In the doorway of the greasy spoon she’s chosen, we shake our heads spraying rainwater like dogs escaping their monthly baths. From her handbag, she removes a pile of paper tissues with which she uses to wipe her face and neck. When she’s finished, she scrunches them into a ball before squeezing out some of the water, and then, offers the mess to me. I think she’s joking, but by the look on her face, I realise she’s being sincere. Taking the soggy ball from her hand, I bring it to my neck never losing eye contact with her.
‘So, what’s your name?’ I ask.
Grinning at me, she flashes those white teeth of hers while hopping from one foot to the other.
‘It’s X,’ she says with a spark.
Tossing the manky pile of tissues to the floor, I study her face trying to figure her out, but almost immediately stop myself not wanting to spoil the magic.
‘And what’s yours?’ She responds, so childlike in her way.
When I tell her, she frowns.
‘That’s a silly name!’
‘Not as silly as yours,’ I say.
Bowing out her cheeks all flustered, she swings her bag at me hitting my arm. Laughing as she tries doing it again, I take hold of her and gently push her against the wall. She doesn’t resist, and as I look down on her, she looks up like butter wouldn’t melt, sticking out her chin as if daring me to kiss her once more. Leaning in, I go ahead and do it, and as she purrs and growls, I can tell she’s trying hard not to laugh at the strangeness of it all. Doing her best to catch her breath, she manages to collect herself before slipping out another question.
‘Do you have a habit of kissing women you’ve just met, or am I the exception?’
Letting my lips linger while turning my tongue in circles upon her skin, I kiss the area behind her earlobe before responding as dryly as I can.
‘You’re the exception.’
Time falters again, and as the streetlights dim, she giggles and chatters her teeth. Sticking my tongue into her ear, she squeals before pushing me away. Laughing as she scrunches up her face, I lift her bag from the floor that she’d dropped while I had my way with her. Taking it from me, she breezes past and opens the door of the greasy spoon before spinning around and flashing a knowing look as I keep staring at that small, perfect mouth.
‘This is your treat, right?’ She quips with a raised eyebrow.
Biting my tongue, I take hold of the door.
‘Why not,’ I say, before putting my hand on her lower back and leading her in.
A Journal for Damned Lovers UK
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