Kisses

Photo by Filipe Almeida on Unsplash. “Kisses” is published by XYZ in The Creative Cafe.

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Gods on the ground

Artist: Simeon Solomon. Public Domain.

From the moment I saw him, I knew he was different. And so did every other girl (and guy) in the lecture theatre that laid eyes on his finely chiselled body. It was no mistake, the man was a God on the ground, and a complete distraction to my study. In hindsight it should have been no surprise that he was taking my classic Myth and Legends course, I doubt he even read a book.

And here he was now in my UNI dorm room, sitting on the edge of my unmade bed waiting for me to share my cheesy microwave pasta with him for lunch. His dark hair fell loosely over his smouldering black eyes, and he pushed it back behind his ear, exposing a perfect jaw that angled steeply along the clearest, smoothest complexion I’d ever seen.

‘Why you look at me like that for?’ he asked with his beautiful Italian accent. Maybe he thought I was different, that I didn’t see him like the others did. My pants only policy and love of a well worn polo shirt often led the opposite sex to treat me like a mate. He was wrong.

‘So,’ I diverted, ‘I only have the one fork.’

He laughed and shook his head. ‘I’m sure we’ll manage.’ Then he reached out quickly like he was doing a magic trick, his forearms were long and ripped and I was too busy lusting over them to realise that he’d produced a fork.

‘Ok!’ I exulted, ‘that was handy.’ I laughed and took it from him, ‘if only you could magic up a second bowl.’

And then he had a bowl — and this time it didn’t seem at all like slight of hand. I joked tentatively that I felt like I’d wasted my first two wishes, but in all honesty I was still processing the appearance of the fork.

‘Have as many as you want,’ he said. He got up from the bed and moved closer to where I’d started stirring the yellowy microwaved muck with his fork. Did I mention the single step distance between the bed and the bench? His body was so close to mine that I could barely breath.

‘Tell me what you wish Beth?’

His breath was hot or maybe I just imagined it to be because my blood was pumping away so hard. His smile was cocked to one side and intoxicating. Really intoxicating. He drew his hands up for me to see like he was declaring his innocence. ‘What do you really want? tell me.’

I whispered ‘you,’ in a pitiful, lust driven voice that dripped with as much shame as it did fear, and was followed by a heaving breath. — Then his mouth was on mine, warm and soft. And his hands were on my sides, firm and pulling me closer into his perfect body as my own raged with lightning. Somewhere between the microwave and the bed I caught a whiff of red wine over the cheesy lunch that could go cold for all I cared, and I heard the vague sound of laughter and music all around us.

But I woke up alone.

On the bench was my tub of cheesy pasta, still warm, and only one fork and bowl that I could find. On my phone was the passing of just a minute in time. And on my body and lips was the vibrant warmth of an everlasting day in the sun. I had an overwhelming urge to get up and find myself some grapes.

I grabbed my bag and stepped out of the room where a beautiful vibe greeted me. Thinking back, it hadn’t even occurred to me to ask where he’d gone and to this day I couldn’t even recall his name. On all accounts I felt absolutely no strings attached. I was in fact freer than ever; riding on a glow of … drunk?

So much so that I walked directly into Patrick, my old high school buddy whose love of quality polo shirts had always won my approval. He grinned and sussed me out and all I could do was smile.

‘Hello Patrick,’ I sang, my smile broadening beyond my control. Patrick’s face responded in kind and he leaned forward to grab my bag that was falling off my arm and ready to drop. He laughed heartily and I followed suit like the ditzy girls I loved to hate.

‘Do you need some help Beth?’ he asked.

‘I need some wine,’ I told him then laughed because I couldn’t believe I’d said it out loud. It amused him to no end. He held my bag securely.

‘How about a coffee?’

~

I never told Patrick about that day, and I never saw my God on the ground again. But his glow is still with me, it runs in my blood and loosens my head when I need it most.

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