A short addendum: It wasn’t until I read it back that I (inexcusably) forgot to mention that there are two girls here: one whom I genuinely desire, the other just a random.
And so we come to night’s end. The party’s beginning to break as the couples splinter off. “Forthright Girl” has claimed me for the night. As your hug shrinks from her shoulders, your lips purse in my direction as you’re being led away by the hand. If I didn’t know better, I would have said forcibly. You and yours reach the door. The final if fleeting glimpse I have of you is of your despairing eyes. Again he stares directly at me with a vacancy mixed with a kind of blind quizzical accusation before you’re gone.
The barman calls for last orders. My fourth Black Label on the rocks slides across the bar. The ice has begun to bleed into the scotch, so I just leave it a moment to settle. I order a strong black coffee chaser as a safety net.
The suddenly distorted and distant voice of “Forthright Girl” fills my ears. I double-check, and she’s less than two feet from me, and I cannot hear her. I’m not here, not really, my thoughts and everything else is with you. Eventually she pulls at my right hand. The felt-tip pen tickles against my wrist slightly.
With a kiss to her temple and a short exchange of platitudes I leave the bar empty-handed; to hell with the consequences.
I cut a solitary figure as I walked against the howling northerly along the riverbank. The drum of horse’s hooves resumes.
Rising over the crest, my personal hortator ceased abruptly. A great, soundless vacuum where there should be a din; nothing but a gaunt quiet in what will be a haggard morning. Something was askew (no, I’m not using that word beginning with ‘c’, but I wish I could). I looked down to see a first floor light on, and your lonely silhouette vigilant in the window. It is one of those terrible moments where my heart leaps about four inches out of my chest. I glance up at your window as I rap lightly on the door with the second knuckle of my right index finger. You close the curtain and turn out the light.
I can hear your soft footsteps pad on the stairs. The door creaks open. Before I have time to think, a pink blur has sprung from it and you’ve thrown yourself into my arms. Whimpering, the warmth of your full and sweet lips inundates me as your right leg curls at my hip.
Lavishing me, the kiss breaks gently with my face in your hands. Losing myself in you, I think of that classic exchange from Casablanca, but I’m Ilsa and you’re Rick. Drawing me upstairs, my hand clutched to your shoulder, I realise it has been so long since I have seen you smile joyously.
The world’s not gonna end, I promise. But would you be sad if it did?
Taking your waist in my hands, my nostrils fill with an overpowering, sweet, redolence. My suddenly nervous fingers fumble. I kiss the corner between your neck and your shoulder as my hands slip beneath the pink towel robe.
Countless tea lights unexpectedly flare and dot the room. My mind pulsates with a feeling so powerful that I have no right to question it. You’re mine tonight, but more than that, I’m yours. Wholly.
And so we come to night’s end. The party’s beginning to break as the couples splinter off. “Forthright Girl” has claimed me for the night. As your hug shrinks from her shoulders, your lips purse in my direction as you’re being led away by the hand. If I didn’t know better, I would have said forcibly. You and yours reach the door. The final if fleeting glimpse I have of you is of your despairing eyes. Again he stares directly at me with a vacancy mixed with a kind of blind quizzical accusation before you’re gone.
The barman calls for last orders. My fourth Black Label on the rocks slides across the bar. The ice has begun to bleed into the scotch, so I just leave it a moment to settle. I order a strong black coffee chaser as a safety net.
The suddenly distorted and distant voice of “Forthright Girl” fills my ears. I double-check, and she’s less than two feet from me, and I cannot hear her. I’m not here, not really, my thoughts and everything else is with you. Eventually she pulls at my right hand. The felt-tip pen tickles against my wrist slightly.
With a kiss to her temple and a short exchange of platitudes I leave the bar empty-handed; to hell with the consequences.
I cut a solitary figure as I walked against the howling northerly along the riverbank. The drum of horse’s hooves resumes.
Rising over the crest, my personal hortator ceased abruptly. A great, soundless vacuum where there should be a din; nothing but a gaunt quiet in what will be a haggard morning. Something was askew (no, I’m not using that word beginning with ‘c’, but I wish I could). I looked down to see a first floor light on, and your lonely silhouette vigilant in the window. It is one of those terrible moments where my heart leaps about four inches out of my chest. I glance up at your window as I rap lightly on the door with the second knuckle of my right index finger. You close the curtain and turn out the light.
I can hear your soft footsteps pad on the stairs. The door creaks open. Before I have time to think, a pink blur has sprung from it and you’ve thrown yourself into my arms. Whimpering, the warmth of your full and sweet lips inundates me as your right leg curls at my hip.
Lavishing me, the kiss breaks gently with my face in your hands. Losing myself in you, I think of that classic exchange from Casablanca, but I’m Ilsa and you’re Rick. Drawing me upstairs, my hand clutched to your shoulder, I realise it has been so long since I have seen you smile joyously.
The world’s not gonna end, I promise. But would you be sad if it did?
Taking your waist in my hands, my nostrils fill with an overpowering, sweet, redolence. My suddenly nervous fingers fumble. I kiss the corner between your neck and your shoulder as my hands slip beneath the pink towel robe.
Countless tea lights unexpectedly flare and dot the room. My mind pulsates with a feeling so powerful that I have no right to question it. You’re mine tonight, but more than that, I’m yours. Wholly.
