Precipitation

I should have worn a bigger hat.

More brim, less style.

Add it to the list of things I should have done.

It’s a long list.

I took her hand in mine and kissed it gently. Her fingers smelled of rain and talcum powder. I love the way females waft through life smelling of flowers.

Kissing a lady’s hand was a move I’ve used many times, but with her, it wasn’t a move — it was heartfelt. I wanted to kiss her all over, but it would not have been appropriate, standing on this corner, in the rain.

I should have worn a bigger hat.

To be honest, I didn’t think she would come. There was silence on her end of the line when I asked her, and I closed the call before she could say no.

Her life seems comfortable and ordered. Money does not seem to be a problem.

As I saw her approaching through the rainstorm, I admit to wondering — what was it about me that made her make such a dangerous decision? 

Physical attraction doesn’t leave room for consequences.

Was her attraction to me physical? If it was, it would be a first. No, that’s not true. There was that one girl who liked my legs in shorts, but that was a long time ago, and this woman hasn’t seen me in shorts.

It must be something else.

I’ve always felt that people dismiss me as ordinary until I speak. I do have a way with words, and maybe that’s what it is. Perhaps she thinks something is going on inside this ordinary exterior.

Are the men in her life so boring that she would risk disaster by meeting me, on a Wednesday night, outside a bar on the other side of town — to do, who knows what?

“Were you in the neighbourhood — thought you would drop by and see what I was up to on this damp Wednesday night?” I said with my heart in my mouth.

“No. I came because you asked me to come,” she said.

Her voice was soft, but firm — no hint of hesitation.

“Can I buy you a drink?” I said, turning my body towards the neon sign a few doors down.

“Yes. Eventually,” she said.

My body and my words made me appear calm and at ease. I’ve practised this pose several times in front of the full-length mirror. I ‘liberated’ the mirror from out the front of our local charity shop — the local idiots would have broken it before morning — this was my rationale.

The mirror showed how cool I would look if the world was mirror image — the right way around was anybody’s guess.

My advance planning had stretched as far as standing on this corner at the appointed time. The most likely outcome was that this delicious female would choose the wise action and stay a long way away from me and this corner and the rain and whatever else I might have in store.

The second option was that she would turn up and I would have to behave in a way that would get her to like me enough to want to sleep with me — can you see why I had not planned this far ahead? Even a mathematician would have trouble calculating the odds of that happening.

So, now I was in uncharted territory.

What do I do to get this stylish woman to like me, let alone sleep with me?

“You look amazing. Exactly how do you manage to look that way with rain dripping off your hat?”

“Most of me is waterproof, I guess,” she said, and if I wasn’t aroused before, I was now, and I hoped it didn’t show.

“Come,” I said, “let us away to yon bar.”

I kept a hold on her hand, and she followed me to the glass door under the glowing sign.

Glad to be out of the rain, we performed the same in out of the rain dance that all the customers performed on this night.

I tried to brush some of the rain off myself — a fruitless exercise.

My companion removed her hat and gave it a gentle shake. We chose a booth and sat facing each other. Our shoes touched, and she moved hers so my feet would have room and I have absolutely no idea what that meant.

“What would you like to drink?” I said.

“Scotch — the good stuff, with water on the side.”

A sophisticated choice.

I tried to look smooth as I wiggled out of the booth and went to the bar.

The place was quiet, so the bartender didn’t try to ignore me as most bartenders do — or maybe being with her had elevated my status.

I scanned the range on the top shelf.

“Lagavulin 16, times two and a jug of water, please,” I said, and the sleepy bartender dispensed the drinks into surprisingly clean glasses, the heavy-based glasses that I like holding in two hands.

I paid — way too much — and took the drinks back to the table.

My companion added a splash of water to hers, and the aroma enveloped us both.

“So why did you come?” I said.

I knew it was a dumb thing to say as soon as I said it, but dumb is something I do a lot of.

“I’ve got a better question. Why did you ask me? You know I’m married (she didn’t say ‘happily’), you know I have children and a life. Why would I want to jeopardise that by having an affair with a man who wears hats and writes stories and likes dogs?”

“I’m an optimist, I guess,” I said — and I’m not.

She stared at her drink and gave it a gentle swirl.

She took a sip and hid behind the glass, holding it with two hands. I mirrored her, and we sat there for a moment — silence.

“If I were to let you, you know, make love to me, how would you do it?”

Now, there was a question I wasn’t expecting.

“Is this some kind of entrance exam?” I said, and I was aware of the double-entendre.

“Maybe,” she said.

The soft light and the sparsely populated bar gave an otherworldly glow to this surreal moment. The music playing only added to the illusion.

“I’d run the back of my hand across your cheek, caressing you. You’d close your eyes as my hand touched you, a sensation running down your spine. You’d kiss my hand as it crossed your lips,” I said.

Her eyes were closed, and her lips moved as though she were kissing my hand. I was glad I was sitting down because there was no way I could disguise how I was feeling.

“That would be a good place to start,” she said as she opened her eyes.

I did my best to turn the conversation to other things just so I could catch my breath.

She was enjoying my discomfit. Her smile told me so.

After a few minutes, she uttered those dreaded words.

“I have to be getting back — I’ll be missed. Walk me to my car?”

I did my best to walk calmly to the door and along the pavement until we reached her car — latest model, all the extras. Her husband was a good provider, but I knew that already.

It was still raining. I grabbed her and pushed her gently up against a shop window. It was dark, and I pressed up against her and kissed her on the mouth. She kissed me back, and her hand ran down my back.

“Did I pass muster?” I said. “Will you ring me?”

She wiggled out from under my body, and I felt the warmth of her dissipate.

She opened the door of her car and turned towards me before getting in. She allowed her dress to ride up as she slid behind the wheel. Stockings, thighs and a hint of white lace panties.

The car window rolled down with a squelch and a hum.

She hadn’t answered my question.

“Thank you for the drink, and the conversation, and the kiss. You have very soft lips,” she said.

The window rolled up, and I tilted my head the way a dog would do when it hears an interesting sound.

Her car pulled out from the curb, and I stood wondering what had happened.

Was this the beginning or the end of an adventure?

Was I lucky that it ended so sweetly or sad that it never really got going?

Only time would tell.

If she rang, I would gladly jump into her ocean and swim like there was no tomorrow.

If she didn’t ring, I had the memory of this night — the rain and the kiss and the erection that showed no signs of abating.

Either my luck had changed, or regular service had been resumed.

I drove home feeling warm and loved, even though I knew those things were probably an illusion.

I’m a big fan of illusion, it beats the hell out of reality.

I made a mental note to pay the phone bill. 

This was no time to miss an important call.

Out There Waiting For You.

 This story is now part of my new short story anthology, PASSERBY.

You can purchase a copy HERE

If you like what I do, you can help me to keep on doing it by buying one of my books.

She loved the sound of the white gravel under her feet because that sound took her closer to him.

They met every Thursday at the same bench in the park.

With its stone walls, pathways and greenery, the park was a beautiful place to be.

The Art Nouveaux benches were very old and had been well looked after.

Someone, a long time ago had a vision of a park where lovers, children and old folks could come and feel the sunlight and the rain. That vision had been realised in a time when land speculators ruled the world, so how did this park come into being with all that pressure to subdivide?

Someone with an iron will and a regard for the future, not to mention political clout, had made this park happen.

These thoughts ran through her head as she waited for HIM.

He was late, which was unusual. 

He was always on time and if she didn’t love him as much as she did this trait would probably annoy her.

Paradoxically, she was always late; but not today.

She had something to tell him and she didn’t want to be babbling out excuses about her lateness, yet again.

Her constant tardiness didn’t bother him a bit.

He loved that she was not like him.

He needed a difference in his life, and she certainly was different.

She waited for more than an hour.

He didn’t come.

She didn’t ring him, she was frightened of what he might say, or worse still if he didn’t answer at all.

She quietly stood up and walked away; the sound of the gravel under her feet was no longer a comfort.

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PHOTO CREDIT:

A huge thank you to Cristian V for letting me use his excellent photo.

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Everything you want is out there waiting for you to ask. Everything you want also wants you. But you have to take action to get it.

Jules Renard.

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Part Two: WAITING.

Part Three: NOT ALONE.