13 O’clock



It’s cold, and it’s raining, and my quiff is soaked and matted against my forehead, but here you come skipping down the stairwell and into my waiting arms. You’re fifteen minutes late but time lost its meaning years ago if indeed it ever had meaning to begin with. There are kisses and then your head on my chest beneath my chin, and then I’m sniffing your damp scent while you giggle and jump from foot to foot because they’ll be food and dessert and sweets while watching whatever film ends up taking our fancy. Hand in hand we walk talking about this and that with you swinging your arms taking mine along with them. You’re just like a child, and much to my delight, that’s how you make me feel as the town glides past us so quickly as we hurry through the rain to the cinema. It’s my treat because of some reason or other, and as you lead me up the steps of the escalator, you pull me towards the screens and point out what you want to watch. I ask why, but before the words have escaped my mouth, you drag me to the food counter and ask the woman serving for two giant bags of popcorn along with two large Pepsi’s. After this, you march us to the pick ‘n’ mix. Truth be told I’m not adverse to sweets, and so take great pleasure in filling up two cartons with as many sugary treats as possible. I even slide a few snakes into my coat pocket on the sly. Those fuckers just take up too much space, and when you see my crime, you can’t help but squeal and dance again from one foot to the next. Watching the film sat in the last couple of rows, we eat our stuff and wash it down, and then my left hand becomes restless and around your thigh it goes and so glows your smile as you tilt your head back while fluttering your eyes. Touching faith, I whisper into your ear and you turn your face to mine and give me your lips, and when I lean in and taste them, the story we have to tell becomes ours and ours alone. The minutes dissolve as do the faces of those around us, and as my fingers touch and seek and touch and seek, the doorway on the screen above us slowly opens to reveal an image that causes the hairs on the back of our necks to stand on end.

A Journal for Damned Lovers on Amazon.co.uk

A Journal for Damned Lovers on Amazon.com

10 replies »

  1. You completely transported me with how beautifully you painted the details of this small moment of intimacy and then left me hanging with the cliff hanger! Well played Stephen! Took me back to my 20s when I was young, and wild and my lover and I were the only two people who existed.

    • I am more than thrilled to have elicited those memories for you, C. I think such intimate moments are so important, not only to who we used to be, but to who we are right now. There’s a quote, not sure who by, but it goes something like this- “We may be done with the past, but the past isn’t done with us”. This is important.

      • It is also my experience that I am full of essential truths that I forget sometimes but I always return to. It is interestingly cyclical. These memories are important because they bring me back to the pieces of myself that I do not always cherish and honor enough. When I begin to lose myself, they are always things that bring me home. Thank you my friend for always giving me much to think about and reminding me to feel.

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