we've had a perfectly normal conversation, and we both carry on like it never happened. Maybe that’s how he does things, direct and uncomplicated. Like horses, but of course wholly unlike them too. But his words have shot me between the eyes, my insides are cavitating like a sinking ship in a stormy sea, boiling in a turmoil. Aware this sounds dramatic, but it’s how it feels. It’s not like me to be at a loss for words, but I can’t find the right response, I feel like I’m swaying about and need to hold onto the chair near the door. I catch my breath. Daniel has his back to me as he’s putting his jacket on, the connection is broken, like an electric current with nowhere to travel. I feel hot, very hot.
MCH working trot.
“Thank you for...” I pause for the correct wording, “the unusual invitation,” I calm myself with a snap at the band around my wrist, the dressage just isn't working. “But I’m going home Daniel.” I decide I handed that like a pro, and all pleased with myself I begin to ready myself to leave. Then Daniel looks at me like 'that', and all my confidence dissipates around me like vapour. I want his hands inside my underwear, wait a minute, what knickers am I wearing? Spiderman ones! God no!
...then, down the front of my panties, lacy black ones (my mind can paint a perfect picture)...I close my eyes, as the feeling builds again.
“Tharie?”
We're both still standing there, by now people around the bar are watching as these two immovable objects stand facing each other. How long we stand there, I can't tell. I close my eyes, take stock, remember you're Pony Club I say to myself, there's nothing you can’t handle, you proved that with Flash at camp. We could have gone under that jump it was so high, but we went over, phew! "I’ll call you, tomorrow." I spin around quickly, pretend I don’t hear.
Feeling the alcohol heating my body from inside and trading my usually quick reactions to a syrupy slowness I head back up the stairs and I leave him. I have a terrible feeling of abandonment, I don’t want to be away from him, I had just met him and already I felt like this. I just stand there in the dark street, Daniel is still in the bar, He hasn’t followed me out. Did I hear him asking about tea? His car pulls up beside me, and I could hug the driver I am so relieved to be away from that man, alone and safe from myself. Daniels driver, who turned out to be a Stanley ignores my silly tears on the journey, I don’t know why I cried, I am emotional, yes, that is it.
Phone, yes I need contact.
PF: “He said what!!? Who said romance is dead?” I had to tell her didn’t I?
TC: “You heard me Pete. And I do, every Friday night” aaaarrrgh, but boys, they’d just get in my way.
PF: “And...What did you say?”
TC: “Nothing, what's wrong with me?” don't actually answer that friend, I'm not after truths here, just guidance.
PF: “Some lipstick wouldn’t hurt, it’s all I’m saying” here we go, I check my reflection the partition, and look away not able to decide.
TC: “I’m giving you the finger you know” true story.
PF: “I do, love you” bye babes.
I close my eyes and float all the way to the train not recalling any landmarks or any of the journey. Stan takes me to Liverpool St Station, where I catch the packed train home, and I sit there wondering whether the last few hours were written on my face easily read by the commuters around me, but I guess they have their own stories don’t they? I put my huge not-for-looks 'proper' headphones on, turned up the volume and try very, very hard not to dwell on that kiss, had I really heard him right? Yes, Korn's live album thumps in my head, there's nothing wrong with my hearing clearly.
Still warm and aroused from the ordeal of the afternoon I feel frustrated, like an itch I can’t scratch, if I were alone in the carriage I could halt that feeling. Work my hand into my jeans, close my eyes. Slowly work my warm little fingers down inside the front of my panties, back and forth in a slow rhythm. From the soft folds to the tiny tip of the mound where comes great pleasure, driving myself