We have reservations, I can’t use chopsticks but she doesn’t mind if I spoon. We’re through dinner and she says I’m smooth, we leave the restaurant she’s relaxed, content, the evening’s over, or so she thinks, I’m working on the courage for the upsell and with Academy Award winning method acting I casually ask " Would you like to go clubbing?" " Oh Yeah. " Three drinks later, bathed in music we discuss the pronounciation of Psyche. I say " Either Psych or Psychee is acceptable but if you say it’s Psych, that’s good enough for me." I didn’t know it beforehand but I’ve just said the right thing, her arms instantly wrap around me. She kisses my face all over up down, sideways, diagonally, other patrons stare as I bask in the spotlight of our private moment. It’s getting late but not quite push comes to shove, time for coffee and new punters to pash in front of including the waitress, who only breaks off her running feud with the cook, to perve on us, which annoys my date. Decision time: She says "You’re place or mine?" and we wonder are we going too fast? "Friends can be lovers, but lovers can’t be friends" I say. She replies "I don’t know much but when you fuck, things change and change forever." Consequences if you do, missed opportunity if you don’t. Kelpie on the footpath outside her house, yellow eyes, illuminated by streetlamp, staring; think I’m safe but I crave a little danger. She is my escape, I hope I will never need escape_ from her. © Pete Dowe 2002 |