"I think she's serious," Bob said, taking a break from his banging to look at me. "I mean, what kind of sick chick wants to get banged by a blind man?"
I wanted to say, 'But Bob, in so many ways you are blind.' Instead I said, "Put a blindfold on the next time you crawl in bed--maybe that will get her hot."
"I suggested that," Bob said, getting back to banging, "but Joni says there's more that comes with the blind package than the lack of sight."
This cleared it up for me; what Joni wanted--when it came to sex--was less hardball, more slow pitch. Cleverly, she'd used the sensitivity of the blind to spell it out. But bang-bang Bob had taken her literally; thought what she wanted was sex with a blind guy.
Out my side window the world was blurring by--the perfect mindset for the writer preparing to write. Oh, no, I knew what wise words might inspire base Bob, here, to grow. What I didn't know, was whether it was wise to stick 'em in his ear. Why? Because personal growth had a way of exorcising the fool out of a guy, and where there's no fool, there's no sidekick.
I looked at my sidekick. No, my old soul work down here--inspiring individuals to take the next higher step--was a tough row to hoe, and I needed all the kicks I could muster to go on fighting the good fight. And if that meant sacrificing fool Bob, here, well then, that's the way he'll go.
I got back to the world blurring by. Boy, how callous of me; sending Bob to hell in a handbasket just so I could get my kicks. But wait; there was that age old question in old soul circles: Was every individual capable of growing? Answer: Hell, Gabriel could blow in Bob's ear, and the bonehead wouldn't get a clue.
Relieved, I raised my horn, blew a clue custom-fit for Bob's ear.
"Jeez, Bob, I think Joni's onto something, here. No, any girl--in her right mind--has got to prefer the blind. I mean, look at you and me. We seeing eyed males get it wrong from the get-go. Seeing, we search for beauty, spy beauty, want to consume beauty. And if were lucky enough to get our hands on beauty, we consume beauty like we wolf burritos at the ball game--huge bites, chased by gulps of beer. So caught up in wolfing burrito, we never consider the well-being of the burrito we're wolfing. But the . . . the, ah . . ."
Damn, I'd lost my train.
Bob came to the rescue: "The blind, Bonehead; why a girl preferrs the blind."
"But that's it exactly, Bob. See, the blind man can't see. Which means he can't see beauty. Which means he's immune to the blindness beauty causes in the rest of us losers. No, really, Bob, close your eyes and envision that blind man making sweet love to your Joni. Is he wolfing? No, he's purring. Is he hammering boards to the wall? No, he's lovingly hanging wallpaper."
Before sticking my clue of clues in Bob's ear, I gave him that look that said, "Get a clue, Bonehead."
"Braille, Bob, braille. That's the way a guy satisfies his girl."
"Pecooliar," Bob said. "Plenty pecooliar."
And there it was, why a guy invests in a sidekick; for the pay day he recieves in the way of plenty pecooliar's.
"What's plenty pecooliar, Bob?"
"You. I finally get you to talk sex and chicks, and what do you do, but cough up some garble about some wimp disabled guy, all fingers and no hump. See, Anton, I know what women want. They want to be taken. Sure, all the chicks say they want some touchy-feely kind of guy, some blind man with a slow cane, tapping his way around, learning the lay of the land. But that's society talking. What women really want, deep down, is to be taken down."
"Downtown?"
"No, you moron. Women want a man who will drop 'em where they stand, pin 'em to a pile of laundry, or an upstairs' step. Or, better yet, shove 'em in the closet and bang 'em on their shoes. Bang 'em like they mean it. Bang 'em hard enough to make up for all the limp wimps they've had to put up with year after year while they withered."
Bob quit banging, gave me the look that said, "Get a clue, Wimp." And there it was, why only old souls can handle the sidekick--green souls can't handle the ego abuse.
I looked out my side window at the world blurring by.
I had a girlfriend once, whose recurring criticism of me was my girlish sensitivity. Was this what Kat was getting at; that she wanted me to do her like callous Bob, here? That Kat did have lot of shoes. Ya, maybe that's why she broke up with me; to find a guy who had more insight into the true use of that closet paved with shoes.
I looked at Bob. The old soldier was recounting all the places he'd done his women. Presently he was at the zoo. "It's true," he was saying, "it's all those big game animals pacing behind bars. See, Anton, a girl needs tension--a build up of tension. But that's hard work; as hard as foreplay. So what you want to do is to get caged animals to do that work for you. Once the drudgery of tension building is out of the way, you drag her into some zoo shrubbery, give her release."
Listen to the soldier; Sure there was conquer in his voice, but for all his girl-slaying, there was no joy in his voice--only drudgery. Yes, listen to the soldier straining to convince himself of his woman creed. A creed, perhaps, he was starting to question himself.
Boy, I sure hope that wasn't a mistake; me sticking that clue of clues in my side-kicks ear.
I got back to my side window; the world blurring by. That's what I liked about the blur; everything's a whole--equal. Ya, and with everything equal, there is no thing no someone. But, wait; I just noticed something--some kind of gold rod had blurred by.
Omen.
Let's see; gold rod. There was that rule I'd learned at vacation bible school. How did it go again? "Don't do unto others, what you'd not have them do unto you." Well, something like that.
I looked at Bob banging away on my glove box door. The rule gave me some further clue to stick in his ear.
I didn't stick it--done enough already to endanger my sidekick.
So I turned to my side window, whispered this to the world blurring by: "I know, Bob; hard for us men to know how to be a man when it comes to women. But I'll tell you one thing; this nether earth plane would be a lot less nether if we randy males could see fit to get more up in the way of gold rods."
****
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