid her head on his back for a moment, then left saying.

"Don't forget to wash your hands." Wow, now he had to walk back out that door, at least he hadn't pissed himself when she touched him, although it had been a near thing. Okay, deep breath, here we go.

She was waiting by the exit when he came out, smug dimpled smile on her face, fringed buckskin purse in one hand, deposit bag in the other.

"Drive me to the bank; we'll go eat something after. I'm starving." Devilish twinkling eyes studied his face. Call and raise Harry said to the old man sharing his brain as he moved toward her.

"First things first," he said, then took her slowly and carefully into his arms and kissed her softly and long, one hand between her shoulder blades the other trembling on her sweetly rounded waist. Please don't wake up he said to himself.

She met the kiss in kind. Her full hands searching for a hold, finally dropped their contents to the floor and roamed over his shoulders, back, and hips, at last finding a purchase, twined in his hair. Time slowed. The room spun. He smelled flowers, soap, beer, and woman. He released the kiss slowly then stepped back swallowing. A pleased smug look was in the dancing eyes searching his.

"Ready?" He asked. Her hands were resting lightly on his chest now tracing the fabric of the shirt while watched the emotions flash over his face.

"Oh yeah," she answered grabbing a fist full of his shirt and stepping back in his arms to feed on his lips. Harry was sure smoke must have been coming out of his ears when she finally stopped. Hands sliding down his sides and legs, she sank slowly before him.

--Oh hell she's going to ...Oldman started. Sandra picked up the deposit bag and her purse from the floor; then standing, turned, unlocking the door, and walking out. He followed, fingers hooked in her belt loops, short of breath, and dizzy with emotion.

Harry glanced around the lot while digging keys from his pocket and readjusting recently uncomfortable portions of his anatomy, discreetly, while she locked up behind him. They walked to his truck, bumping into each other on the way, her hand through his arm. He held the passenger door open while she climbed onto the seat.

"Couldn't find a bigger truck could you?" She asked, stepping up.

"1984 Ford 150, 4x4, I call it my Bullfrog." Harry declared proudly as he got behind the wheel. Sometimes I like to play in the puddles."

"Oh! It's an amphibian is it?" She retorted.

"Pretty close, I'd say, but it does need a little bit of mud to get things going."

"It must be male." Sandra said, busy running her hands over the almost obscenely sized shifting levers, which sprouted from the floor. Her head swiveled to the dashboard, then opened wide and round as they surveyed the gages, lights, switches, and knobs. She almost seemed to pant as her eyes glazed over.

"Tell me Harry. Do you like to play in the mud too?" She asked absently. Her gaze never left the dash, but he could swear that ear was pointing at him again.

--Damn, the Oldman exclaimed.

"I do," he answered, blinking at the innuendo, "it's one of my favorite pastimes; but, I can't remember the last time. We've been looking for a damp spot to frolic in for a while. There's been no rain for a long time" There, he thought.

"I can tell. Your truck seems to be rather dusty but well used." She announced with knowing eyes and an evil grin.

"You peeked didn't you?" He asked and turned the key. She laughed until the truck started.

The straight six rumbled to life sounding dangerous in the empty parking lot. The exhaust echoed off the walls of the buildings surrounding three sides of the lot, rumbling with the sound of a well-tuned engine.

Her eyes were racing now, darting from one gauge to another as they displayed information to the driver. Her breath had quickened.

"Clutch" She said, fondling the gearshift. She licked her lips and grinned at the tachometer.

"Seatbelt?" He answered, peering over the top of his glasses. Sandra released the stick long enough to squirm and buckle herself into the center set of belts.