The Test

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The front room was littered with ornaments and useless bric-a-brac that looked like worthless junk to the average eye but was probably worth its weight in gold.

Sam sat on the edge of the sofa not daring to move an inch incase he broke something, he felt like if he even breathed too heavily the house would notice his incongruence and force him out.   Echoes of cupboards closing and opening travelled into the room, he shuffled restlessly and skimmed his eyes around the top rim of the room observing the delicate coving.  He’d never been in anything like this house before, he’d only seen it on TV and even then perhaps it was a passing glimpse at a programme around royalty.

Hatty entered the room with a bottle of whisky, Sam rearranged him self on the seat as she placed the bottle on the table, although she put it down so delicately, it made a loud dull clunk.

“Great.” He croaked, she glanced at him with a delicate smile, her eyes drilling though his for what seemed like an eternity.  Her brown-red hair she tied up in a high bun, and Sam loved how effortlessly strands of it fell down and caressed her neck.  She wore very simple clothes, but something that he couldn’t quite place about them made him sure that they were from an elaborate designer. She glided over to the glass cabinet and took out two heavy crystal glasses with a beveled diamond design and placed them next to the bottle.

She placed herself next to Sam and began to pour the whisky, as they drunk they both winced at the liquid on their young taste buds.  Sam gave looks to Hatty as she drunk, while Hatty fixated her eyes on the fireplace dead in front of them.  They seemed so tiny in this grand room.

Hatty wore a lose powder green top which dipped down to revel the tops of her breasts, she wore a tiny gold heart held on a red string.  Sam could not help but stare at her once the alcohol had sunk in.

“Hatty, are you sure you want to do this?” Sam asked

Hatty held her gaze at the fireplace for five seconds. She turned to him with a vacant expression.

“Let’s just keep the talking to a minimum like we planned” She replied bluntly. Sam nodded servilely. He waited for her to hold the reins, this situation felt clinical and cold.  He remembered how it was before, with his girlfriend Abigail, she would stare at him with mad eyes full of fire pursing her lips for seconds at a time, and he would just cower and turn away, she would sit on his lap and fiddle with the hairs behind his ears, but still it took many dates of her acting like this for him to kiss her, but once it did happen, it was mere magic.

Hatty continued to pour herself another drink, he watched her down shot after shot until half the bottle was gone.  She let out a shallow laugh, which just made Sam feel more uncomfortable.

Hatty turned to him and placed her hand on his crotch and tilted her head upwards to show her neck.  He stared at her for a while she did not move her black expression nor her body.  The room spun and Sam’s heartbeat was in his head.  She leaned into him and plunged her tongue underneath his ear making her way down to his neck.  He froze for a minute then did the same for her, she thrust herself against him and she began to undress herself and him.  He meekly continued kissing her neck as in this confused state he was unable to multitask.

It was over very fast, they both just lay there for what seemed like an eternity for Sam. He turned his head towards her and gently nuzzled her neck.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked

“Put your clothes on, I’m going to have a shower” She replied.  Sam came off of her and Hatty covered herself and shuffled out.

Once they were both dressed Hatty lead Sam to the kitchen.

“We should cook something.” Hatty said

“Yeah, what do you fancy?”

“Anything that doesn’t require cooking”

“Lets order a pizza”

“Perfect” Hatty said carelessly.

It didn’t take any effort for Hatty to fall back into friend mode with Sam, she pushed him and shoved him in that brotherly way, made jokes about his ginger hair, and talked endlessly about sex without even thinking about him.  Sam still watched her make tea as if he was observing a work of art and got butterflies every time her hand accidently brushed his arm.  He’d listen to her talk for hours about the girls she was interested and her dreams of adopting a child from every nation, holding back a burning desire to grab her neck and embrace her as if she was his wife.

He never told her that he was still saving up for the perfect engagement ring for her, which he would never give her, but his whole sense knew that he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t buy it, just to stare at it every night before going to bed, wishing that sexuality was a choice.

(PAD, 06.02.12)

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