The Pixie, The Imp and The Devil

            We strolled into the bar last night feeling like a million dollars. The girls were together, dressed in graceful backless dresses, long waved hair falling about their shoulders. We took a table and ordered drinks. I took another look at Sharona and noticed that her dress was made of black velvet, and that she wore a single white rose pinned to it. I leant across to a passing waiter and ordered drinks for the girls who hadn’t yet noticed us. On receiving the drinks they came across.

            Ed and Miranda embraced, while Sharona and I stood apart, looking at one another.

            “Does the rose ever blossom?” she asked me, at length.

            “The answer to your question is but a dream away.”

            “But what if the rose stays closed, the petals too scared to unfold?”

            “Then we’ll know that black velvet is as choking as the unknown it portrays.”

            Sharona smiled prettily and nodded to me in deference. We turned to the others and noted their slack jaws with amusement. I took Sharona’s hand and drew her back from the table, before bringing back the chair and seating her. The other two sat too, in silence, watching us. Sharona winked at me and normality resumed.

            After a short time the girls went to perform. Miranda accompanied Sharona on the piano. The two of us watched them with real pride, basking in our circumstances. We barely needed to exchange a word. When Sharona returned to me at the end I again wondered ‘why’, but put it to the back of my mind this time.

            I asked Sharona about Miranda. She simply said they’d been best friends for years, since they met playing music at an early stage. Sharona then asked me about Ed. I told her I couldn’t back him for fidelity but she thought that was just fine. I hoped that opinion didn’t reflect her own attitudes. After a moment’s knotted brows I got a grip and bought another round. In a moment of madness I then invited Sharona to dance. I think perhaps she was surprised that I could, but we moved gracefully enough and soon she was laughing.

            “You know what they say about a man who can dance.” she said.

            And before the others could blink we were outside in the alley, Sharona on her knees before me, my cock in her mouth. It was a hell of a kick, seeing a girl dressed like her, so classy, in that scene.

            She stopped after a few moments and left me burning. She pushed me back against the wall and stepped away, running her fingers slowly half way up her thigh, showing me just so much, then leaned in.

            “Come with me,” she whispered. She led me to another graveyard in the city, magnificent and gothic. We could barely keep our hands off each other as we jumped over the fence and penetrated the dark depths of the place. Sharona moved with direction and took me to a crypt. She opened the stone doors and we actually entered the place. Down below we found an altar and she lay upon it, legs paired together and flexed at the knees. Her black velvet dress slipped down her smooth thighs and I went to her then, at that moment. Just as though I were falling from a great height I couldn’t pause for thought; I fucked her as though the laws of physics demanded it.

 

*

 

            I woke gently this morning to the smell of bacon.

            “My turn,” she said, smiling. I ate and she watched me. “Why did you come to me?” she asked, at length.

            “Why is your name Sharona?” I replied.

            “How did you know my name before I gave it?”

            “It’s written in our story.” I laughed.

            “What story?”

            “The story of us in the infinite library of Babylon.”

            She smiled. “What’s the story called?”

            “My Sharona.” I stopped eating for a moment and looked at her. “Why is your name Sharona?”

            “My Papa gave it to me. He wanted me to have a distinctive name. He told me that with a name like mine…” I began to gently caress her exposed midriff, the soft flesh between the ribs and the hips, “…I could always expect fate to come and mix up my life. He said that fate is a Pixie of no alignment and that she would as easily shower me with fortune as misery. He told me he could wish for nothing more than experience for me: good or bad. Anything more than ordinary…” my hand began to wander further up, and further down, “…and so he named me Sharona as a siren call to the Pixie.”

            “But is the Pixie in your mind? Is she your own Pixie, or is she Pixie to us all?”

            “Both!” She giggled.

            “I like that. I believe in your Pixie Sharona. It was in fact your father’s siren call that brought me here. Your very name, Sharona, called me from England on the wings of the Pixie, just as your father predicted.” I explained the adventures.

            “So a song told you to find me?” she said, at the end.

            “Yes.”

            “When you hear the lyrics, how do you know what to do next?”

            “Ed tells me, once the Imp of the Perverse in his mind has given counsel.”

            Sharona gently drew in breath as my finger traced the outlines of her breasts.

            “That’s very trusting of you.”

            “Very. Sometimes I doubt the wisdom.”

            “And what did Ed tell you to do with me?” she asked, playfully, and the whole thing broke down. We submitted to the Devil of Lust.

            Some time later she lay on top of me, the length of her body pressed into mine. She leant over me and her hair fell about us, shielding us from the world outside. We lay in mingled breath and gaze.

            “What now, Tom?” she whispered.

            I was destroyed.  I had to bite my lip. I wanted to ask her to come back to England with me. I was frightened of the idea.

            “Come with me,” I choked, and whispered.

            “Again?” she replied, and winked. Then her eyes softened slightly and she kissed me tenderly. I knew it was an acceptance of my meaning.

            And so much more.

 

*

 

            Sharona packed in less than two hours. I dared not ask how long she planned to join me but she declared straight away that she would let the flat go. She resolved to leave the remainder of her stuff with Miranda around the corner and so we left to speak to her.

            Miranda let us in and it became apparent that Ed was there, the sly dog! We told them our plans and they both looked mortified. I was worried about Ed’s reaction to the news: I’d thought he’d have been happy for me.

            An awkward moment followed in which Ed and Miranda looked at one another, each apparently wondering if they ought to follow our lead. The tension held for a few moments until they comically broke down in shared relied, agreeing that they were just fine on their own.

            The afternoon progressed. Ed and Miranda helped us move Sharona’s stuff into Miranda’s storage cupboards though they both displayed a kind of unspoken resentment.

            “Is everything okay, Ed?” Sharona asked, after a while.

            “Just fine,” he muttered.

            “You must tell me,” she said, “if I’m coming with you I’ll do it on your terms, as well as Tom’s.”

            “Alright,” he replied.

            Sharona called her employers next, requesting time off and refusing to be drawn into specifics of it. She lost the tour guide job completely; I could hear the guy yelling down the phone. She didn’t appear the least bit fazed by it.

            By early evening the three of us were standing in the low sunshine, with our boots and packs on. We were ready, but amusingly enough hadn’t worked out where to go. In the end we went back to the hostel, booked transport for the following day, and another night’s stay.

            We’re about to go to bed now. The evening’s passed peacefully with a few shared hostel games and beers, Ed and Sharona getting to know one another.

            On the morrow a new chapter of my life begins.

Don't Ever Let Off Dreaming About Her...

            We got to Sharona’s club at around eight last night. We grabbed a drink and took a seat at one of the tables below the stage. There was a three piece jazz outfit on stage, a singer, pianist and bassist. I felt like a man in a film, waiting for something important to happen. And it did. Sharona came on stage next and blew us all away. She sang with one guy on the piano as accompaniment. Her voice was serene and the moments during which I watched her were sublime, echoing forward into ever extending memories of my future self.

            In the middle of one song she suddenly fixed her eyes directly on mine and sang two lines straight at me. It was all I could do to resist the temptation to look behind me for the man she must’ve been singing at.

            After the show she disappeared backstage and I bought another drink.

            “She’s not bad then, eh?” Ed said.

            “You’re joking! Not bad?”

            “Haha, I’m pulling your leg mate. You should’ve seen your face, jaw dropped and all.”

At this point Sharona came out to see us. She appeared behind me unexpectedly and hugged me to her. She was still wearing her performance dress. It was so different to anything I’d seen her in so far. It was emerald green, long and sleek, bringing out the green in her eyes and set in attractive contrast with her black hair and dark skin.

            “I’m so glad you came!” she said. She was vivid and vivacious, full of the nervous energy of performance.

            “You were amazing,” I said, barely audible for my own awkward nerves.

            “Thank you,” she said, with genuine humility, casting her eyes downward momentarily. “I want you both to meet my friend Miranda.”

            The four of us talked about this and that for a short while and then Sharona broke the conversation by suggesting we move elsewhere.

            “But first I have to go change. Tom, would you come backstage with me?”

            “Er… I’m not sure,” I replied. “I should really stay here with Ed. Surely I’m not really allowed backstage?”

            Ed kicked me hard in the shin.

            “Ow!” I said. Sharona laughed. “On second thoughts then…” I glared at Ed.

            Backstage turned out to be an extremely messy small room. Sharona went behind a screen to change. She was asking me about the show and I was answering mechanically. I was too occupied by the flickering shadows projecting against the wall. The rest of the time I was fighting the urge to ask ‘Why?’

            She came back around the screen, wearing ripped jeans and an open black short sleeved shirt.

            “Let’s go down to the river,” she suggested.

            “What about the others?”

            “They’ll be fine.” She smiled and took my hand. “Come on!”

            We walked down to the river and enjoyed the still warm evening. There was just enough alcohol in my blood to heighten night-time romantic reflection and I breathed the air with contentment, my troubles briefly lost like the facts of life in a cinema. Sharona sang lightly to herself, the soundtrack to my madness.

            On the bank of the river I asked her about her singing and she played shy. She told me she was tired of being treated one way or another for what she did. I pointed out that she’d invited me to watch her, but I dropped it.

            A warm breeze floated in from the swamps, bringing an intoxicating air. I looked across at Sharona and saw the air brush her face with drifting curls and slow currents. I longed to follow it with the lightest touch of the back of my hand. I knew I could fall in love right there and then. I’d only known her for what? 48 hours maybe? It was all too pre-destined, doomed. I didn’t want to start it.

            Sharona started telling me a vampire story, oblivious. It was about the docks, and she told it masterfully. I listened intently, my grip on reality sliding minute by minute.

            “You almost seem to sympathise with the vampire,” I said, when she was done.

            She smiled wanly and looked out into the river. I looked away.

            “What’s the matter?” she asked.

            “Nothing. It’s just…”

            “Yes?”

            “I… don’t want to have a mere taste of you knowing I can never have it all. You’re sweet poison, the apple of temptation. Pain follows these things.”

            She leant across and kissed me before I could think of stopping her. She ran her hands through my hair, then about my neck and over my chest, forcing me back onto the ground where we sat. I was utterly dominated, destroyed, submitting to her passion willingly blinded and finally, released into spectacular and euphoric oblivion.

            “Screw the Garden of Eden, Tom,” she said, letting me go for a moment. “God didn’t make man for paradise. Follow the lust in your blood, the vampire in your veins. Come, Tom.”

            And she took me by the hand and led me back to her house. We went straight to her bed and fell on top of one another. We lay there kissing and gazing into one another’s eyes. All my awkwardness was gone. We were acting as one. We didn’t make love, but expressed our passion with caress and serpentine embrace until, after hours, we drifted away.

 

*

 

            I woke this morning filled with immediate, if uncertain, joy. By the light of day I saw Sharona’s room: a bizarre con-fusion of gothic and vintage, decadent in either case. Sharona herself continued to sleep by my side, black hair trailing back across the pillow and onto my cheek, one arm across my chest. I felt I could die right there, without one regret.

            Part of me still thought it all ridiculous, but the other part was filled with sense of strange and sure confidence. The Rules of Life say this kind of thing couldn’t happen, but there I was. I’ve never felt more thoroughly distant from reality in the stark light of morning. I looked across at her again and couldn’t make it fit. I got up quietly and left her there.

            Outside the sun shone warmly on my skin and I could barely move for running or speak for shouting. Strangers turned their heads to watch my grin walk past them. I wanted to stop them right there and tell them all about it. My head was spinning. I broke into a run and sprinted straight through a park without slowing down. It seemed as though I had no more physical limitation, I could run forever.

            I flashed past a café on the other side and suddenly stopped. I returned to it and bought a continental breakfast to take away.

            A short while later I walked back through Sharona’s door as though it were the most natural thing. She took the brown paper bag out of my hands and looked me up and down.

            “Thanks for this,” she said, and smiled, apparently unconcerned over my disappearance. “You’re sweating,” she said, and pressed a finger into neck. She ran it down to my chest pressing hard into my flesh. I couldn’t breathe for the tension. “Why don’t you go have a shower?”

            So I did, but I was barely in there thirty seconds before she joined me. She came from behind and ran her hands over my chest again. It was too much. I wanted to wait but this was too much. I turned and lifted her right off her feet, putting her against the wall of the shower. I fucked her right there, releasing every bit of tension and restraint within me. It was the best fuck of my life. Water ran down her black hair and over her breasts as she wrapped her legs around my waist, drawing me further into her. She was divine.

 

*

 

            “So, you looked like you were packing to leave yesterday Tom,” she said to me later, over breakfast.

            “Yes, I was.”

            She looked across at me and paused, hesitantly.

            “Is that why you’re doing all this Sharona, safe in the knowledge that I was leaving?”

            “I never said ‘don’t go.’” she replied, looking away.

            “So, in a minute, you’re gone, I get nothing, and you’re off with barely a sigh.”

            “Don’t go.”

            They were lines. But more than lines, they were lyrics. It’s from a song called This Ruined Puzzle, by Dashboard Confessional. It was contemporary Shakespeare and it connected us on another level. It was beautiful and we needed nothing more. We simply smiled at one another.

            Eventually I put down my cup and walked around to her. I leant down to where she sat and kissed her, ever so gently, full on the mouth. I made to leave but she stopped me. She handed me a book.

            “I’ve hidden a note, it’s pressed between pages that I’ve marked to find my way back. It says, ‘does he ever get the girl?’”

            “But what if the pages stay pressed, the story too dull to unfold?”

            “Don’t go.”

            “I won’t.” I said, smiled, and left. She knew what I meant.

 

*

 

            Back at the hostel this afternoon I met up with Ed.

            “I’ve changed my mind about everything, Ed,” I said, “we’re not going anywhere. I’m in love.”

            “Me too, mate.”

            I started, then remembered the other girl from last night and laughed. I doubt very much he meant it as I did, but mostly I was just glad he didn’t want to go.

            This evening I opened Sharona’s book, Labyrinths by Borges. The note she’d hidden was on the first page of a story called The Circular Ruins. The story started with a quote from Alice Through the Looking Glass:

 

            “And if he ever let off dreaming about you…”

           

            Sharona’s note read ‘Don’t ever let off dreaming Tom.’

            At the bottom of the note she’d scribbled a phone number.

Circe

            “Well, they’re both a bit ‘daddy’s girl’ but at least one of them seems interested. It’s just a pity it’s the wrong one,” said Ed, over breakfast this morning. He paused reflectively. “There’s nothing really worth hanging about here for anymore is there?”

            “Well actually…”

            “We’ve seen all the sights, and now the American girls are leaving. They’re going on to Istanbul. There’s really no reason we shouldn’t follow them.”

            “Right,” I said. “It’s just…”

            “They’re catching a flight from Antalya, it’s a airport near...”

            “Ed! Listen to me. There is something to stay for!”

            “What?” he asked, incredulously.

            “Sarila.”

            “What the hell’s that?”

            “It’s the name of the girl. The dark eyed girl.”

            “Ah,” he said, smiling mischievously, “I wondered what you were up to last night, you sly dog. I still think she’s a little young…”

            “Ed… she’s incredible. She’s so… still. The world moves around her and my heart is caught.” I stopped, aware I’d said too much.

            To my surprise, Ed didn’t laugh at me, as he usually would. Instead he looked slightly concerned. “I see you take this seriously, Tom. So I’m going to be serious myself for a moment.” He paused. “Sometimes I wonder at your naivety Tom. It’s not just that she’s on the young side. You have to understand you can’t just come out to a place like Turkey and fall in love with a young hotelier’s daughter. You can’t mess about with a girl like that for she’ll come at a heavy, heavy price. Her father will tie you up before you can blink and suddenly you’ll be working all hours of the day to support a family in Turkey that you never even see. The second you lay a finger on her you’ll find yourself married. Stay clear.”

            “Shouldn’t we be guided by hope and love, not fear? Aren’t we supposed to free, isn’t that the point of all this?”

            “Absolutely, but freedom is the last thing that will come of this.”

 

*

 

            In the afternoon we went to the Temple of Jupiter in town, just for something to do. We were caught in a kind of paralysis about what to do. Girls came between us and neither of us had the grace to withdraw.

            On our return we discovered rather unfortunately that we’d missed the departure of Steph and Beth. Ed was distraught, a little more than I could’ve expected. It would appear he was keener than I’d anticipated. The moment weakened me, I felt guilty that he’d missed them and I agreed we should follow them to Istanbul (they’d left the address of their next hotel), but not until the following morning.

            I had only one more night to see Sarila…

 

*

 

            We met after dinner, once again. Ed saw her first and smiled. He pointed her out and winked at me.

            “Be careful,” he said. He felt relaxed because he knew I’d be leaving soon enough. He didn’t know I had every intention of giving her all my details so that she could come and visit me in England. I couldn’t let a girl like that go, a girl who could pass her fingertips through mine and compress eternity into one moment.

 

*

 

            We went back to the waterfall and stood, a little apart, leaning against two adjacent trees. After a few moments of gentle nervous laughter and tentative brushes of hand against hand I realised I had to try to explain that I’d be leaving.

            “I’m going tomorrow,” I said. I signed an airplane taking off and flying away. She understood straight away and her eyes were downcast. Her dark lashes covered her deep eyes. She didn’t respond. On a whim I stepped in towards her and placed my hand lightly on her cheek. She glance up at me, wide eyed. I kissed her then, breathlessly and passionately.

            After a moment she placed her palm against my chest and gently pushed me away. I looked into her dark eyes and saw the velvet night.

“Tom,” she said, “I… love you.”

The words struck me a full blow. Their effect wasn’t as I might have anticipated however. I felt confused. Suddenly I looked back into her eyes and saw the young girl Ed had described: the girl I could fall for in one night and suddenly be ensnared by forever after. I felt like Odysseus in the hands of Circe, the enchantress. Horror coursed through my veins and I pushed Sarila back.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

Sarila

          This morning I awoke early and went downstairs to check the internet and look for something to do. In truth I suppose I hoped to see the girl. She wasn’t about, but I did discover an interesting day out in the vicinity: Heaven and Hell. They are two giant holes in the ground and at the bottom of each runs a river. When Ed finally rose we agreed to visit them.

            First we descended into Heaven. It was several hundred feet deep and at the bottom we entered a dusky glade, a holy netherworld. Dark damp trees grew in cracks between rocks brightened by nothing but a single shard of light, visible in of itself by its illumination of the many particles hanging in the motionless air. Down amongst these murky impressions had been constructed a church. It must have been many hundreds of years old, but it was well preserved. The stone used to build it was thick and the outside was painted in shades of green: life growing from water. It was beautiful.

            Eventually we ascended from Heaven into the bright midmorning sunshine. Reality returned and the magic of half light receded. We decided immediately to descend back into Hell. Hell was smaller than Heaven and darker yet. Little grew in those depths. There was nonetheless a river at the bottom and Ed noted that it must be the river Styx. I was inclined to agree and to wonder if this might not be the very source of the legend. Ed joked of immortality but I felt it as I touched my fingers to the surface of the invisible darkened waters, briefly exposed to light before returning to the depths.

 

*

 

            This evening we waited, at Ed’s request, for the company of the Americans. Sure enough they came down into the lobby in the early evening and invited us to dinner at the hotel restaurant. I was glad to remain here.

            The five of us sat to eat and talked about all sorts. Ed used his blunt and sardonic style to great effect on the American’s wife, who laughed raucously at everything he said. I spoke more quietly and straightforwardly with the man himself. I watched the body language of those at the table and realised within no time at all that Ed had chosen Stephanie as his target. She was certainly the prettier of the two. She, however, was curiously disinterested in him and kept attempting to divert me from my conversation with her father. Meanwhile Bethany appeared to be attempting the execution of some footsy type game with Ed who barely noticed for his wine-fuelled gazing at Stephanie. Truly it was a mess.

            Late on I noticed that the dark eyed girl had returned to her spot in the corner. She saw me look at her and stood. With a glance over her shoulder, directly at me, she swayed out of the door into the hotel’s coast-side terraced garden. I watched her and then excused myself. The American nodded slightly, as though he understood my actions and somehow approved.

            As I walked to the door my heart was thumping, though I knew not why. I stepped out into the night air and breathed deeply, trying to control my emotions. Though it was only a couple of hours ago it already seems like a timeless dream. I turned to my right and saw her sitting patiently on a rock, her features outlined by the white light of the moon on one side and the warm yellow light of civilisation on the other. She smiled at me once again with her full, inviting lips.

            I tried to say hello to her again but my voice half failed me. She laughed lightly and patted her hand against her chest.

            “Sarila,” she said.

            “Tom,” I replied. We looked at one another for a moment, satisfied with our exchange of understanding. I felt intoxicated by the thought that our feelings could be the same and yet the words within our minds to explain them could be so different. What would ‘love’ sound like in her mind?

            “What does your name mean?” I asked, in English. I had no idea how to say it in Turkish. She looked confused. I thought for a moment and then knelt down in the sandy dust on the terracotta tiles. I traced my finger about and wrote ‘Sarila = ?’.

            She looked at it for a moment and then clapped her hands gently, looking at me with a sparkle in her eye. She spoke quickly with fluid foreign sounds and I felt fated to be right there, though I understood nothing. She signed to me, diving one hand over the other. I still could not understand. Suddenly she took my hand in hers and I nearly snatched it away from psychic static shock. She smiled at me reassuringly and held my hand firmer. She guided me to my feet and held me, at arms length, for just a moment, before turning and pulling me along, away from the hotel.

            We walked only a little way, still well within sight and sound of the hotel, but the resounding sound of running rushing water grew as we walked and suddenly we pushed through some willow trees and before us was a waterfall. It wasn’t very high and there was only so much water creating it, but it was perfectly proportioned and beautifully set like a jewel in amongst slender wavering trees. The light of the hotel was blocked now and I saw Sarila’s smooth skin by moonlight only. It was cold, away from the world, and she moved a little closer into me.

            She turned to face me and simply looked into my eyes for what seemed an eternity. Then she pointed across at the waterfall and said simply, “Sarila”. I smiled at her and she took my hand and brought it to her mouth. Without taking her eyes from me she touched her moist, soft lips to the back of my hand. I held my breath, as though to breathe could shatter the fragile beauty of the moment.

            Shattered and sundered it was, nonetheless. At that moment a powerful, deep, man’s voice called out her name from the direction of the hotel. Sarila glanced over her shoulder in its direction and looked back at me. There was no concern on her face, only delight within her eyes. I felt it belonged to me, somehow. Before I could react she kissed me glancingly on the cheek, touching me with the delicacy of a summer’s breeze on the petals of a flower, and then she was gone, vanished into the trees like the fading memory of a dream in the confused misty moments of early morning.

Turkish Scorpions

            My God it’s been a long day.

            We got up at four thirty this morning to catch our flight over to Turkey. Although we were heading for the port of Silifke, 2000 miles from London, the closest airport was actually Ankara in Western Turkey. About an hour after landing Ed was clearly still waking up when he stumbled upon a remarkable discovery.

            “Hmmmm…” he said, pensively, “they speak Turkish here don’t they? That’s a fucker.”

            In fact Turkish bears no real resemblance to any Western European language so Ed was completely screwed. I learnt some very basic Turkish last night so I was able to say a few things. Ed seemed grudgingly impressed.

            Our first task was to get to Silifke; we hadn’t even booked a hotel to stay in so we thought we’d better get over there quickly! I spoke to a taxi driver and his eyes almost popped when I mentioned Silifke. He pointed to a map of Turkey and explained in sign language that I was asking to go half way across the country. I think I understood him saying it was a full 250 miles from Ankara, one eighth the total distance from London!

            “What’s his problem?” asked Ed, “These other countries are only little, it won’t take long.”

            I negotiated a fee of 300 Tukish Lira, about a hundred quid. I didn’t tell Ed how much it was. It seemed a good idea to keep him in ignorance of the currency for now.

            “Don’t they have the goddamn Euro here yet?” asked Ed.

 

*

 

            After a sickening windy coast-side drive lasting hours we finally made it. I managed to ask the driver for a hotel recommendation. He phoned someone who told him we should stay at the Hotel Akdeniz. It turned out to be only 30 lira a night, making me feel all the happier and Ed all the more suspicious at how the hotel could be ten times cheaper than the taxi.

            On the way into the hotel I noticed a girl. She was wearing long white robes about her body and had a green headscarf wrapped around her head and neck. She watched me as I struggled in with my bags. She looked about seventeen or so but had such distinguished features. She had high form cheekbones blushed a natural red and dark long lashed eyes that gazed boldly and appraisingly. When she noticed me looking back at her she smiled and gently brushed aside a stray lock of black hair from her face. She did not look away but locked me in and captured me for a few moments. Ed shouted something at me from behind and I turned to reply. When I looked back later the girl was gone.

 

*

 

            We went out to the dock. It was difficult to see how fate could’ve intended our visit. It amounted to more of a muddy canal than anything else. It was nothing to see. We sat there for a while whistling to Otis Redding’s tune and laughing at the madness of it all. Eventually an American tourist turned up and struck up conversation with us. He told us about a castle further down the coast called Korkyos. We resolved to go tomorrow. After futher discussion it turned out this guy was staying in the same hotel as us with his family, a wife and two daughters. We walked back there together in the late afternoon, occasionally turning to watch the sun setting over the distant coastline.

 

*

 

            Ed ensured that we would meet the American’s daughters. He enquired after them none too subtly but fortunately the American mistook it for genuine geniality. After an evening shower and light meal we met the girls in the hotel bar. Ed opened conversation but introducing us. They were both blonde full bodied girls: not fat, but certainly buxom. They must’ve been around 21. There was a certain prettiness to them, but they’d win no awards. They were called Stephanie and Bethany.

            “Oh my God,” said Ed immediately, “so you rhyme even when you shorten your name.”

            And as usual, because Ed was English and they were not they actually found this offensive comment charming and amusing, though they must have had it thousands of times before. Conversation proceeded in a predictable manner: Ed gently taking the piss; the girls not quite understanding, but enjoying it nonetheless.

As they talked I became less and less involved and eventually noticed movement out of the corner of my eye. It was the dark eyed girl once again. She was watching us silently with a kind of fascination sparkling in her eyes. She had pulled back her emerald green headscarf a little and her thick black hair spilled out in curls like scorpion’s tails about her sharp defined cheeks. She captured me again for a few moments before, again holding my gaze without looking away. Ed jerked me back into conversation with another question. Again, I looked back a short while later and she was gone.

Eventually Steph and Beth had to go to bed lest they anger their parents. Ed and I stayed to finish our drinks. I asked Ed if he’d noticed the dark eyed girl. He gave me a sly grin, amused at my apparent interest in a mysterious stranger, but claimed he hadn’t seen her at all.

Ed went off to bed a little while ago and I found this computer attached to the internet. It’s very late now and I’m exhausted. I’m going to bed. Perhaps I’ll dream of magical Arabian nights.

Two Places; Two Faces

          I can’t get it out of my head.

            This morning I was sitting there, in my suit and tie, in the waiting room of Banbury Magistrates Court, reading the newspaper and minding my own business.

            But I wasn’t reading the paper. I was thinking about fucking Evelyn. The scene played out over and over in my head. But it wasn’t quite the same. The setting was Ed’s lounge, and the bodies were the same, but the face was Annabell’s.

            Like a catchy song lyric I saw her face on Evelyn’s body flash through and through my mind. The only thing that broke the spell was the announcement of my case by the court usher.

            But it’s there again now and God I want her… or one of them at least.

Sensory Experiences

            “Why are you drawing Annabell?” Ed asked, walking into the lounge this morning. I looked down at my sketch pad. It was supposed to be a drawing of Evelyn.

            “It’s Evelyn.”

            “Oh God. You’re not in love with the whore are you? Fuck: that’d be a pricey fate.”

            “No. I’m not in love with her.” I unwittingly emphasised the last word just slightly. “I was just waiting for you to get the hell up.”

            “Again.” He said, laughing.

 

*

 

            After lunch we sat down in the lounge. Ed brought up itunes on the computer.

            “Does this bring back memories?” He asked, starting the music.

            The gentle sound of waves started caressing my mind. Otis Reading lent his smooth old voice to the mix.

 

I’m just sittin’ on the dock of bay,

Watching the tide roll away…

Sittin’ on the dock of a bay,

Wasting ti-i-i-me.

 

            “What memories?” I asked.

            “It’s the song we came to last night.”

            I was revolted. Ed was proud of this.

            “Ed. It’s bad enough you were there. You don’t have to be so damn sickly proud of it.”

            “What’s the matter? Are you embarrassed I watched you like that?”

            “Fucking hell Ed, just shut up about it.”

            “Join the modern world, Tom. It’s all about sensory experience.”

            “Right. Well, my senses are happiest away from sharing nakedness with you.”

            “Alright, alright. We’ve got more important discussions to have right now.”

            “Like?”

            “This song. It’s our next adventure.”

            “Christ. I hadn’t even thought about another one. Wasn’t the last one enough? Haven’t we proven whatever it was we set out to prove yet?”

            “Not even close, mate.”

            “Well I think we have. I’m not sure about this anymore. Last night was… weird.”

            “Just think of it like porn. Good porn, but nothing more.”

            “I don’t watch porn.”

            “Then you’re even more of a fucking shitbrick than I took you for.”

            “Why don’t you leave it? I’m not about to jump up and go on some other crazy chase of madness. I need to work some stuff out, and get my life back in order.”

            Ed reluctantly dropped it. I’m not sure how I feel about it all. The last week or two’s been fun, but… I’m not sure. I have to think.

 

*

 

            I’m about to go to sleep now. I had one further thought: how did Ed pay for the girls? He’s only a teacher, with no money. I must remember to ask him… No matter how unsure I am about the whole thing, I have to pay him back. It’s not like I refused the… services.

English Rose; Asian Melons

          “What’s your choice of fuck then? Blonde, brunette or red head?”

            I’d woken up split seconds earlier to an early morning inconsiderate brutish whirlwind called Ed, who’d thrown open my curtains and ripped off my duvet. I cowered in the foetal position as he delivered his opening question to me. A hell of a way to awaken.

            My phone rang before I marshalled my thoughts into any kind of response. I snatched it up and foolishly answered without checking the caller ID first. It was my mum.

            “Hello darling!” Another appalling morning person; it’s like they’re a different breed of animal altogether.

            “Hold on a second mum.” I replied. I put my hand over the handset and turned to Ed. “Fuck off,” I told him. Amazingly, after a disparaging head shake, he did.

            “What was that dear? I didn’t quite catch what you said?”

            “Nothing, Mother. How are you this morning?”

            “Oh never mind me. I want to know about that fine young girl of yours!”

            “I told you, we broke up.”

            “But you don’t mean that! You couldn’t. The two of you were so well suited! You’d hardly throw a thing like that away, not when it meant so much to your old Mother!”

            “As I explained, I didn’t have a choice. It was her decision.”

            “What’s the matter with you, boy? Don’t you have any spirit in you? She clearly doesn’t mean it, she just wants you to show a bit of passion: fight for her!