Sunday, June 19, 2011

Mary's Kissing Couch

Mary thrived on first kisses.  At 30 years of age she had never allowed a man to delve further than a first kiss.  She had tried second kisses.  They were never quite so powerful as the first.

Mary dismissed Every Man after kiss one.  Why bother with a lesser kingdom of glory?

First kisses are lightening. Thunder in the ears.  A first kiss has the power to render one blind, deaf, dumb and temporarily insane.

Mary saw no reason to carry on a relationship, either physical or emotional, after the initial magic of the  mouth had taken place.

This couch was Mary's couch.  It was her kissing couch.

I bought it yesterday.  At Salvation Army.  $130.

I needed a new couch.  My other couch smelled strongly of my constant companion and canine, Miss Lady Lu-Lu of the Hauntingly Human Brown Eyes.   So I bought a new old one.  With it came Mary's story.  It smells of sweet surrender .

Every time I sit upon this comfy couch I am driven mad with images of Mary's men.  I can see every detail of what took place here when I attempt my regular meditations.  Perhaps sharing her story will relieve me of this burden.

Mary loved men.  She loved them all.  Never could decide which man was best.  They were all so spectacular.

"I LOVE men!"  Mary would say.  "They are all so spectacular!"

Men loved Mary.  They found her spectacular.  Mary was the perfect woman.  A man felt invincible with Mary on his arm.  Mary made a Man feel like a Man.  Very few women possess this talent anymore.

Feminism has killed the skilled Mary in most modern ma'ams.

When Bob came to call, Mary invited him in.  She fed him home cooked roast beef and new potatoes.  Mary laughed at his jokes.  Stared deeply into his eyes.  Listened to what he had to say. Shed a single feminine tear at a sad tale he shared.   Placed her hand lightly on his thigh.

Bob could not believe his luck when he saw his reflection in Mary's coal black eyes.  Love had struck.  Yes.  Love had struck.  Bob was stuck.

Mid-sentence Bob could bare it no longer.  He took her like a tornado in his greedy arms and kissed Mary's marvelous mouth.  And Oh! What a mouth it was!  Soft pillows of sweet insanity, they were.  Oh me.  Oh my.  Oh sigh.

They kissed and kissed for hours.  On this couch of mine, they kissed.  Mary did not dare separate her lips from his.  For she knew.

Bob unwittingly came up for air.  A silly grin plastered on his oblivious face.  His hair disheveled.  His manhood at attention.  Bob was ready for second base.

But there would be no second base for Bob.

"I'm sorry, Bob.  But our relationship must come to an end.  You have pleased me with your kiss.  Let's not spoil the lovely memory."

Poor Bob.  All over-heated and no place to go.  He spontaneously burst into flames on his way out the front door.  Mary kept a fire extinguisher close at hand for just such occasions.  Mary extinguished Bob and sent him on his way.

Mary entertained a new man every weekend.

The Butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker.  She loved them all with her soul and kissed them with her lips.

For every man she felt the same exquisite flame within.

Mary accepted every first kiss with a delighted, "Mmmmmmm".  Nothing could be more delicious.

She reveled in the electricity of the kiss.  She wondered at the depth of feeling and magic coursing through her body.  How could a simple act such as the lips of a stranger on her own inspire such power?

Oh.  If only she could experience the deeper depth of Love she had always heard so much about.  But, lo, she could not manage to the desire for more.

Then she met George.  George of the jungle.  George was a wild man with wild locks of long golden hair.  He was a large honey-colored man with broad shoulders, chiseled abs and a healthy disdain for shirt-wearing.

Mary Loved the bare breasted George.

When George came to call, Mary fed him her famous roast beef with new potatoes.  She listened and laughed and cried and touched his thigh.

When the hurricane of his arms enveloped her she knew he was different.  He pressed his mouth to hers.  Not in needy greedy fashion but with expert skill and decided calm. He kissed her soft and slow.  Ran his hands through her hair and gave them leave to explore the virgin Mary.

He pulled away and stared deeply into her coal black eyes.

"Kiss me again, George," Mary murmured.  "Never stop kissing me, my Love.  Never ever stop."

She leaned toward him for more.  She had never before experienced such uncontrolled desire.  She became immediately addicted to this George and his miraculous mouth.  She could not believe her luck!  Love had struck.  Yes.  Love had struck.  Mary was stuck.

But George feared commitment, as do most single men in this modern day and age.  He saw the ball and chain in her eyes.  Fear inspired the following monologue:

"I'm sorry, Mary.  But our relationship must come to an end.  You have pleased me greatly with your roast beef and new potatoes and sumptuous kiss.  Let's not spoil the lovely memory."

Mary felt sweaty.  Unsettled.  Warm.  Uncomfortably warm.  Then hot.  Oh so very very hot.  Her heart raced at a feverish pace.

Without further notice Mary's hair burst into flames.

George of the jungle did what any wild man would do in such an emergency.  He ran away.  He ran away from Mary and her flaming hair and burning bowels.

Mary managed to extinguish her own hair with her trusty fire extinguisher.  Only charred stubble remained.

Mary went mad. Mad with desire.

 She gave away all her belongings to the Salvation Army.  And went in search of George.

"I need his second kiss," she says ad nauseum as she pushes a grocery cart filled with bedding and t-shirts for George through the streets of downtown Tucson.  "George has my second kiss."

I communicate non-verbally with Mary on a regular basis.  I hear her thoughts.  And feel her feelings.  She is pleased her kissing couch has found a home.

PS I made the throw pillows myself.  Nothing like scarlet red and leopard print to brighten up a kissing couch.