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Okay Fine I WAS Stalking Her by Gregory Purvis

I’ve just returned from Florida. It was a wonderful and much-needed time for relaxing, being with my loving, supportive family, introspection…okay, fine. I was stalking her.

I don’t know WHY I thought that following a beautiful young woman through a theme park was going to turn out positively for anyone involved, but apparently I must have…I mean, why else would I have done it, right? I’ll admit that it is not natural and certainly not acceptable for a 40-year old man to follow an incredibly attractive, vivacious, and seemingly intelligent, cultured, and witty young lady (especially one with gorgeous waves of black hair, cafe-au lait skin, full red lips and black Wayfarers that made her look like a European supermodel…a young woman speaking Portugeuse with a raspy, melodic voice that the weirdo-in-question [me] first glimpsed while riding “Splash Mountain”–alone, I might add) through that fantasyland of good, clean American fun. We are talking about Disney World: America’s premier family-friendly vacation wonderland, packed to the gills with tourists for the Mother’s Day weekend. In fact, I was there ON Mother’s Day, WITH my mother (and father), who raised me not to do things like this. Or, at the very least, not to talk about them. All of which adds greatly to my shame, I assure you.

For–doubt me as you might–I am not a person who makes stalking foreign visitors to Central Florida theme parks a regular part of my life. In fact, I’ve never done anything like this before.

It’s always seemed a little sad to me, these wandering hordes of tourists at theme parks. As the introverted son of a raging extrovert (and a walking repository of 67 years of Trivial Pursuit answers and esoterica gleaned from the History Channel and Reader’s Digest), I’ve had to put up with my dad engaging strangers in small talk pretty much all of my life. Now that he’s retired, he’s just gotten worse. He’ll chat up the bag boy in the grocery store (treating him to the history of the paper bag), the bitchy woman in the DMV (who smacks her gum and glares at him with her dead weasel eyes but never interrupts his diatribe on the failure of the American infrastructure), or a family from Indiana in front of us in the line for “Space Mountain”. Weird as this might be, I used to find it terribly depressing–even as a very young child–to get into these kinds of conversations with people while waiting in line. I remember once–waiting in line for an hour to ride “Pirates of the Caribbean”–my dad and mom both were chatting up a young couple with kids about the same age as my brother and I. They got so friendly with this family of strangers that we all ended up not only riding in the same boat through “Pirates”, but walking en masse to “The Country Bear Jamboree” and sitting together through that horrid spectacle as well. I believe we saw them again, an hour or so later, at the aptly-named (and horribly saccharine) “It’s a Small World”, and once I came out of the dark with that satanic song tra-la-laing around in my head, I was almost in tears. After that, my dad shook hands with the other dad, my mom made some kind of womanspeak with the other mom, and we went our seperate ways. I remember having this crushing feeling of depression and loss, though I’m not sure I ever even said much to the kids. It was the knowledge that I was never going to see them again.

Yeah, well, wipe your eyes. I’m confident that this sad tale has made you pretty sure that I’m EXACTLY the sort of person that stalks pretty South American tourists through the well-manicured paths of Disney World. Maybe you’re right. Whatever the case, I was still lucid enough to realize that the likelihood of me getting it on with this woman was somewhat less than zero.

But, let me tell you, she had stung me GOOD and DEEP. I felt like a 14-year old again: all sweaty and tongue-tied. The thing was, she wasn’t a supermodel (despite the Wayfarers and little white summer dress). She was incredibly beautiful in that way that makes us Americans feel dowdy and ham-fisted by comparison. Her words were like musical laughter, like lyrics in a language you can’t speak…but, somehow, you can understand the nature of the song perfectly. Her skin was flawless and golden, and i knew–knew absolutely–that if I touched her, she’d be more than just warm, she’d be feverish. She took off her sunglasses to dry them after we got splashed on the ride, and for just an instant we made eye contact. She had those big brown eyes that are so dark you can’t really see the irises, and for the first time in my life I knew what all those poets I used to think were overly-romantic and silly meant when they spoke of “drowning” in someone’s eyes. I felt a moment of vertigo, and then she smiled. Maybe some little kid was behind me, waving at her, maybe it was for me. I’ll never know, I guess. Dimly, I was aware of some hulking guy with her, but he was like a pesky mosquito. Whatever he said (or didn’t say) was just an inconsequential whine. Background noise. Muzak.

I knew what I was doing was insane. I got out my cell phone, turned on the video record feature.

And I followed her.

I guess I followed her AND her guy-friend (I’m still trying to decide if I prefer to think of him as her brother or a gay friend from college), technically–but, like I said, he was background. Dimly, I was aware that this was not only foolish and somewhat disturbing, but also likely to end badly. The guy-friend (gay brother, maybe) could turn around and catch me, red-handed. He would see the truth in my eyes and beat the snot out of me while she stood behind him, looking at me like I was communicable. Which, of course, I suppose I wanted to be.

Or maybe the Disney security goons would notice what was going on from their hidden underground control center deep below the smiley, sugar-coated streets of the Magic Kingdom. My family and I happened to be at Disney World one day when the late Princess Diana was visiting the park with the royal princes. We read later that the royal party was whisked around underground, emerging from secret entrances to move to the front of the line so they could enjoy “Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride” without paparazzi harrassment. Or having to talk to “the Commons”. Then again, maybe Princess Di found meeting strangers that she would likely never see again a little sad, too.

If the Disney goons noticed me stalking this beautiful woman (and her gay brother), they would surround me, carry me off to the Disney underworld, and I might never be seen again. (Or maybe I’d emerge several days later from one of those secret entrances, with a nice clean haircut, a Disney t-shirt and nametag on, wearing a pair of mouse ears, ready to smile at the tourists and direct them to “Please step off to the left, onto the moving platform”).

As it turned out, my mother called me on my cell phone.

When I got back to wear she and my father were waiting, he was deep in conversation with an older Canadian couple and my mother said she had a headache and wanted to leave.

P.S. I know what I did was wrong. I guess. Sorta. Or at least weird. And I know that I will never see that beautiful young woman again. But that’s okay. I’ve got the video.

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2 Comments so far
Leave a comment

good.
kir2kir.wordpress.com

i`m fucking U pussy. please kiss me. ohhhhhh.
my big cock

Comment by MJ

I’m sorry but are you high?

Comment by Gregory Purvis




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