Sunday, September 16, 2012

The seventy-five year old virgin.

Nxt posting will b updating BE  part of THE SOLUTION. 

pg. 10 
She laughed, the Fallopian tubes get tied to prevent pregnancy….

They didn’t see each other much anymore. When they did, it was difficult to be spontaneous, to really talk to each other.

Next time Bert called, she told him how busy she was, You know school, working. Let me call you, maybe during summer brake. It was only January.

THE COURSES ALBA was taking in Spanish, English and French at State demanded more and more of her. She was a extremely hard working student striving always to be the best. Nothing less than an A. She earned Honors. Did her Masters in two years financed mostly by Fellowships earned: “FOR YOUR ACADEMIC EXCELLENCE AND COMMITMENT TO ACADEMIC EQUALITY.”  

It was nineteen-eighty-seven. She was fifty-four. And as always, looked half her age. Fit. Keeping up all her excellent maintenance routine. And mentally, more than ever through all her classes, and  her involvement in writer’s groups. It was all the editing, rewriting. And learning the computer. And there were the Open Mics, which she loved, a different one every night. Enough for every taste. They happened in bars, cafes, schools, book stores, libraries.

Alba was making an excellent living as Interpreter-Translator. Active in writing groups, In Open Mics she became quite popular. Her favorite spot, THE BLUE MONKEY Café, in Hayes Valley. Big. Airy. Colorful. One entire wall was enhance with a mural of a purple monkey in its natural habitat. The Café sold great pastry, sandwiches. Delicious coffee. Open Mic nights it overflowed with people. And yet  those evenings were disciplined, entertaining, because the woman that run the series paid attention to each reader, gave all equal time, positive criticism, a lot praise.  One night, particularly inspired Alba read a short story that was very well received.

When the Open Mic was over, a tall, good looking guy with a  pony
pg. 11
tail, accompanied by two or three other persons approached her. The tall guy said, I never heard a better written short story….

SIXTEEN YEARS LATER they were still seeing each other. Alba was now seventy-five. It was two-thousand-eight. And, as a product of the times, had had plastic surgery. Botox, for maintenance. Continued her active life mental, sexual, physical, spiritual. Kept herself slender at one hundred twelve pounds, perfect for her five two, small bone frame.

Her relationship with Ray was of occasional lovers. He was  a technical writer for a big corporation downtown San Francisco. Creative at love making. Passionate. They met at her house. Or his apartment in the Avenues where his enormous bed was a huge playpen. Great for enjoying all kinds of delightful positions. And where in the mornings he would serve her coffee and sometimes make her quesadillas. And where his cat would curl up and sleep between them. When they met he always had presents for her, CDs, tapes, flowers, books of her favorite Spanish authors. And through the years was always most flattering, to him she was always beautiful, always funny. He would burst out loud, She is beautiful. She is funny. And laugh, delighted––each time––as with a new found discovery. Another plus, he loved everything Latin. He knew as much or more than Alba of Latin American and Spanish music and literature. They always had a lot to talk about. Enjoyed music, movies, going out to dinner.

Alba sometimes got frustrated with the infrequency of their love making. But her anxieties were appeased, nurtured through the praise she got at work, at the Open Mics. She frequented men friends. Enjoyed their company. Her poems and fiction started to get published. Writing, editing, submitting kept her happily busy.

ONE LATE AFTERNOON, at the commuter’s hour, crowds everywhere downtown San Francisco. Many trying to get out of the city, catch a bus, a cable car, a street car, a taxi, get on BART. In the midst of all that, a familiar face appeared in front of Alba. .................

Whose face? Friend, foe............?

Saturday, September 8, 2012


A friend shares: 

Mission Neighborhood Centers, Inc. San Francisco CA.  MNC Launches expanded Computer and Technology Classes for Seniors!   Know a senior citizen interested in gaining cpu skills? Contact us today!

What is going on in Ur area that could help someone? Pls share, I'll spread the word.
Dahlias & red sunsets 2 U,

Monday, September 3, 2012


pg. 8

SOME WEDNESDAYS WHEN  she met Lloyd, Alba would be very
tense. Full of doubts. What was she doing? It didn’t mean anything? Or did it? She was confused, lately she felt she cared for him, really cared. Oh! all those contrary feelings.

Lloyd knew how to handle it. He would make small talk. At moments touching on serious subjects, then a joke or two and he would talk stealing sideway glances at her to gauge her mood till she started to relax. Then smiling into her eyes as if to ask her permission he would take her hands, kiss them, pull her to him….

He liked her. He really cared for her. He had told her he loved her. He had said as much. He murmured in her ear often, I love you, Alba. He called her everyday. Several times a day. Day and night. He showered her with lovely gifts: a deluxe edition of English-Spanish dictionary. Jewelry. A TV set. And he was interested in everything she did. So kind, gentle, good looking, passionate. Yes. And married with two children.

So she knew. Didn’t need to ask herself, why?? She brought it up. Softly, more as thinking out loud….

He listened. Paid attention. Invited her to brunch the following Sunday at his Club. Took her swimming at a lovely Country Club in the Peninsula. They went dancing. But it was too late. The combination of her new financial independence, her relationship with Bert. The uneasy feeling that never left her was growing and growing in her.

THE FOLLOWING WEEK Lloyd’s office was full of sunshine. The aroma of coffee and fresh pastry, so enticing. But he wasn’t his usual confident self. They had been talking in previous days of their relationship. This is not going to ever go any place, Alba softly.

A dark shadow of pain darkened his green eyes.

Alba’s filled with tears. She had not imagine the pain she was feeling. The room became dark, she was trying to contain the tears that were

pg. 9
spilling down her cheeks. They turned in passionate embrace toward each other. My darling, my love, Lloyd cried out. Their love making was savage. They exploded into one another. They climaxed together.

Lloyd didn’t say anything to let her know he knew she was seeing someone else. He was silent. It was obvious to Alba he was giving her a chance to talk to him.

She did: It has been wonderful, magicaI but need time to study, you  know I have enrolled at State. She looked up, he was watching her. A look of relief in his eyes. Thankful she was being discreet. He smiled.

Alba smiled.  She smiled broadly, lovingly. She had not realized
how much this was going to hurt. Tears rolled down her cheeks again….

ALBA CONTINUED TO see Bert and they had fun together. They enjoyed movies, ethnic restaurants, drives down the coast. A  plus was that their love making was so very good. He encouraged her to buy underwear at Fredericks of Hollywood downtown which specialized  in unusual, bawdy pieces, panties with a slit in the crotch. Oh yes! he would moan. Extra friction….Oh, Yes. Yes. They found they enjoyed talking, really talking to one another. One day he mentioned he was thirty-three. And she realized he didn’t know her age…She found him staring at her, his face distorted by an expression of disbelief.

You are forty-nine? He managed. Then to his credit, he smiled. His expression softened again. But immediately he looked away averting her eyes.  From then on their relationship cooled down. He took to mentioning often, how much his aging mother wanted grandchildren. Alba took the hint. Exasperated, one day, she told him, Well, I had a tubal ligation…

Bert, looked at her. His face a big question mark? ? ?

Too blunt? Better she should hv lied? What now, Alba wondered……...?