Monday, July 25, 2005

Cinnamon Girl

Tennis is a game where you wait for ball to come to you, especially when you play a slow game of dry clay courts. Ramming the last shot with vigor and a feeling of banal pride, I ended the game. Pulling my socks up, and aligning the skewed matrix of racquet guts, I moved to the stands. Take some time before you grab the water bottle after a game, an always overlooked warning. I gulp a few milliliters of water, while my eyes still on the little space age kids. Really the so called “cool babies”, though even they know they are wearing plastic masks, their parents bought them from their riches. I take a deep breath, when I am checked by a pat on my rear head. I turn my head to see who it is. To much of surprise, it is that young girl I saw a little while ago, on the other side of the court. Fairly tomboyish, shoulder length hair locks, a cute smile and a greeting hi. “Hey”, I respond back. “Remember me”, she said. As blank as ever, I said, “no”. She bursts into an expected laughter. “How would you know me, we never met before”. “Yeah Right”. She took her eyes off me and started looking straight, “you want to play a game?” “No, not now”, I am already done, I replied without thinking. “I want you to teach me”, she surprised me with all that interest, and “I have been like watching you for a couple of weeks now”. “Hey thanks you considered me worth that”, I replied feeling honored. She looked back and smiled. There is something with pretty women that you just can’t say no, and if she smiles she knows that she is killing you. “Ok! Let’s give it a try. By the way, what’s your name”, I just couldn’t say no. “Sania Mirza”. “What the fuck”, I was creepy laughing. “Moron! That’s my name, all right! Just a coincidence that it is same as Sania Mirza”, she was annoyed a bit.
I taught her a few basics, and shot techniques. Surely she hadn’t learnt anything from the training she was taking and I wasn’t sure that she will retain what I told her. Good for me that she got tired quickly. She was friendly and not shy, unlike me. Certainly, now I take my broadsword out whenever I see such an assault. But I liked the way she took things along. We went for a coffee after the game. I generally drive fast, but this time I wanted it to be slow. I wanted to prolong the time as much as I could. You like chocolates, I said yes I do. Again her smiling face, I wondered why god has been ruthless to men. Why couldn’t he make all men gay and reproduce and work hard for the welfare of MAN kind. You want to go for a drive? I gathered tons of courage and asked her. Not to my surprise she gladly accepted, “that would be awesome”. We went to the road of basking pleasures. Both side lush green forest, curvy roads with tulips smelting gold, and with her arm around my seat. You know why we have no ways out of this world, its because of the pretty things we see here. Every now and then in life we find something that is beautiful. God knew how to control population in his worlds. He sent pretty, material things down to earth to stray goats personified as men. But at times in life you want to untie your self.
There was something I didn’t expect to flow in, “Teach my driving”. I resisted. I thought to myself this just gone adult might ram us down some where. She put her hand on my arm and pleaded trust. For a while I just wanted that she never left my arm, but then I would be a sculpture, with donkeys peeing on my feet and crows shitting on my head. “All right! All right, but we just go straight all right, and you do no ruff handling, go smooth”, would I have a chance to say thanks to god. Driving lessons to cutie, another nice job option. Did she smell good, god did all adversities with men only, even after so much sweating she was fragrant. You start slow. Ok. First lessons, I remembered my Dad’s driver, rather I should call him Guruji, and the things he taught me, first lessons are always remembered, like first kiss, first date, first heart break…you can never forget them. I told her all that shit and we moved forward with a few hitches. I just cannot help my dirty mind, or perhaps my so called Dog nature, I looked at her slender legs, and I could take my eyes of them. A woman charisma is like that only, a seduction act, when you let yourself lose. “Nice legs”, I ain’t afraid of complimenting her assets. She daggers another shot into my heart with her foxy eyes and naughty smile. To my ill fate the feet at the end of those flashy legs were pestering the poor accelerator a little too much. My heart concomitant with the poor engine both were pumping hard for survival.
“Hey! Calm down. Slow it baby, you don’t have to press it too hard”, I almost shouted. She didn’t listen; instead she gave a kinky look back. You are driving for the first time, slow it. She won’t listen, we were already crossing sixty, my grabbed the hand brake, and the need could be anytime. I screamed again, “why are you doing this? I will pull the hand brake if you persist”. Don’t do that she responded smiling. This girls gone crazy and is going kill me today. We will touch hundred in a little time, please slow down, I literally begged. She felt the wave and quivered not in fear but with a nitro boost. I will slow down if you say that you love me, she caught me with sheer surprise. What is this crap? I retorted. Are you high on crack? No but moron say that you love me. Why do you want me to love you? We don’t even know each other. No, just say it.
Why I have to be adamant about certain things all the time? All right! All right! I love you. I love you a lot Sweet heart. And she slowed down and granted me life. She brought the car from 60 to zero in less then five seconds and caused me palpitation. This crazy girl removed her seat belt and kissed me, or rather suffocated me, something that I was supposed to do. She was all drenched with excitement and told me that she knew how to drive; she was just playing a game, and yeah last but not the least she smelled good ;), the cinnamon girl.

3 comments:

Anshul said...

when does dis happened ass

Anshul said...

nice story man. seems like you are working on your english.

The waterhouse king said...

fact or fiction?