(well, this went some weird places… sorry?)
The thing I’ve always appreciated about bike couriers was the shape of their legs—especially their—no, not thighs, why did you think that?—their calves. Really, the overall effect of legs that bike constantly is pleasing—lean, long, taut muscles—but it is the calf that provides that phenomenal bulge that…
Seriously? Your mind went there? I’m appalled.
Calves. Calves are beautiful and so under-appreciated. The Victorians knew how sexy and dangerous they were, but we’ve lost that sensibility sometime around the invention of the mini skirt and the bikini–and, of course, the Speedo and the Bermuda short.
Anyway. This particular bike courier had absolutely marvellous legs. And calves. I’m going to say bulge again and if you smirk again, I’m going to throw something at you—fine, look away if you can’t keep a straight face—the bulge of those fucking calves made me drool and made signing for the package a little awkward. Repositioning myself so that I could keep on looking at his legs from the back and in semi profile was so fucking obvious, I kept on waiting for him to call me a dirty old woman, or to demand what the fuck I wanted—or to ask me for my phone number, or give me his, or suggest that maybe we go to the backroom for a while, or…
“Are you okay, ma’am?” he asked.
“Fine,” I mumbled. Signed. Looked up.
And noticed for the first time that he had a beard. Not a little beard. Not a cute goatee or a ‘haven’t shaved for a few days (or hours) and I look like George Michael’ beard, but a giant lumberjack beard that didn’t quite go down to his waist but it might as well have.
He stroked it proudly.
What a waste of a pair of beautiful calves, I thought without regret as he turned around, hiding the beard and flaunting the calves, and walked out of the reception area. I would have stripped those calves naked and rubbed them all over every single last inch of me if I could have.
All I wanted to do with the beard… was shave it.
You have a different opinion? A different aesthetic? A different preference?
I don’t have his phone number, but I know what company he works for. Shall we track him down?
COME SEE ME:
M. JANE COLETTE: MORE THAN A GUILTY PLEASURE
Wednesday, February 1, 2017
Owl’s Nest Book Store
815A 49th Avenue SW Calgary
Romance and erotica as an antidote to cyber-porn. An evening of discussion.
Do you read romance novels apologetically, under the covers—secretly on your e-reader, so no one catches you at your guilty pleasure? Stop. And join M. Jane Colette, author of the steamy erotic romance Tell Me and the non-fiction essay collection on language and writing CUNT versus PUSSY, Alyssa Linn Palmer, author of noir romance and gay and lesbian fiction such as award-winning Midnight at the Orpheus, and members of the Calgary chapter of the Romance Writers of America in a spirited discussion of why reading (and writing ) romance and erotica is important in an age of plentiful porn. We promise, you’ll never look at ‘bodice rippers’ the same way again—and you might be inspired to start writing one of your own.
RSVPs are appreciated but not required. Contact@owlsnestbooks.com or (403) 287-9557 to reserve your spot… or show up at the last minute.
For Nicole: Cardamom Knob Wool
For Jenn: Piano River Feather
For Lara: Peasant Cicada Pomegranate
For Paola: Stoked Sunrise Ferocity
For Nina: Crimson Brilliant Moon
For Cathy: Elated Chocolate Tears
For Lisa: Collar Forgiveness Wind
For Leslie: Train Clouds Mountain
For Grazyna: Anticipation Disappointment Hope
For Tet: Pills Chips Lotion
For Fionna: Crimson Ocean Dance
For Nina: Jaw Hair Voice
For Bella: Bike Muscles Beard
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