Red Writing Hood: Jeans

Prompt: Jeans. They can evoke so much emotion in us: the hot jeans we wear on a date, the skinny jeans we can finally fit into, mom jeans we vow never to wear, the comfy jeans we’ll never throw out. The assignment this week is to write a piece – fiction or creative non-fiction – in which jeans play a prominent role. You can even write an ode if you’re so inclined. This is fiction, except that I used the names of people I know, because it seemed to give it a flavor. Yes, I said flavor. I'm kind of hungry.

The sunshine felt great after sitting in a freezing room learning about the War of 1812. I lifted my face toward the sky as a gentle breeze whispered of the fall weather to come. My friends and I were sitting on a stone bench in the Quad, chatting before it was time for our next class. Cathy and Barbie were arguing discussing the Dallas Cowboys and Laura was occupied with picking hairs off of her new stunning black sweater. I glanced about, watching the people standing in groups around us or hurrying to class.

And then I saw them.

They walked leisurely right past me, a little higher than eye level, but arresting just the same. They were Levi's 501s with the button fly that everyone wore at the time. Except these were so very much more.

"Holy S***!" was all I could say.

All rational thought left my head, and every last hormone surged through my bloodstream. Barbie and Cathy noticed my face, stopped arguing talking, and turned to see what all the fuss was about.

"What are you three going on about n--" Laura turned, saw my face and looked toward the object of my transfixed gaze.

"Oh my!" was all that she could manage.

We all stared at the jeans. The sounds around us faded into silence, and the jeans seemed to move more slowly, almost teasing.

They were filled out, firm and rounded, and moved with an almost catlike grace. The muscles were fluid, just under the surface of the denim, and my hands tingled with the urge to touch those muscles. Muscles that flexed when they walked. Muscles that appeared strong enough to sweep a girl off her feet. And keep her there, if she were so inclined. There seemed to be some wear on the inside of the thighs; could these jeans be worn from riding a horse? I wondered vaguely. The jeans flowed downward and ended, a bit frayed, at a pair of black cowboy boots. Those jeans called to me, like the song of the Sirens, as they made their way up the stairs and into the Arts and Literature building. I am a bit dangerous and very wild, they seemed to say, what can I do for you?

For just a second, I thought about chasing those jeans through the Quad, just to fling myself around them.

I sighed heavily, remembering that I had Botany in ten minutes and there was a test.
Three other heavy sighs sounded in unison with mine. I whirled around, the spell completely broken.

We all shared a girl-moment of giggles, and a little embarrassment at being so obviously taken, as we went our separate ways.