"Let's go, baby." She has her hand outstretched. Her sister is next to her. She is wearing that lovely little black tank top I like. When I reached for her hand, I noticed it wasn't her tank top: it was mine.
I'm ready.
I was laughing. I felt happy. Strong. Sex. The last time we did this is was just her and I. It was last night. She strokes the back of my ear again and I smile. Usually when women do this I get embarrassed. My child's voice kicks in: I can't have this. But with her it never happens like that. I'm glad her sister is here too. They're both so beautiful. These women hold that irresistible female spark that never fails to grab my attention. The fact that it would be so wrong for some of my friends if I went with a woman at this stage of things made their companionship that much more attractive to me. But frankly that was just icing on the cupcakes.
Together I can float us up to where we need to go. The superhero's costumes my friends wear are redundant: when you can fly, it doesn't matter what you fucking wear. My white t-shirt, purchased at the Wal-Mart in Bowling Green, Ohio, along with the Rustler jeans purchased the same, are equivalent to any cape and color The only important thing is to wear tough shoes, like the ones I need to wear to jobsites. Otherwise they get destroyed too easily.
It's like the gi. You can wear the oldest, crappiest gi on earth. If it's clean, and you train a lot, and have great jiu jitsu, the whole is transformed into a jewel that cannot be replicated by any art director on earth.
Speaking of gi, and jewel, we were on our way to rescue the handsome brown belt I met a couple of nights ago. He was in trouble, the way our master teacher was in trouble the night before. She and I rescued master teacher. I flew us in, and we kicked ass, and we all got away. We had a picnic at the lake after it was all over. He scolded me after it was over for not keeping my hips down when I passed the guard, and as the wind tickled my nose, and beard stubble, and short hair (#4 on top, 1.5 on the sides) I resolved to keep hips down when I pass the guard during saving the brown belt.
The handsome brown belt was in his gi. An old gi, from his school in Brazil. He looked glorious. Not as beautiful as my companions, but it did not matter. He had his gi, and his jiu jitsu. He liked my friend's sister, even though I was pretty sure she was only going on this ride to get into my pants. Again, somehow my dumb white belt jiu jitsu was the key for making everything okay. When it was over we went to the movies together. Double date.
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