Confession.

I’m wired. And when given the choice I will always choose the less sensible option. On the one hand, something structured and all my own, and on the other: this. Where to begin.

“You know I’ve liked you for ages.”

I know it. But I don’t remember since when. When did I become aware that my wandering mind was criss-crossing flirty feet up this path.

“It’s taking all my strength not to do this.”

I am at once both myself and something totally different. It’s like I can feel my own pull, my big saucer eyes, a caricature of sexy, rubber sweetheart. I don’t say anything, yet he keeps talking like we’re conversing.

“We have to wait. Do you understand?”

I nod. Not agreeing to anything. He gets up and walks around in an exasperated circle, while I watch, feeling girly even in big boots.

“By next week. We’ll fuck.”

I smile. I say something unconvincing. “Oh yeah?” For someone who pulled away, so tortured, not five minutes ago he keeps returning to kiss me.

“One more,” he breathes into my open mouth.

I let him out through the bottom gate and the birds are awake to see it all. I can’t remember if we kiss goodbye. There’s no mention of the grand plan discussed indoors.

“So what happens now?” Asks Rach. The three of us scatter, three days on, in the hallway near where it happened.
“No idea. Nothing I guess? How do you begin after that?”
Hebe smirks: “I suppose it’s quite a grey area.”

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