Jimmy Jamison would dance on the tops of tables at many a social gathering. The movement of his body appealed to most women, but it brought about hate in a greater number of men. No matter, the young man would always ready himself with fresh step. He had enough ability to switch from the Latin line dance to the Irish Jig in a matter of seconds.
There are two kinds of people in the world: those dance and those who shake and nod without a rhythmic clue. The latter keep a critical eye. And so, just as Jimmy was king of the dance floor, he was also known as the guy who might steal your long-time lover.
It would be safe to assume the driver was traveling at some top speed when he slammed foot to brake.
I stood still. In the distance, I could hear the squeal of rubber tires on pavemnent. In the moment to follow, I made an effort to listen for a bang. I let my ears do the work. Anticipation of this kind had me wondering whether I be a man of faith or the prophet of doom.
It was more than a moment; it was time without a recognizable end. No sound. The outer happenings of world were empty—silent in suspense.
He thought of Jordan Shamshack, a girl who would flirt with him, but no more. He pleasured himself to her image and to her essence. He went at himself in long strokes. This time he pictured her nude, riding atop a black stallion, wearing only the kind of shoes that lace around the ankle. She had long brown hair with streaks of blond that tailed to her backside. Her eyes were exotic under those lashes and she swiveled at the hips, like a serpentine river, with all the origins of the Amazon. She had such soft skin with freckles on her cute little button nose. Not only that but Jordan Shamshack had very kissable lips.
She never got a diploma, but she could always use her supernatural common sense to know a person and their secret motive, to know a place and its mystic center. He even pleasured himself to her only imperfection. She had a metal filling in her tooth that picked up a mixed radio signal, one station playing rock, the other playing a classic form of jazz. He was about to reach his peak, his climax. And he didn’t know if he could ever stop loving the girl who eventually rejected him.
Nobody responded, and now I despondent.
I shall respond, like this: I really devour the imagery in this line and how it incorporates our ancestors, it’s primal.