Peddle Ophelia

I was sitting out there again on the stoop singing a few songs to the trees when she came breezing by on her brother's bicycle. It was really too big for her and she had her skirt hiked way up high and I could see more leg than I knew was good for me to be seeing right then.
She rolled back by again a few minutes later and stopped in front of my place and just looked at me. She saw where I was looking and she reached down slowly and pulled the skirt even higher. She smiled at me and kept sliding the hem back until I could see the little gravity holster wrapped around her thigh like a garter. She had a little Beretta snuggled up in it.
I didn't know exactly what to do right then.
It had a been a long time since I had spent any kind of quality time rubbing up against any smooth nudity and I was just about bent enough to take this as a come-on. But, luckily, a few dendrites and axons were still able to make the synapses in my brain continue to fire and I just stared back at her.
So…there we were; me and her. She knew who I was and I knew who she was. We were just two regular people caught in one of those rare moments where the nature of communication and the reality of subtle nuance can mesh uneasily in the sort of way that can mean somebody's either about to get elbow-deep into some serious sex or get their ass shot off with a hot little pistol. And I had no desire to get hip-shot but I might confess that I could entertain any number of wild fantasies about seeing that gun, still in the holster, right about eye-level.
She just kept staring.
Finally, I said, "Well…is it loaded?"
She smiled back at me. "Maybe," she said.
And she peddled on down on the line.