Words : Gardening

"My adaptation to the Southern California lifestyle has been relatively easy, but not without a few bumps and scrapes.  I was able to find work as a trench digger for a plumber, but had to quit because there were too many rules.  For instance, did you know that it is considered unacceptable to fraternize with the home-for-winter-break daughter of the homeowner while she sunbathes poolside, take her for a drive up the coast in her father’s 1997 911 Porsche Turbo, and then empty the liquor cabinet of the 18-year-old Scotch?   That is, unless you’re recognized by the Lord or Lady of the Manor as the valet attendant from the restaurant they frequent with their “Business Associate”.

Another thing I’ve learned in my short time here is that you can tell a lot about a woman by the way she tends her garden.  Back home, there wasn’t much variety, and topiary designs were saved for special occasions.  Here the grooming is used as a form of self-expression, and it also speaks volumes of their emotional and mental state.  I have collected much data and am able to spot a prickly patch of bramble from a hundred paces and thus take the necessary precautionary and evasive measures.  This is not to say that I prefer “Huntington Gardens” over “Washington Square Park,” I just want to be properly outfitted as I head out on safari.

Speaking of which, the other evening I was invited to the most interesting soiree…

The invitation said “Black Tie” so I thought I was going to have to regretfully decline.  Lucky for me, I found an old tuxedo at a thrift store.  It was a little threadbare and the pants were too long, but it wasn’t half bad. I darkened the worn spots with some shoe polish and hemmed the pants, and hoped the lighting would be dim.  As for shoes, I tried to play it cool with some well-worn Jack Purcell’s.

“Nice shoes” was the first thing anybody said to me after 20 minutes of milling about the grounds trying to look as if I’d actually been invited to the event.  I think it was the blonde from Gossip Girl walking in the direction of the pool while trying to remove her dress.  The “estate” was tremendous in size and the grounds were impeccably groomed, but it seemed to lack heart.  It made me miss the old homestead, but the pool full of nude women snapped me out of my brief melancholy mood.

I plowed through six Jack Daniels before they called us to dinner.  I was seated between a lovely woman and an unmemorable gent.  The woman had lovely, dark eyes, jet-black hair, and a décolleté dress.

It took me five minutes and another Jack Daniels to place her familiar face…1999, Kentucky Derby, Millionaire’s Row…Charismatic won, the crowd climaxed with us.  She was the great granddaughter of the King of some now nonexistent eastern-block country.  We chatted and poked at the overcooked chicken and broccoli.  Dinner was a blur and before we knew it, we were being ushered to our theatre seats.

“Thank you all for coming. Tonight we are featuring the 1978 erotic classic Debbie Does Dallas, starring Bambi Woods.  The film has been painstakingly restored using cutting-edge, digital technology.  You will witness a picture of unmatched depth and clarity.  We’re excited to preview this new technology and will be open to answering any of your questions after the film.  Please enjoy.”

I looked over at my companion.  She smiled and grabbed my crotch.

It had been a long time since I had seen the movie and the “restored” version now looked as if it had been shot on an iPhone using some sort of retro filter.  It was arty and the picture was truly clear, but that much clarity is simply unnecessary for porn of any vintage.  Three important observations I made while watching the film: People in black-tie attire squirm around a lot while watching porn, people were a lot hairier in the seventies than they are now, and the actors cuddled after climax.   I wondered if we’d ever return to those sweet and innocent times.

I felt another tug at my pants, but this time it was coming from the side opposite my companion.  My leggy, blonde friend from earlier was playing tongue hockey with the unmemorable gent while groping in my general direction.  As flattered as I was, I declined the invitation and led my dinner companion out of the bowels of the castle and down the path to my waiting Schwinn. 

“I have a car waiting for me if you’d prefer,” she said.

“Nah, I’d rather get some fresh air.”

She climbed on the handlebars and we rode quietly to her home, the smell of night-blooming jasmine floating heavy in the balmy night air.  I walked her to the front door anticipating a peck on the cheek at most, but in a matter of minutes I was being worked like a rented mule. 

In the morning, I was awakened by the sound of songbirds and the smell of strong coffee.  She made brie, ham, and marmalade sandwiches that we ate a small table in her well-tended garden.

 

I get a bit home sick now and again, but I’ve found that the best way to get over one life is to find another…much like with women."