i'm not proud

you could say it was a very small thing. very small indeed. maybe i was just being very very picky and i should have ignored it. maybe it doesn't even matter.

she was a beautiful dame. eyes you could part with a breast-stroke, hands you could swallow and lips you could lay your head on. we met in the lingerie section, it was prearranged. i went early to check out the crotchless rack, she waited outside 'til closing time. we recognised eachother instantly; i looked just like my photo, rectangular and two-dimensional, she wore the bear costume as requested.

we walked into the night, but before we got there we stopped for wine and song. we frowned and asked the bartender to quieten down so we could watch the jugglers. but the jugglers sang and disturbed our drinks order. nonetheless we enjoyed our bread sauce and garden-twine cocktail and talked 'til the darkness wrapped us in their charm.

"i believe in a thing called love," she told me. i couldn't hear her over the impending guitar solo. "quarter past ten," i replied. she kissed me. i kissed back, but missed and hit her lips. her tongue slid over mine. it tasted of emeralds. mine slid under hers. it tasted of tongue. it was beautiful, like two little red whales mating in a foamy sea.

i surfaced for air blowing saliva in her face. she smiled as she playfully knocked two teeth out with her paw. it was a moment i wanted to make last forever, while she took a piss i pulled the battery out of my watch and dropped it on the floor beside her. she looked up and gazed at me, a tingle clearly visible in her lady area. 'it's only a chemical reaction to the battery,' i thought.

could this be it? so soon after the last girl?

we met again, two weeks later. no amount of planning and pleading could shorten the time. she had hardly changed. she had swapped to a black scrunchie but still had that oyster shell between her teeth. we went to dinner again, choosing a restaurant at random. this time we received the wine we asked for. luckily i had thought to ordering it previously on-line and having it delivered to the restaurant door on our entry. we conversed, we made small talk, we chatted, we discussed, we mentioned. it was easy as swimming on tequila.



but then she dropped a bombshell. apparently she had found it en route. it fell from her mouth and rolled across my linguine. "hey!" i whispered inaudibly, "that ruined my meal."

it wasn't a big bombshell. indeed some would argue on later dates that it wasn't even a bombshell at all, but more of a.. 'hobby.' but still it rolled around my head and twisted my thoughts back and forth like a psychadelic roller-coaster.

so, although she was beautiful and funny; i haven't called her since our last date. now, even if i thought i could ignore the little round tasteless bomb, it's too late. i feel like a generic. i feel a little sorry. i feel a tiny bit sad. but it wasn't perfect and i like things the way they are at the moment.