D.D. Diary #1 : Frenching the Beast

Part 3

March 21 Evening

There were foreigners on the bus that night. I generally didn't ride the bus at night and my nervousness was not alleviated by these strong mysterious people jabbering away in foreignese. It sounded like french/italian/german. Maybe it was Basque. I had no idea what Basque sounds like, I only knew Basque existed because the Frugal Gourmet mentioned them in an old rerun I watched.

They might have been a family. There were four of them. A male and female that could have been anywhere between a bit older than me, maybe 17, through early twenties. A toddler and a middle-aged man. The guy my age had long thick loosely curly hair. He was tall and broad, muscular like a bus bound Hercules. He had coarse thick lips and big square white teeth. He was not good-looking exactly, but he was fit, and had an animalistic vibe with tones of predator, bear or wolf, but with a definite horsey aspect.

Definitely if he'd been alone he would have intimidated if not outright scared me. But at the moment he had a big smile on his face that made him look endearing if not attractive, as he played with the tot on his knee. A beautiful child I would guess was a boy if asked. He had longish hair but it was all over shaggy like a boy in need of a cut rather than being in any actual style like a girl's would be likely to be. His hair was blonde thick and curly similar but a few shades lighter than the young man who bounced him on his knee. He had a beastial aspect about him seeming both kittenish and puppyish in a way. I would call him a cub instead of a kid if I had any reason to call him anything. But I figured all Euroteranian, or whatever, guys looked a little primitive. The oldest male certainly did. He was about forty. He had thick black curls liberally salted with grey, both shorter and more tightly curled then the other two but still definitely shaggy. He also wore a thick short beard. Over all, even in an oxford shirt and chinos, I could easily see him charming flocks of sheep with his trusty panpipes.

The fourth member of the group and only female was the biggest mystery to me, She had the same tawny tanned skin as the young man and boy, a few shades lighter than the oldest male. Her hair was blonde in between the two younger males but it was straight with only a slight body wave rather than curly like the others in her party was beautiful Aphrodite to the other guys’ Hercules and Pan. She looked enough like the middle male to be his sister but I could easily see how both of their features could combine to produce the little one. But she seemed to be sitting closer to the older guy and I'd say her body language pointed to him as the tot's father, or at least her partner. If I'd seen the three guys together I could see them easily as three generations of a family, and the girl fit in somewhere but I was curious where.

My mind enjoyed quietly speculating on possible relations until the wee lad began to cry. I was quite enjoying arguing silently with myself the views that intergenerational coupling was flat out gross opposed by the idea that other people's sensualities were none of my business.

Finally I had to leave the debate unresolved because the little sweetie was just not letting up and allowing himself to be comforted. Hercules smiled and shrugged at me apologetically. The cub continued to moan and fuss. I felt around in my bag, fairly certain I had toys in there from babysitting. I only found cards, which were not going to be appropriate for a boy that age. Then my fingers found a small bottle of bubbles. I brought it out. An octagonal plastic bottle containing perhaps two to three ounces of solution. I bought the small bottles by the case, made to be given out at weddings as an alternative to throwing rice.

I loved bubbles and knew their magic for distracting kids so I almost always had some with me.

I pried the lid off with it's attached wand and began blowing little iridescent orbs towards the fussy little guy. Hercules who had been cuddling him quickly turned him to face me and sat him on his knee. He immediately cheered up, smiling through his tears and reaching out to pop them. I immediately offered the bottle to him, thinking he might want a turn. He obviously knew he liked popping more than blowing because he wordlessly declined. But Hercules took the bottle from me and began blowing.