A True Story That Never Actually Happened to Me

Typical male thoughts in front of walking female stunning beauty

A few weeks ago I visited my family doctor (I don’t know why she is named this way;  she never met my family), and she prescribed me a daily walk on my hometown walking trails. "It's good for your health," she said. I asked if I could redeem the prize for a weekly trip to the airport instead, or a spa with two (smart though) blondes?. She wouldn't budge. 

So I put on some powder (not really) and mascara (not mine). I laced up heavy shoes, put red headphones on my alert ears, put my phone in hand, and locked and loaded an album by my favorite band "Archive".

That band plays hypnotic, monotonous, psychedelic rock full of surprises. They've got this unhinged singer with an even more unhinged voice, like it's coming from the front side of her, backside…a quivering, trembling, thoroughly unsatisfied voice. But eventually, you get used to anything. I got used to it too.

So there I am, marching down the dirt paths that lead to the main junction, noise blasting in my ears, when suddenly I spot a figure approaching from a distance. Not toward me personally, just walking the opposite direction. The first thought that crossed my typical male mind, before I even figured out who or what she was, was: if it's a woman, we stop walking and switch to lying down. Deal?

A few more steps and she came into full view. Stunning, in green athletic wear that only emphasized her curves well past what should be legal. I broke into a sweat, and not from the walk either, which honestly wasn't taxing me much. I stayed silent, and so we passed each other without a word, each of us lost in contradictory thoughts (I don't think she was even heading in my direction, in both senses of the phrase). We'd already put a few steps of distance between us, but luckily I turned down the blasting music, maybe to remember her better. Turns out it was luckier for her, because...

Her scream of pain was real. She twisted her ankle and went sprawling onto ground that clearly didn't appreciate her flat-out beauty enough. I ran the few steps back to her and asked the obvious cliché: "Are you okay?"

"Does it look like I’m ok?"

She fired back, her face twisting almost to tears. She was in agony. I crouched down and gently took hold of the throbbing ankle.

"It's swelling up,"

I said quietly. She closed her eyes and started crying. I tried calming her with optimistic words. Didn't help.

"Do you live nearby? Let me help you get home," I offered, pushing the point.

"Yes, like 5 minutes from here,"

she said quietly. I lifted her (literally, not what you were thinking), her arm slung over my shoulder, and we started walking, slowly, step by step. Every so often we stopped so she could rest on a rock, and I got to enjoy her beauty all over again, the kind that hurt just to look at.

"So, do you come here a lot?" I asked, cliché as ever. "I mean, to walk. That's what I meant."

She looked at me quietly. "Is that the best you've got?"

"Oh, sorry," I answered, not particularly politely, "didn't realize we were on a date, yeah."

"Fair," she said, and smiled. First time.

"Here, we're almost there."

She pointed toward a magnificent house: two stories, one unsexy housekeeper, two cars, and a salary with 7 digits.

"Want to come up?"

she asked, smiling the sexiest smile I'd ever seen in my life.

So what do you think? Did I or didn’t I?...