los angeles – Lost Art of Mystery

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.

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…

Tag: los angeles

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