There I was, standing at the foot of my unmade bed on a hot August Nevada day, barely covered in lace and roses bra and panties, short skirt and cami, with my three moving men humbly asking, “Is there anything else we can do for you, Ma’am?”
Soft eyes matched hard muscle. I trembled and nearly fainted as shockingly erotic movies immediately played across my mind. “Do for me? Well, yes, now that you mention it… see that dresser over there? It needs to go on that wall rather than this one.” Oh, Goddess help me, I could just lay back on the damn dresser… the bed is too obvious, isn’t it?
I loved these guys. I loved how they effortlessly hauled, dollied and carried thousands of pounds… tons actually, of my stuff the previous day… a move down three flights of stone steps from my Lake Tahoe home that took eight hours before they showed up in two huge vans at my new house in Genoa—Nevada’s oldest town in which Nevada’s oldest Thirst Parlor is the number one tourist attraction. In that one long day we bonded in partnership-of-the-impossible. No time for lunch… no time for dinner… just finish the job and head home with empty vans.
Back to these three men at the foot of my bed… or perhaps I should say to the movies in my head that weakened the very fabric of my seventy years of evolution into a Conscious Lover. For every woman my age I want to assure you we are still capable of prolonged fantasies of sex with young bucks who make a living on their testosterone. I was wet with desire, yet my ‘nice girl’ would have no part of their offer.
“Oh, no thanks,” I squeaked in near-breathless observation of my promiscuous thoughts. They were, after all, the Moving Men. As they followed me back down the carpeted stairs, we hugged good-bye, lingering in the embraces that were filled with the promise of tender passion.
Often unrequited love is the only option. The whole scene was reminiscent of youthful times gone by when I would have jumped their bones—or is that boners? It was a warm reminder of my ALIVE female animal who lives in the deepest recesses of my goddess lover-woman.
Could it be that the Wild West of Northern Nevada has woken up Belle Starr… Divine Madame of the Thirst Parlor and Pleasure Professional? What do you think? Please share in the comments section below.
Your divine side-kick and friend,