Elaine and I are going to a party and she is bringing a friend that she wants me to meet.
We leave her flat in the Rockhart Estate and walk along the top floor balcony to a urine stained stairwell. And as we step down to the next floor the woman appears. She has long straight black hair, black heels and bare legs despite the cool air. And she wears a deep blue silk dress, flared at the hem.
Elaine says, “Here’s my brother from across the pond.” And the three of us continue down together.
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The party is in a newer part of town. The apartment has odd angles, no rooms are square and it is very white; white paneled walls, white counter tops, white built-in wooden benches. We sit to one side on one of the benches, me to the woman’s left, while Elaine goes off to meet her friends.
Next to each other, we are both facing the crowd, looking at strangers, instead of conversing with each other. And our conversation is difficult; she is too cool for me, or demure, and I am not drinking and can’t loosen up. I look down at her lap as she shifts her position; and poking out, I see a soft delicate brown penis maybe three inches, revealed from beneath her dress. It is accidental and I don’t mind, her penis is quite beautiful.
Still our conversation remains awkward. Sometimes I have something to say, I am ok with her sex, but sometimes there is a silence, and she excuses herself to go mingle.
I am thinking hard at what I saw, that she is indeed beautiful, but I do not have the nerve to captivate her. The party is winding down, the party is a disappointment and I feel the need to catch up and get drunk.
On a white island bar amongst the empties there are two tumblers containing beer. A man stands next to me and asks for some; there is one remaining beer bottle, so I top up the glasses with the rest from the green bottle. Then I realize that I’ve poured lager into the left over ale that I was going to take; I give the man the glass with lager and take the mix myself.
Only a couple of stragglers are left. The rancid remains of bottles and crushed tin cans have been discarded on the bar, the tables, the mantelpiece, on the floor. Then I see her again. Even though I caught sight of her talking to a stranger earlier, she now sits alone on one of the window benches.
I am relieved, even happy; I want to go over and talk to her again.
Photo by Matt Brown via Flickr
