3 O'CLOCK TALK
The strive to being perfect is a very imperfect statement.
“You look beautiful.”
A fitting compliment for a women who stares at herself in the mirror running that line through her head, wondering if she is considered attractive.
The tunes of his voice remained in my mind.
As the cold whiskey stuck me blind.
I love it when he looks into my eyes and stares at me, even when I am not looking.
I love it when he says "good girl" and lightly touches me.
First scene. Lighting a cigarette. No, rolling it. That satisfaction. The almost thrilling anticipation of finding relaxation in the first puff. The sigh is glorious.
The smoke drifts. Thick.
That smell of dry herbs fills your senses.
"The sky is beautiful tonight, don't you think?"
Plastered against a dark blue, black canvas was a sky filled with detailed coloured curls and twists. Stars vibrantly shun their yellow, white.
White sheets laid along the double bed, crinkled up. They were never tidy. It was either the act of disrespect or they enjoyed entertaining themselves for a pound or less.
The smell of lavender and peppermint cleansed the air. The door was wooden, with a loose stick hanging underneath, scraping the wooden planked floor.
The red stone walls were covered in framed drawings. The framed drawings were loosely sketched. They were unclear images of woman positioned in-between instruments. Nude. The art behind the drawings were indistinct but the ignorance of the view was impeccable.
The room was all kinds of red shades, the wallpaper was crimson red and the blinds were light red, making the entire room shine bright red in the day. During the night-time the moon would glow through the blinds adding the blood red shade to cover the entire wooden floor.
“Come over,” Ali Stanton demanded with urgency, already undressing, “hurry up.”
Ali looked out of the window, waiting eagerly to open the door. His light was switch off and his curtains were closed. Ali didn’t even hesitate to demand another request, “take this off,” he pointed at my vest and barely scrapped my breasts.
“Hurry up then.” He calmly asked this time but momentarily looked down at his visible skin.
I took a breath and held his portly filled thighs. My tongue ran and the disgrace began.
He used all his strength to hold me down, “you’re mine,” he whispered.
Ali educed us as friends.