Beauty Ch. 01

"I'm thinking of taking a lover."

The words rose in the air between us like plumes of cigarette smoke. It's too bad, really, now that sort of cliché – manufactured foreplay - has succumbed with government law. I wasn't ashamed of who I was, of cigarettes, of rebellion, what and who my desires were. On this damp London night myself and this young nymph had met at this new art exhibition opening – very exclusive, of course.

We had bumped in front of some strange bronze structure and we ended up talking about everything we could think of. Something between us had snapped and we had to bond together, figure each other out. Somehow, I could understand something special about her, but let's not be hasty, shall we? We made a devastating connection. Holding a small glass of '86 merlot I felt sexy in my best silken number – my calf length, v-neck purple dress with silver sequin detailing, and my new purple lipstick. I was facing a 23 year old nymph by the name of Beauty. Wearing a simple cream linen skirt suit, she had this gorgeous auburn hair that was short and urchin-like that curled around her ears, with wide green eyes, porcelain skin and soft, full lips. She wasn't very tall – only 5"5 – and was painfully shy. I waited for her response.

"Ooh, very glamorous is it not?" She giggled and curled her slim fingers around the stem of her wineglass, flexing them slightly. I watched her with hunger. "Do you, erm, have anybody in mind? I mean surely you must understand all of the work involved, hmm? Finding a lover, finding your setting, a place, interests." She looked at me. Straight in the eyes. She smiled, but it didn't completely reach her eyes, off dancing somewhere else. A proposition.

"Well, what makes a lover? The kind of black and white French movie perfection where everyone is tall and slender and, like – you, basically?" She laughs, but I barely hear her. This civilised, post-9/11 world was dissipating very quickly...

"Where the only music is the sound of those last desperate, almost tragic gasps before..." She was going to continue if her damn date hadn't turned up. I had deduced he's some sort of geek-chic friend who studied art history and is just realising how pointless it all was. Anyways, he was a twitchy kinda guy. The kinda guy I couldn't ignore but I lost no sleep over him. At least Beauty looked uncomfortable. She'd send him away no problem.

"What is it Simon?" She snapped. This time, his right eye twitched. I grinned.

"Erm, I was wondering if you'd want to get out of here. You know, fob off the establishment types and all that." The thing was dressed in classic University Challenge attire – the monstrosity of square glasses, black trousers and bright green shoes. I almost wanted to help him, if only my mind wasn't so Beauty-fixated.

"No, I don't want to go anywhere. With you, I mean, you can leave. I'm talking here to..." She glanced askance with hopeful eyes.

"Marissa." I said. I don't think Twitch liked me that much, but his eyes held an appraising look in my direction. Before I could translate it he gave Beauty smirk that was far less than subtle, and slunk away into the crowd. No matter. I wasn't going to let whatever that was interrupt us, if she wasn't to. Yet she paused and it made me worry.

"You were saying?" I looked at her with intellectual eyes. I refuse to desire people too overtly. All of those public displays of affection – teenagers French kissing on a Friday night – that chavvy girl in some pink velour tracksuit thingy and a scraped back ponytail, trying to convince herself "Vinny" is worth the Chlamydia, but I am so, so biased after all. I'm certainly not a normal, despairing kind of person. But I wouldn't say no to public sex – churches, offices, cinemas – the fun sort of places where the breathing is shallow and hot - like a marathon sex night in squeezed in between normal life on your way to work. Yes, that would all be great, if Beauty could get her bearings back.

"Beauty?"

"Yes?"

"What is wrong? What troubles you? What makes you uneasy?"

"I'm not supposed to be happy." She looked up at me for a second and all I could see is the threat of tears and twinkling green eyes. Oh, Beauty. "You see, I have problems. They are many and I haven't been able to solve them. And I don't know you at all but I have to...I have to...I have to let you discover me. I don't care how soppy and ridiculous that sounds. I'm not a prostitute. I've never done this thing before. I guess, I guess I just want to live life like a movie. I want to feel sexy, alive. I want –"

I grabbed her wrist. It was the first time we had touched. I didn't think anything of it at the time, except perhaps I wanted my fingers to touch much more flesh than this. Now, of course it holds a stronger significance. I feel her fluttering pulse, the slight blush that rose up onto her cheeks. It was a very good memory. Perhaps the madness had started there...

We left the gallery, and the night in Leicester Square is crisp and luxurious somehow because it's as if there's no one else left in the world. The stars twinkle almost menacingly like crushed ice. It's impossible, of course, it being the centre of London, but I felt amazingly powerful. I looked at Beauty and she seemed to desire me. I mean, wasn't 'old' by any means but she really wanted me – how was this possible? And how on earth do I discover someone when I all I see is splendour unspoiled?

"Marissa, I have to tell you something –"

I swoop upon Beauty and I kiss her. My purple lips capture her pale, soft ones and I seize the night with them. I am both gentle and fierce, tentative and desperate, but oh! so happy. My tongue teases the seams of her lips and she begins to reciprocate and our tongues dance together. Her long fingers are running through my long, wavy brown hair. I kiss her deeply and her soft moans are caught in my mouth. Suddenly I pull away and hail a black taxi. I feel Beauty's breath on my neck and I'm feeling very, very aroused.

You should always kiss someone in the middle of a sentence. I was only being traditional, was I not?