Tiong Bahru Parley

[Rainyday]

"Oh! Mary."

"I startled you."

"You... I... I didn't hear you come in. "

The long thin shadows of her slender legs stretched out in the doorway, pausing before crossing the studio, her slight but graceful sway accentuated by the snap of her red heels on the floor. Her Chanel fell into the frayed blue lap of a worn armchair in the corner. The door swung shut again and the bright and bustle of the Tiong Bahru afternoon outside retreated with it.

"I... You... We... We are supposed to be over."

Supposed. But he knew she didn't know the meaning of the word. Goddamnit. He chewed on his lower lip. She noticed his new project, a mess of photo prints haphazardly stuck over the far wall. A project he fell into with much zest and exasperation the last week. The week since they were supposed to be over. Her chestnut eyes followed the trail down the wall, but she might as well have pinched a nerve. A pang shot up from somewhere, a knee jerk defensiveness he knew well. What right did she have to walk right back in, and presume to look over his innermost core, his creative heart. The incomplete, lacking face of which she had discarded the right to be privy to. And yet here she was, reading his mind, with all its private and unadorned imperfections, as flippantly as a bus stop poster.

"You've been busy Hong."

"It's not ready, they're just studies." The quiver in his voice betrayed his discomfort, even if she didn't notice him scratching his stubble impatiently. "But more importantly, why are you here?"

That brought her attention back to him.

"To bring you a gift, why the cold shoulder?"

Her brown eyes, lustrous in the dimness, met his own black ones with a wilful cock of her head. It sent a ripple through the polished mahogany of her unbound hair, distracting him but it drew him in unwillingly all the same. Now his eyes moved with a will of their own. God I've always loved her hair. How it fell past her shoulders with a lascivious fullness when her head arched with ecstasy, how it ran like silk through the caress of his fingers but tightened like cords in his grip in his moment of coming. And how its light sensual fragrance lingered on the sheets, the pillows, his inner thighs the next morning.

And now her loose curls hung down to a point on her full breasts, somewhere above her nipples - where the point of a small dark box rested as she rocked it slowly between her manicured fingers. She knew full well how his gaze would wander over her body, and how to toy him to distraction. Always a step ahead.

[Rainyday]

"So I did."

Heels tapped as her feet turned towards him, and advanced deliberately. "But I didn't say we weren't friends anymore."

"Not for me." The retort simmered. "You never take anything seriously. But you wanted to end it, and I said that will be the last I see of you."

"Then why didn't you ask for your keys back?"

She stood right before him now, almost eye to eye in her five inch heels. Close enough for him to be uncomfortably reminded of the fragrance of her skin yet far enough to forestall a kiss. A wisp of hair danced over her lips and cheek in the slight draft, sticking to her lip gloss. Moist, pink and parted. And those luminous eyes. The temptation blazed red in his mind, a leaping heat that kindled in his loins. He did his best to brush it aside but the more he tried the more it rose in the maelstrom of emotions that wracked his body.

"No..." His head moved mechanically, but his moist parted lips betrayed his conflict.

"La maison du chocolat."

The box was thrust into his face. And he instinctively took it, fumbling at the upside down box.

"Wha... What?"

"You know, chocolate."

She was already gliding over to the easel upon which, until five minutes ago, sat the only care in the solitude that was his last week. Her shoulders throwing a svelte silhouette through the gossamer of her blouse against the light of the window.

"A friend visited Paris and brought me chocolate." She peered into the mess of his artistic meanderings with folded arms. "But I know you love them more than I do. Especially la maison."

"Well thanks..." He caught himself in time to manage a half-scowl. "But I can't accept this. From you. We are not 'we' anymore remember?" The brush of his unshaven chin curled as he twisted his lower lip in disapproval. "So why are you here? What do you want?"

Mary turned on her heels to face him fully and let out a sigh that blew away the long fringe that shaded her eyes. It was a rare moment of vulnerability that passed as quickly as it came.

[Rainyday]

Mary turned on her heels to face him fully and let out a sigh that blew away the long fringe that shaded her eyes. It was a rare moment of vulnerability that passed as quickly as it came.

"The truth, Hong, is that I was wrong."

What?

"No, there is still no 'we', but I was wrong to vanish like I did." A slight tiptoe and she was out of her heels, leaning on the work table. "After all, we've been through so much. No one knows me better than you do."

I've only scratched the surface, it's YOU who knows me more than I do myself.

"We've always been friends, there really isn't any good reason that should change, is there?" The table was cluttered with half used brushes and paint, but her long fingers found a clean fan tip brush, and she picked it up, tapping its elongated end on her upper arm as she considered the half angry half bewildered artist before her. So much pride and passion locked up in that lean sinewy frame, no wonder he could never make up his mind. Like right now, she knew he couldn't decide to tell her to leave or beg her to stay. His scruffy angular face had that tortured look all over again.

"I..." He started without knowing how to finish.

"I can do friends, can you?" Mary finished it for him, and came off the table towards him decisively, toying with the paint brush in her hands.

Even without heels her long toned legs moved with poise, silently, alluringly, the look she wore held him captive. Of course he wanted her, but he had to be firm. She walked out after all, but she walked towards him now. Her eyes. That look. God, her legs. In one passionate moment , all his suppressed memories burst out of that walled corner of his mind. Stolen kisses in the sunset, shared laughter in the rain, quiet Sunday mornings under the sheets. They joined forces and came together against that great black NO that hovered somewhere between last Friday and five minutes ago. And he felt his NO crumbling with each step she took towards him.

"No. You left." It was weak he knew. It was his heart's fault.

"Can you do friends, Hong?" Another step. The topmost two buttons of her blouse undid themselves. Victoria's Secret lacy white bra. Last month. Gift. Her breasts urged him on.

"No. You..." Weak. Weak. Weak.

Now she stood well and truly before him, so close their lips almost touched. Kissing distance, a familiar distance. "Can you do friends, Hong?" It was a whisper now, he felt her breath on his skin. But there was more, her hands, her arms on his chest. Something long thin and hard touched him lightly behind his left ear. But he was already lost in her.

"I suppose... Yes." The big black NO was gone to dust.

She gently pulled him in with his own paint brush, enjoying the warmth of his arms, the quiver of his lips, the hardness of his chest, his rising appendage.
And he was her's again.

[megardstorm]

Camp here...

[papereleven]

This is surely one of the more interesting introductions I have seen here.

[SammyNewbie]

I likes! Femme fatale IT woman or similar feel. ^_^