The Fedora

AG:The Fedora

Rick Hartford was in a curious state of mind. The closest he could get to a word describing just where he was at didn't seem to do his mood justice. He kept returning to the word 'funk' - seriously? This is a 'funk?' He was dejected though not necessarily depressed. In fact, there was a part of him that was relieved, who couldn't agree with the tried and true -- better to know now, than to find out later.

The part that bothered him the most was his inability to getting beyond all of this. Was this some kind of a fog, or maybe a fugue, or just your basic everyday kind of extended freak out? No wonder he kept coming back around to 'funk.' Everything just seemed so pale and featureless, as it all the colors...

Wait! What the...? Where the hell am I?

Rick slowed to a stop once he realized he had unknowingly, at least to his immediate recollection, walked into a rather strange and bewilderingly chaotic shop, or storeroom, or whatever this place was. He glanced around and found nothing to suggest that it wasn't anything other than a space filled with all manner of curious items and oddities with no apparent order or organization. There was stuff everywhere.

That's when he was assaulted; his senses overwhelmingly overloaded by a multitude of stimuli. He shook his head to clear it and felt himself kick into immediate survival mode. He turned around and stepped back outside.

Once back on the sidewalk, he looked up over the door, then at the large window beside the door, where he read "Amorous Goods -- A Specialty Shop Catering To All Things Erotic, Attractive, Even Romantic. Herein You Will Find All Manner of Items; Be They Exotic, Peculiar, Mystical, or of an Otherwise Altered Nature." He shook his head in silent disbelief, only here, in San Francisco, the City, Bhagdad-By-The-Bay would you find such a store, and he wasn't even in the Castro. Then again - on second thought - it occurred to him that this intriguingly strange and fascinatingly odd establishment might merit further attention.

Next to the door was a small plaque; "Customers Should Be 18 Years of Age - or Similarly Experienced."

Huh. The place definitely had a San Francisco vibe.

He reentered the shop, attracted more by way of a sincere curiosity to explore and discover, than any intent or need to purchase anything. Upon this second perusal, he noted that the shop was actually much larger than he'd first assumed. The strangeness hadn't changed; visually, aurally, or aromatically. From somewhere unseen he heard the sound of wind chimes or bells, apparently accompanied by the droning notes of an Indian tamboura. And from some far off corner the strange tones of a percussively plucked or hammered string Asian music that was so faintly heard that he felt an overwhelming need to move towards it - the better to hear it.

Until the sounds stopped suddenly and he found himself puzzled as to why he was standing exactly where he was. What is this place?

The shop smelled oddly old, yet overlaying that aged, if not ancient mustiness was a piquant of fresh spices and softly perfumed floral scents -- it suggested rather than reminded him of gardenia's. And what exactly were those intermittent whiffs of something wonderfully female? He had no idea, yet with each step, he found himself expecting or at least hopefully encountering the source.

Then he stopped again, turning around in place puzzling over the who and wondering the intriguingly where. Yet, unmistakably he knew that someone was watching him. He hoped the someone was a woman; young, curious, sexy...

Damn he was horny, that he was stuck in an ongoing state of pathetic pause was more than clear enough. Had it really been months? Shit! Months of fucking DIY sex-- well that was the problem wasn't it? There had been, in fact, no fucking. No fucking since breaking up with Cynthia. Cynthia the Crazy Bitch who he'd been with for most of the past year, a woman he had seriously contemplated marrying.

Cynthia, who in the midst of his efforts to convince her to move with him to a new city where they could explore the possibilities of a long-term if not lifetime relationship had dropped the wholly unexpected - "But what about Greg and Les? What about them?"

"Why do you care about that? They are perfectly capable of finding a new roomie."

"But honey what about when you're not around? Greg and Les were always available, always ready. Where would I find two guys like that?" Rick had been blindsided when Cynthia went on to explain that Greg and Les were more than just roommates.

"How much more?" Rick hated having to ask for undeniable details. But he couldn't not ask. If Cynthia was inferring what he suspected.

"Well, they're more like roommates with benefits. Oh, don't worry, they're not like you at all, you're special Rick, you're my boyfriend. But when I'm not with you...we'll, you know."

"You're saying that when you aren't with me, you're with them? Sexually. You're having sex with both of them?"

"Not at the same time Rick, what do you think I am? Ok, wait, if you get to talking with them, there have been a few occasions when it was both of them, at the same time. But in all of those instances there was a lot of drinking involved.

"Babe, you're my boyfriend. You, and you alone. But Rick, I know how much your job means to you. You love your job, and you put in a lot of hours, plus you travel a lot. So it stands to reason that when you're not available..."

"So you're telling me that when I'm not available, you're fucking your roommates? So last week, when I was in Seattle, you were fucking Greg and Les?!"

"I have needs Rick. It's just sex, do you want me to suffer when you're not here? No, of course you don't, you really are one of the good guys. I mean seriously honey, there is no way that I would ever date Greg or Les." She had actually said that with no small amount of pride.

"So you are in no way dating them...you're just fucking them."

That she affirmed that fact with hope in her expression told him all he needed to know. "It's over Cynthia, forget I even asked."

How could he have not seen any of this? He had not in any way sensed that anything was wrong. That was the nature of the bone stuck in his craw. He had no clue - nothing. Damn, he was with her for nearly a year. What the fuck?!

God, he needed a drink. Maybe there was a bar nearby. Whatever had gone on with Cynthia was her doing. Time to leave it be. It was time to get back up on the horse, get back in the saddle. Hey, maybe there was a bar somewhere in here - it wouldn't surprise him, this place seemed to have a little bit of everything else.

The shelves seemed a collage or collision of different retail ideas; like a fractured and put back together amalgamation of vintage clothing and accessories, strange sculptures, paintings, and tapestries, with furniture, books, and who knows whatever else which might have once been lost long ago but was now found, and so it was here and therefore available.

Rick strolled past a large, dented, and curiously scratched yet obviously working samovar, heat radiated from it, tendrils of steam wafted up and away. A number of dissimilar tea pots hung from its ring, and glass tea cups of Russian design, as well as Chinese and English porcelain cups were scattered about the table. Jars half filled with teas of various shades and textures were left as they were. Strange.

He paused to inspect a ridiculously complicated looking espresso machine with dials and gauges, curling tubes and valves that appeared to have more in common with the fevered imaginings of a repurposed steampunk rocket ship. And judging by the aromas now swirling around him; somewhere, someone was baking something - what a delicious fragrance. Clearly there was no indication what else might be here and if it or any other item or object was even available for purchase. Curiously though, he had yet to see a single price tag anywhere.

Seriously, Rick had yet to see any indication of the price of any single item; no sku's, no tags, no stickers, no display placards -- nothing. He wondered how a purchase might be made. If it even a purchase could be made.

He wandered deeper into the shop walking down an aisle, looking to his right for just a moment, then back - only to himself standing at a dead end. He backtracked and made a simple turn at the next available opportunity and that took him down an aisle that had him looking at a display of men's hats of various style's; cowboy hats, Homburgs, an overly tall top hat, a single bowler with a purple ribbon hatband, various Panama hats, way too many seemingly identical straw boaters -- and a fedora. A gloriously stylish, but clearly not new, grey fedora sat alone on a simple hat stand, on its own small shelf.

He reached towards it and was scant fractions of an inch away from touching it...

"May I assist you, sir? Please note the many signs clearly directing customers to request assistance. Some of these items are extremely fragile. Now, would you like to look at that hat? It has quite a story attached to it."

Rick turned, in no small state of amazement, and looked at the woman who had appeared next to him. How was it possible that he had neither seen nor heard her approach? And while that was puzzling, perhaps even confounding, it was not something worth over-thinking...probably.

"It is a good looking hat, although I must confess that I am not prone to hats as a fashion statement, I'm more a utilitarian or sporting hat kind of guy. But this hat has something about it." Rick spoke calmly, but was actually looking for a way around the woman. And just where exactly might the quickest route to the exit be located? He glanced down at the hat and couldn't help but notice that the woman was wearing a dress apparently made of various veil-like scarves, and the effect created was very much more enticingly transparent than oft-puttingly opaque. My God, he could clearly discern the entirety of her breasts; areolas and nipples included.

The woman was actually quite attractive; tall, sleek, with long black hair styled into a casual French braid. She radiated a mild suspicion, as if he might damage something were he left unsupervised.

"Are you at all interested in film noir; hard boiled detective stories, men with flexible morals and the delightfully delicious women hopelessly attracted to them? People suffering from their choices and the perilous situations they've found themselves in, but always suffering in a very stylish manner."

"Ah, sure." Oh great, just great, nothing like sparklingly brilliant repartee. Was she actually flirting with him? When she had said, "delightfully delicious girls hopelessly attracted..." She'd licked her lips and ever so slightly tilted her head down, which caused him to look at her veiled breasts - again. Rick tried to rally to her level of flirtation.

"Actually, I'd like nothing more than to talk about deliriously delightful girls and the men they are attracted to." Rick glanced speculatively for a name tag, succeeding only in examining her breasts more closely. "Ah, Miss, or Ms ah, um...so tell me about the hat. Can I try it on?"

"Hmm, perhaps." Rick sensed that she had a undisputed suspicion that he was up to no good. In his defense he tried to smile easily, but felt it played more as an understated leer. "The backstory to this hat has a wonderful connection to the golden age of Hollywood. Now, unfortunately we are not able to authenticate for purposes of absolute certification that many of the salacious stories attributed to this hat are true -- if we could it would be much more valuable. However, what we have been told, and what I personally believe to be true, is that this hat, is in fact, the very fedora worn by Humphrey Bogart in the classic movie, "The Big Sleep."

Rick felt his shoulders involuntarily hunch, and his smile pulled to one side. It occurred to him that this 'clerk, saleswoman, whatever' was a good-looking doll.

The doll actually shuddered at that moment, causing a wonderful ripple to traverse her breasts. There was an audible gulp before she continued.

"You may recall that they made the movie "The Big Sleep" in 1945. It was based on a 1939 Raymond Chandler story of the same name. Humphrey Bogart, was cast to play private detective Philip Marlowe, one of Raymond Chandler's finest characters.

"Now quite unlike his character Philip Marlowe, Bogart had a reputation, deserved or undeserved, of being very fond of the ladies. Now much of this is based on the many accusations put forth by Bogart's third wife Mayo Methot. She was convinced that her husband was regularly and successfully bedding a vast number of Hollywood's most beautiful young actresses. And in this particular movie there are many young, beautiful women, perfectly adaptable to the apocryphal stories regarding his overtly amorous antics, including, but not limited to; his eventual fourth wife Lauren Bacall whom he married shortly after divorcing Ms Methot.

"Ms Bacall was cast in the roll of Vivian Rutledge, a widow with a reputation for enjoying the company of men. It has been suggested that he likely bedded Dorthy Malone, who played a glasses wearing bookstore clerk in a scene that suggested they shared an amorous encounter during a rainstorm. She and Mr Bogart had incredible onscreen chemistry.

"And it is further implied that he engaged in various sexual encounters with other women involved with the movie; including Martha Vickers, who played Carmen, the younger Sternwood daughter, oh, she had some deliciously naughty lines of dialogue. Although my favorite line regarding Carmen's behavior was delivered by Mr. Bogart when he was talking to the Sternwood butler, "Yes, I've met her. She was trying to sit in my lap while I was standing."

"There are even rumors, and sadly, rumors is all they are, of Bogart indulging in at least one, multi-partner sexual tryst. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending upon who you're rooting for here, there are no known journal or diary entries, and certainly no photos, no collaborative evidence of any kind, nothing. There is simply no definitive proof, and yet, there are an unusually large number of vociferous 'reputation saving denials' by every one I've just referenced."

Rick noted that during her cinematic spiel this 'as yet unnamed' woman had transferred the hat from one hand to the other in order to hold it closer to Rick's view, and used this as an opportunity to wrap her other arm around his back to prevent him from moving away. This resulted in his arm being 'caught' between her breasts, and the back of his hand brushing against the front of her pelvis. Was he actually sensing the radiant, wet heat of her arousal? Her closeness and her intimate scent was beguiling him in an alarmingly arousing manner.

His erectile response was immediate and his cock was soon straining against his trousers. He dare not look down or try to adjust himself less he draw attention to his uncontrollably hard cock.

"Supposedly, this particular hat was bought expressedly for 'The Big Sleep', and every time Bogie wore it, one or more of the females present was soon attending to his carnal needs; blowjobs, fucking, and supposedly, though I must remind you there is no actual proof, some vigorous threesomes possibly involving Malone and/or Vickers or female participants unknown."

"Usually, when all the participants in these 'affairs of the cinema' have passed on, all manner of scandal worthy sexual information comes pouring out. Look at poor Grace Kielly, after her passing hundreds and hundreds of stories came out about her relentless fucking around. It was well known within the industry that the poor woman had a serious inability to keep her knees together and her panties in place."

Rick gave up any pretense of decorum and turned towards the woman, he made no effort to prevent his erection from brushing across her body as he gently removed the hat from her hands

"That's some hat. If it has that kind of sexual mojo, how did it end up here?" Scott held the hat over his head, but look directly at the saleswoman.

"That is it's own unique story," Rick shuddered as her hand rubbed up and down his cloth-covered cock, she was panting slightly, "supposedly Ms Bacall removed it from the set and kept it with her. During her continuing affair with Bogie, which likely started during their previous movie 'To Have And Have Not,' the accepted story is she would have him wear it anytime they were together. Once she and Bogie married in 1946, she hid the hat, storing it away. Safely out of sight, the hat slowly fell out of memory, and via the passage of time it was at last forgotten. Gone, as if it had never existed. Leaving rumors, innuendos, and far too many unverified erotic fantasies.

"Around the time of Ms Bacall's passing, various items of Bogie memorabilia began to make their way back onto the market.

"Somehow, this particular hat came into the possession of one Randle Black. Fortunately we have a strong, certified 'chain of custody' from that point forward. Shortly after taking possession of the hat, the hitherto unknown Mr. Black, developed a very public and extremely well-documented reputation as being an incredibly virile and vigorous man in his early 60's. Apparently he was quite adept at pleasing the ladies and these skills were as I've indicated well-documented via the freely shared reminiscences from his many paramours. Mr Black clearly did not believe in sexual exclusivity and in time he eventually died with a smile on his face while enjoying the carnal company of three college coeds from a very well known local university."

The clerk took back the hat and lifted it over Ricks head, her breasts and pelvis pressing against him.

"Let's see if the hat is interested in belonging to you -- shall we?"

As the hat settled on his head, Rick smiled, he liked the way the hat felt on his head. He looked into a nearby mirror and tilted the hat to a slightly more rakish angle.

He turned to ask the shop clerk what she thought, but the the question died before it moved his tongue. He was looking at the woman he'd just been talking to but what he now saw was oh so completely different.

She actually glowed with desire, a deep burning sexual need radiated from her. Lordy but this woman wanted sex - and she wanted it now. She wanted to be kissed, she wanted to be touched, and stroked, and fondled. Her full breasts begged for attention, and if she licked her lips one more time he just might be tempted to take her right where they stood.

Her wet, pink tongue slipped back then forth between her lips again. Her high-pitched 'squeak' was smothered by his mouth as his tongue teased and dominated hers. One of his hands grabbed her butt and mashed her pelvis into his. The other went to the back of her neck, holding her head as his kisses trailed from her lips, down her neck, and back again.

She was not pushing him away -- not in the least. First she rubbed her pelvis against him as if trying to climb up his torso so as to impale herself on his cock. Then she tried to wedge a hand between them get a grip on his zipper so she could pull it down.

"I want...Damnit, where is your office?"

"This way." She grabbed his hand and pulled at him to follow.

Rick followed, unable to look away from her swaying backside as she led him deeper into the store. They hurried by a counter with a cash register, passed through a curtain of strung beads, then turned left into a crazily, cluttered office. Once inside he closed the door and pulled her toward him. He turned aside at the last moment, lifting her arms and placed her hands, palms flat against the door in a classic 'frisk' position. He not so gently kicked her feet apart.

He pressed his body against hers and rubbed his erection back and forth across her bottom. Hands reach around her and covered her breast - momentarily. Then they began to pull the dress upwards, over her torso until it partially covered her head, and confined her arms in a tangle of material.