an extract from

Ow. Ow. Ow.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

It was an average Friday night. He was alone,"Hmm don’t fancy this, I`m going out." He went down town to a club where bands played. Not particularly his type of music, but it was loud and it was live, and that’s what he needed.

Her friend had called round." You commin` out then?" "OK" . They were out for a few laughs, wanting a good time, wanting to cop off.

After an hour of loud and live his stomach cried for satisfaction, a take away called louder. It was on his way to the chip shop, turning the corner by the Opticians, was when he first saw her. They were walking towards the club he’d just come from, her and her friend. Laughing about some silly joke they were sharing.
He gave her a little smile, he was friendly person. To his surprise, she smiled back. She was small, red hair, blue jeans, brown flying jacket, white shirt, black suede shoes, small heels. She was pretty rather than beautiful, more cuddly than sexy, but she wasn’t a dog - to use a local expression - no, she definatley wasn’t a dog, he was used to dogs, he had one.
It died.

When he returned to the club, one sweaty and unnegotiable bag of chips later, he saw her looking round the bar. Her friend had gone chasing after some man and left her on her own, she was looking pissed off, and bored.
He asked her if she wanted to go elsewhere.

She did.

From the very first he held her hand. It just seemed natural, easy.
He’d never met her before that night but it seemed to him almost as if they knew each other from before. A vague recollection called down from the collective unconscious. Perhaps a shadow of a memory lingered from when they had dreamed each other.
Perhaps he was just pissed.

They walked off down the street together. He felt good. She was close to him and he could smell her. Her little hand clung tightly to his several sizes larger version. The top of her head only reached up to his chin, and her hair bounced around as she walked along beside him.
Short steps in her short heels. He liked her shoes and told her so.
"Cheap shit really, but I like `em anyway" She said.
She didn’t talk much at all to start with, but he asked her things about herself and she gradually began to open up and soon she was whittering away like a song bird in her sing song scouse.
He loved to listen to her.

In the next club the music was just as loud but not live. It was dark, noisy, smelly. Hard to talk. But they managed it.
A little at a time. Silly talk, harmless talk as they weighed each other up. Was this a good idea? Is she alright? Is he a twat? Would they sleep together, would they bother.

Later she told him she wanted to kiss him there by the bar surrounded by all the other noisy drunken people, but she didn’t, she didn’t know what she wanted. She knew what she didn’t want. She didn’t want to go home.
Home was her boyfriend. Home was boring. Home was wearing thin.

They left before it closed, wishing to avoid the crowd demonstrating their abilities on the pavement and walked a good while before finding a cab. Eventually one pulled up and he gave the driver his address, he didn’t ask the girl, they both knew they’d be going there. They held hands, quiet now, looking out of the windows as the town rushed past, the architectural symmetry distorted through prisms of rain droplets on the glass. A bit unsure of each other still, thinking their own private thoughts.

Does he have any condoms?
Hope I dont fart.

They got to his and he offered her coffee.
"no thanks"
"Tea?"
"no thanks,"
"Anything?" She didn’t want anything to drink.
"Eat?"
"NO!" - A pregnant pause...

They started kissing, they’d done all the talking, the circumnavigating, all the mating dance, all the manoeuvring, the sussing out, the sizing up. They kissed like it was the last day of time. He hadn’t expected her. He wasn’t prepared, he was essentially a shy person. Despite the need, despite the yearning, despite the inevitability that the night had told him it would end in a warmth instead of the usual cold, he wasn’t ready. She had taken him by surprise.

Kissing him hard, she held him close to her, fingers , hands, lips, tongue everywhere. He surrendered. It was bliss.
He sank down into the hot bath of her presence and he loved every minute of it. There were lots of minutes, each one seemed like an hour, longer. His internal clock slowed down as she went to work on him. She was moving too fast, most of her clothes were already off, white French style undies, frilly, fluttering around her arse like daffodil petals.
He loved her arse. She had a beautiful arse. Rather than just pretty.

The first time she spoke to him since refusing any sustenance was to ask him if he had anything.......meaning condoms.
To slow things down, to take a breath, to take refuge in humour for a moment he said,
" You mean like Gonhorreah, crabs, small pox, dermatitis?"
"No , you know what I mean."
"No, I haven’t, " he lied. He didn’t want to spoil it.
He didn’t want to shag her. Not then. Not just a shag. A one night stand. An unloving act of sexual gratification. He’d had plenty of that and he didn’t want it again, not then, not with her. She was different, he knew that instantly.
He was also............. At that moment he was very different from what he had been many, many times before. This time he wanted to wait. To make it last, to make it lasting, at least till she left town in a few short weeks time.
All this of course, remained unsaid.

She seemed disappointed, she’d wanted to cop off that night. Wanted a dirty fuck with someone, anyone, well anyone halfway decent, just to break up the monotony that her life had sunk into. Shit, trust her to cop with some wimp with no condoms. But what he failed to give with his prick, he gave with his tongue. And he gave good. He took care. He cared.
She was nothing more than curious. It was probably new to her, that withholding. Not that she understood his reasons, she just assumed he was out of rubber, oh well never mind, she had copped off, he wasn’t a pig and he wasn’t stupid............he was quite nice really.

She didn’t believe he was 34. He was aroused (among other things) by the fact that she was only 19. She wasn’t like a nineteen year old, she seemed older, worldly wiser, she’d done more things than most nineteen year olds. And now she’d done him. She wanted to know more about this lonely 34 year old hermit, this loner. She was a loner too. She identified. He was mystified.

She stayed.
He slept fitfully, snuggled up, curled around her young warm extremely soft body. She smelt nice, her hair tickled his nose, he gently moved it aside, kissing her kneck. She moved, settling herself into the cradling curve of his body in a half wake/sleep post sex hibernation. He decided he could get used to this. He knew he wouldn’t have long to enjoy the feeling.
She was outward bound. On her way. A life. A career. A chance to be somebody, to do something with her life. A move. More importantly for him, a move coming up soon, too soon. Tough. Life always seemed to deal him those deals. A good starting hand, just one short of flush. Too short a space to enjoy the blissful beverage before someone called time, time gentlemen please. Closing time. Time’s up.

"The time is 8.30, this is One FM and here are the news headlines." The radio alarm woke them up, he’d forgotten to turn it off the night before. 8.30 on a Saturday morning.? Jeez.

"Coffee?"

A gurgley early morning half awake stretchingyawny "yes" came from the soft new acquaintance lying by his side. She turned around, rubbing her eyes and gave him a big smile. The closeness, the dissolution of barriers which alcohol had allowed them to enjoy the previous night, had gone, leaving them with familiarity rather than intimacy. They were friendly, companionable. Mates rather than lovers. They were not partners in crime, the seducer and the seduced, the adulteress and the bit on the side. They were not embarrassed and that was good. That was really good.
That enemy...... the one that attacks you the morning after the night before.......that ally of guilt...... the judgement you put yourself through to make yourself feel better because you feel shit for copping off with someone you didn’t want to but needed to keep the cobwebs, the dust and weight of loneliness at bay for a few hours.....the regret..... the polite recognition of a stranger in your bed as you both tactfully dress, backs turned, or grabbing a gown, rush off to the bathroom to chastise yourself in the mirror for being a pissed stupid idiot......
That enemy..... was thankfully AWOL at 8.30 am. There was just a nice easy feeling. A smile. A little kiss on the cheek, passionate ? no. but a tenderness ? yes. Respect? Acknowledgement of a kindred spirit?
Who knows, but it was a positive awakening and it didn’t add to the early morning gob swamp.
He made the coffee, she went to wash. He gave her his number. He knew he would see her again, he just knew.
And he knew whatever they would have would be fast and short, like a comet briefly rocketing across the horizon, then disappearing, probably forever. Look! Haley Bop.
It`s gone.

He watched her go from the kitchen window. His flat was on the first floor and the kitchen overlooked the front door of the house and the garden gate. She turned and looked up to wave as she passed through the gate. It was a sunny morning. It was especially sunny for him as he watched her bright red hair bounce along the road to the bus stop, made redder by the early sun. Combed and clean , it carouselled out as she turned at the corner for a last quick smile and a wave. He went back and fell on the bed

"Thank you god." he said to the ceiling. He hoped she’d phone, he knew she would, sooner or later. He settled back into his daily routine, made lighter by this new dream.

And waited.

---------------------------------------------------------

Contact the Writer