Image for post
Image for post

I’ve always called bullshit on love at first sight but the way her angel-face glowed behind the lit end of her cigarette was damn close to making me a believer.

I liked the way her cherry red lipstick left pieces of her with each passing puff and I longed for her to leave those same pieces on me.

I stepped outside in hopes the cool air and night sky would spark some brilliance in me as I planned my approach.

The world made women like her as fierce as banshees and I knew that if I didn’t come with something profound she’d rip me to shreds with the batting of an eye.

I took a few final breaths to calm my heartbeat and walked inside. I sat down in the seat closest to her, offered her another cigarette as I saw her’s was running low.

As I lit my flame and she inhaled, I asked her if she’d decorate me like the crimson-colored fag that lay defeated in the copper ashtray beside her.

She smiled and laughed and bit her bottom lip, and I immediately felt my denim go taut as blood rushed to my heart, my dick and the warm spot right underneath the sternum that has a way of stealing the breath from one’s lungs when ignited.

Moments later she and I were in the back of a yellow cab darting for my flat on the outer edge of town. The stuffy stench of bad incense and Chinese take-out grew subtle as the scent of her began to dance in the air.

It was lovely and with each passing breath, I could feel it pulling me in deeper, digging it’s French manicured claws into my chest and back, urging something primal in me to grab for her neck and fuck her right there on the cracked leather back seat of the speeding taxi.

I resisted and instead leaned over and kissed her on the soft part right where her cheek and the corner of her lips met. It was dark in the vehicle but I thought I saw her smile. Though, it might have just been the passing streetlights playing tricks on my mind. The eyes have a way of seeing what the heart wants to see.

I flicked on the lights of my studio apartment, stepped aside and motioned her in, pleasantly surprised to find the woman I had brought home was as stunning as the one I had originally seen in the dimly lit bar.

As I wrestled my keys from the door and hung up both them and my coat on a brass hook within arms reach, she walked over to the couch in the corner of the room and sat down as if she had been there a few times before.

She gently slipped out of her Christian Louboutin heels and dropped them to the floor. They landed with a thud, revealing the iconic red soles.

By the way she handled herself and her footwear, I could tell she possessed the old kind of money that both stinks and smells of daises all in the same.

She glanced up at me with her porcelain blue eyes, catching my mouth agape in the middle of the room. I felt a pang of embarrassment and attempted to cover up the awkward starring by offering her a glass of wine. She asked for red, like her lipstick and the soles of her shoes and I obliged with a nod.

I returned, wine in each hand, the poured cabernet gently dancing from side to side in the glasses. She was perusing my vast library of vinyls, running her fingers along them like a goddess contemplating who is worthy.

I was impressed when she pulled out Cigarettes After Sex and relieved to find she handled vinyl with more care than Louboutin. She fastened it to the record player and I felt a part of me come alive at the initial scratch –– the silky effeminate voice of Greg Gonzalez started to whisper behind a dreamy melody, I remember when I first noticed that you liked me back…

She stood there for just a moment with her back to me, transfixed on the spinning record. She didn’t dance nor sing nor shift her weight. She just stood their and the lights of the room seemed to focus on her like she was on a stage, as if she was born for the entire world to watch her exist elegantly, boldly.

I took a long pull from my glass not once breaking eye contact with the empress that stood in front of me. I wanted to removed her black dress and lick her sun-kissed skin. I wanted to worship her the way the men of Ancient Greece worshipped their Gods in the sky. I wanted to make her my Aphrodite.

And, as if she read my thoughts, she turned around.

By Cole Schafer.

Written by

I write pretty words and sometimes sell things.

Get the Medium app

A button that says 'Download on the App Store', and if clicked it will lead you to the iOS App store
A button that says 'Get it on, Google Play', and if clicked it will lead you to the Google Play store