Four of us sat at a table in a gray room, on dead chairs. Eileen continued, “It’s a human purpose. It’s a test to yourself. These can be ignored when younger but there are personal imperatives, social pressures to confront now.” After this next conjecture, the hints fell first towards the end of my face, where the smiles end and indifference develops. The knuckles ahead of me, coolly appropriating confidence from my gaze, were both an altar and prop for the woman hovering determinedly above them. And for the moment I felt submissive, and forgetful of my physique, salary, sexual readiness, shrewdness, collection of ironical paintings hung on the shaker beige hue that greeted my fatigue each evening; for this moment I was owned, savored and spat, turned and doused, for the clever recreation of the woman in plaid gray and arched shoulders, smock-like and thoroughly smitten by my reticence. “I’m impressed by the pace of your words, but not by the way you look at me,” I said with a mighty voice, to the empty room.
Oh no! This story doesn't have a prequel. Want to fill in the blanks and write one?
Oh no! This story doesn't have a sequel. Want to fill in the blanks and write one?