09.10.08
Doing battle with a Gothic Goddess
I spotted her the moment I entered the bakery area of the supermarket. It wasn’t difficult really, because, apart from her, there was only two other humans present, a married man of about 35 and his child.
The man was pushing a trolley but shopping was the furthest thing from his mind as he continuously tripped over his drooling tongue, totally captivated by her beauty and potent sexuality.
Shopping was also the furthest thing from her mind as she reveled in her power, she was a sexual predator who had made a killing and she was extracting the full price that was due to her.
My arrival broke the spell, the man returned to his shopping after calling to his child, who had wandered off to inspect a delectable display of cream cakes. She immediately turned her attention to me.
It didn’t matter that I was at least 38 older than her. It wasn’t about age; it wasn’t about hunting for a mate, it wasn’t even about sexual attraction. It was simply about a ravishingly beautiful creature that had only recently blossomed into womanhood, a creature that was testing her new found powers, a creature who was beginning to realise the full extent of the potent powers she possessed.
She was a Gothic Goddess – a perfect body mounted on high heeled shoes, jeans so tight that they could have been painted onto her. Jet black shoulder length hair that just fell short of her beautiful but skimpy top, a top that only partly covered her black lace, red trimmed bra. Pale, flawless skin, dark eye makeup and exquisite bright red lips that were just beginning to pout in my direction.
I quickly realised that I had to act immediately. She was purposefully heading in my direction, determined to ensnare the intruder whose intervention had allowed her previous victim to escape. I instinctively knew that if I wanted to win the coming battle I had, at all costs, to avoid looking at her, I had to behave as if she didn’t exist.
For her, it was simply unacceptable that a male of the species who had drifted within her sphere of influence could ignore her presence. It was critical for the continued confirmation of her newly discovered womanhood that all males should pay homage to her beauty and power.
The battle lines were drawn.
I immediately took evasive action and headed for the apple tart display. She paused only for a moment before following, stopping close by to poke around at some doughnuts.
I steadfastly focused on the tarts and cheered inwardly when she moved away – I had won. But my victory was short lived. As I turned I realised that her move away was not surrender but merely to set up an ambush.
As I stood, helpless, she approached with one of those yellow warning signs used by supermarkets to alert customers that the floor has just been mopped - Now, I was about to be mopped.
She very deliberately bent over and placed the sign on the floor and in the process allowed me a clear view down her top. Like a rabbit caught in the full glare of headlights, I stared transfixed at the perfect shape of her exquisite breasts as they firmly supported her lace bra. My stare lasted about two seconds; believe me, that’s a long time for a 56 year old man to be looking down the top of a woman aged about 18.
I had won at the tart display encounter but she had most definitely routed me in the wet floor sign ambush – The score was even.
After collecting my thoughts I changed tactics by moving out of the bakery area and over to the pizza counter – an organised and honourable retreat, so to speak.
I knew she was following, not by direct sight but by observing her reflection in the chrome counter. In an instant she was standing so close to me that an observer could be forgiven for assuming that we were a father/daughter couple out enjoying a bit of shopping.
She made no attempt to order, she was only interested in extracting her due homage.
I ordered a pizza from the shop assistant and despite my senses being enveloped by her alluring perfume I continued to act as if she wasn’t there. I looked up, down, to the right, but never for a moment turned my head to the left where she waited patiently to receive my surrender.
She knew that within moments my pizza would be ready, that I would be walking away, leaving her defeated. I smiled inwardly as the shop assistant placed my pizza on the weighing scales, the last act before the deal was done - I was confident of victory.
But, once again, I was ambushed. The goddess leaned right over, looked directly into my eyes and asked the most ridiculous question – How much do you think your pizza will cost?
There was no avoiding such a direct approach; I was forced to look at her, to acknowledge her presence. But my response was calm and measured, I showed her the price on the pizza that the assistant had just handed to me and remarked that it was good value.
The score was still even.
Walking away, I was acutely aware that I could still lose. I instinctively knew she was still standing there, waiting for me to look back.