The Trickster Diaries/Chapter 143
The new house, like Lupe’s house, was an old house made of wood in the middle of nowhere. Hers was up the dirt road towards the low northern mountains, about a mile from mine, and each week, she informed me, she’d walk the distance to fetch her mail from one of the dozen or so boxes along Amboy Road.
Me: Oh yeah? Well, wave next time.
Lupe: I do wave. But nobody ever waves back.
Um… yeah. Shit. OK, but, see, thing is, I was relaxed. First time in a long time. Such a new feeling I couldn’t even identify it, at first. Then, one day after yoga, stretched out on the carpet, my entire body cracked, and I entered a deeper level.
It was just… too soon, maybe?
Yeah. Too soon. That’s was it. Too soon to park because you’re still in the middle of an intersection, waiting to turn.
Something like that.
‘Course, if she knocked instead of waved…
Truth is, last time I was this magnetized or hypnotized or bewitched, possessed, lured in by a woman’s sensuality, was 50 years ago. The floozy. No, the stupid floozy, because she believed in the same shit Lupe believed in—ghosts, aliens…even GOD for chrissake.
No, ESPECIALLY God, which, admittedly, kind of pushed the whole sex thing into an even juicier, darkly forbidden, guilt-soaked “stop it some more,” hyperdrive.
Surrendering to lust back then, however, meant severely altering my helical journey forever. But, forever being pretty much decided and done…