Duet - Theatre Land - Part One
A wet tendril of curly hair fell across her ear… She created a vision of colour in the stormy mass of black and grey.
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Millionaire Seduction
London, I love the hectic anonymity of the city. Ironic in one of the most watched cities in the world.
I’d read about the number of CCTV cameras per square mile. It’s crazy, but I still feel like I can merge into a crowd, be just any other face.
I was doing precisely that when I called at a coffee bar near to the theatre quarter. Known as the West End, it’s always overwhelmed with tourists, but the pubs have quiet corners where you often spot actors between shows.
I love the energy of the place, along with the transient nature of global visitors, all within solid historic surroundings. Here, no one cares what price I would pay for their shares, or which franchise could receive my support.
I sat at a long timber bar in the coffee-shop window. Dunked a chunky homemade cookie in a French-style bowl of hot chocolate, savoured the taste of cocoa, coconut and cinnamon and watched the world go about its business.
She caught my eye as one of the few people not huddled low, hunched against the heavy rain. She walked, head held high. A huge baker-boy cap protected her face from the downpour.
A wet tendril of curly hair fell across her ear, celebrated with a pair of huge golden hoops. Large maps of Africa hung proudly from the hoops. She created a vision of colour in the stormy mass of black and grey.
Apart from the grey checked cap, every piece of clothing was a colour clashing with its neighbour. Somehow it all came together and from her neon green scarf to her pink Doc Martin boots, she was a walking advert for, if in doubt, go for it.
I smiled. Her energy was contagious.
I watched in awe as passersby looked from beneath umbrellas and watched her strut by. Not a hint of arrogance, just a sheer of joy of being alive. She was the type of person people wanted to be near.
In the same way people backed away from those who appeared weak, this woman gave off strength and such a lack of vulnerability that people even edged towards her at the crossing.
I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
She waited at the road crossing and looked across the street. Despite the half steamed-up window, her eyes caught mine, and she held my gaze.
I blushed, but didn’t look away.
I felt a heat of anticipation flood my senses and I shuffled in my seat to allow my twitching groin some space.
I knew she’d be in my life. One of those moments that lit the day, then left you bereft in the moments after it had gone.
I knew the thought of her would forever imprinted in my memory as a ‘maybe, who knows’ moment.
I smiled.
She laughed and made an informal salute as the traffic lights changed and the crowd swelled and crossed the road. She disappeared into the mass and I knew my moment had passed.
I looked down at my mug, lifted it to my lips to drain the dregs.
When I lifted my head again, it took all my willpower not to drop the cup. There she was, gazing at me through the window. I cursed the glass that kept us apar. Her brown, almost black eyes and purple painted lips just inches from mine.
Heat flooded through me, not from the cocoa but from her presence. It took all my stamina to stay calm. My years of keeping poker faces at meetings finally had a purpose.
I finished my drink, placed the mug on its saucer, and mouthed an invitation to her to join me.
When she came to sit at my side, I saw her beauty close up, truly breathtaking. I knew to ask her if she was a model would seem so clichéd it was laughable, but she had such strength of her own value and confidence she could never seem out of place on a catwalk.
She had a symmetry to her face that demanded scrutiny. I noted the freckles on her nose, almost lifted a finger to touch them. She yanked off her hat and jumped onto the tall stool. Her mop of curls bounced in loud rebellion at finally being freed to shout in a statement of proud black, brown, and a lone streak of lipstick-matching purple.
The barista called across. She ordered her drink, it arrived with another of my choice, and we drank together.
She asked about my accent. I heard about her work as a theatre costumier. I asked about her ambitions, she listened to my opinions on English architecture.
She spoke proudly of her love of the city. I learned about its history not spoken of in the sculptures or school books. No subject was off limits and no awkward silences punctuated the conversation.
As we stepped outside, the rain stopped.
She tucked her cap in her bag and grabbed my arm as we walked towards Charing Cross Road. She led me into various second-hand bookstores. We browsed the shelves together. She studied books on art. After watching her fingers trace the images on its glossy pages, I surprised her with a huge hardback book of 1930s Hollywood photography, carefully wrapped in brown paper and string. Her laugh was a thing of fascination and infectious, unbridled joy.
Dusk fell outside, and she left me to go to work. I bought a last-minute ticket to see the show and sat in the audience. Felt an unexpected and totally unjustified pride in her work when I heard the audience gasp at the beauty of the costumes.
I waited at the stage door like a nervous fan, amongst autograph hunters and teenager fans. Watched as the stars left, signed books and programmes, took selfies and jumping into ubers and black cabs.
She emerged, the cap again hiding her curls.
My heart swelled as she walked up to me, kissed me with an energy that filled me with anticipation. My body tensed in expectation of where we would take this chance encounter.
We walked away, arm in arm.
She stepped into the hotel lobby as the concierge held open the door. The bell hop rushed to her side, offered to take her bag. She laughed off his generosity as she asked for his name.
I followed as they fell into an easy conversation about Malaysia and headed to the lift.
We stepped in, I pressed for my floor and the doors closed. I pulled her to me and kissed her. Her soft lips melting against mine with a passion that came easily. Not forced or out of control. A strong connection, body and mind.
Her breasts, large inside her jacket, pressed against my chest. My arms held her close as she stepped forward to share her heat with mine.
She slid her fingers inside my rear jeans pocket. A subtle invasion of my space that sent a shot of passion to my crotch. I wrapped my arm around her waist and held her close as finally our tongues met.
The lift bell announced our arrival.
We pulled apart and stepped out, hand in hand. I led her to my room, knowing tonight would be hers to dictate.
I unlocked my room. She led me inside, placed her bag carefully on the glass table.
I walked to her. She unbuttoned my jacket. Her fingers teasing my skin as she undressed me.
She pulled off her cap, peeled off her jacket, and I was lost.
To her curls, her breasts, and her effortless sexuality.
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Millionaire Seduction