Thinking Comes Later: Part 1

You go.

You sit there and add to the smoky haze clouding a sea of old, mostly familiar faces. You turn your head as more arrive, and that’s when you see her.

She’s tucking a long, loosely spiraled strand of hair behind her ear as she reaches down into her satchel to pull out a smoke. Bright green meets yours as you catch her gaze. You hold your stare while continuing to sip the beer in your hand while she looks down, lighting a cigarette as she wades through the crowd of bodies on legs clad in thigh high black pantyhose, the lace trimmed tops barely grazing the hemming of her jean shorts.

You glance back from time to time, waiting for an excuse to walk over but none comes. You see her joke around with others gathered near by, exposing a smile that tightens your chest when she laughs. Her presence is hard to miss, giving off subtle cues of a unique nature that you can’t figure out, but are incessantly drawn to.

“Don’t think about it,” you tell yourself as your hormonal tendencies of impatience and lust overrule your lack of balls and you stand up.

“Drink?” You ask as you sit down on the wooden chair next to the cushioned one she’s curled up in. The left side of her dark red lips tug upwards and she grins at you.

From underneath her slender leg she pulls out a silver flask. “No,” she replies while leaning your way, “but I’ll take your name instead.”



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