A Story About Her Master's Mustache
It might've been his husky voice
Or perhaps his black mustache
The way he sauntered to the bar
His mien urbane and brash
She spied him through her empty glass
He felt her probing eyes
So smooth he was, exuding class
A master of disguise
He ordered scotch, and made it two
Sauntered over, made a quip
She smiled the way that women do
Her guard began to slip
He said "I'm here from out of town
"And I sense that you are, too"
"I know that you won't let me down"
She said, "What must I do?"
"I'm lookin' for a place to hide"
Was it just a ploy? she thought
"You trying to take me for ride?"
"Why, no, my dear. It's not a plot."
He downed his drink; held out his hand
She felt her soul detaching
Together did they slowly stand
Each movement subtly matching
He led her through the saloon doors
He touched her waist to guide her
Then helped her up onto his horse
She found it hard to hide her--
Lust, as this was just the guy
Whose visage she had fantasized
Perhaps he was a British spy
Her theory, though, she realized--
Did not hold up to scrutiny
His body was pressed close to hers
He held her most unsuitingly
So magical, his lures
Their shadows lengthened on the ground
The sun was low, but still they rode
Until at last a hut they found
An old but safe abode
Inside the thick adobe walls
They suddenly got very shy,
Scared by close coyote calls
Did something brush against her thigh?
She gasped at the bedsheets' cool caress
He sighed as she gasped. He craved
For her to shed her dress
(And hoped to God she'd shaved)
"What is it you would have me do?"
She whispered to him, sensually
"I would do anything for you"
He smiled and knew potentially--
She'd sink or soar, most willingly
So with his hands, he beckoned her
To leave the room; unerringly--
She turned and said, "I reckon, Sir,"
"That you prefer I not depart"
"Why, truly you're a shifty player"
"And you," she said, "must know the art--
To please a gal and lay her?"
He smiled wryly, took her hand
And pulled her body close to his
And in that timeless no-man's-land
She yielded gently to his kiss
It was heaven, it was hell
It felt so wrong, it felt so right
Both knew that when they rose, they fell
Their passion raged like day and night
Day after day, night after night
They yielded to hypnotic passions
Right was wrong and wrong so right
Their love was not on rations
So rapt were they, they never heard
The railroad tracks had been rerouted
You'll surely guess what then occurred
(If not, The Bristol Star tells all about it)
Their dance of love had been derailed;
(As doubtless you have read by now)
Their dreams and hopes had sadly failed
(These stories end that way, somehow)
| Contributors: | Nym, Francine, Kansas Sam, Franicne, Anon., Dassn't Say, td, Neil, Francione, F, N, Beefy, tonedeaf. |
| Poem finished: | 31st July 2003. |