Smooth

Just to make sure, on the way home from giving the fellatio workshop at venus envy tonight, I touched the plant.

I don't know if you've seen me biking around town, but if you have, you'd certainly know it. I wouldn't have snuck by you.

My bike is an old bike, and has the clangs and squeaks to prove it. Okay, you'd probably not notice on a busy street, like, say Somerset after work. But when I come a-squeaking and a-clanging around a quiet corner on a quiet night, in the dark, with no cars, say the corner of two residential streets, a corner with a convenience store on it, a corner with a planter in front of a convenience store, well, you'd notice.

You'd especially notice if this noisy intruder into your quiet balcony chat stopped suddenly and inexplicably in front of some crazy begonia-looking plant. Except you probably wouldn't understand that she had stopped in front of some crazy tropical begonia in Ottawa, because really, begonia-looking plants in front of convenience stores are not something that hipster-type boys with front lawns full of garbage probably pay much attention to.

You'd notice her come to a standstill, and then you'd watch as she got off her bike, thrust her nose closely at that weird big-leaved plant you'd never noticed was there. You'd watch her stand up again, pause for a moment, not bother looking around for people. You'd see her put her hand deep into the plant and see her elbow work as she moved her fingers slowly up and down the stem.

You'd probably mumur something quietly to your friend, but sound carries, and she'd hear the voice, though not the words. She'd snatch her hand back and stare up like a deer in the headlights. She'd shake her head, clamber back up on her bike, and set off with what she hoped was an air of insouciance, pretending like she didn't just get caught jacking off a plant on a quiet corner in Chinatown, in the dark of night.