The night blows cold and rainy,
My love she's like some raven
At my window with a broken wing...."
- Dylan, Love Minus Zero
By Patrick Alcatraz
LA JOYA, Texas - The harsh lands of this hellish outpost are for visions of a sun-parched highway seemingly floating off the ground in yet another summer scorch. I can see the road back to McAllen, but it is Jell-o on a crooked string. I'm out for a country drive of the backroads sort I enjoy out west. There's a can of cold soda within reach and, yeah, a bag of Ripples chips - my favorites. Running low to the ground always does something for me, although not as much as frickin' flying. I only wish the sight of mountains in the distance would come into view. It would do sooooooh much for my spirits. Things have been happening to me of late that I cannot quite explain. My approach to life is to look forward, never back there, where the bones of my past romances sink faster into the graves. I thought about Maria Isabel last night.
It was damned easy to picture her again, there atop the stairs of her townhouse in Fort Worth that cold night two winters ago, back before we broke up and I went away and she moved to Dallas to join a law firm in some highrise off busy, busy Central Expressway. Leggy Isabel stood tall in her white panties, one hand on the railing, the other one fingering the top of the elastic running full-around her waist. I was on the living room couch below, watching Judge Judy or somesuch bullshit, still wondering about our relationship, which I really wasn't into at the beginning. I turned around when she called me and stared at the black pubic patch beckoning, yeah. Her smallish breasts always alarmed me and I think it was the dark-dark nipples that sent me into quickfucks that forever satisfied me, but never grabbed me fully.
A half-hour earlier, she'd been sitting alongside me on the couch, first unbuckling my blue jeans and then, failing to find a hard-on, had left during a commercial and gone upstairs. "I want you to come up here and attack me," she said from the top of the stairs. I recall I went up, sat on the big bed and threw my legs out so that she could take my harness boots off. My cock was still somewhere between thinking about it and doing it - going on full alert, that is. I liked fucking Isabel. She had this bright, black, stringy hair I'd tug at when fucking her from behind and she was okay with long minutes of oral sex on me. But it took me awhile to get with the program with her. Who knows what that was about? Maybe it was my mind drifting toward some other broad, or maybe my God had me on "break" and I hadn't been told. I dunno, I dunno.
We did go low often enough for me to say I gave it a try. I did. I know I did.
The last time I saw her, at a coffee shop along Big D's fabled Greenville Avenue, she asked where I'd go next. I don't recall what I said to her, other than perhaps something like somewhere else. The day was a cold one and the last image I had of Dear Isabel was of her walking toward her car in that black winter overcoat that allowed itself to be blown by the bitter winds of a late-November evening.
I loved that woman...and I wish I'd said it to her at least once.
- 30 -