Priscilla

"Hey, Joe," said Steve, a regular who sat at the same bar stool every day for a couple years, "who's the old guy at the end of the bar?"

Joe looked down the bar studying the man in his 60's sipping his drink.

"He comes here this day every year to celebrate the death of a friend. He drinks enough to get drunk, pays his tab, and leaves. I don't see him again until this time next year."

The regular looked down at him with a face full of curiosity.

"Why does he come here to celebrate the anniversary? Usually, old people like that visit a cemetery," he said looking back at Joe.

"Actually, he's not that much older than you are," said Joe with a chuckle. The bartender put down the glass that he was wiping and, resting his elbows on the bar, leaned into the regular to keep their conversation private.

"He told me that before this was a bar it was a function room where swingers met a few times a year to socialize, to dance, and to have sex in the rooms upstairs. I guess there was a hotel where the condos are now."

The regular looked down at the old man, again.

"No shit. Swingers?" The regular looked down at the old man, again. "He doesn't look like a swinger?"

"Yeah, and what does a swinger look like?"

"Dunno, someone more hip, I guess."

"Maybe, he's got a big cock," said Joe, "and if you ask him nice, maybe, he'll show you it."

"Fuck you," said Steve looking back at the bartender. "Give him another one of whatever he is drinking."

Joe delivered the old man a scotch telling him that it was on Steve, the regular barfly, at the other end of the bar.

"Thanks for the drink," said the old man raising his glass to Steve.

"Mind if I join you," said Steve not waiting for the old man to answer and taking the stool next to him.

"Sure, sure," said the old man. "I'm glad for the company."

"I'm Steve," he said offering his hand.

"I'm George." They shook hands. "It's a pleasure meeting you."

Steve looked at the man and took a sip of his drink before engaging him in conversation.

"So, Joe tells me that this bar was once a hot spot for swingers."

"Yep," the old man looked off in the distance with a smile, "it sure was, but that was a long time ago." He looked at Steve. "Four times a year, Valentine's Day, Memorial Day, Halloween, and New Years Eve for dancing, meeting old friends and making new ones with some adult fun later in the rooms reserved above."

Steve took another sip of his beer.

"Joe said you come here on this day every year to celebrate the anniversary of the death of a friend?"

The old man looked at him.

"Yeah, well, she was a beautiful woman and a special friend." He looked at him again. "I'll tell you the story if you want to hear it."

"Sure. I love a good story."

The old man gulped down the rest of his drink and took a sip of the drink that Steve bought him before he started the story.

"She was blonde and leggy and made me want to sing aloud whenever she rewarded me with the radiance of her smile. She made me want to cry when she left the room because my life, if even for a short time when living vicariously through her and imagining being with her, was nothing without her."

If I were I king," he said smiling at Steve, "I would have made her my queen in the hope that she would live happily ever after with me in my kingdom. If I were a rich man, I would have displayed my wealth at her feet on the chance that she would have me. If I were a charming, intelligent, and handsome man, I would have pledged my undying love for her and asked her to marry me."

Joe poured himself a beer and came over to listen.

"She was so beautiful that she made my heart cry with joy whenever I saw her." The old man's eye sparkled when talking of her. "She shimmered as a diamond in bright sunlight and when you saw her, you could not remove your eyes from her sparkle. She was a new Ferrari that dazzled you with her shine and you could not wait to take her out alone for a drive." The old man looked at Joe and made an arm gesture like he was shifting gears.

"She really sounded like one hot babe," said Steve.

"Her beauty mirrored the feeling you get when you see a spectacular view after you climbed over a ridge and the scenic expanse before you is a vista like no other." The old man inhaled a deep breath and tilted back his head as he let out the air. "You stand there speechless trying to take her all in but, unable to see her completely, you cannot, because there is so much depth to her to see." Two more customers took the stools to the right of the old man and one sat to the left of Steve. "That was what it was like to see Priscilla for the first time and every time. Every man in the room ignored his woman for a glimpse of her. Every woman ignored their man to see what she was wearing."

The old man stopped talking to take a sip of his drink. As if reliving her vision, he paused staring off at the other end of the bar.

Steve touched his arm and the man returned his attention to the conversation.

"George, tell us more about her."

"Her blue eyes sparkled like precious sapphires in the light but they turned dark blue with her mood when she was mad. Still, I only saw her mad once, a few months before she died."

He took another slow sip of his drink.

"She looked like one of those beauty queens who always emerged suddenly from some tiny town in Texas." George raised a hand to punctuate a finger in the air. "I was one of many in love with Priscilla. Only, I worshiped her from afar."

"Priscilla," said Joe. Now, that's a pretty name and a name you do not hear too much, Priscilla. I like it."

"The first time I saw her was at a swingers' social dance," said George giving Joe a smile. "She was with a tall and handsome man. They made such a striking couple and all heads turned when they walked in the room. They were regulars in the lifestyle for a while, and then they disappeared, as swingers are known to do."

George stopped talking to wet his whistle.

"Then, about three years later I saw her, again. This time, though, she reappeared alone and without her handsome man. This time, she was even more beautiful than before. It was unfair to give someone so much beauty but God did. With the confidence to walk in unescorted and the presence of self to leave alone, she was Queen of her soul, a place she shared with no man."

George looked off dreamy eyed as if he was seeing Priscilla walk in the room and then, without looking away from his vision of her, he continued his story.

"You saw her in sections, first the long shapely legs, and then the rhythm of her Heavenly hips, lastly the perfect outline of her amazingly high, full, and firm breasts." George inhaled as if he smelled her scent. "She wore Chanel perfume, only Chanel, and her fragrance that invaded your nostrils stayed with you until the next morning."

George paused to take a sip of his drink.

"It's on the house," said Joe pouring him another.

A small crowd of men grew behind George. George looked behind him acknowledging their presence with a nod of his head and a smile before returning his attention to Joe and Steve.

"She used the room as her personal runway. I swear I could hear the music from the Girl from Ipanema play as she passed. All eyes took her in completely but, for fear of missing her smile, her look your way, or the hypnotic expression of her eyes, all eyes never left her face for more than a second."

George raised his glass in toast.

"Oh, Priscilla if you only knew how much I loved you. You were the one. There was no other. I still love you, Priscilla."

"To Priscilla," cried out the other men joining in the toast of her.

George took a sip of his drink and gently placed his glass down upon his napkin.

"When I finally had the courage to introduce myself to her," he said to Steve, "I was not disappointed. She had an intellect that would challenge the mental abilities of any doctor of philosophy, a personality that immediately made you feel so comfortable that you could not wait to take her away with you in your dreams that night, and a wit that would make any stand up comedian envy." He looked up at Joe. "And you know what else?"

"What's that, George?" asked Steve.

"She liked me but not in the sexual way that she liked the others. She liked me as a friend, someone who she could share her private thoughts." He paused for another sip. "If ever there was an angel walking on Earth, it was her."

"Yet, surely God does not give one person everything," said a man who stood behind George. "What were her flaws?"

George turned in his stool to acknowledge the man.

"Ah, you are right and she had one fatal flaw and I'll get to that in a minute."

"Please, continue," said Joe giving the intruder a dirty look and filling George's glass, again.

"One would think someone so beautiful would have reason to stay aloof and have a handbag of pretensions but not Priscilla. She was real, she was approachable, and she was unassuming. Everyone who wanted her companionship for an eternity would settle for an evening alone with her and most were thrilled to receive her undivided attention for a moment."

George looked around at all who listened to his story before resuming it.

"I was satisfied to have shared some time in her company. We talked and we laughed and I fell completely in love with her. It thrilled me when she looked at me, made eye contact, touched my hand, lightly kissed me on the lips, listened to what I said, and replied in kind. Whoever shared time with Priscilla was lucky. She made me feel taller and she made me feel that I was twice the man I was."

He took a sip of his drink and smiled at the crowd of men around him.

"She made me feel special." He paused and put his head down. "Alas, she loved me as a friend and not as a lover. Yet, as it so happened, that was a good thing for me and the reason why I am still here to tell her story."

"Wow," said the man sitting next to George, "she reminds me of my ex-girlfriend."

"Shhh! Shhh!" The men standing behind George did not want to hear about his ex-girlfriend. "Please, continue with the story, George."

"As the seasons past, I grew accustomed to seeing Priscilla in attendance at the swinging events. She ran with the elite, moneyed participates of the group, a group to which I did not belong. These were the jetsetters who traveled the globe experiencing all the best that the world had to offer. They knew the best places to dine in Paris, the best private beaches in Bora Bora, and the best swingers' functions to attend. Yet, I did not mind finding an inconspicuous spot where I could watch my living doll from afar while casually sipping my drink. A vision that I never tired of watching, Priscilla made my otherwise drool life worthwhile and exciting."

"So, she was a gold digger, huh? Figures," said the guy sitting next to George. Joe shot him a look.

"I can assure you that she was no gold digger and you can think me the loser, but those of you who have met and yearned over your own Priscillas would understand that sometimes a look, a smile, a dance, and/or chatting with her in private, is better than nothing. And sometimes, those things that are left unsaid say it better to the heart of a hungry recipient than the perfect prose of a poet. Better to love from afar than to never have loved at all. She had my heart only she was unattainable. No one owned Priscilla. Matter of fact, she sought me out whenever she saw me to rekindle our friendship, a friendship that I cherished and a friendship that no one else there had."

"Hey, you guys aren't drinking," said Joe looking out at the crowd that grew behind George. Give me your drink orders otherwise I'll bounce you out before you get to hear the rest of the story."

Joe delivered a new round of drinks giving George another drink on the house. George waited until everyone had a drink before continuing.

"I loved watching her dance. She was fluid in motion, so graceful, and so light on her feet. She danced like a sheer curtain caught in a soft breeze, delicately and with movements that made every man want to dance with her in bed. It excited me to see her move on the dance floor with the grace of a flower swaying in a gentle wind. It made me a bit jealous to see Mark or Brad or Vincent or Guytano softly guide her with a hand on her lower back or shoulder as they softly caressed her jaw and touched her hair knowing that they would be intimate with her later that night. They all thought that she loved them and she did in the sexual sense of the word but never with real love. She loved no one but her man, Troy, the one who accompanied her the first time that I saw her." He paused. "Yet, I like to think that she loved me."

"What happened to Troy?" Someone standing behind George asked.

"Tragically, he died. She never got over the loss of him. She loved him."

"I don't understand, George," said Steve, "if she loved this Troy guy, how could she have sex with these other guys?"

"Even though she shared herself with other men, no one lay claim to Priscilla but Troy. When she was with Troy, it was something that they did as a couple sharing one another with a select few, a few who agreed that they would be monogamous to one another and not allow anyone to invade their special circle of friends. Then, when Troy died, like a solitary puff of blue smoke rising and disappearing from a cigarette, she drifted away alone until poof, she vanished for three years."

"Then," asked Joe, "why did she return?"

"When she returned, she was different and not as vivacious. I attributed her change in personality to the loss of her boyfriend. Yet, it did seem odd to me that no one questioned why someone so beautiful, so intelligent, and so personable would allow so many men to enjoy her personal treasures."

George paused to take a slow sip of his drink. He lowered his head as if the key that wound him up suddenly wound down. Then, raised his head and continued with his story.

"When the dancing and socializing of the evening slowed down, the sexual action heated up. Priscilla, as would the Sultan service his harem, was upstairs servicing the men of her very private, personal conclave, the same select few who had promised to remain faithful to one another. Priscilla, the conductor of a continual train, was never questioned why she preferred taking it up the caboose after fucking each and every one senseless in every hole over and again."

"So, are you telling me that, after Troy died, this gorgeous woman had gang bang after gang bang?"

"Yes, but only with her select few. Limited only to a kiss, a feel, or a touch, she refused my sexual advances and she refused the sexual advances from anyone else other than her group of special friends. Yet, she welcomed me as a friend giving me a place in her heart that touched her deeper than any of her lovers.

George finished the last of his drink and Joe stood ready to ply him with another but George waved him off.

"I found her behavior odd bordering on bizarre and I questioned her motives. That was when she told me her personal agenda, an agenda that became obvious to us all later that year. That was the only time I ever witnessed her anger. Her beautiful eyes turned dark and hard."

George looked around at all the faces who looked at him waiting for the ending to the story.

"Troy died of AIDs and Priscilla had AIDs, as well. This was when the drugs that prolonged the quality of life had not, yet, been developed. She had so little time but she was determined to payback whoever had infected Troy and her by infecting all the men of her private party, who would in turn infect their wives. Consequently, they all died a slow and horrible death of AIDs, as well."

"Damn," said Joe.

"When she died, finally, few attended her funeral and as the years passed fewer remembered her. Yet, I still remember Priscilla and place a fresh flower on her grave every year on this day. Forever, until the day I die, I will carry her beautiful spirit in my heart."

George stood from his stool.

"See you next year, George?"

"No, it's way passed the time for me to move on with my life." He smiled. "The telling of this story was my eulogy to her and my good-bye."