The Hip-Hop, K-Pop Sucking on a Lollipop


Do you wanna know what it feels like to be a dirty old man?
Didn't think so...

Just understand that the absolutely irreversible condition does have its soul nourishing epiphanies despite the sickening cotton candy stickiness those moments would actually taste like if given a tentative lick or three.
So a safe distance and a purposely dulled remove is the salve for the complete deficit of regard that I enjoy less and less. But these are the sad, battered gifts that raw experience drops at your door.

Yes...
To finally have a treasure of knowledge to match your hunger for soulful connection and a mature, unhurried ease, a true appreciation, some small amount of quiet confidence to move forward into the subtle dance of something like love...yet...to be about as desirable as the casually tossed aside newspapers that litter the subway seats like worthless artifacts leftover from a bygone age.

Trash not worthy of walking the few steps it might take to drop into the can.

What are all these inksheets of my youth still doing here anyway?

Because we all know they're hanging on yet continually losing value through their stubborn refusal to just fade away in favor of the brightly lit, hi-def, attention grabbing screens that hook both beautiful Youth and sagging Middle-age with equal ease.

My paper-thin prospects...spread all over every grimy corner of the car.
But light and life erupt through the grit and I'm so much more than glad.

This was the "7" on the way to Queens.

It was the winter that never died but this day was miraculously not freezing, raining or otherwise miserable so...
The errand involved food and its retrieval and was not without its excitement regarding same.          
It was a Saturday so the train was crowded for sure but I was safely traveling against the flow of weekend excitement. The crowds were busting out to break into the City while I was heading straight back into the dingy allure of Queens proper which, for most that day, was the decidely wrong direction.
But I popped in at Court Sq. and snagged a seat in the corner on my way to the end of the line, she was already aboard.

Yea, that 7 train was almost crowded but one of the slightly unusual features of regular MTA travelers is that they don't always head straight for any available seat, especially if their hop is a short one or they don't appreciate the specifics of the close-quarter company. Instead they grab a pole and strike a pose.
She was one of those.

She was tall for a Korean girl, going maybe 5'9" in her trendy, white leather, hi-top retro kicks that looked like the 80's but were likely made in a sweatshop last summer for quick sale in NYC. The kicks were spotlessly maintained as if they mattered. This was a bit unusual because the remainder of her wardrobe might've come from the "what-the-f**k-you-lookin-at" section of her closet.

The long legs were a feature but she didn't care to share.
Instead she wrapped them in grey D&G sweatpants that looked like they fell off a Chinatown truck, one of the legs of which was hiked up to her knee gangsta-style.                                                    
The revealed calf was slender and hinted at the absolute perfection of the rest of her flawlessly trim shanks.
She might've tipped the scales at a buck fifteen or so, if that, and that's if she ever bothered with scales, which seemed unlikely. She had the completely natural whip-thin build of a purebred racing filly and looked like she could outrun one if she wanted.
The legs led to hips that she accented with a slim, dark blue down vest cut off just above them. The vest might've been "boys" size but it looked almost too cute if you could tear your eyes away from the flesh that peeked out between the low-slung sweats and her undersized hoodie top that I was sure she threw on in a hurry. The flesh was caramel.

The trimness of her top displayed the contours of her curves just enough so they could be clocked by the observant eye but not enough to draw any undue attention.

I was feeling most observant.

Tits?

She had just enough and they were peaches. I was guessing she was packing them with a push-up but I didn't think I'd ever get to check even if I asked nicely.

But the face was a story.

Like many an Asian girl you might rush to describe it as "inscrutable" or a "mystery" or maybe just a blank slate devoid of emotion if you didn't happen to give a shit.

But hers was a challenge. It was a sweet slap. It was a swift kick and it hit me just right.

Her hard looks were a soft, inviting heart-shaped frame filled with flawless light caramel to match her hips. Her lips were a full, chocolate covered pucker of insouciant youth mixed with a slather of rattlesnake.
Either they were growling- "Don't F**K WITH ME!"
Or they were purring- "Come f**K me reaaalllll gooooood..."

She was on the very young side so it was impossible for me to tell.

And those chocolate slathered lips were aggressively wrapped around the long straw of one of those giant, sugary, whipped cream-filled, iced coffee concoctions you can get for cheap at the Dunkins and she was sucking away although there appeared to be plenty left for her to suck on.
Those lips were working it though with flashes of perfectly even, sparkly little teeth taking nibbles out of that straw as she worked it.
Her high, sharp cheekbones set off her black almond eyes that were all Pro all the way- hard, bored and ready for action if the price was right.
How young was she?

I considered it for awhile until I decided on something like the 22-24 range.
A tough twenty-something who was maybe done with school for good or maybe just dipping in and out as she pleased.                                                                                                                                The tiny pack she had slung over one shoulder was more stylish than functional and the red Beats she had covering her ears looked like they were permanent and unrelated to any paying profession. Wherever she was going it was no place important and wherever she came from hadn't cared much when she left.
Her blownout blonde mane of hair was cascading all over her shoulders and back with rich, deep veins of her original black crackling through the length of it like dark lightning. If it wasn't the most luxurious of looks, her beautiful, sassy scowl announced that it was not possible in this particular universe for her to care any less.

What would it take to make her smile?

That's what I thought as I sat there drinking her in slowly and deeply.

Maybe a pile of money might do it.
                                                                                                      
Maybe a fat, chunk of a diamond.  
                                                                                            
 Maybe a big bag of weed might or a Plus-one at a club she wanted to hit but hadn't quite figured out how to breach yet.
                                                                                                                         
Maybe a test score that insured her step to the next level with some breathing room to spare.    

Maybe her own place where she could do whatever the fuck she wanted with whoever the fuck she wanted to without tripping over anybody's toes.

Maybe a career instead of a job.

Or maybe just a sharp young man with a plan and some bright light in his dark eyes might be all she needed for that smile to break open.                                                                                               Maybe that might do the trick.

But whatever it was...it sure as hell wasn't sitting on that 7 train that day.

So I just sat there and enjoyed the ride to her future, and it was all hers...




Next Time- Spring, when a young man's fancy turns to...