The White Isle

 

She was staring into the middle distance, blowing smoke rings, while her friends bantered and knocked back beers.

I recognised her from the aerial performance at the club the night before. My friends clocked her and nudged each other.

She glanced over. I raised my beer and smiled.

I could feel her gaze on the back of my neck. We locked eyes. She dropped hers first.

A couple of her friends came over and introduced themselves.

“Join us for some more small plates?”

We headed over.

*

She placed her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her hands.

I was transfixed by the mottled birthmark that fanned out from the corner of her lip, down her chin and across her jawline.

“Fab show. How many nights a week you performing?”

“I do Wednesdays through to Sunday.”

Her bowl of mussels arrived.

I wiped a fleck from the corner of her mouth. Then traced its outline with my finger.

“Does it feel like how you imagined?”

I shrugged.

“I just felt compelled to touch it.”

She placed her fingers in the dip of my collar bone and ran her calloused fingertips against the smooth scar tissue.

“I tumbled out the teacups at the fair one time. Bones cracked in four places. Had three ops so far.”

She trailed her fingers across my chest and peeked down my top.

“Now that’s taking liberties.”

“I don’t think we’re even just quite yet. You molested my birthmark.”

She laid her hands flat against my breasts and felt their full weight.

“So, you’ve got the whole day off tomorrow, then?


*

We sat on the quayside, hipbones touching, eating mango sorbet. It dripped down her wrist, passed her elbow and left a sticky streak down her cleavage.

“May I?”

“You may.”

I licked the melted dessert from between her breasts. She guided my head down her stomach, passed her hips and uncrossed her legs.

I pushed the rest of the sorbet in between her thighs.

I felt her brace against the ice.

It dripped out of her and I caught it with my tongue.

“Mmm, tangy.”