Johnny Diamond is a Solitary Man

"But only if you want to," I said. I wasn't pushing it on her; I just thought it might help occupy some of her days.

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Belinda's New Jobs

About a month later, I returned home one evening to my living room cluttered with open boxes. She was standing in the middle of them, dressed just in some sexy lingerie. Something she called a 'teddy.' It had leg holes and was pulled up to cover her torso and crotch. It was sexy hot, and nearly transparent, accentuating her curvy parts and boobs. It boosted her sex appeal -- by a whole damn lot! Especially in those Lulu high heels, she liked.

I was all smiles thinking it was for me. But quickly, that turned into a frown when I learned she had taken on a part-time job selling lingerie at home parties -- like Tupperware stuff, she explained.

Inquisitively, I asked, "What the hell were you thinking, sugar girl?"

"It was your idea to get a part-time job!" she retorted testily.

"Yeah... it was, sweetheart," I replied, swallowing hard, knowing I'd lost another spat. It was adding one more to our increasing count.

She proceeded to tell me she'd been to training on how to model and sell the garments at private parties. Her afternoons were now spent with homemakers at dress-up parties. Each one was looking to add some spice to their love life.

"A bunch of horny ladies, drinking who knows what, and sitting around in teddies or some other stuff," I figured.

That clientele based job grew into some modeling eventually. From my viewpoint, the idea of her parading around in front of a bunch of people on a fashion-show runway was a point of contention.

"It's no different walking down a runway on a lingerie modeling job than selling lingerie in homes," she retorted.

"Yeah, it is!" I wanted to shout but just shrugged in exasperation. I thought nobody was taking your nearly-naked picture in somebody's home and posting it on some damn blog. That was a big difference.

Then her sales spread to evenings since her modeling became more of a day job. She seemed happier than before, so I let it go.

I often sat home watching television game shows until she came home around midnight. Sometimes, she was too tired to get it on, she declared and went straight to bed. I watched more of those bowling shows on late-night television, sitting in the middle of lingerie boxes -- and got it on by myself.

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Pissing Away My Chances

I came home late one Saturday evening in June of 1969. Maybe 'higher than a kite,' I imagined Belinda would say. But I was ready for that. My answer would be, "I got the biggest sale of the year, babe!" I had planned to spring that announcement on her as I walked in. I figured she would be happy knowing she could stop her part-time job since, now, I could finally spend more time at home.

Alcohol slows your brain down, don't you know? It took me weaving through the apartment, calling "Belinda, honey?" before I realized she wasn't there. Another five minutes to discover something else was out of the norm. Her boxes of lingerie were not there either. It wasn't until I went to let out a quart or two of processed beer that I saw our closet looked nearly bare. I stood at the toilet for several long minutes, watching my golden stream going down the drain.

Yeah, I'd pissed my chances away; I learned too late.

Belinda, however, did leave me a note. She stuck it between the rooster and hen, salt-and-pepper shakers on the dinette table. It read, "Sorry, I didn't have time to wait and tell you personally. I found a man who has time for me... and stays home!"

That night, my favorite television channel had a Neil Diamond special. Wouldn't you know what damn song he sang to start it off? Yes, you got that right, 'Solitary Man.' I watched the show with a bottle in each hand, getting two-fisted drunk as a skunk for the entire weekend.

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Rebounding with Red

There was a touch of irony in the breakup with Belinda. By the following weekend, I was two sheets to the wind in a bar around the corner when the damn jukebox started playing. A woman in red tights and rust-colored hair dropped in a quarter, and Diamond's 'Solitary Man' lingo kicked out. To make matters worse, Red sauntered over to the barstool beside me.

"Mind if I sit?"

"It's a public bar, lady," I huffed.

"I can move if you need your space," she said quietly. She sensed I was pissed.

"No. Okay. Sorry. It's just that damn song again," I sighed. "It follows me everywhere I seem to go... Like a Pharaoh's curse, you know?"

To make up for my sourness, I bought her a drink. Then maybe two -- or three more. Alcohol led to talk, which led me to recount my loss of Belinda like Diamond's song. I lost count of drinks after that. But I woke up Sunday morning in bed with my face nestled between a true redhead's rusty-colored crotch.

Red was propped up by two pillows and was stroking my long bushy hair. Her fiery-red fingernails gently scrolled up and down my rough, two-day-old-six-o'clock shadow. Craning my neck upward, I saw two pert rose-tipped nipples jutting over her tummy. Man, what jugs she had. As my vision went from blurry to focused, I noticed she was also quite pretty. My mind flashed back to an old Army saying, 'The closer it gets to closing time in a bar, the more appealing women begin to look.' Red was cute and not the last one left in the bar at closing. I had lucked out.

Damn the luck. Later, after a few awkward moments, I found out her name was Sue!

Yeah, me and Sue. The irony, right?

We got married in a fever, a Johnny Cash kind of fever. I wasn't letting my past mistake of not loving the one you're with and spending time at home get the better of me... as it did with Belinda.

That's what I thought, anyway. Sue, though, bless her heart, wasn't accustomed to settling down. She was a process server, it turns out, and spent a good deal of time at night delivering papers, so, she said. Being married didn't hinder her goings and comings or settle her down. It didn't take long to find out she wasn't accustomed to staying with just one man either.

She liked lots of guys, sometimes more than two at a time. I found out she regularly 'processed' several guys at a nearby seedy motel.

Finding that out... nearly killed me. The 'irreconcilable differences' divorce was quick, just like the death of my love for Sue too. Maybe I should have listened to Neil Diamond's 'Solitary Man' a bit closer from the beginning. But I didn't. It took the second flop in my life to hear that second verse and get it.

"I am done with marrying women!" I announced. I thought I'd swear off love until I was sure I'd get it right. I made that declaration at the bar, buying rounds for everyone, after celebrating my divorcing Sue -- I still hadn't gotten it right.

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Caught Up in a Déjà vu Moment

Life, with time, marches onward. It marched ahead some thirty years. Sometimes, you pick up the pieces and move with them. At other times, you get entombed in the past and remain there forever like an ancient pharaoh. Today is another day. Again, today I walk a bit slower with age toward my dreaded ride inside that forever-in-need-of-repair elevator. I'll broil like the single steak among the groceries I carry before I escape its confines.

I narrowly avoided a collision with an elderly geezer by abruptly slowing my pace toward the elevator. He came out of nowhere, shuffling between cars from a handicapped parking spot. Hell, it wouldn't be polite to say, "Excuse me, sir!" and ask him to step aside as I hurried out of the heat. Good manners had me falling in line and adjusting my pace. He looked like Al Lewis, who played the grandpa in theMunster's television show.

"Sorry about that!" stammered an apologetic voice from behind me. "Lately, my Jimmy just steps out without looking."

Her lilting voice sounded so out of kilter with the mood that I smiled, reminding myself -- "I am not the center of the universe!"

I sighed, saying, "It's okay, we're all going the same way... No great rush."

Figuring it was his caretaker, I didn't bother to glance backward at the source of that young-sounding melodious voice, just being mindful not to trip over her geezer. His shuffling pace looked like he was going to keel over at any moment. He was damn slow, and it was aggravating in this heat.

"Got our keys, Sue, sweetie?"

"Yes, James. Just keep going!" Susanne called out encouragingly as his pace slowed.

As ancient dromedaries in bygone times, we plodded along one by one, stepping into the oven-like elevator in need of further repairs. The senior was first; I was nearly pinned to his rear, and turning around, we both faced the front.

My eyes finally met Sue as she glided inside.

"I'll be damned!" my words breathlessly cascaded out.

Jammed into that elevator, we were a tight fit. Sue's breasts pressed into my chest. Close enough that her nipples deflected against me. We were practically nose to nose. I could smell the distinct allure of one of Byredo's avant-garde perfume collections. I think it was one of Belinda's favorites, too -- Mojave Ghost.

Crazy nuts, if time didn't halt as my universe stopped spinning. Like an entranced sloth, I shifted sideways, making room for yet another Sue that had just come into my life.

This Sue was a goddess, blessed with high cheekbones, sparkling emerald eyes, and long strawberry-red hair. She had a gorgeous body that would snap anyone's neck as they twisted to gaze at her passing.

I grinned as our chests made contact. I think she pressed a bit harder for a moment. I could feel those firm nipples mashed against her California-style, sheer-lace blouse with its button-up, hippie Boho style. She wasn't wearing a bra -- I guess that's why her blouse was semi-nude, so you could see she wasn't wearing one! The translucence of her top sure didn't hide the sight of those rose-colored nipples poking out so prominently. She had my putting iron stirring, even though I don't play golf.

Smiling back in amusement, she read my thoughts... my wicked ones.

With a mischievous grin, Sue turned to face the front. As the door closed, the elevator began to sizzle like the sound of steaks beneath a broiler. I felt the heat rising, though mostly in my boxers, as six inches of firm, warm cock began to stretch and tent my pants.

"Floor?" she giggled as she wiggled, backed slightly, and bumped into me.

"Twelfth, sweetie!" the old codger called out.

"I know, darling. I'm asking...."

As if that was my cue, I chimed in, "I'm Johnny--twelfth also, sweetie."

I know, it's cheeky, but I couldn't help it. Times and actions like these have you speaking with the head in your pants rather than the more-salt-than-pepper one fixed between your shoulders.

Usually, going from the garage level up to the twelfth floor seems to last for an eternity as the elevator groans and moans on its way up that ancient shaft. But right now, it's barely enough time to ogle the embodiment of a perfectly-photoshopped woman. Sue's magnificent posture accentuates her near-naked body.

My eyes flowed across her symmetrical clavicle bone. They tarried there, transfixed. Her clavicle reminded me of butterfly wings -- so graceful and curved. The intimacy of being so close afforded me a nice view of the shadowed hollows that delightfully played beneath Sue's sheer blouse. I sighed as her perfume wafted, and her visual delight caught my attention. She is absolutely... sex in a bottle -- just like -- Mojave Ghost.

But then I caught sight of her nicely-shaped behind. It captured my imagination for a few moments more. Those twin orbs shifted up by those high heels --the ones from Lulu's, those light nude lace-up heels. They matched the color of that tight-fitting micro-skirt acting more like a Band-Aid than a skirt. They were held up by bronzed legs spread just far enough apart to maintain balance. They looked like... two Popsicle sticks holding up twin bubbles, ones I'd love to savor and delve into with delight.

Maybe, I mused, she's a magical twenty-nine-year-old woman--a birthday year where women purposefully stop aging. In nineteen-sixty-nine, it was about her age that my life fell apart and went adrift, sinking into a rabbit's hole. That year I lost my love, very much like Jim's Sue. Except mine was more Marilyn Monroe-ish and named Belinda.

The ancient conveyance creaked with a momentary lurch and then continued. Yet, it was enough to cause Sue to drop her keys. I watched as her micro-skirt rose atop those perfectly-canted hips. I realized right then that micro-skirts aren't meant for bending over. And indeed, her mother never taught her how to bend at the knee, either. My heart raced a bit.

"Aha, yes, that is a -- crimson-red thong -- between her ass crack!"

I silently acknowledged, watching as she bent over. A red ring of sheer fabric circled her narrow waist, and a small red strip of cloth attached to it started at the lower lumbar and disappeared between those perfectly symmetrical cheeks.

"Lord, help me," I groaned like the elevator while tugging at my tie. I needed to breathe.

"Twelfth floor," Sue announced, gliding into the hallway like a heat-induced mirage.

Smiling, the geezer exited and shuffled past me.

"Granddaughter?" I stammered, barely getting the word out, as the old-timer slid by me.

"Nope," he smirked and strode away, leaving my confused brain with hundreds of unasked questions.

My jaw dropped as reality gobsmacked my mouth. I'd been left holding my bag of groceries standing in the hallway as I realized what was happening. As I stood there watching them, I must have looked like the "Solitary Man" in that Neil Diamond song.

Reaching their door, Jim playfully slid his hand under her nude-colored micro-skirt. I watched as she turned in response and smiled at me. With her impish approval, Sue let me watch his erotic gesture. He squeezed her bottom. Slowly, Sue smiled and turned the key as her ancient sugar daddy looked my way.

Sue laughed aloud and said, "We should all start to live before we get too old."

The oldster grinned too and said,"Johnny boy, the red one is my favorite!"

They stepped inside like entering an elevator door, and... I felt a déjà vu moment.

"Wait a minute! Did that old geezer just win the lottery?"

"Damn straight... he did."

I realized, albeit late, that Belinda and I could have been like the old geezer and his Sue. Belinda could have been my winning lottery ticket back in '69. All I had to do was spend more time at home. I hadn't, and so Belinda found her winning ticket in a guy named Romeo. It turns out Romeo also marketed lingerie while working from home!

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I appreciate your time in reading my allegorical tale! Please, rate this for me and leave me a comment on your thoughts about my story. Thank you.

Dmallord.

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