I
FOUND ZEFRON ONLINE AT E-HARMONY. I had already worked my way through escaped-personality prisoners, vaporous camouflages intimate with their couches, mothers, football and cheap beer and one guy whose relentless ego circled the parameters of his blustering self the entire night, until my enthusiasm for this Eroding-Harmony was beginning to wane quickly. But something compelled me to give it a last chance and send out that final email.
I met Zefron at The Corrale, a bar filled with cowboy paraphernalia and lassoed dreams. The magnetism was palpable when we first laid eyes on each other. A cowgirl waitress led us to a corner booth. I walked ahead of Zefron, sashayed my hips like a cowbell swinging in the wind. My adrenaline was rising with Zefron’s hair that puffed like a pastry every time he swept it up with his hand. I ordered Cuervo and a pina colada chaser. I was in an island disaster kind of mood.
Zefron’s eyes swung both ways. “Opposites attract. Gumby-loving groupies collude, but to crave the likes of Pokey? You’re not enslaved by the masses. Exquisite.”
Zefron asked hot questions. He was volatile and vacuous while a smile crumbled around his lips.
“Who would you rail it for if you had the chance, Gumby or Pokey?”
I took a swig of Cuervo.
“Pokey. No question. He always got a bad rap. Gumby was everything and everywhere. Why? Just because he’s politically Green? Definitely a conspiracy.”
Zefron ordered another Kahlua. Things were plummeting in the right direction.
“If you were a whirling dervish, which way would you twirl?” he asked.
“I’d whip myself all the way back beyond infancy to a place no equator’s poles have ever reached.” I felt something move down there, where it counts.
“Ever had a Mickey Mouse watch?” he asked.
I sighed, nodded. Zefron lifted his arm: vintage. I was mute with lust.
He grunted crackerjack love my way, flicked his tongue. It was time to quit the Corrale. Zefron pulled out a wad of cash from his plaid suit-coat, threw it on the table and grabbed my arm.
This was E-Harmony to the 10th degree. I was sweating.
We got out to the parking lot and he pointed to his car. What the hell was this? Green, phallic creatures were plastered all over this fruitcake’s lemon Smart car. Zefron threw me against the car and submerged me in the gorge of his pharynx.
I pried myself away. “Why?”
Zefron’s eyes swung both ways. “Opposites attract. Gumby-loving groupies collude, but to crave the likes of Pokey? You’re not enslaved by the masses. Exquisite.”
We were destined by chemistry and plastic figurines to give it a go. Zefron opened the door to his flaming Gumby mobile. I stuffed myself in. I’d been waiting for a depraved original. I couldn’t wait to see what radioactive wallpaper Zefron had glowing in his pad.
