Ironwood Girl and Smooth Operator

Ironwood Girl and Smooth Operator


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“Let’s go outside. Let’s blow this joint. Let’s vamoose.”

“Sure. Let’s.”

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Outside we turned east and walked toward 30th Street. The bus stop on the corner had benches that looked like turned over wooden blocks. Trees on the sidewalk were wrapped up with LCD Anaconda lights like Disneyland’s Main Street. It wasn’t the North Park I grew up in, now gentrified as all get-out. Times changed and people with them. We checked out the blue and white tiles on the entrance to the old Woolworth’s store. Every single couple surrounding us was holding hands. What was wrong with me? Had I lost my dating game? Not by a long shot. I deftly used the opportunity of crossing 30th to take hold of her hand. Even after we reached the other curb, I didn’t let go. Like Sade, I was a Smooth Operator.

Now Mister Nervous was magically transformed to Mister Bold and Cool. Oh gosh, thank God for small miracles. But I’d take advantage of them, they don’t always last.


So when I slipped behind her and took her side, facing the street, doing the old Gentleman comes between the Lady and the Horses flicking Mud on her Dress Thing, at the same time, and not a second or half-second behind that move, I touched her with the tips of my fingers on the small of her back, gently, you understand, gently as a diaphanous butterfly wing. It was one of those touches that could be perceived as light, but if you did it inexpertly, without the proper degree of suavity, it could be reacted to like an unwanted ton of Rudolph Valentino’s sexual menace.

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Not that night. Not that magic moment.

She reacted as if it was the most natural move on the face of the earth. Oh sh*t this was beautiful stuff. I loved it. Somehow she sent me to my comfort zone instead of to my room. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, there was no escape.



Her gorgeous mug radiated light, even under the street lamp. The pale luminous skin, the coal-dark hair with gold highlights, the crimson lips, so wet, so luscious, so inviting.

Oh gosh-golly, by George, and all that. Momma, oh sweet Momma, come save your baby boy. He’s about to lose his virginity…again.

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Life was suddenly fair. Life was suddenly sweet. Life was at once deliciously sanctified and caloric.

©Steven Hunley2016 Smooth Operator

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