Touch Me

The dim lights were the only things that I had as reference to the room. It was a cold dark night and there was frost all over the windows. I could hear the commotion coming from the street below, some girl talking about her mother and an old man complaining about a car that's in his parking spot.

The familiar smell of lavendar and rosemary coming from the foyer. The housekeeper must have a fetish for chemicals; the dirty rug on the ground oozes these synthetic scents. I catch sight of a crack in the wall. The plaster is peeling off, I told him, but he said that it was okay, it gave the wall character.

I could hear him in the kitchen preparing some sort of dessert. He said the mud cakes on Chapel St don't do his desserts justice, so while I left him at it I walked around the room and examined the pictures on the wall, gently passing my fingers over the thin layer of dust that had accumulated on the table tops. Images from a not too distant future when he was far more handsome, places he'd been to, people he knew...

Pancakes and dustings of icing powder on a 5 degree night, in front of the fireplace with Aretha Franklin on vinyl.

He has strict rules about affection. No kissing. No hugging. No fondling. Only handshakes and pats on the back. Too beyond him, he says, though at the time he said it I thought he had a tinge of insecurity in his voice.

The TV was blaring loudly as we dug into our dessert but neither of us was watching it. In a distance, an opened bottle of wine and two glasses ready on a tray. Casually reaching over his shoulder he picked up the bottle and set out to pour me a glass. How sweet of him, I thought. He knew exactly what I was thinking and understood my need for alcohol when someone refused to give me hugs.

My feet were begging for attention as they lay on the cold stone floor. He said that he never got carpets for the hall because it was such a hassle to clean it up, especially with Katie in the apartment. Katie is his beloved dog who is rarely seen; I think she hides under his bed most of the day gnawing away a dirty dog bone. I’ve heard noises coming from under there and as much as I’d like to think there’s some handsome twink hidden away under there, I knew it was Katie all along.

Scenes of World War 2 were playing over his Foxtel and I started to feel a bit queasy so he shut it off with a flick of the remote. This guy was amazing; he reads my mind like an open book. Putting down the dish after subconsciously licking up every smear of maple syrup, I felt myself relaxing my head against his soft cushions. They must have been velvet, because they held on to dog hair pretty well.

Just him and me in the hall, empty glasses and plates on the floor, a crackling fireplace in the distance, the flickering flame reflected off the beige ceiling; we were two coherently independent individuals sitting in front of a fireplace. I was gazing at the creases on his forehead while he was busy mocking me about my Mickey mouse shirt that I got from some cheap discount sale sometime ago.

Then I felt his hand on my head, holding me in a warm fuzzy embrace. Planting of a kiss on my forehead, and a stroke of my eyebrow, I felt like the day was never going to end.

That’s when I heard the front door open with the turn of a key and a familiar voice speaking in an exasperated manner.

“Steve?”