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Old May 17th, 2008, 01:23 PM
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[Fragment] A-Tension

Below is a fragment of a germ of an idea I've posted about in Muscle Growth Fantasies. This sample/drabble is very stream of consciousness and needs the water of reviews and feedbacks and ideas to properly grow. Right now it is mostly set up and mental as to muscle and physical. For some idea of what I'm going for? Teorema meets, I suppose, the Barber or other such stories about diverse types of beauty and personas. Mainly the sexy and body and mind altering stranger is a drifting unlocking and reshaping people's lives in a modern urban area to thematic purpose.

The strangely still as loud but somehow softer sound of the car coming to a stop pulled at his attention, away from his view of a jaggedly broken plastic seat across from him. The company man got up adjusted his glasses and then made it an inch right into three someones? backs. He was even being sandwiched within the crowd that had formed in the space between his seat and the door not far away.

?I can?t believe, the reports, on the DOW. . .?

?He?s going to come back and then what. . .?

?Butter, rice, noodle- I mean wheat noodles, calm down, can?t this. . .?

?Lettuce, lettuce, lettuce,?

?We?ll record in an hour. Its five-fifty, now, check the door, buzzer broken.?

That reminded Tracy about his own doorbell, just as the subtle but audible over the din sound of a broken electronic bell signaled the rrrrrrunhst of the sliding doors opening and the pouring out of people. The car ahead had already let out. Two middle-aged women with a pull-along, lots of men in long-coats with dark bags or cases, formerly sweaty but now just damp with an odor people in white shirts with. . .-Tracy peered - and some light tomato-colored lettering. Then he got shoved off-course out from the platform not able to see the exits behind a pillar but hear the rush and the sound of hollow clunking. The office worker failing at a life-time of attempted self-discipline turned his head to the source before feeling his shoulder compressed into a stone surface. He pulled up the crumbled brown bag then turned to press his back onto the pillar before reaching in with a hand and slumping down cross-legged on the stone floor garnering an errant look of pity. A young tall slim man with a light shade of yellow and soft dark hair looked down to him cheeks pulling back with wrinkle or fold. It made Tracy think of himself, though the man was much taller, and further in shape than his own self when he was twenty nor was Tracy Hispanic, though he couldn?t be sure if the man was that or eastern European, middle-eastern, or just maybe part asian. The short-suit jacket and pants, dark black, and bright clean white shirt, with black tie and the inclined to level jaw in contrast to his glasses was the thing that drew comparison. A better me, the elder man supposed, or maybe it was just that smudge in the glare of a reflection off of his parallel square lens even got the right frame. Not the round ?sexy-specs,? or the thinner ?invisible? frames that seemed to keep vanishing from people?s recollection of a face, hiding different abilities with forgettable-ness. Something about that made them alike, unlike the source of commotion, some young-old, so hard to tell for him with some black men, guy who looked like off of a mountaineering ad all in well-worn brown heavy clothes with ladles and pots affixed to him with a bilious duffle strapped diagonal over but hunched atop his shoulder. It was a far less curious sight than the amount of distraction it had caused Tracy. There was a couple with metal in their faced and lacquer-like black on their lips holding plastic bags, one of which had to be baby formula coming off the train after his replica. Two guys in undershirts that seemed more like white-cloth suspenders and short cutoff jeans. Even a three beautiful women who were talking to each other. Not to mention Madge, the recently unemployed sixty-plus year-old restaurant owner with her bell-like figure and grey hair in a honey-bun braid.

But he still didn?t forget.

After the crowd thinned he got up and looked around, some guy with a lawn face and army surplus jacket smoking hand rolled cigarettes and other stragglers he didn?t see anyone. He lumbered slightly, his legs asleep before circulation came back after shuffling off the top of the escalator.

He made it past the exit and managed to go from sick gray-blue on plastic and concrete, to pale white on garbage and concrete. He looked up at the Verners Building and then past it. Couldn?t see the sun past the hazey sky.

?I?m walking home today.?

And he did. He didn?t flag a cab or wait and call Shelley for pick-up. He just walked. He hadn?t done that in awhile. Observing the city, his neighborhood, on the way to his apartment building. The sounds more assurance to where he was than the sights, which always seemed to have more light bending around and up underneath them. The birds, arches, gargoyles, wires, people?s faces, a ball being tossed up and then caught seemed being lit just a little from behind and underneath. He was particularly fascinated by a blue handball rising up and down into palm of some slim man with a visor. Cthuk. He liked its sound. The look of it, the motion and activity.


He noticed from the green frames he was in front of the locksmith and key store. Someone had just walked out in a beige and black coat holding some keys on a long chain connected to somewhere under the folds..

Go in and get some. He hadn?t planned of it. He didn?t * need * it but it seemed just perfectly harmless and reasonable action.

He went to the door and caught it, just as it would close, looked to the man as he walked to his car at the side of the street and then across the street at the streamers and flowers, it immediately made him think of a funeral though inside it seemed a family in traditional Indian garb was celebrating something and a girl was before something and.

He walked in and soon he couldn?t be quite seen on the street much like the party thanks to the glare as it peeled over the glass, elbows on the counter. He looked gregarious with the man a balding white-haired wrinkled and veiny fellow with an exposed pate. He looked down on Tracy. As if offended by some slight. Then walked he walked away and back. Tracy just kept talking, smiling, leaning on the counter. The man cocked his head and arched an eye-brow. Too much glare.

Forty minutes later Tracy left and waved at the man who now had red on his upper cheeks and nose. His pepper-haired mouth was hard to see but the greater width of his face made one hope he was smiling.

?I?ll come by more often, Bern, I should be building a circle of people around town.?

?Sure, Trace, I mean, okay, if I see you, but you better know how to talk about MY job more.?

?Hahaha, well, maybe.?

Tracy was cheerful and whistling. A young couple passed him noting him and then talking amongst them selves. A thirty-something woman looked down on him from his window and blushed. He was at his apartment. He pulled out keys from a custodian?s yoyo clipped over his back left pocket and then opened the door. He checked the buzzers and hit them to his apartment, then laughed recalling the problem. He checked his mail. Not there, Shelley was home.

He made it to the elevator and then off stepped Rachel Long, browned haired neighbor with wide smile and thin teeth. She was heading out, he could smell intent in her fragrance, though seemed to be in a maroon pantsuit with a scooped-neck aqua shirt. Her figure seemed heavy, she was overweight, but as her breast hung over and her thighs turned out and around it looked good on her. He inhaled her scent and then walked past her pulling up his hand behind him to turn and then wave at her.

?See you around, Rachel.?

The divorced ex-dotcommer looked at the old man from the same floor and seemed dumbstruck, then blushed. She decided to really put in some effort to have fun tonight. She and her friends were headed to the kabob-bar and grill for food, then a sports bar for fun. It was strictly meant to be a get together, but for some reason now it had to be more. A party-night, maybe even some late-night riding. Yes.

It was at 425 that Tracy Arnold rapt a knocker and then waited. His wife of twenty-five years opened it. Her face drawn tight, and eyes hard staring at him. He smiled and spoke, ?Honey, I am home now. I hope you?re happy.?

She caught her words in her throat, then ran her tongue up the roof of her mouth. She got out, ?It?s nine,? and didn?t move, even arched and stuck her ground, for some reason though her brow furrowed. That confused her. She tried to convey more anger to her husband. He was ahead of her.

?Shelley, I had this strange day. It was normal, but the light was climbing up off the ground, and I saw this black guy.?

She turned her head, ?Saw this black guy,? her tone lost that rumble of anger.

?Yes, he had his head shaved, I mean not down to bare, you could see spots. On his head, where his hair was growing. He was pretty fat, his neck folded up onto itself, but his cheeks were smooth. But also strong, strangely enough ? that?s how he looked. Its weird almost like a woman but for the trim goatee.?

?A woman?with a goatee? though she knew this was a strange tangent she had to admit her mind was occupied trying to think of this person, what he looked like especially how he could arrest her husband?s attention.

?Well not actually, just, its strange, because he was so large, I mean maybe six feet, but he had this ? ah, nevermind. Anyway I got distracted and ran into a pillar, ate my leftover sandwich,? he closed in then stood up on his toes and pecked his wife on the cheek, ?Thank you for that honey, it was delicious and filled with your consideration.?

Shelley was at a loss, her husband, her tardy husband was inside the apartment now. She hadn?t planned on this. Though now she was trying to recall exactly what she planned.

?I decided I should walk home. On the way I saw a party, people walking, and talked to that locksmith, Bernard Sanders. He helped us out three times, you know. I didn?t even know his name, but without him ha ha.?

Shelley was blushing, okay her husband hadn?t done anything wrong. And to be fair it wasn?t that late and she had been planning to surprise him with the dinner. It was strange though, he wasn?t complaining and asking about the lights. And she was just backing away as he held her wrists. It was kind of romantic, but not familiar, not normal for her or him. His talkativeness or engaging contact or noticing anything not on sheets or paper. She had a panicked thought but waited, kept it repressed as he led her back past the opening to the kitchen and then, hand on her hip, to the side between the wall and sofa and then twirled her about with one hand.

He wasn?t that strong, she?d started to do this strange dance with him. He stepped, side to side and then back and forth. A strange rhythm he knew. And then plomp, she was on the couch. And he lifted off his suit jacket and then his shirt and then the undershirt. His plump hirsute form had never seemed sexier to her eyes. He was soon leaning over and kissing through her frock to her tummy, and then up her side and then to neck and BIT.

That was * very * different. It hurt, it hurt like hell and she even felt the wet sickly dripping sensation, but couldn?t see or touch herself as his hand were at her elbows and mouth smothering hers, sucking out the air. His lower body undulated and bucked to her knees and thighs and then against her. He pulled away with a nibble at her lower lips. He held her wrists to her knees now leaning on them, holding her with his weight. His nostrils flaring, she had to giggle, as he looked to the side and saw her romantic Italian dinner set-up with their best plates and then. His face lit up.

Shelley turned to look at what he was looking at. It made no sense but felt right. The candles were whole, lit and filling the room with firelight that played like hands over her husband?s face. He walked over, and picked up a fork at his setting and at some lasagna. Steam came out. Shelley laid back to watch this as if somehow ticklish joy and inebriation had snuck up on her. She pulled the hem of her frock back and then down off the sides and tickled at her knees. He ate her dinner and it looked as if it were fresh as when delivered? no fancier and? no that can?t be right.

Shelley woke up the night more with a smile and then looked at her husband. She glanced at the clock and her eyes registered how early she was. He slung her legs over the bed into her fuzzy dice slippers, a memento of a trip to Vegas, then walked to the bathroom. In the mirror she could glance at the lower body of the sexy beast beneath the covers. She pulled out a tooth brush squeezed on some paste and then brought it to her teeth.

The night had been wonderful, but?something was wrong. Her husband was different. He had insisted he wasn?t fired. So that left an affair to her conclusion but as they had been copulating at the time she didn?t feel she should bring it up as her head was pressed down into her pillow and he thrusted with strength but somehow?ease, practice. He held and pressed her, not caressed and embraced her, not until.. well after. He played with the ends of her breasts once he had spilled but she hadn?t felt release until he?d taken her neck.

Looking in the mirror she saw the slightest hint of a bruise. Barely even gossip worthy in grade-school. And that was on the side most recently bit. So she hadn?t bled, even if she?d felt like something had spilled down her neck and sternum.

What mainly surprised her was his energy and feircness. He wasn?t completely?in-empathic but last night it was like she?d been with a stranger. She was in fact trying to recall if she?d ever agreed to anything. Or said anything that could upset him or make demands or anything. So she?d effectively?laid back and let some stranger who sort of looked like her husband have her, take her and

He hand was at her crotch, she pulled it back.
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