The following is the first draft of my first short story. There are some loose ends to tie up, but I might as well post it here; I was in the process of transferring it to my laptop.
She looked as beautiful as she always did. Her hair perfectly curled, crashing against her shoulders like a feather on asphalt. Her beady eyes would shift to and fro, occasionally making contact with mine.
When I caught her she quickly glanced away, not wanting me to see. But was she ashamed I had? I don’t crave attention, but I wouldn’t mind if a comely face sitting across thought I had a comely face. She is quite comely.
My heart ached every time she opened her mouth. Such a soft, soothing tone makes it easy to forget all else exists and that only the voice and your heart are there, playing tug of war.
She complained it was cold, but as a woman would, she was wearing a low-cut top where her cleavage would peak through. I’m not a misogynist, but I will never understand women, which leads to phrases such as “a woman would,” which engender resentment from any woman reading this. I pray not to be misconstrued.
Nevertheless, her breasts looked lacquered. She most certainly spent the morning massaging them in a cocoa butter lotion. I didn’t stare; I’m a gentleman of course. I can’t help it if it’s forced upon me.
She inched closer. Suddenly she was next to me. I smelled no scent, but I didn’t mind. A woman need not smell like cherry blossoms, but a woman.
What felt like a few seconds was a few minutes. She jostled about, and while she did, her arm suddenly met mine. I was amorous, but also in pain. In pain not from the severity of the meeting of bone on bone or flesh on flesh, but of past realizations and future trivializations.
I knew there was affection in the air. I couldn’t smell her perfume, but I could smell the attraction. I knew, however, if I were to commit, it would be a struggle.
I immediately broke away. Tennyson must not have lived my life, because it is certainly better to know not what love is than to have it and lose it.
There is no greater punishment.