tagHumor & SatireDesperately Seeking Susan-Any Susan

Desperately Seeking Susan-Any Susan

bySuperHeroRalph©

This is a Valentine's Day contest story. Please vote.

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With no one to love, a man looks for his perfect Valentine, Susan, to give his heart.

John looked for Susan. Searching high and low, and even though it had been years that he's been looking, not ever giving up hope, he had yet to find her. Always racking his brain for new places to look for her, he decided to try one place he had never tried before.

As if they were waiting for him to select one, they were all just sitting there reading their books. Each one sitting at a different table, as if they needed their own space and to be so separated and so isolated to read, he felt certain that she was here. When he looked out over the expanse of floor, there were a lot of women reading books alone. Surely, one of them had to me his one and only, his special Susan.

Judging a book by their cover, at first glance, he walked the aisles of each floor of the public library looking to see if any one of them physically appealed to him. He was looking to see, if any one of them was his special Valentine, his Susan. After first taking a casual walk around, he walked the aisles of each floor of the public library more slowly to see, if he could sense a psychic connection and feel a kismet bond with the woman of his dreams. Without looking at any of the women, never making eye contact, he stopped at the end of each aisle so as to feel, if he was picking up on their cerebral vibrations and their spiritual aura. When he felt nothing, he continued his search.

As a way to discern if he had something in common, he tried to see what they were reading, while imagining what it would be like to be with this one or with that one. It wasn't so much the sex that he imagined or needed, as it was the intimacy and the companionship that he wanted. He needed someone who was on the same page as him, so to speak. He wanted someone to share his goals, his dreams, and his desires.

Just as he was desperately seeking Susan he was looking for the one woman who was desperately seeking John. It was important for him to have that connection. Not looking for just a girlfriend, he needed to have a best friend, as well as a lover. He wanted to experience it all. He wanted her to be his everything.

In the way that a jury consultant reads a potential jurist, based on their appearance, their body language, their facial expressions, and what they say and how they say it, before making a selection, he attempted to do the same, when walking the aisles of the public library. Only, based primarily on their appearance and what they were reading, he tried to get a read on them, while imagining the type of conversation and connection they'd have. Short, tall, thin, obese, and average, blonde, brunette, or redhead, it didn't matter so much what the woman looked like, so long as there was a connection to blossom their love relationship and so long, of course, her name was Susan.

Her name had to be Susan. That was the kicker, the deal breaker, and the reason why he was having such a hard time finding his dream woman. Her name had to be Susan. No other name would do. He loved the name Susan and he wanted his own woman named Susan. He had been practicing talking to his imagined woman and potential girlfriend, named Susan, in the mirror.

"Good morning, Susan? Have you lost weight, Susan? You look so skinny, Susan. Is that a new dress, Susan? I love you, Susan. Blow me, Susan."

The library was just crawling with women and he felt certain that she was here. Because they were here alone, he figured they all had one common trait. They were all lonely. Psychically inclined, he could sense their loneliness. Only, even though he'd settle for any Susan, if he had to, he'd rather have one with a sense of humor. One who was loyal, kind, and understanding. He was looking for that one special woman, his Susan. Desperately seeing Susan, he needed a woman named Susan. Don't know why, but he really like that name and if he was going to go through all the trouble of having a girlfriend and, possibly, a wife, she had to be named Susan.

There was a black woman, but she looked angry and she gave him a hostile look, when she caught him staring over at her. Definitely, she didn't look like a Susan. Susan would never look at him in that way, so angry and unapproachable. Immediately, he discounted her.

Still, he never had a black girlfriend. Actually, he never had any girlfriend, white, black, brown, red, or yellow. He wondered what it would be like to have an African American lover, one named Susan, of course. He imagined them talking and laughing, but he never quite felt connected, as he would feel being with a woman of his own race. Nonetheless, if he found and hit it off with a black woman named Susan, he certainly consider her as girlfriend material.

Then, he focused on an Asian woman. At first glance, he couldn't tell if she was Chinese, Japanese, or Korean. The Chinese have a rounder face, he thought, the Koreans have a more longer and angular face, and the Japanese, especially the women, have softer features. With a closer examination of her, for sure, she looked Japanese.

He never had an Asian girlfriend either, specifically one that was Japanese. She was pretty and he imagined kissing her lips, while calling her Susan. Only, he couldn't help but think of all those Japanese videos of women being sexually assaulted, molested, and raped in the crowded subways of Japan. Even though he forced himself to watch those sexually disturbing videos over and again, as a way to learn more about different cultures and the world around him, of course, he wouldn't want his Susan to have been a victim of that deplorable sexual behavior.

While looking at her and considering her as a potential girlfriend, so long as he name was Susan, he couldn't help but wonder if anyone pulled down her top on a crowded bus and/or felt her tits on a subway train in Japan. Such disgusting behavior, why are Japanese women so submissive and the Japanese men so perverted? If anyone pulled up the skirt or pulled down the top of an American woman, they'd either scream, kick them in the balls, mace them in the eyes, shoot them with a gun, or force them to marry them in a shotgun wedding with their father Jed, her brother Jeb, and her other brother Jeb.

Looking at the Japanese woman as a potential love match, maybe, he thought, she's never been to Japan. Maybe she was born here and is an American citizen. Now that's a horse of a different color all together. For sure, she could be his Susan, so long as her name was Susan.

Nonetheless, still hung up on all those Japanese videos, he couldn't help but wonder if anyone pulled up her skirt and pulled down her panties and/or pulled down her top and felt her breasts. He couldn't help but wonder if she was raped on a bus or on a train by a group of perverted Japanese men, who forced her to fuck and suck them.

Maybe, instead of being sexually assaulted on the subway, she was molested in a pool, by a group of perverted men. She definitely had a body that would look good in a bikini. Where are all those Ninja warriors and Samurai swordsmen, when all their women are being attacked?

Then, getting more serious about her, he couldn't help but wonder if her name was Susan. She could have been named Susan. She looked a little like a Susan. Only, it was probably just wishful thinking on his part. For sure, he wouldn't mind having a Japanese girlfriend, as long as her name was Susan. As he passed by her, unable to get a read on her, not feeling a connection, he continued his search.

No wonder why he's alone. All this time, he's been looking for only a Caucasian girlfriend named Susan, while ignoring about 70% of the world's population, by not considering other races. He continued his secret Susan surveillance by walking around the library.

In walking the floors and aisles of the library, he must have viewed a few hundred women, it seemed like. Certainly, at least, several dozen. If he was to take a census, there were a ratio of five times the women to men at the library that day. Surely, with all these women, there was someone here named Susan. The fifth most popular female name in 1948-50, 1952-1956, second 1957-1960, third 1962-1964, back to fifth in 1965 and 1967, in recent years, Susan fell out of favor against the names of Sarah, Jessica, Ashley, Emma, and Emily, and never again made it to the top five favorite female names.

Then, in an epiphany, he thought about having Susan paged over the loudspeaker to see how many Susan's would come to the librarian's counter. With all the women named Susan standing up at the counter, he could pick and choose his Susan, while waiting to feel the connection that he needed to have. Standing motionless, while staring at the librarian's counter, he imagined hearing the page, while imagining seeing all the women named Susan walking to the counter.

"Susan, please come to the main desk."

"Hi, I'm Susan."

"I'm Susan, too."

"Did you just page Susan?"

It was a good plan but what would he say, when the librarian asked him for her last name?

The odd thing about there being so many women here is that today was Valentine's Day. One wouldn't think the library would have so many women sitting alone reading a book. One would think women would be home celebrating the holiday of love and romance with their husbands, wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, or significant others. Then, he realized that for so many women to be here on Valentine's Day, they must not have husbands, wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, or significant others. They must be alone and just as lonely and looking for love as he is. Finally, he had come to the right place and at the right time to find his Susan.

All these years, he's been wasting his time, energy, and money on dating sites and singles bars, when all that he needed to do to find a literate and intelligent woman named Susan was to go to the public library.

"Duh?"

He thought about hanging around the checkout counter to see if he could spot a woman named Susan, when she handed over her library card to check out the book, and he tried that, but it was too difficult to read the name on the card and he was too obvious in his stare. Instead, he figured he'd use his psychic ability to find his special Valentine named Susan.

"Oh, Susan, oh, Susan, where for art thou, Susan?"

Then, there in the distance, he saw her and he liked what he saw. Slowly walking towards her, he felt a glimmer of a connection. As he neared, the connection he felt grew stronger. For sure, he felt a connection and the connection was real, especially when standing motionless at the end of her aisle, closing his eyes, and concentrating. She may be the one. She may be his Susan. She definitely looked like a Susan to him, whatever a Susan looked like, he really didn't know, but he had a strong feeling her name was Susan.

She wasn't the prettiest woman he's seen today, by far, but she wasn't the homeliest woman he's seen today either. More the connection than the appearance, so long as her name was Susan, everything else would work out in time. He stood there motionlessly with his eyes closed and concentrated to feel her cerebral vibrations, while hoping to sense her spiritual aura.

Then, once feeling the connection, he opened his eyes and looked over at her. With her hair pulled back and up, she looked like a teacher and he could imagine her, when she was younger, looking like a student, who wanted to be a teacher. Able to judge her story by her cover, he could read her like a book. Seeing her in her wool sweater, cotton shirt beneath, and corduroy slacks, she made him feel comfortable and, as if he knew her already, he had the urge to hug her, before kissing her, and telling her that he loved her.

Walking closer to her, she looked the type that would have a cat and he couldn't help but think of the song by Keith Urban, Nicole Kidman's husband, You'll Think of Me, when he wrote and sung, "And take your cat and leave my sweater..."

It was then that he could see himself with her. Nearing closer and upon closer examination of her sweater, she was littered with cat hair and he just knew she was the one. Without a doubt, he just knew her name was Susan. It had to be Susan. He didn't know why, but he could just tell that her name was Susan.

Feeling that he already knew her, feeling that they'd connect, if they met and talked, he tried to imagine what her name was. For sure, he figured her name was something soft, like her. Definitely, it was an easy name to utter, when they were naked in bed making love and in the throes of hot sex with her bouncing on top of him and her tits bouncing up and down and side to side. Then, when he mounted her and pounded her head into the headboard and her body into the mattress, while fucking her, before making love to her, she just had to be his Susan. Feeling as if he already experienced having sex with her, wow, he thought, she's so hot. She's the one, his one and only Valentine.

Definitely, her name had to be a one or two syllable name. Anne? No. Flora? No. Helen? No. Mary? No. Ruth? No. To dare that it was Susan was just asking for too much and asking for a miracle, but without doubt if anyone looked like a Susan, she looked like a Susan. Besides, based solely on his psychic ability, he could not describe what a Susan looked like, but he felt he'd know her, when he saw his Susan.

Then, he felt it, an overwhelming sensation. Yeah, definitely, her name is Susan. Short and sweet, two syllables, and one, when calling her Sue. For sure, she looked like a Susan to him. Susan fit her. Without doubt, her name had to be Susan.

"Oh, Susan. Finally, I found you. I've been looking all over for you," he mumbled to himself under his breath.

Pretending to read a book in the rack, he stood and stared at her from a close distance, while he imagined himself talking to her.

"How are you today, Susan? You look nice, Susan. I like your hair that way, Susan. That's such a pretty sweater, Susan. What are you reading, Susan? I love you, Susan. Blow me, Susan."

He had nothing to lose. What the Hell? It was Valentine's Day, after all, and he was lonely. He needed to have someone in his life, someone named Susan, and he wasn't about to pass up this opportunity that she could be the one. He took the plunge and walked to where she was sitting.

"Hi," he said approaching her. She was reading a romance novel, a good sign. She was ripe for love and romance and what better day to experience that than on Valentine's Day. "Happy Valentine's Day," he said with a smile, when she didn't acknowledge his hello.

Tearing herself from her page, her head moved first, and then her eyes followed, as if he had just pulled her from her deep thoughts. She looked up at him with curiosity.

"Hi," she said with a wrinkled brow and half a smile. "Happy Valentine's Day."

"I'm John," he said extending his hand.

"Hi, John," she said shaking it with a shy smile and a bit of wonder on her face. "Do I know you?"

As soon as her hand touched his, he imagined holding hands with her, as they walked, while talking. He imagined her hand stroking the side of his face, before they kissed. Her hand was warm and soft and, standing behind him, he imagined her hands in his pant pockets fondling his cock, as she stood spooning him by the duck pond.

"No, sorry," he said. "I just saw you sitting there reading and you looked like someone that I'd like to know."

"Wow," she said with a blush. "I've heard lines before, but not like that, never like that. I like that one. You got me with hello," she said with a smile and closing her book of fiction to, no doubt, experience her reality.

"What's your name?"

He waited with bated breath, certain that she'd say Susan.

"Alexandria," she said with a self-satisfied smile.

Alexandria? Are you kidding me? No way. He could have sworn her name was Susan. His psychic connection with the spirits is off a bit today. It must be these high ceilings, oversized windows, and old plaster walls that they have in the public library interfering with his interstellar reception. He should have worn his tinfoil hat to block the gamma radiation rays but, having worn it out in public before, he'd look foolish. Apparently, today was a day that the sun had a lot of solar sunspot activity. Maybe that's why he thought her name was Susan. Only to be so far off with her name was impossible.

In the way she smiled, when she said her name, he could tell she liked her name ghastly name, Alexandria. Only her name would never do for him. Too much of a mouthful to say, especially when angry or horny, it had 5 syllables. He could always call her Al or Alex. That would work, but not the same, that wasn't Susan, that's for sure.

"Just curious," he persevered. "What's your middle name?"

"Susan."

Her middle name is Susan. Of course. Was it any wonder? He just knew it. With his psychic ability safely intact, he felt better that they'd have a connection.

"No way," he said beaming a smile and encouraged that they were fated to be a couple...and forever hold your peace.

"Why?" She laughed.

She had a pleasant laugh, a musical laugh and he really liked her laugh, that is, until she snorted. Eww. Nonetheless, he suddenly imagined her laughing with glee, when he imagined asking her to blow him. Blow me, A. Susan. Yes, of course, that's what he'll call her, A. Susan. He really like that name, nearly as much as plain Susan, and much better than Alexandria.

Except for the snort, maybe because she had an easy laugh, maybe because her name was A. Susan, maybe because she liked sweaters, looked like a teacher, and had a cat, immediately, he liked her.

"I just had a feeling your name would be Susan. I just knew it would be."

"But it's not Susan," she said with an uncomfortable laugh. "My name is Alexandria," she said with a little laugh and this time without the snort. "My middle name is Susan."

"I know," he said. "I understand that. I do."

"That's so weird that you thought my name was Susan," she said looking at him with a curious look, as if he was wearing his tinfoil hat. "Why would you think my name was Susan?"

"Why? I'm a little bit psychic and you looked like a Susan to me. You don't mind if I call you A. Susan, do you?"

"Actually, I do mind you calling me A. Susan. I don't particularly like that name. My name is Alexandria, a name that I really like" she said with a laugh. "It's funny though, my Mom wanted to name me Susan, but the reason why she didn't name me Susan and the reason why she gave me Susan as a middle name was because her name is Susan. I'm glad she didn't name me Susan because I really like the name she gave me instead, Alexandria," she said smiling a proud smile.

"Really? No kidding. That's all so interesting," he said already bored and done with her, only half listening to her. "So, your Mom's name is Susan?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Just curious, what does your Mom look like?"

"Oh, I'm the black sheep in the family. I look nothing like my Mom. I look more like my Dad. My Mom is beautiful. I wished I looked more like my Mom. She looks a bit like Susan Lucci."

"Susan Lucci? No way! Really? I just love Susan Lucci."

"Yeah, she and my Mom could be twins. Only my mother is younger, better looking, and has bigger breasts," she said with a sexy laugh.

"Wow. No kidding. She sounds perfect."

"I think she is. I love my mother."

"So, tell me, is you Mom still with your Dad? I mean, is your Dad still alive?"

"Yeah, my Dad's alive," she said with a curious look. "They're divorced. Why?"

"Let me ask you this then. Do you think your mother would like me?"

"Like you? My Mom? Yeah, I'm sure she would. You're kind of cute," she said with a blush and a smile.

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bySuperHeroRalph© 2 comments/ 6789 views/ 2 favorites

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