I make a move and cut off Lame Jack and before you can say Joshua fit de Battle of Jericho, I'm at her side and sayin' Miss Chloe, Miss Chloe right up into her ear. And she looks down at me real snooty like to say: Rusty you ain't nothing but a dog, dog, dog. By now, Lame Jack's got himself in the vicinity of the action and he's dancing around on his good leg, cipherin' an angle. He's hopin' to hoist his sorry self up to heaven and be saved. Of course right away, she turns around and slaps him down and he acts like he wasn't trying nothing in the first place. He shuffles around in the trash like he's looking for something better and I am truly embarrassed for him. Now she's moving again and I fall in right behind her. "Miss Chloe, Miss Chloe," I says, "what is that perfume you're wearing? It smells to me like Obsession by Calvin Klein." And she says: "Rusty you red-eyed hound, you wouldn't know Calvin Klein if he bit you." And I says: "No, Ma'me, but I know about Obsession." Then I kind of sidle around behind her real slow and easy and she kind of shuffles from one foot to the other and then stands real still like she's in a trance. And all the time, she's twitchin' on purpose and drivin' me crazy. And I'm sayin' to myself: be cool be cool be cool or you'll be layin' up in the dust with Lame Jack. Now it's me cipherin' for an angle and I know its got to be smooth. She's vibratin' and starin' off into the distance like she's having an epiphany of some sort and I'm thinking what a religious experience it would be if I could hit that spot before she throws me like a Christian to the lions. That Obsession is thick and driving me nuts. All I can see is her standing in front of me on legs like pillars. I can hear her breathing and it sounds dangerous. The curve of her long back is dangerous too. I focus on her pretty neck buried in the thick golden fluff. I'll aim for that and may the Devil take me if I miss, I say to myself. I aimed at the fluff and made a go for it, all the time keeping a mental configuration of the exact coordinates of the spot in question. But aerodynamics be damned because two seconds later I was eatin' brick and the bitch was gone. Now Lame Jack coulda' tipped me off, but he was sore about losing the first round. So he said nothing at all like: "Could I be mistaken Rusty or is that Leroy Lovejoy headed this way." Of course he wouldn't have been mistaken because it certainly was Leroy Lovejoy and no other. Chloe saw him first and it looks like he was just what she was waitin' for because by the time I hit the pavement, she had hightailed it down the alley and was preachin' him salvation. Leroy Lovejoy believed and was baptized in the waters of Chloe LaRue. In fact he went on believing and repenting and she went on baptizing and blessing that lucky dog until the sun come up the next morning. As for me and Lame Jack, well there was just no future in it at all. We got sick of hearing the whole revival service what with Leroy Lovejoy hittin' her spot over and over again and the smell of Obsession hangin' thick in the air, and her yippin' "Oh, Leroy, hit that spot some more." So me and Lame Jack dogged it on down to the wharf and stretched out right by the water and tried to catch a breeze while we put the whole unholy thing out of our minds. | back | Get the dirt on Sex in the 90's