The Tale 2

Certain 'comments' on the blog deserve a full blown entry on the main page. The Dame has, in response to the opening of the tale I posted on here, sent her take on the story so far.

Enjoy...

It was her beauty you see. I do not recall seeing beauty like it to this day. Four years on as I sit here behind my laptop in this cramped coffee shop I can still see her face behind the counter, I can still feel her next to me. Four years on and I am here to tell a story, so that is what I will do.

How do you define beauty though? She wasn't your average beauty you must understand, she wouldn't grace the catwalks of Milan or the stages of Broadway. I remember the day clearly. 14th October 1989. I remember the way the wind carried the leaves down the street, grazing cobbles and landing in the frozen gutters. The condensation from the mouths of people rushing to and fro made the street look almost poetic in its innocence. I even remember the newspaper seller barking that papers were available and throwing small change into his tin, the money coming in to land with a high pitched clang. There was a distinct sense that the world was revolving and life was real. Amazing how we remember these intricacies which to others are seemingly insignificant, and which in the grand scheme of things are almost unimportant. But. I could recount the details of that day over and over, because it was the day I discovered her.

I had rushed into the coffee shop on my way to work to collect my morning paper and a few minutes to myself when I saw her. Serving behind the counter she resembled a woman you might find in a Jack Kerouac novel. She wore scruffy brown leather boots, faded denims and a t-shirt with a motif on front shouting 'save the cows, fry the hunters'. Her hair as I remember was long, brown, tied back with a few strands escaping the prison of her hair tie and hung down her face. Her face was complimented by a pair of black glasses which hung off the end of her nose and her generally scruffy attire was completed with an apron that hung untidily from her waist. She even had a few pens clipped to the outer edge of it.

Beauty. Not to everyone else, just to me. Do you know what really caught my eye though? Her hair, her feet, her arse, her eyes - no, her ears. When I saw her from my position in the doorway I wanted her. Upon my approach to the counter I wanted her. At the counter I wanted her, and her ears. I could imagine lying next to her breathing into her ear, I wanted to run my tongue around the outer edge of her ear before kissing her. I wanted to hear her call my name
'Can I help you sir?'. I shivered at the cool breeze floating through the door. An invisible conveyer belt had carried me to the counter and I noticed she had long slender fingers and eyes of such a deep blue I thought I might be drowning at sea. 'Sir? Yes, um coffee'.

She smiled that smile, oh, that smile. And that, for me, was the moment. I wanted her. I consciously turned my wedding ring around the finger it belonged to. But that's another story.