Month: November 2008 (Page 3 of 4)

She is beautiful. I do not know her, or anything about her, but something basic and simple within my mind has already decided that I want to have sex with her. This is not how I really am, this is not the real me, this is the animal that thought and sense hold at bay.

My eyes slowly trace the line of her forehead, down the side of her face, her soft neck and onto the plateau of her chest where the line plunges between her breasts, out of sight behind the material of a vest top. Unbidden I imagine us naked together, her mouth wrapped around me, smiling up at me with her eyes and then my orgasm splashing onto those perfect breasts as she squeals with delight at its sticky warmth.

My conscious mind wrestles for control. I remember that I have not even said a word to her, that it is my duty as a mature and decent human being to see her as a person, not simply a giver and taker of pleasure. My mind demands of my libido that I control the base, hold in check simple desire, and prize connection; meaning above release.

As I stepped from the cold rain into the dingy bar I wondered if I had found the right place. I scanned the room and saw three aging barflys, a half-dead, middle-aged female bar tender, and a dog. The woman was smoking, flouting the recent changes to regulations with regard to smoking in bars, but it gave me hope that she might not give a shit about me smoking in her place. She clocked me;

“Evenin’ sugar. What can I getcha?”

I thought about this for a moment and decided not to veer too far from obvious domestic brands. Of course if I had found the wrong place I would be leaving, but there was no sense in making waves;

“Bud’n’a shot o’ Blackjack, please Hun.”

She smiled, winked and went to work. The barflys nodded, as if to say ‘A young’un but he knows how it’s done’.

Ten minutes later I was on first name terms with Ted, George and Frank who were propping up the bar and more than that I knew that they all served together in ‘Nam. Steph behind the bar had apparently been sweet on each of them at some point…

“What’s the matter?”

She shook her head and waved him away, but he stood there, unwilling to simply give her all of the power. Eventually she spoke;

“Just leave me alone, all right? I don’t want to talk, I just want to be on my own, so can you just let me be, please?”

He nodded, she turned away and he stood for just a moment longer, looking at her. He padded slowly out of the room, and down the unlit corridor to the top of the stairs.

“I’ll be okay later, I promise! Okay Jim?”

He paused for a moment, trying to work out how to answer.

“I know you will, baby. Call me if you need anything, yeah?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

He nodded to himself again and started down the stairs.

He went and installed himself in the kitchen, his laptop lighting the place, casting an odd, cold glow over the glass of whisky that he had self-prescribed while he waited out Gemma’s black mood.

He tried to write, but despite the booze, he could not shut out the worry he felt about her when she was this way. He just surfed the web and waited for morning.

Rod smiled, there was nowhere in the world that he would rather be than at a punk gig, in a small, genuine venue, in a small town. Some people would look to the great cities for the music that fired them up, but Rod knew that the music of his heart and soul was to be found in Swindon, Stourbridge, Bolton, Wakefield and in this case Reading. Places big enough that you have heard of them, but not so big that you would want to go there, but he did.

Being paid to write about the upcoming musical talent in the UK meant that Rod was paid to spend his time listening to demos and attending shows with the other twelve people who would show up, and working out who had real talent. Of course he loved it.

He threw his head back as the drummer started up and the double bass drums started to provide the backdrop to a formulaic, but brilliant, tune that was a sure-fire cult smash as far as Rod could tell. He had received their demo in the post and after his customary three listens he had made up his mind to see them live.

The beating of the drums was under his skin now, the chorus of resounding skins passing through him, wave after wave of bass and rhythm. The crackling fire was yellow and gold and red, licking at the darkness above the circle and it warmed him, stood there as he was almost completely naked.

He closed his eyes, and began to listen for the moment that would herald the beginning of the dance, when all the drums would begin to come together in a kind of musical orgasm and then split away into many, many different parts, allowing him to latch onto one of the constituent beats and begin to dance his own spiral path towards the next crescendo. He quickly glanced around the circle; the other dancers were ready, each of them allowing their bodies to become entranced by the music, floating ready for the moment when the dance would come alive all by itself.

The peak was coming, he could feel the waves passing through him getting closer and tighter as the drummers started to nod to one another and so match their poundings.