The Talisman Ch 1

tal-is-man

(n) - Something supposed to produce or capable of producing extraordinary effects; a charm.

"Dear Rick,

I think you're a really nice guy. And I can't tell you how much I loved going to see Barbra Streisand the other night. But I don't think a weekend in Catalina is really appropriate. I just don't see us as being anything more than friends. (I guess it's that office thing, ya know?) Anyway, I'm sure I'll see you around. Maybe we can hit that Italian place on the Promenade again for lunch.

Sincerely, Melissa"

Rick folded the laptop gently against the steering wheel, closing it with a "click" that seemed to punctuate the story of his love life. "Friends", "Buddies," "You're like a brother, father, uncle, to me", all echoing in that little "click". Rick pushed the seat back and leaned over to slide the laptop into its case under the passenger seat. Laying back, he stared through the smoked glass moonroof of his Jeep Grand Cherokee. He could almost swear that one of the clouds in the sky resembled a clown's face, smiling, almost laughing at him.

"Damn. Rejection by e-mail. That's got to be some kind of first."

Rick raised the driver's seat and started up the Jeep. As he pulled out of his parking space, he turned his head to take a last look at the couples and families ambling toward the Catalina Island ferry before driving away.

Rick's drive along the freeways toward his home in the Hollywood Hills seemed more like that of a homing pigeon subconsciously beelining his way to a coop. After a taunting string of oldies hits on the radio, "Love on a Two-Way Street", "Donna", "The Sun Ain't Gonna Shine Anymore", Rick switched off his radio and finished the ride home in silence.

Rick pulled into the driveway behind his Eclipse and switched off the car. Closing his eyes, he pictured Melissa at the office, the air-conditioning working it's magic against her sweater and his libido. The chilled air always caused Melissa's nipples to poke out, barely restrained under her bra, even more so on Fridays when the dress code was more lax and she tended to forgo an undergarment. He imagined what color they were-- were they a rose color, or a deep brown? How they would feel in his fingers, or on his tongue, in his mouth? How would she breathe if her nipples were sucked gently, rhythmically with the sound of the Catalina surf gently swooshing in the background? He looked down and saw a spot growing halfway down his pants leg.

"Damn. I've got to take care of this."

Rick adjusted his erection and started up the Jeep, pulling back out into the street. The sex store was only a few blocks away, it shouldn't take long to grab a video and get back home.

The sex store stood at the mouth of an alley just off Hollywood Boulevard. There was a heavy plastic covering draped over the door, blocking the view of the mildly curious. Rick parked a half-block from the sex store and stepped from the Jeep, casually jaywalking across the street. When he reached the doorway, Rick was caught by the scent of incense (was it sandalwood? Patchouli?) coming from the alleyway. He wondered if there was a homeless man selling incense or oils there, and stepped into the alley to take a look.

Near the back of the alley was a storefront, one he hadn't noticed before. The storefront glass had no lettering and was blacked out, as was the door. (What kind of store is this?) On the door was a piece of paper taped to the glass, flapping in the wind. Rick's curiosity bested his sexual frustration, and he walked further into the alley to check out this mystery. As he closed in on the storefront, Rick's erection flared again, pushing out from under his slacks, accompanied by the almost irresistable urge to masturbate.

"What the fuck?" he thought.

The spot of pre-come on Rick's pants spread and looked as if he'd lost control of his bladder. Embarrassed, Rick pulled his shirt out from his pants, covering the spot. Smoothing his shirt down, he brushed his hand against his penis, and it throbbed, almost as if he was coming, followed by the sensation of dizziness and addictive disorientation that comes from an orgasm. He leaned against the brick wall on the side of the alley and took in the smell of urine, a disturbing, acrid smell that made him lose some of his hardness. But it was what was written on the taped paper sign on the door, that made Rick's erection totally deflate.

"Come in, Rick. The door's open."

To Be Continued...