Sunset above the Point

At seventeen, she attended the Derby on the arm of a retired Judge whose judicial restraint
had held in check his sexual imagination. Now a pensioner, living off the County, he spent
his money not on his ex-wife, but on his sweet young things. Pre-Viagra,
he died trying to enhance the copulative experience with an unproved wonder drug.

She was eighteen, of age, without the immigration documents, and running with a forty year
old jockey with a couple of crowns to his name. The jockey was on the East Coast for
several weeks, she was sole resident of the Klein house and Dog-Boy was her latest argonaut.

Caliente had filled out her figure on the American Diet.
Couldn't understand how it happened? Said that she ate the same food as she
had in Mexico, only now she gained weight. Must be the american tomatoes. They
had more calories than their mexican counter-parts. At least that is what she
confided to me--after her Dog-Boy tempest--but that's another tale, and it involves my
cousin, not me. I am the scrivener, not the protagonist of these tales.

She was walking onto the sandstone rocks that overlook the reefs at sunset. After the sun
disappeared into the sea, she turned to climb back up the short cliff to the house. It was then
that she saw the palm frond under which Dog-Boy was residing to escape the Santa Ana heat.
She watched as he prepared his bedding in the sand. He didn't see her. Dusk descended upon the beach.
The boy Dog lit up a joint to help him relax into a slumber with the gentle sounds of the Pacific.
The jockey had taken his stash with him. She enjoyed the Smoke.

The rising smoke drew her down to the sand and she kneeled down and spoke in broken english
"Bueno. Por Favor." She held out her hand and he offered her a hit.
She drew a heavy inhalation and Dog-Boy was in Love. "Muy Bueno."
The Lady from Sonora heat up the night more than the Winds from Santa Ana.
Dog-Boy woke up the next morning inside the house, inside the bedroom, inside the Lady.
We have previously discussed his Intelligence Quotient. Smarter men than he have had
difficult times discerning Love from Lust. He never learned that distinction and became Lost.

It was the following day that I saw him lounging on the grass to the west of the house.
He motioned me up the small cliff and I joined him overlooking the sea. As I started to speak
with him, she moved out of the Casa with a beer and a mug for him. She looked at and smiled at me,
and I felt a heat in my loins that I kept in control. She gave him his mug, poured his beer, and asked
me if I wanted a cerveza? I declined, asked for cranberry juice, and she walked back to the house.

"Whoz that?"

"Cali. Short for Caliente."

"What's your position in this picture?"

The smile. "She likes me."

"Anybody else staying at the house?"

"They're lighting up the East Coast."

I didn't ask what she was doing with him. "What does she do?"

"Friend of some jockey. Shez has the house to herself." Smile. Big smile. "Ourselves."

"What happens when the jockey returns?"

"You know how small jockeys are?"

" You know how much money jockeys have?"

"Money can't buy what I got." This was before the penis pump.

"Money can buy this Casa."

She came back with my glass of cranberry juice.

the artist stokes the fires

She also had an almost empty bottle of absinthe. Dog-Boy was running with the artististic crowd.
He was smoking the Reefer, caressing her with his eyes. She smiled at me as she moved over to him.

smoldering in the Santa Ana winds

I knew his life was moving away from the serene sea. Storm clouds edged on the horizon.
I quickly drank my berry juice, and 'adiosed' them as I moved back down the small cliff.
He was oblivious to my departure, her eyes smiled at me as I moved away.

the Night falls

To be Continued

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