Everything was setup for a nice evening. He picked me up at eight o’clock with his expensive car, and kissed me on my lips. The kiss was like an electric current and made me feel a pleasant hum in my body. I looked softly at him while he was driving and he returned my look of affection. He overdid it a bit and almost drove off the road several times. That made me laugh loud and happy.
We didn’t have to wait in line at the restaurant. There weren’t that many people there, and just low-keyed conversation. He lit the candles and personally opened the bottle the waiter brought us. I tasted the red wine while holding his eyes glued to mine. We had dinner. I don’t remember what, only that it didn’t matter.
Our conversation was actually a conversation, not the indifferent drivel I was used to. He was excited and I was excited. There was no discussion, only an exchange of thoughts, all of it so very, very sexy. My eyes twinkled when I looked into his.
I am very good at swimming below the surface, I declared. I can remain under much longer than most people.
He looked at me, clearly skeptical.
It’s because I am able to breathe far better than the average person in the water, I said. The breathing reflex is generally delayed under the surface. It’s related to humanity’s possible past in the water, before we became what we are today. We’ve got tight skin, while all other apes haven’t. Some people are born with the ability to stay under in the water longer than others. One may be in worse shape and still be able to stay under longer.
He enjoys listening to me, enjoys looking at me when I’m excited. I can see that when I’m looking at him, and I can feel the warm glow inside grow and multiply.
We’re breathing with our skin as well, I added.
I thought we were only breathing through our lungs, he said cautiously.
Not at all, I emphasized. If we hadn’t been breathing through our skin we would have died pretty fast. A great way of killing a guy is to paint him all over the body. He will begin choking fast and croak in a matter of minutes.
I notice it instantly. It was like cracking a balloon, his balloon. The chemistry between us faded like dew before the morning sun.
A guy may be rescued by removing the paint quickly, I added meekly, in an attempt to redeem myself, to once again light the glow in his now very dead eyes.
Everything turned sour after that. The conversation broke down in disarray and we split after half an hour.
Is it me, or is this guy totally off base?
I mean, the subject would have come up sooner or later, anyway, since I clearly have a morbid sense of humor, a gallows humor making me laugh in all the wrong places and stuff, so perhaps it was a good thing that it turned out like it did?
No matter, the result was that we both ended up alone in bed that night, unless he found himself a meek slut that didn’t scare the hell out of him…