Steamy Poet

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic

"Were you one of the musicians?" I asked the elderly woman who was left standing with me and my boyfriend. She had been in our circle while we were talking with the white-bearded banjo player. The way she stood by him, eagerly nodding at everything he said, I had assumed she was his girlfriend. But then he tipped his cowboy hat and left without her. 


She flushed at my question. "No, I'm a groupie." Her eyes were alight with humor. She looked about 70, with wet curls and smooth, rosy skin. She and I were the only ones standing in the courtyard, since my boyfriend had gone to find a restroom. 


"I'm Natalie," I said. 


She smiled and stepped toward me. "I'm Valentine." Her dress was asymmetrical and she wore stylish but comfortable wedges. "That's my stage name anyway." She winked. "I'm a poet."


"Do you read your work on stage? With the band?"


"I would like to. It would sound so good with the instruments in the background."


I liked her confidence. "Let's hear some right now."


"Ok." She immediately reached into her purse and pulled out several sheets of paper. I could see the printed verses, framed in hearts, and the title: "Country Romance Dance." She read it through, slowly and with great emphasis. I watched her face, fully taken by her playful expressions and flirtatious tone. When it was over, the only line I remembered was about the "bling bling" on the shiny belt buckle. 


"I also write poems a lot steamier than that." She had a gleam in her eye. "I use words that are so potent, a man won't need viagra."


I laughed. Old people are funny. "Tell me one." 


"Sometimes, the title alone will take you out." She flitted her brows.


I glanced at her sheets of paper. "What's one of the titles?"


"No need for an aphrodisiac when you read my poetry. Maybe I'll read one next week.” She bit her lower lip. “I’ll have the banjo player behind me.“ Her eyes had a faraway look. "Ok, I'll tell you a title. This is so steamy, it'll make your heart race. It'll knock your socks off. Ok, one of the titles is..." She glanced side to side, looking furtively round the empty courtyard. "Ok, one of the titles is, get this..." She leaned in closer. "The title is..." I could smell coffee on her breath. "The title is: I Want Your Lovin." 


She stood back, deeply moved by her own poetry. It sounded like a typical country song to me. 


Her face was glowing. ”I can't remember all the lines, but it ends like this: I'm gonna unload my pistol in your blankety blank." She smiled with a knowing look.


" your blankety blank..." I repeated, wondering whether she would spell it out or leave it blankety blank.


Submitted: August 17, 2021

© Copyright 2022 Netalie. All rights reserved.

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That's a cute little story. I love little stories like that where we get a glimpse into a persons whole world with just a brief meeting with them. Thanks for sharing

Wed, August 18th, 2021 11:20am

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