The Pretender

I first noticed her beautiful ass as she was ordering her mocha or latte.  When she turned around, I about shit a purple Twinkee.  I totally remembered her name, her ways, and her story.  I pretended not to notice her.  She didn’t pretend anything, spotted me, and came to my table to say hello.  She looked gorgeous.  I had met her two winters ago while she was here on a yoga retreat.  She was struggling through a hurtful divorce at the time, and naturally didn’t look all that attractive.  I could tell she was extra keen on me back then.  Prolly why I shifted gears into Extra Vague, and kept the sunglasses on Extra Dark.  Truth is, I was already comfortably hooked with a young gun from Montreal, and it’s tough enough to juggle brushing and flossing around here, let alone two ladies.  But here she was again.  Right in front of me.  Fair Skin.  Canadian.  Frizzy blondish brownish hair.  I’m sure a ton of grey ones in their too.  Probably about 42.  Flexible as taffy.  Great body.  Long and Lean.  Walks real tall.  Has that ballerina gait with the toes kind of pointed outwards.  Pretty smile.  Smart.  Sexy.   My hunches tell me she even has her own money.  She is also in a committed relationship.  I pretended I was happy for her.