Facial Violation

          I awoke at 6:30am this morning to the sound of a text message. I was not amused.

 

            “Tom, would you join me for dinner tonight, I’m coming into town today and would appreciate it ever so much. Please don’t disappoint me! Fi xxxxx.”

 

            I stared at the message in utter disbelief. What the hell was the girl on? Did she think that by bombarding me at this time of day I’d be incapable of refusing? Further, I’m not exactly sure how she even got my number.

            I thought about it for a minute. I still hadn’t heard from that girl at the bus stop, so I guess that pipe dream’s over. On top of that, Annabell clearly hates me now. With these points going through my befuddled early morning head I decided to run with what I had. I texted Fiona back and accepted her invitation, before going back to sleep.

 

*

 

            Fi’s flat in Baron’s Court is absolutely gorgeous. When I arrived there last night I was dumbfounded. It was a beautiful old Georgian terrace building with marble floors and chandeliers inside. I must admit it all made an impression on me. I couldn’t quite believe it was only a part time home. She later explained that it was a legacy from her dear departed father. It certainly got me thinking. If I could just knuckle down a bit and earn some money then perhaps I could live in a place like that. If Fiona had it already, maybe I should be taking her more seriously. Wouldn’t it be amazing to show a place like that off?

            Fiona and I went to dinner and had a pleasant but unremarkable date. We talked about her teaching and she spoke intelligently enough about the books she taught to her students. I realised with some quiet personal amusement that she could recount more about her lessons in one hour than Ed had ever done in all the time I’d been living with him. Dinner ended awkwardly as Fiona attempted to insist on paying for everything herself. Timothy had apparently presented me as an impoverished member of the junior bar. At least she wasn’t after me for my money! In the end I managed to halve it.

            On Fiona’s doorstep we paused silently for a moment and I realised I was meant to lean in. Ninety percent, right? I remembered my failures of late, following the same train of thought as when I had awoken to her text. Taken in the moment, happy to be involved in anything at all, I inclined my head slightly toward her. She snatched the chance, grabbed the back of my head and pulled me straight down onto her tongue. Literally. She’d extended it out and moved so quickly that I hadn’t had time to even open my mouth. She stabbed my lips and cheek with her tongue. Far from embarrassed at this faux pas she wouldn’t let go, but continued in her attempts to violate my face. The full horror of the matter struck me and I pushed her firmly away. I smiled weakly at her and saw within her eyes a kind of glee, or triumph. She was apparently impervious to my reaction. I said goodnight and politely but firmly refused her invitation for coffee.

            “You needn’t be such a gentleman,” she said, “but it is ever so sweet!”