Poetic License

The license tabs on my car ran out that day, and I wanted to get the hassle over with before a line showed up. So, there I was in line at 8:15 a.m., and the place was already half full. I'd thrown on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt with my socks and sneakers and caught a cup of coffee on the way to the license bureau. I was still half asleep, and the bad coffee was getting cold. When I saw the golden curls at the nape of a youthful neck hunched over paper work, I realized how long it'd been since I'd gotten laid. I really like my singlehood, but at 56, having a steady friend or two to soften the harsh winter nights takes effort--at least it seems to take more than I remember when I was 20 something. Or is it just the human capacity to forget pain?

The youth was with an older, heavy-set man--his father? While the boy appeared restless and wide awake, Dad seemed tired and just there to get the paper work done. When the boy turned his head to the side to look at the man, I saw a little golden goatee which, combined with the gold sparkle of stubble on his satiny face, got my dick waking up faster than my brain. I tried to remember not to stare, but this young man grabbed my imagination and began to warm me up. Jesus, this line was slow! I found myself leaning a little closer to catch the sound of his voice. Neither dad nor pup was speaking, as dad filled out the paper work for the youngster's license plates.