It was the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last.
I promised myself as I hacked away at the hard ground with my spade. Her sweet scent still lingering on my clothes.
The evening went swimmingly. We met at the park and tried to feed the ducks, tempting them with pieces of stale bread and our best quacks. We finally gave up and decided to take a languid stroll around the lake, my palm fitting perfectly into the delicate curve of the small of her back. Conversation over dinner was fun and easy, the lackluster food hardly dampened the mood.
She was beautiful and I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
I invited her over to listen to the latest Elton John cassette and she happily obliged. We continued our conversation from dinner over my last can of beer while Elton crooned on in the background. As he broke into the first chorus of “Take me to the pilot”, I reached forward and gently stroked her cheek. Relishing the feel of her flesh against the back of my palm. I could feel her stiffen as my fingers slowly traced the soft contours of her neck. And well.. I couldn’t control myself. I had to. Her fingernails dug into my flesh as she tried to pry them off her neck, leaving behind crescents of blood. Who would have thought that pain could bring so much pleasure. I felt alive, exhilarated, energized! Her gasping screams perfectly intertwined with the music and I couldn’t help but sing along with Elton as her squirm grew steadily weaker.
Yes, this definitely wouldn’t be the last. But next time I’ll be ready with a tarp and some old newspapers. I didn’t expect it to be such a mess.