There Is No God

George A. Yesthal

I always went down to the Crossroads on Friday night after work. It’s the best blues club for five hundred miles and it just happens to be right down town, almost in my back yard. In the bar, this night, the lights were toned down to a comfortably warm, hazy glow and the music was a sultry brand of lazy blues highlighted by the tone only a Gibson ES 175 can provide. The girl next to me at the bar was sipping her daiquiri and grinding the barstool to the beat of the music. She was not beautiful in a classic sense but she sure was pretty and certainly sexy enough to set me salivating and the Little General was responding to Reveille. As she sipped, she glanced sideways at me and smiled. I almost made the mistake of saying, “Come here often”? I didn’t say that or ask her what her sign was. Fortunately my faux pas governor was in working order this night. But the nagging feeling that I’d met her before was begging to be made vocal. I fought the urge to ask and instead, I collected myself for a moment and finally eased out, “Your not here alone, are you?”

She leaned in close and smiled and her shoulder brushed mine. “Well, I don’t know, that depends. Am I?” was her response. Her name was Elaine and she had that kind of raw sexiness that can only come from within, born of a confident self-assuredness. The rest of the evening went so smoothly it was almost too good to be true, but when the last bars of “The Thrill is Gone” wound down and concluded the evening’s entertainment, I draped her suede waistcoat over her shoulders and against all hope found myself guiding her to my car.

At my car I fished in my coat pocket for my keys as she leaned her back against the drivers side door blocking the lock, grabbed my lapels and pulled me close. When we kissed it was more heady than any drink we’d had that night. Lord, but could that siren kiss! When we came up for air, she looked deeply into my eyes and smiled. At that point, again I was struck by the notion that I’d known this girl for some time. It truly was the oddest sensation.

During the twenty minute drive to my apartment uptown, the conversation was light and polite with tastefully sexual innuendo for spice. It was hard to keep my eyes on the road, not because of her alluring attraction which, make no mistake, she had in spades. No, it was the nagging feeling that we were somehow previously acquainted and I needed to keep looking and taking mental inventory. To no avail.

At my apartment after taking her coat to the closet, I stepped to the bar and asked, “Are you sticking with the daiquiris or would you care for a change?”

“I think this calls for wine if you have it”, she said and started thumbing through my collection of vintage blues vinyl.

“Shiraz okay?” I asked and suggested she pick whatever suited her. She picked Sonny Boy Williamson and I applauded her choice and finished pouring the wine. After putting on the music I joined her on the couch and we kissed for the second time. I have never been kissed like that before. She’d shown me at the bar that she could tie cherry stems with her tongue and I have to say I’d been thinking ever since about what else that talented muscle might do and now I was finding out first hand.

When we broke off and gazed at one another to the harmonica wail and tinkling piano of “I’m a Lonely Man” I just had to ask. “Elaine, I could swear I know you from somewhere. I almost said so at the bar but I didn’t want to come off like a nerd.”

She Laughed and said, “I get that a lot.” At that she stood and took my hand and said, “Ya know, I’ll bet anything we’ll be able to hear this old blues man wail from the bedroom. Whaddya think?” Needless to say I didn’t have to be asked twice.

We made love until the sun came up and if that girl wasn’t an acrobat, she should have been. We dozed for a bit and awoke around noon. She rolled over, we embraced and she deep throat kissed me and that tongue worked it’s magic once again. Finally, thinking about what I might make for breakfast, that nagging thought grabbed at me again and I held her chin and, gazing deeply into her eyes I smiled and said, “Damn, Elaine, I know I know you from somewhere…where?”

She giggled coyly, pressed her moist lips against my ear and whispered…

‘Two girls, one cup?”

There Is No God

George Yesthal

Brodheadsville, United States

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