Stickman Readers' Submissions February 12th, 2010

The Aberdeen Express

Seeing her lips covered in bright red lipstick I gave in to her as to a drug. I was having early breakfast in the McDonalds across the street from my Ao Nang hotel. I was eating and watching with amusement as an American couple was letting their four or five year old boy run around in a whirl of bad behaviour. Then I noticed her walking in and approaching me. I thought I had done well by ignoring further advance after a fire kiss with her on previous occasion. But I had failed to appreciate the efforts of her design. In our stories we too often presume the spring is by our own unlock. She was taking action and she caught me unawares. From the first, at the pool, as her legs unfolded, innocently, or so I had thought, and revealed string red silks of hair beneath the surface of the water, there was an invasion of my consciousness, and beneath it.

I shall speak now without the before and after: only of my time with her that morning. Morality is thrown away for now. With the bright red painted around the forms of her lips something in me surrenders. She sits down. She is thin but athletic. Her skin is white and I wonder how she has taken the sun.

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We are nervous and awkward. We say hello and then there is silence. I am aware of her breasts covered by a navy blue cotton top. They are small but perfectly rounded. There are spots of freckles at the bottom of her neck.

We have talked before. She is Scottish born but I could not tell this by her accent, or lack of one distinct. She smiles often and her teeth are bright white.

She is on vacation and soon to start medical school in London. She is from a family of physicians. I tell her of my family of painters.

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She loves warm weather and clubbing and old American songs like Over the Rainbow and anything West Side Story. She thinks Boswell a toady and hates Johnson's prejudices against her homeland. But these things were discussed before. Now there is little talk. And silence. And then quite slowly she reaches with her right hand and puts it softly into mine and in the acceptance of our hold the call of the fall into the waves is answered.

We get up and leave. Outside it is hot in the early morning. As we walk along the street I notice a local woman has set up one of those stands selling crepes. I look at the woman and our eyes meet. I know she knows my hunger as she sees me with my lady.

It is early morning and it is already hot and I am getting hotter but the weather is not the growing reason. We are walking along the main street to find a hotel that screens out the world while we entwine into each other. It would be insincere to say I am pondering the issues of fidelity or Stickman discussion; in truth, it is the rush of the blood that seizes me: the pagan truth that lives inside us and comes upon our nature when the pretences are not enough.. I fall not gently but its force has been gathering. There is a smile upon her face and her ass moves in a rhythm of invite and soon I know I shall feel its soft skin.

Words are never enough, are they, when we go to the moon. How can black print describe the beating of my heart as we get a room and walk thru the door and close the door and we stand and then she lifts her top and we both know this is a time that shall be drawn up in memory for the rest of our lives; that when a painting of pleasure is required to banish the demons, or black out the ill passages with touches of light, we shall have my lips to hers, and then down to her pink places of top and bottom, and before too long, the joining, the sweetest touch of all.

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We all fall. Some fall from emptiness. Some from never surrendering. Do you remember when there is no world but only your blood? Do you remember when there is excitement so keen that its colour is the only force?

I do not posture for recovery. I just want you to understand that the place I describe is one I entered beyond my control. If you have ever acted without any possible fixture perhaps you will understand. I feel the give of the mattress to our weight as we settle upon the bed and into deepest flight.

There was no landing.

Stickman's thoughts:

Very nice!

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