Note:
If any loser skater boy has ever called you 'Amanda' - please read to the end!
***
I sat on the sidewalk dreaming about a career as a pro skater. It was early afternoon and too humid for my taste. I really should have practiced instead of just sitting at the curb killing time. I liked the concept of being a skater more than I liked the practice and the bailing and the frustration. And besides it was really too hot to do anything other than to sit there.
I should have done something more useful, but didn't know what that might be.
All of my friends had gone home already, but I had no place to go better than this alleyway that smelled of the dumpster behind me and dried piss. There was just me, my board, that curb and my boredom.
But then things changed:
The alarm on Fat Mikey's Pawnshop rang loudly through the narrow streets. It wasn't the first time I heard it. We had actually triggered it before as some sort of a dare, because we figured that Fat Mikey was a dangerous mobster. Looking back, he probably wasn't.
We called him Fat Mikey because it sounded like a mob name and Mikey was Italian. It was ironic, of course, because Mikey was the skinniest, scrawniest guy you had ever seen. He probably wasn't a mobster, but he was definitely into some shady business.
I looked up, and there was this woman coming around the corner, walking toward me at a fast pace. She had a backpack slung around her shoulder.
She walked really fast, like a person who didn't want to be seen running. She turned around to check whether someone was following her. The woman looked suspiciously like someone who didn't want to look suspicious.
From a distance I thought she was early 30ish. She had a very female body, wide hips, ample boobs, a hint of a belly. But she wasn't fat or anything. She looked just right. Like a woman, not like a girl, you know.
She was a dirty blonde, her long hair tied in a long ponytail that bounced left and right. Looked like she needed to dye her hair again. Her hairline was darker than the ponytail. She wore bulky shorts and underneath her pale skin there was a large tattoo on her thigh. A traditional American tattoo with a pin up girl. But even from the distance I saw that it was a cheap tattoo with torn out lines, and it was already starting to fade.
I thought: 'Why would a woman get a tattoo of another woman on her thigh, unless she was a lesbian?'
The thought made me feel oddly disappointed, because she looked really hot for her age.
For a brief moment we looked at each other. I liked her huge brown eyes. I nodded at her and smiled at her. Reassuringly. You know, to tell her she would make and I wouldn't call the cops on her, or something.
Maybe she nodded back, I couldn't really tell. She reached into the pocket of her shorts, and I thought she'd pull out a gun and shoot me.
No witnesses, you know. It didn't scare me though. I dunno. It would have been cool to have her point a gun at me.
Yeah, I know. That was a weird thought.
Instead she got her keys out, opened the door to a beat-up, dusty Sprinter van, threw her backpack in and drove off, revving up the engine. There was something distinct in the sound of the engine that didn't sound healthy. A few seconds later the van disappeared when she turned left into a dead-end street.
I wondered why she would do that. But then again she couldn't know that it was a dead end because we had torn down the sign. Francis wanted to use it as a ramp to skate on. That was months ago but the city hadn't replaced it.
In the distance there was a police siren. But I didn't know whether it was coming for the woman. There were always a lot of police sirens in this area.
I felt a little empty. Like I had wasted another opportunity. I had become quite good at missing out on chances. Although I didn't know what I should have done in this instance.
I was good at living in fantasies though and so I pictured myself standing in front of her. Maybe she held a snub-nosed revolver in one hand, casually pointing it to the floor. And I would drop on my knees to inspect that tattoo on her thigh and then I would plant a kiss on her leg. Right there where the mouth of that tattooed lady was.
And she would put away her gun and play with my hair. And then she would reach for my arm and make me stand up, and we would look at each other, and I would look at those big brown eyes and the tiny wrinkles around her eyes. There were not many, just enough to show that she'd been around. And then she would pull me closer and kiss me. And I would return the kiss.
She'd be really good at kissing. She'd know what to do, and I'd let her do it. She'd be really experienced, and you know, she'd totally take the lead.
She would push one of her knees between my legs, and I'd open them for her, and she would slide it up and down. I'd be so fucking nervous. Especially when she moved it up. You know, when she was about to touch my junk. I was really hard. It felt almost painful. But in a good way painful.
I'd have one hand on her hips. And my heart would beat like crazy. I'd slip my hand down slowly to touch her round ass. And I would close my hand and grab it, hoping she wouldn't mind and let me do it. But her kiss would just become more intense, as if she liked it. And then my hand would explore, get between her ass cheeks and the thought of where I would end up if I continued down would blow my mind...
I don't know where all that came from. Me having these crazy phantasies in the middle of a humid day in an alleyway that was dominated by the smell of dried piss.
I really needed to get laid.
I really did.
There was just too much testosterone in my system.
I wasn't great at skating, but I was a total disaster with girls. I didn't understand them, and they didn't get me. I thought that there must be some kind of spell on me that made me repel them. Like mosquito spray. I just couldn't figure out what it was.
I was brought back out of self-pity mode into reality.
The motor of the van roared loudly in the distance, like a giant angry beast.
The next second it came around the corner heading towards me at a breakneck speed. That was my chance I thought vaguely. I was looking forward to catching another glimpse of the woman. I stood up, as the car came closer.
Through the windshield I saw her face.
And she looked back at me.
And then she drove past me.
But before I could delve into the pool of my disappointment again. She hit the brakes violently, and the Sprinter skidded to a halt. Then she put in the reverse and the large vehicle drove toward me again. The engine in reverse now really high pitched and super pissed.
I had to step aside, not to be run over.
"Hey, Tony!", she said.
My name isn't Tony. She saw that I was confused and pointed at my skateboard.
"Tony Hawk, right? You know your way around here?"
Her voice had a darker pitch than I would have expected and looking at her more closely I estimated her to be in her mid to late thirties. But I liked her. I also liked her lips as she spoke. They looked just right. Maybe because of that bright red lipstick that looked a touch to cheap. I didn't know anything about lipstick, but I could tell that it was cheap, because it was smeared a little in the corners of her mouth. For a brief moment I had to think of my erect dick. I tried to push that thought away, though. I needed to focus so that I wouldn't miss another opportunity.
So I nodded yes.
"I kind of need to get out of here quickly. But I'm fucking lost."
I nodded again: "I know what you mean. Traffic regulations around here are a bitch!" I wanted to sound cool, but I came across as an idiot.
"You can say that again," she sighed. "Want to help me out? I'll reward you."
"Sure." I said.
