The Lisping Barista and the Weather Beaten Man in a Cowboy Hat visit Gillette’s Castle

I couldn’t wait until the Epiphany Cafe opened the next morning, so I could hack into the Lisping Barista’s laptop and find out what happened on her date with the Weather Beaten Man in a Cowboy Hat. I had no prurient interest. I was not looking to be tantalized by accounts of sex. It’s just one of the many things I do for you, dear reader, because you might have prurient interest and a taste for sexual tantalization.

The Lisping Barista was late. All the early morning coffee drinkers were lined up by the door by the time she got there, looking as though she had been up all night. The odds of being tantalized seemed pretty high; but, by the time she had opened up and filled the backlog of orders, it was mid-morning before she could get down to any writing.

That dude with the cowboy hat asked me out yesterday. We’re both new here and didn’t know what there was to do in town, so we asked around. Go to Gillette’s Castle everyone said. It’s so romantic. Some rich guy built a castle on a hill by the river. He died, so now it’s a state park. Pretty cool, I guess.

Indeed, Gillette’s Castle is the Kenilworth area’s major tourist destination. The castle overlooks the Connecticut River, high on a hill. You’d think you’re in Europe. It’s the perfect place to take a date. It’s got everything: scenery, historical interest, picturesque architecture, private nooks, and forested bolder-bestrewed grounds in which to do some serious necking. It was built by the actor, William Gillette, famous for his portrayal of Sherlock Holmes.

Anyway, so we take the ferry and walk around this castle and talk. He’s good looking and he has that cowboy thing going on. I guess he’s an actual cowboy, not just a guy with a hat. He’s been out west and seen places I never even saw when I was following the tour. He’d never heard of the Spellbinding Fish Fry, so I tell him all about them. He samples a few tracks from my iPod and seems to like them. He’s into listening, both to me and to the music.

Actually, he’s a perfect gentleman, holding doors open for me and stuff like that. The castle was beautiful and all the trees and the river, good to look at, but I think, something’s not right. Things are too perfect. Nothing is supposed to be perfect this way, except maybe music.

Perfect things make me nervous. Like when you’re visiting your grandmother when you’re a kid and it’s not childproof. There’s a glass coffee table, a white carpet, lots and lots of things to break, and nothing to do but listen to the grownups talk. You know there’s going to be trouble and you’ll be the one that’ll be blamed. If it was me in that situation, I’d just go ahead and break the coffee table with some valuable figurine just to be done with it. When you’re a kid, there’s no sense in being bored out of your mind and careful for, like, hours, only to break something at the end. Just get it done with and be out of your misery.

Anyway, so we’re walking around this castle, talking about the Fry. We get in this tour group and this guide shows us around the place. It’s like the opposite of my grandmother’s living room. Nothing is delicate. It’s all rocks, antlers, and velvet cushions. The tour guide is rattling on about how many stones were used in the building of the castle, how much the windows cost; you know, stuff no one cares about, and everyone is listening politely. I get to thinking, I hope the cowboy dude doesn’t think I’m a lady. If he thinks that, he’s going to be disappointed when he finds out otherwise.

A picture of the Gillette guy who built the castle is hanging on the wall. I stop to look like I’m studying it and let the tour group move on. Cowboy dude stops with me and looks at the picture, too, like he’s really interested. I suppose he thinks I’m interested, so he has to be. I’m not, though. As soon as he gets in reach I hook my arm around his neck, pull him close, and duel a bit with his tongue. I follow that up with cupping his ass and moving my fingers down his butt crack to where the balls hang.

I think he got the idea I wasn’t a lady.

I don’t want to make this sound like I wasn’t into it. I love fooling around and sex is the second best thing to do, after the Fry. I did it out of principle. I don’t like being put into a corner and expected to act in a certain way. I like to be free, unpredictable, and a little crazy. I like to keep my options open.

He didn’t seem to mind.

We do some more kissing and cupping and exploring fingers down cracks until the tour group loops around and some prissy crone with her grandkids lets out a gasp. The tour guide stops talking about windows and rocks and tells us to take it outside. The cowboy dude already has his hands on my breasts by then and I’m not pushing them away. He grabs my hand and we run outside, straight into the woods, and find a cave like we know where we’re going.

Woods cover the entire state of Connecticut and caves abound in the area near Kenilworth. You can hold hands, go in any direction, and run into the woods and find a cave.

Anyway, so, one thing leads to another. We’re in a cave. He has my shirt off and I have his pants off, then he goes for my pants and I’m after his shirt. We get to the point where there’s nothing more to take off, except his hat. Apparently, he never takes off his hat. This is about the time when my madness sets in for me. You see, I started jumping his bones because I didn’t want to be typecast, in this case, into a lady. I want to be free. But, once I jump his bones and get something started, I find I’m getting typecast into something else. A slut. I don’t want to be a slut any more than I want to be a lady. I want to be a slut as much as I want to be a lady. I actually want to be both, sometimes at the same time, or at least to be free to go from one to the other.

This is where I don’t know what to do because, if I try to stop things now, bad things happen. It’s like stopping a runaway train. You get run over. This is when I check out and go fuzzy.

I know, I’m a flakey, cock-teasing bitch. A real piece of work. That’s what I’ve been told.

Anyway, so, at this moment, I’m on my back with my head towards the entrance of the cave and he’s on his knees facing it. He’s ready and about to put it in. I’m all divided inside and getting ready to just let my mind leave so it doesn’t have to deal with what’s about to happen. My cunt can deal with it, but my mind has to avert its eyes.

He’s the kind of guy who can’t look at me when he fucks me, so he looks up through the entrance to the cave. He thinks he’s going to just see leaves and trees and maybe the river. He’s going to dream he’s fucking a supermodel while he’s fucking me. I’m going to go off to never-never land while I’m getting fucked. It’s going to be so fucking awesome for both of us.

Anyway, so, he’s about to stick it in and he looks up. He sees something that makes him go soft in an instant. I don’t know how they do it. It’s a mystery to me how they can get so hard so fast and so soft just as fast over just a little thing. At the same time that he goes soft, he starts yelling. Here I am, getting ready to be fucked and drifting off into wherever it is I go and he starts screaming at the top of his lungs.

“Go away. Can’t you guys ever leave me alone!”

I turn around and look. I don’t see anyone, but I figure they went away when he started screaming. I also figure he knows them. I ask him who it is.

“William Gillette.”

Yeah, that’s right. The guy in the picture we pretended to be looking at when we started messing around. The dead actor guy who built the castle.

And I thought I was crazy.

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S. Harry Zade

Writing a blog keeps me alive.

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