XL Magnum PI

Time to jump on the Merry-Go-Round. Swipe, pause, swipe, nanosecond pause, and on and on it goes, until at some point, someone has that special something that catches your attention. Intuitive, perhaps. Instinct, maybe. False advertising, definitely. Look at this one, hmmm, no, next….oooh, look at that one.. I wonder why all of the pics have toilets in the background today? Last week, there were a ton of pets. What if you don’t have a pet? Swipe, swipe, swipe. The options are infinite.  The descriptions and desires, feigned humor, and contrived hilarity. Filters, cliches, and fakes. Hop off the wheel, and take a break. No worries, get back on to find the same familiar faces. Sure, you’ll find a few newbies, but the veterans resurface as well; back to try their luck once again. Round and round they go.

This is why he made the executive decision to be blunt, and just get the the point. He was sick and tired of putting forth effort into crafting a profile, when in reality, he knew what he wanted. He wanted sex. Sex, sex, and more sex. That’s it. It wasn’t easy, seeing as his very public position in the city forbid him to post his face. On his day off, he spent hours creating the perfect new image. One that said everything, without saying anything. He toyed with his badge, carefully polishing it with a microfiber cloth until it sparkled. He then snapped a few pics of it leaning gently against an extra large eggplant. This just wasn’t quite right. It felt like an insult to his P.I. status. Standing in his training uniform, which still fit him like it did on day one as an officer, he glanced in the mirror. Flexing strong biceps while adjusting his broad shoulders, he practiced that intense “sexy stare”.

Next, he tried to take a photo of the badge on his upper body, but it still wasn’t right. He worried that it might even scare potential “shoppers” away. All of a sudden, the glittering golden foil package of Magnum condoms caught his eye. He kept a stack in the bathroom in a clear box on the counter. He had nothing to hide. He was a sex god. God of sex. A private investigator, sure, but his real talent was sex. He needed it, and he needed it a lot.

Removing the badge, he carefully set it on the counter. He proceeded to take off his uniform, watching himself undress in the mirror. God Damn. He still had it. After neatly folding his shirt, he laid the badge on the navy fabric, positioning one shiny gold packet next to it. Adjusting the still life, so that XL size was legible, he grabbed his phone, and snapped a couple of pics. Smiling to himself, he clicked on the dating app, uploaded the new profile pic, and walked out into the bedroom. Sitting on the bed, again, he glanced sideways, admiring the silhouette of his powerful physique reflected from the mirrored closet doors. He was a God. A God Damned God. He fell back onto the bed and started to scroll through the pictures. Swipe, swipe, swipe. Pause, and click. Swipe, swipe, swipe.

Click

A sudden screeching of tires caught him off guard, as he headed out to his car. Glancing across the street, he saw the shiny black Maserati crushed up against a lamp-post. Smoke drifted upwards from the smoldering scene. He watched as the door opened and a single shiny red high-heeled pump emerged, soon followed by a long flawless leg, and then the other. As the woman stood up, he was breathless seeing her beauty. A tall platinum blonde, she towered over the wreckage beneath her. Reaching in, she swiftly pulling a small glossy red handbag out of the vehicle, and turned on her heel to stare straight at him. She didn’t appear to have been injured in the incident, in fact, she seemed quite nonchalant about the entire thing. As she crossed the street towards him, it seemed almost like a dream. He was speechless at this fantasy approaching him. Click, click, click went the heels as they tacked along the pavement. A cool breeze was in the air, and as she neared him, a gust picked up, lifting her shiny tresses like a halo.

“Are you ok?”,  he asked, nervously. She pushed her sunglasses up, revealing steely crystal blue eyes, and glared at him, answering with a curt “Obviously.”  Followed by “What are you just standing there for? I need a fucking ride!” His car was sitting behind him in the driveway. He walked over to his older model silver Mercedes, opened the passenger door, and motioned her into the vehicle. She sniffed the air with disdain. He got into the driver’s seat and pulled on his seatbelt. She lit up a cigarette, inhaled dramatically, and blew a stream of smoke out through a crack in the window. “Where can I take you Miss?” he asked as he started the ignition. Classical music came on. She immediately switched the station to a techno beat. Reaching down, she slipped of her shiny red pumps and tossed them onto his lap, one at a time. He could feel the sharp heel and the weight of the shoes pressing through his lightweight trousers. Now, he became aware that she knew exactly what she was doing. She threw her head back, and laughed, “Honey, I don’t have anywhere to go now. I wrecked my car. What do you think? I need a god damned drink and I want to go relax. Let’s go get some wine and head to your place.”

He was extremely nervous, but excited at the same time. “Okay, sounds good.” He was supposed to have been on his way to a networking event, but this was a once in a lifetime situation, and he had to seize the opportunity. Unmarried, with no real options, he had been desperate for something to happen in his life. This was it!

He drove like a banshee to the local liquor store. She didn’t want to put her shoes back on, so he went in and picked up a few bottles of wine, a bottle of acceptable pink champagne, as well as a pack of cigarettes per her request. As he made his way back to the car, he could see tiny smoke rings billowing from her red lips, from the car window. She tipped her head up watching the miniature clouds dissipate into the wind. They drove back in silence, and he looked over to see her rubbing one nylon clad foot and then reaching down to massage the other. “Uh, um, I can do that for you.” He stated awkwardly.  She sighed, and slowly turned towards him. Slowly she countered, “Oh, yeah, well, you can do a lot for me.” He remained quiet until they pulled into the driveway. His hand trembled with nerves as he unlocked the door. She stood so close to him that he could smell her fragrance, a delicate balance of expensive perfume, mixed with shampoo and tobacco. Intoxicating.

As they entered, he took the bag into the kitchen, and opened one of the bottles of wine. She flopped on his sofa in her stocking feet, her tight white dress riding up to reveal the long satin nylon encased legs. He carried two glasses over, handing her one and taking a sip of his. As he began to sit across from her, she motioned him over. “Come here., you told me you would massage my feet.” He obliged. Sitting next to her, she placed her perfect legs and feet over his thighs, and he reached down to begin gently rubbing the impeccable arches, toes, heels, calves. Slowly moving upward, to test her response, she leaned back softly moaning, her glossy pink lips slightly parted…

 

The Kiddie Pool

Mid July in the late 70’s. The family of four stood in the driveway of a run-down looking two family house, as they watched a giant moving truck slowly back out into the street. Tears welled up in the older daughter’s eyes. The younger child grabbed onto to her mother’s long linen skirt. She looked up to see the dark stains spreading beneath the underarms of her mom’s favorite olive shirt. Their father swiftly turned on his heels, walked into the house, letting the loose screen door slam loudly behind him.

The mother and two little girls stood for a few moments, frozen in time at the end of the driveway. They watched as the truck turned the corner, finally passing out of sight.

This was one of a series of moves. For reasons mysterious to the children, just as soon as they got settled in a new town and into a new school, it was time to move again. Usually something to do with their father’s job as a professor. Switching universities, better opportunities, or something of the sort.

This time they were going to move to a another state, but until the next house was ready, they would need to stay in temporary housing, at an apartment complex.

As the kids got into the back seat of the beige Volvo station wagon, they each hugged a teddy bear close, tears dampening the well-worn, faded fur.

Hours passed, and after dark, they arrived at their destination. It was a nondescript place. Dark russet brick, all one level. Basically a Motel 6, minus the sign. The family set up a temporary home here. Simply furnished, it served its purpose well enough.

Over the next few days, the girls ventured outside. It was during an era when kids were allowed to run around wild and free. Nobody really paid much attention, unless it was time to do homework, chores, walk a dog, or eat dinner. As they wandered around the complex, they noticed quite a few other kids around their age. The children seemed friendly enough, and one of the neighbors even had a plastic kiddie pool in front of her unit. It was blue, with bright green turtles and seahorses printed all around the outside. The little girl invited the sisters to play, and of course they were excited to meet a new friend. And, even more excited to be able to cool off in the bright blue plastic pool.

Being that it was summer and there wasn’t much to do, having a new friend with the kiddie pool was a good start. At least they had somewhere to go. They didn’t like to stay inside the dark apartment, since their mother seemed to be unhappy, and the place felt oppressive in the stifling humidity.

One day, not long after moving in, the new friend told them, “hey, it’s time to go to Bobby’s place, his mom is doing her shower.” The girls had no idea what this meant, but of course they were curious. They followed her as she traipsed around the complex. As they followed her, she called out “shower time!” over and over. Gradually, a few other children, hearing the call, joined them in the parade towards Bobby’s place.

Finally, they arrived at the apartment. Number 19. The door was open. An older boy, maybe 9 or 10, poked his head out of the front door. “Hurry up! Mom’s just getting in the shower now!” All of the kids shuffled in through the door, crowding the hallway of the small unit. The sound of a shower could be heard, and a high-pitched voice called out “Hey you guys, wanna see my tits?” The group of kids, mostly boys, swiftly gravitated towards her voice.

The bathroom door was open, an intoxicating scent of strawberry shampoo filled the air, as a cloud of steam poured out. Rock music played on a transistor radio. Behind the sheer plastic French doors into the shower, a messy giant blonde head of hair bobbed up and down. Suddenly, the doors opened and Bobby’s mom leaned out, “see these!” she held up her enormous breasts shaking them at all of the children. The two new girls stood in shock. The older sister grabbed her younger sister by the hand, and dragged her through the cluster of kids, and out the front door in a hurry. They ran all the way back to their apartment, where they fell onto the air mattress in hysterical fits of giggles.

Exit Plan

Living in the moment is a very lovely sentiment. There’s a lot to be said for being present. However, it never hurts to plan ahead. A bit of strategic thinking is often a wise idea. Otherwise, it can easily happen that you wind up facing retirement at warp speed, without an exit plan. Visions of working at Walmart, or getting into elder porn start drifting through the mind. This usually happens due to a lack of planning, coupled with poor choices. But, of course circumstances and plain bad luck often play a huge role as well. This is a story about a woman in such a scenario, and how she handled her situation.

Let’s flash back to the beginning. Desiree came to LA at the tender age of nineteen. Typical story. She had been homecoming queen back in a small Iowa town, and she came to LA to become a movie star, model, or at least a tv sensation. Well, fast forward 10 years. 29 being a magic number in a mysogynistic place like LA. No longer young enough to play the “ingenue”, but she still looked good enough to continue getting roles as the ‘sexy’ so and so. Finally, Desiree landed a recurring role on a soap opera as a lonely housewife, where she was constantly getting entangled with hot young neighbors, and other women’s husbands. They say that life imitates art, or is it vice versa? I forget. Anyhow, jump ahead 5 years, and Desiree, now 34 is starting to wonder if she was ever going to find Mr. Right, amongst the string of Mr. Right Nows. Low and behold, on a commercial for vacuums, there he stood. The man of her dreams. Love at first sight. They chatted on set, he wooed her for weeks, and she knew, this was it. He was a director. Wealthy, a bit older and established. She had hit the jackpot. Not only was it love, but she, being an opportunistic gal, knew that he would be able to connect her and help her career. She was being strategic.

They married and honeymooned in Tahiti, her dream vacation. Champagne and caviar. She moved into his home in the Pacific Palisades and got so comfortable, she stopped working altogether, and focused on trying to have a baby. It seemed to be the next thing to do. Her husband, Dean, was a workaholic, but an excellent provider. He had a bit of a reputation as a ladies man, but Desiree knew that she held the keys to his heart, credit cards and castle. The following year, she had a baby boy. They named him Devon. Dean, Desiree and Devon lived their “perfect” life for many years. He lavished her with cash, gifts and cars. In return she tolerated his rumored infidelities. She had nannies and housekeepers. With more time on her hands than she knew what to do with, she felt she had achieved the life a princess would only dream of. Shopping, being pretty and well provided for. A blonde haired princess from Iowa. Just like her parents had always told her.

Fast forward 10 years. Desiree turned 39. Her years on tanning beds were beginning to surface. She looked in the mirror and noticed things she didn’t like. She began to get beauty “treatments” done by a famous Beverly Hills plastic surgeons. Just small tweaks here and there. The credit card had a high limit, and she just told her husband she needed a mole or two removed. Precancerous things, you know. Dean was oblivious, and told her to do whatever she needed to do. Their son was now in private school, and the nanny took him to his after school programs for hours. The only time they were together as a family was occasionally for a half hour or so at bedtime. Often, Dean would stay “on location”. Needless to say, Desiree started to get very lonely.

She started to go take yoga at a small private gym. This is where she met Mack. Yes, the personal trainer. So cliche, I know. Trust me, this is a scenario that plays out over and over and over again. She started to “train” daily. Her body felt better than ever, and she was glowing. One night when her husband came home, he commented on how great she looked. He made sexual advances in the kitchen, something he hadn’t done in a very long time. As he pressed her up against the counter, her cell phone received a text and then another. Her phone happened to be on the counter directly in his line of vision. Desiree wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, and she had neglected to set her phone on private. Dean leaned closer to her, stroking her neck, while staring over her shoulder to view the incoming messages. Desiree squirmed, trying to get his attention. The stream of texts continued. Dean’s breathing got heavier. He pushed Desiree in front of him, grabbing her by her arms shaking her violently. He asked her what was going on. Who the hell was Mack? She started to shake and cry. She told him how sorry she was, but she had been so lonely. She cried a lot, but he just pushed her aside and stormed out, down the hall, into his office and slammed the door shut. Desiree sank down onto the kitchen floor, head in hands. She reached up to grab the cell phone and read the messages that Dean had viewed. They were completely incriminating. Explicitly sexual, and solid evidence of an affair. She turned off her phone and sat there bawling on the kitchen floor until she could drag herself to the plush white leather sofa where she fell asleep.

The next morning, Desiree woke up to her husband standing over her. He gave a weak smile and told her he understood. He confessed that he too had been having an affair, and in a way this was all kind of a relief. He had met an actress on set, and it had gotten quite serious. He was planning on telling her, but he just hadn’t had the opportune moment. Desiree felt her heart sink. She went numb. Sure, she had been having an affair, but it was just sex and she had never had the intention of getting more serious with Mack. However, her husband was telling her a different scenario. He told her that he would be going to his lawyer during the following week to file the divorce papers. He said that he was going for full custody of their son, with visitation rights for Desiree. He claimed that she was an unfit mother, focused on her plastic surgery more than on her son’s needs. He warned her not to contest it. He reminded her that he was a powerful man, with powerful connections. She was shocked and defeated. Her heart hurt. He told her she should start getting ready to move out. Devise an exit plan, he told her. Finally, he told her she would be able to have the BMW, and he would give her a sort of “severance” deal, but because she had racked up so much on his credit cards, she was lucky to get anything at all. She gasped, taking it all in.

During the next few weeks, she spent her time going through her clothes, and jewelry, bagging it up for consignment shops. She sold what she could, stashing the cash for emergencies. She started to look at apartments, and living situations, but they were all so expensive. She would only be able to survive for a few months on her finances. She had no concrete job skills, and no connections left. At this point, the idea of going out on auditions, facing rejection, seemed terrifying.

One day, while getting the mail, she saw a paper leaflet on the ground at the end of the gravel driveway. She picked it up. On the front was a photo of a handsome long haired man. “Divine Heights, A New Lifestyle” was printed in bold purple script. She opened the pamphlet and read inside. It described a permanent “retreat”, in the countryside, where it cost nothing, but you were provided with everything. A healthy cooperative community. Welcoming to all, no matter what financial status. There was a phone number at the bottom, underneath a photo of a group of laughing people in a tent. She went back inside, glanced around the huge luxurious white living room, walked over the the giant fur chair, plopped down and dialed the number.

A woman’s voice answered. Hello, Divine Heights, Althena speaking. Desiree paused. Then she started to ask questions. Where was this community, what was the lifestyle, and what was the cost to become a part of it. The woman explained that it was a healthy community in the hills of a remote town in central california. They welcomed all. Depending on budget, there was a nominal “buy-in”, but once in, the only cost was labor and participating in events. The founder, known as Chino, was a leader and a man of many talents. They practiced daily meditation, along with coop gardening, and cooking.

Desiree decided to take the “tour”. She drove her BMW up the coast and headed inland towards the dry desolate looking mountains. It seemed like a very long drive, hours and hours. Finally, down a long dirt road, she saw ahead, a compound. Looking like an old military camp, she noted people milling about, doing repairs. She parked at the end of the drive and got out of her car. A tall dark haired familiar looking man looked in her direction, waving her over. She walked towards him. As she got nearer, she noticed that this was the man on the cover of the pamphlet. The man introduced himself as Chino, reaching out his hand to hers. He gently pulled her in for a hug, whispering “welcome”, softly into her ear. She smiled. She told him she was there to take a look at the Lifestyle. He invited her into the building where there was a simple set up of rustic furnishings. He guided her to a small wicker couch and sat down right next to her. He was wore jeans and a loose fitting shirt. His scent was masculine and deep. He pressed his knee against hers. She felt chemistry. He was a powerful man. She liked him. He put his arm around her, holding her close. He told her he knew she was searching. He knew she needed shelter and love. She had to look no further. She smiled, and felt his lips kiss her neck. She pulled away. He looked her in the eyes, and told her she was welcome here. There would be no charge for her. She thought to herself, this was it. He got up and took her hand. He lead her down a long hall towards a small room. Through the tiny window, enough natural light streamed in to see a clean and simple setup. A single bed, sink and toilet. He told her this would be her personal quarters. The rest of the place was shared. He told her he felt the connection too. She smiled. It was her moment. A culmination of her life’s choices. This was it. She had her exit plan.

Trader Joe’s Gigolo

Ever since he could remember, women had fawned over him. He was a real head turner, and he knew it. The ladies loved him, and he loved them back. Again, and again. And, again. Years passed. He fancied himself a player for life. Love ’em, and leave ’em was his motto. Even if it meant shacking up with one, while managing a few on the side. Sure it became work, but he preferred to consider it a “lifestyle”.  A few more years passed, and eventually, juggling so many women began to consume him. It became a full-time job. So much so, that his actual career as a science lab manager went into a downward spiral. He wound up with a menial position at a pet store, where he got fired for trying to seduce a customer by putting a snake inside her blouse. Fortunately, he was still living with a clueless “girlfriend”, and she was all too happy to support him, since it gave her a sick sense of self-control. Self-control was the very thing he lacked. Not long after he lost his job, she came home from work one day to find him in bed with a wealthy elderly neighbor. Needless to say, she kicked him out immediately. He vanished without a trace.

These days, you can find him lurking around Trader Joes parking lots. Wearing a fitted t-shirt and jeans,  pretending to be on his phone, he looks slightly lost and confused. But as soon as he sees a single lady headed to her car with grocery bags, he shifts into high gear, and heads towards her with a studied swagger. Giving her his hungry eyes, and a slight smile, he pauses, then says, “excuse me, but you are so beautiful, I just had to tell you.” Usually, the woman swiftly slides into the vehicle, and backs out at high speed. But, occasionally he has a lucky day, and she pauses long enough for him to engage her further. He runs his fingers through his albeit thinning hair, like he’s seen men in cologne ads do. He’s still got it. Trader Joe’s parking lot has been good to him. There are lots of single ladies. and they definitely have food and a car. Soon, he might need to find a new location. He’s considering Home Goods or TJMax.