Samurai Wind 1

We are about to drop headlong into trouble. Chris and I are talking about kinky clothes and the mile high club. I'm high on adrenalin and painfully hard.

Its not his laughing blue eyes and flashing grin, which are all I can see of him. Its not the memory of his body in motion. These things I deal with everyday. Though they live in my dreams, I've managed to gain a certain necessary imunity to their charms.

Instead all I can think of is the moment when, even distracted, he recognised the badly played notes and identified a Chopin nocturne.

Samurai Wind 2

This is torture. My idiot idea.

Wet Mouth. Sharp teeth.

Flicker of eyelashes on my wrist. Rasp of stubble against my hands

Tugging on the ropes. Teeth nip my fingers. The mouth stops and his harsh breathing gusts over my hands. Hot breath on wet skin

Oh God!

I can't do this. Our lives and millions of others are at stake. Now is not the time.

I break away and frantically try to break the ropes by shear adrenalin-spiked strength.

"What are you doing?" he yells. " You're going to break your arm!"

We have to get out of here.

Miss Hit

Sam:

So, she was my type.

I don't want too much reality in my relationships. I want the fantasy image gilded a little by makeup and hairdye and perfume. All surface. That way I don't have to reciprocate more than skin deep myself. I can play at pursuing a slightly unreal goddess. It helps me keep my own feelings shallow and ultimately unengaged. Fun, not deep and meaningful. No harm, no foul.

It distracts me from fretting over the one I really want. The one I can't have. From falling so deep I can never escape him.

Shallow is safer.

~*~

Chris:

Jeez, Sam. How can you go for that? She looks like a Barbie doll. All fake and no substance. I'll admit she looks beautiful, but how can you tell for sure under those heavy layers of foundation and lipstick and mascara? You'd need heavy duty excavation equipment to get to the real person underneath. What did she do - shower with that perfume? Is this what you want? This empty façade of beauty?

I know I'm jealous, but mostly the pain is 'cause I realise that, if she is your type, then I stand no chance. No chance in hell.