Comments always welcomed.
While visiting a friend in the hospital today, I developed a real need for a cigarette and asked at the information desk if there was somewhere I could grab a much needed smoke. After much rolling of her eyes and shaking of her head, she directed me to a small gazebo set well away from anything and everything that could possibly cause an existing patient to snort even the smallest molecule of cancer causing second hand smoke.
The gazebo was small, about eight feet in diameter, with four small wooden benches crowded around the entrance. There were already three other hard core smokers in it when I arrived; two of whom seemed to have the habit, but had no smokes. I'm a very generous guy under most circumstances and this being no different, gave each of them two cigarettes apiece before I had finished the one that I lit.
"Do you have an extra one?"
This from a young guy with a shaved head and tribal tattoos around his neck, wearing a full sweat suit plus a sweat jacket in 88 degree temperatures and with the fingers on his right hand stained a deep shade of nicotine orange.
"Yeah, I need one too, if you can spare it."
The woman that asked this almost defies explanation. Her hair looked as though it had been cut by a very drunk barber wielding a pair of badly dulled hedge trimmers. Her clothes, while clean, looked as though they were designed for a woman three sizes smaller than she.
The third smoker...ah,...what a piece of work she was! She was an older woman, probably in her young sixties, with natural looking light blond hair done in a very attractive French braid. She was short, maybe five six or so, dressed in tight jeans and a yellow blouse that had a small, narrow zipper in the front instead of buttons. She wore a pair of open toed sling back sandals that showed off her obviously recent pedicure. She also wore a pair of glasses with the lenses colored a dark smoky hue that left me wondering exactly what color her eyes actually were.
She was reading a book, a mystery I think it was, and had a Bic lighter sitting on top of an empty pack of cigarettes.
"Would you care for a smoke?" I asked, as I arched my eyebrows and inclined my head towards the other two, implying that I had already taken care of them and that now, it was her turn.
"Yes, please," she said and took the offered cigarette. "I'm sort of stuck here for the moment. You see, my niece accidentally took my car keys when she left here a while ago. I tried to call her on my cell but the damn thing got ornery and died."
I took the cell phone off my belt, offering it to her and asked if she wanted to use it to call anyone.
"No, I'm fine here. They know where I am, and as soon as they get the message I managed to get through before the damn thing died, they'll be back to return my keys so that I can go on home."
We started to talk of books and our favorite authors, of what we had read and what we wanted to read in the future. Time passed quickly and our other two smokers left the gazebo, scratching their heads and thinking that for all this time, they thought books were to level uneven table legs or perhaps to support an aquarium that wasn't quite sitting right.
I mentioned that I had a couple of books that a friend had given me that I had already read. They were by James Clavell and worthy of a read if she wanted them. I told her that they were in my truck parked just a few spaces away from were we were and that she could have them if she wanted them. I couldn't see her eyes but her facial expression spoke volumes as I walked to my truck and returned shortly with both large books in my hands.
She gave me her thanks and said how nice it was to meet someone with similar interests in reading. I agreed whole-heartily and bent over to pull my pants cuff over my boot. I sat back up and offered her another cigarette from my quickly dwindling pack. As she leaned over to take it from my hand, I noticed that the zipper on her blouse had been pulled down about three inches and I could see well below the top of her bra.
She uncrossed her legs and spread them slightly; her tight jeans showcasing her crotch, the seam tightly pressed against her pussy, and then leaned forward, resting her forearms on her knees.
"I actually live very close to here," she told me, "we could walk from here and be there in fifteen minutes. That is, if you wanted too."
"I'd like that very much and the walk would do me good. I could use the exercise."
"I don't think you have to worry about the exercise part," she said, as she stood and smoothed her tight jeans down her legs, "at all."
We walked away from the little gazebo and headed towards her house. She took my hand in hers and squeezed lightly.
"I hope you don't get the wrong idea about me, she said, "it's been ages since I've asked a man over to my house, and never, one that I just met."
