Sunday, 30 March 2014
Les aventures érotiques d'janitor
It was not long after this that I was to have my first erotic encounter in the complex. On my first day on the job no less. There I was vacuuming the fourth floor hallway carpeting, using the hand-held hose nozzle for the more difficult suction-resisting dirt and lint covered sections when I felt a tug on my vacuum cleaner cord. I turned around only to find that my cord had come to the end of its length and was pulling at the wall socket and the vacuum cleaner simultaneously. It was a good twenty feet back for me to walk back to unplug the cord when from around the corner of the L-shaped hallway a woman and a small child appeared. The woman was elderly I believe (I couldn't be completely certain due to a series of flickering lights in the hallway I had been instructed to change but hadn't gotten around to yet and so there was some visual trickery afoot) but she was not without her charms, her stocky figure alluringly outlined in a polyester-blend pantsuit. As I smiled at her she smiled back, her capped teeth catching the flickering light in a captivating manner and then she did an amazing thing. She bent down, unplugged the cord from the wall socket and shuffled towards me barefoot with the most darling gnarled toes that I could only imagine curling (well, they were already quite curled but I'm sure there was room for a centimeter more or two) from orgasmic pleasure. We met halfway and she held out the cord to me, the child beside her holding her hand and gazing at some snot on the finger of its free hand.
"Eh, eh, eh," she grunted at me beaming and then she spoke to me in some lilting foreign language-Eastern European, Cantonese, Finnish-I'm not sure which, so bewitched was I by her grace and sparse but well-coiffed hair. I took the plug from her and for a moment our eyes met, or I think they did for hers were clouded by cataracts (or perhaps it was just that her glasses were so heavily smudged, probably by the greasy fingerprints of the ungrateful wretch she was minding), but I knew, instantly, that if it weren't for the child in tow (her grandchild, perhaps or maybe a child she was raising for internal organ harvesting for who knows what really goes on in these condo complexes), the two of us would be doing the Last Tango In Paris by way of Burnaby, Vancouver, British Columbia on a freshly vacuumed carpet no less, our highly endurable but equally highly flammable clothing shed and strewn with abandon near the fire exit as we made the beast-with-two-backs, a goiter and a shin-splint. With a pair of oven mitts, the picture would've been complete.
She turned to leave but the child kept yelling, "Vacuum, vacuum," and she shrugged apologetically so I ran the machine a bit to appease the child and prolong the erotic encounter between myself and the woman (internal organ harvester? nanny? grandmother?).
Sometimes the most erotic moments are those of the unanswered calls of nature (I mean lovemaking of course, not bowel movements) and I knew that, even with this unrequited encounter, its memory would dance indefinitely upon the fibers of my brain like light speckling a stagnant mosquito-infested pool of water much like the one in the empty lot behind my rooming-house where starry-eyed lovers often come to meet, exchange money and copulate behind the discarded rusty washing machine. As I've said, eroticism is in the air everywhere, even with your pants down around your ankles in a junk-filled lot with mosquitoes biting your buttocks and the object of your desire checking her text messages in between your thrusts. But love conquers all, except, perhaps, if you're caught soliciting a prostitute but there is a chance you may even find love in the lock-up too.
And so begins les aventures érotiques d'janitor, my first day already a success and only the tip of love's iceberg as I was soon to discover. Further erotic adventures assailed me like dust mites from a full vacuum cleaner bag and so stay tuned for more libidinous and lascivious trysts from I, your humble narrator and condominium custodian. As for those pork dumplings, I retired to the boiler room not long after my encounter with the internal organ harvester and devoured them ravenously and may I say, each bite among the hissing of the steam pipes was like nibbling on the soft lips of a sensual lover.