Blushing Smiles

At work, a colleague who never quite fitted, bleached hair, short skirt, tattoo on her ankle, steel ring through her nostril. On secondment from Germany for a year, returning there every second weekend to be with her husband. For some reason, carrying the sense of a mysterious hinterland, as if there was plenty in her life that we couldn’t see.

Encountering her only about once a week, but always noticing her and feeling noticed by her. Friendly chat. A common interest emerging, she also being a cycling enthusiast. Soon, something else, a sexual connection, that magic unexplained thing. Her smiles changing, becoming more private, almost blushing. The gravitational pull more powerful for remaining unspoken.

Then one day, six months ago, time to go back to Germany. At her farewell party, regretful smiles on both our faces. Half-formed plans to develop things, disappearing over the horizon.

Life going on. Until last night, an email, hi, I’m in a new job now and need to be in London quite regularly, would you like to meet up. Usually I’m there Monday and Tuesday, overnighting at a company flat near the Tate Modern, perhaps we can get together some time that’s convenient for you. (That’s if you want to.) How’s the cycling going? x Giselle.

This charge of electricity, enough to make the soul dance. Tossing and turning through the night, working out how to play it. Cool or ardent? Touch her or wait for her to touch me. See if I can make her laugh, generally the best policy unless you look as though you’re trying too hard. Through the night, a thousand tactics decided on, decisions made and then reversed.

Sunlight through the curtains this morning and instantly awake, ready for action, email reply drafted in my head. Sinking back into the pillow, oh dammit, that email from Giselle, all the hectic plans, they were a dream.

Oh well. Maybe this supposed sexual connection between us is a dream too, there’s no actual evidence.

Wonderful dreams, though, both.