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Once a girl told me that she was like a train running to her destination and I might just be one of the passengers hopped on and off along the journey. I was foolishly convinced that we were going the same way, but it turned out I was more fascinated about the idea of 'getting into her' than 'getting old with her'. I was 15.
Now she was living her own life - I hope not as miserable as mine in some way - somewhere with someone I wondered, and I was going to fuck this girl called Rachel who had just admitted her little deception. Obviously no one is a train or a passenger going to a place called 'destination'. People come and go, chasing their lives like a bunch of horny animals running wild and blind.
Carpe diem. This is what it means.
Her place was at one of those old Victorian terraces that were quite common in Melbourne suburbs. Her room was messy with all sorts of lady stuff, magazines, lipsticks, stockings, you name it. She didn't intentionally tidy it up as I would assume. She had no reason to gloss over reality for me. I found it exceptionally sexy.
'Water?' She asked nicely.
'Nah, I'm good.' I was thirsty like hell.
'Shall we?' She started to take off her dress.
I sat on the edge of her bed, mattress in fact, staring up at her like a pathetic virgin. I didn't remember how clumsy I was to get myself naked. I had no time to think if it was so embarrassing to get a boner already. I just wanted to fuck her on that dirty mattress.
We did it twice, not as I was too quick or too good. The sex was nice but not my best if I had to judge without a man's ego. She wasn't so skilful as I'd expected. When she tried to kiss me I was even confused and overwhelmed in the first place that she broke the holy 'no kissing' rule. She was a rookie and she was nervous too. But this new discovery boosted my confidence in an unexpected way. I started to take the lead and she started to follow. The paces, the moves, the spots..she was learning and responding quickly.
Now she was just leaning in my arms like any other girl. She didn't talk much as far as I recall. I cuddled her cheek gently as the blossom smell of her silky black hair calmed me down from the reckless sex we just had.
I wondered if she was up for another go or should I just get dressed and leave as everything now seemed awkwardly romantic? I knew for sure that something bigger was happening between us. It was not the Hollywoodish chemistry, not even a spark of love. I knew at that moment when she leant on my chest breathing he warm breaths on my neck that she was someone I could never get away with my whole life. And when destiny happened, it was all so fast before we even knew it. I was amazed it turned out not tame at all.
'You said you were going to Melbourne Uni?' She uttered softly.
'Hmm, yep. My first year. How about you?' I kept touching her. She seemed so small and in my arms.
'Same. Feels like I've been stuck in here forever.' She paused for a second and asked, 'Do you like girls older than you?'
'You are much younger in bed.' I couldn't help but kissed her on her forehead and I instantly regretted a little. I didn't normally show my affection to a girl I barely knew.
She snickered with her body keeping closer to me.'You are cute. Will I see you again?'
I didn't answer. In usual cases, you don't answer to that sort of questions. No false hope. No dramas.
The late night train in Melbourne was slow and drowsy. I was sitting in the carriage alone listing to the vintage radio in the train playing Micheal Bublé's new song Me and Mrs. Jones:
Me and Mrs Jones, we got a thing going on
We both know that it's wrong
But it's much too strong to let it go now
We meet ev'ry day at the same cafe
Six-thirty I know she'll be there
Holding hands, making all kinds of plans
While the jukebox plays our favorite song
Me and Mrs, Mrs Jones, Mrs Jones, Mrs Jones
We got a thing going on
We both know that it's wrong
But it's much too strong to let it go now
We gotta be extra careful
That we don't build our hopes too high
Cause she's got her own obligations and so do I
Me, me and Mrs, Mrs Jones, Mrs Jones, Mrs Jones
Well, it's time for us to be leaving
And it hurts so much, it hurts so much inside
And now she'll go her way, I'll go mine
But tomorrow we'll meet at the same place, the same time
Me and Mrs Jones, Mrs Jones, Mrs Jones
This Canadian guy has the magic to turn such an old song into something trendy but still classy. I mean I love Billy Paul's version for every reason, but Bublé gave this piece less funk and more texture, and more irony.
I was not in the mood to think how 'necessary' this song was to me at that moment. I just couldn't get her out of my mind. The taste of her skin, the smell of her hair and her eternal smile. I knew this whole thing was so desperately dangerous, but I couldn't help but send her a message:
'I think I like you.'
I stared at the small screen of my Nokia phone waiting for her reply. My heart was beating even faster than we we fucked.
'Beep.' An incoming message. My stomach was all butterfly.
'I like you too. But I'm leaving the country in a month.'
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