He was working in the lane for 3 days, and of course, she made up fantasies about the redheaded, tree trimming guy. It was too easy. He was such a flirt. So aware of his strengths, his frame, his persuasion. He looked her straight in the eye every time he talked to her, demanding that she do the same. He stood close to her as he talked, touching her arm, her shoulder. When his work was finished, he placed his wide palm and long fingers firmly on the bulge of her hip, just below her waist, leaned into her face and kissed her goodbye on the check. No tree guy had ever done that before. He told her, “anything you want, just call,” emphasizing the anything, giving her his number, watching to make sure she put it in her phone. She didn’t really want him; he was too young, too wholesome, and probably too eager, and despite the Adonis profile, not at all the type of man she was attracted to. She just liked making up fantasies, it’s a good way to pass the time of day when you’re alone, she thought. Making up a story with herself as the star was the intriguing part, the seduction. It had been her experience, that should the fantasy come to fruition, the consummation often proved disappointing. She just wanted to imagine him, the redhead, imagine him wanting her, imagine herself as the prize. And so she made the imaginary call. And he started coming to her in the night. And soon she began to think about the reality of a younger man.
art: joseph larusso