A mustard yellow coat and a purposeful stride were the first introduction I had to Grayling. To be honest, she stunned me. Whether her face, about which I could gush shamelessly, or the determination of her movement, I couldn’t say. I could say more about each, probably to the detriment of the other. They played an equally forceful part in her allure.
She held my attention for a few seconds longer than is socially acceptable. Noticing me, she stopped a few metres away once we had passed each other. I sensed her halt, as though we were already entwined, and then a question forming in her. Would she dare ask it, could she articulate it?
She could and she did. Bold, as well as beautiful, “Are you coming?” When I say she articulated it, it was more that I felt it inside — deep inside — more than heard it with my ears. As clear as a crystal bell, that invitation was no imagined thing. My response precisely mirrored that clarity; there was no way to deny her or it.
Yet, I stalled briefly, frozen in surprise at her daring and in surprise at my own knowing that this story had already been written. Inarticulately, intuitively, I also already knew the story. And she knew I’d say yes, long seconds before I agreed.
Again, I felt it within her and felt a shudder of thrill pass through me, from the ground up to my chest, where it vibrated loud enough to be heard by anyone passing, surely. Nobody passed, so that question couldn’t be answered.
Propelled by an unbidden force that just swept me along, picked up my feet, turned me in her direction and walked me towards her. I wasn’t fighting it. I promise, I went willingly, open to a new adventure.
That’s exactly what she was offering. This young, Black mischief-maker who might be a dream, for all I knew, but seemed real enough in her substance. There was nothing airy or unsolid about her form, her voice, or her name, which appeared unspoken in my ears.
At my age, many women would scurry away, nervous to consider new uncertain opportunities, anxious about being approached by a stranger in woodland. However, I’m not many women and never have been. Novelty, excitement, invitations to break rules and social norms have always appealed, have gotten me into all varieties of trouble.
If I’d told Dan, he’d have been a tad concerned, but he’d have also laughed and been delighted for me. That’s just how our friendship worked, and I did exactly the same with him. We were each other’s bad influences and we revelled in it.
Grayling smiled, not at all shyly, a genuine, warm, excited smile that elicited those chest vibrations again. A flicker of knowing, playful mischief glimmering in her deep brown eyes, as though this was all normal and expected. As though it was fated, to be embraced, not feared.
She stretched out a large confident hand. I hesitated barely a second and met hers with my own. I was already falling in love, or something like it. My goodness, I was getting very moist in areas that had been noticeably dry for quite some time. Yet, her hand was diaphanous, ethereal, like I was holding a breath of air, if not nothing at all.
How old was she? Maybe early 30s? And me twice that. That thought temporarily stalled me, cooled me right down. Surely she couldn’t be out here, propositioning me, among the trees, with no prior knowledge or introduction. It was all so spontaneous and immediate. That thought only led to further heat and excitement in my heart and mind, not to mention between my legs.
The way she held my hand, as insubstantial as her hold was, felt like an almost childlike gesture, as though we were kids in a playground. Her airy touch nonetheless gripped me with warmth and intention. My hand responded and also grew warm. I probably displayed blushing cheeks too.
We began to walk, leisurely now, the bold stride had slowed, although no less determined, she was allowing me time to adjust, to catch up. Surprisingly, my nervousness drifted away into the seasonal mists, as we wandered deeper into the woods. A reckless abandonment wafted over me, a giving-way to whatever might come. I welcomed and surrendered to the liberation of it.
We reached a large beech tree, with branches arching upwards, creating an aesthetic of curves against the sky that I’d never witnessed before, despite knowing this area intimately. Its base surrounded by golden russet, fallen leaves. Playfully, we kicked them, only to watch them fly up and swirl down around us, some landing on my short curls and her loose round Afro. I wanted to pick them off her, but felt nervous to breach the dividing gap between walking nearby and actual touch, despite the imperceptible hand-holding. Crossing that intimate space seemed very forward.
Grayling noticed my hesitation and without a word, reached over to me, lightly brushed off a leaf and then wrapped her hand, gently but firmly, around the back of my neck, drawing me in for a kiss.
Panic started to rise, in equal measure with a huge ‘yes’ bubbling up within me. There was nothing I wanted more than to kiss this emboldened apparition.
Yet… yet… how real was this? What was I giving in to? What power did I really have to say yes, or no? Did I have any autonomous choice? It certainly didn’t feel like it now.
As we verged closer, heat mounting, both of our lips seeming to reach out across the infinitesimal gap between us, I suddenly knew that Grayling was something not of this living realm. Quick on the heels of this realisation came another, which let me know that I’d known this was the case from the very first sight of her. The apparition, the smile, the determined walk, the questionable reality of her, the invitation, the faint yet determined hand-holding, all of it was unreal, spectral.
And I had known. And that’s what was killing me. Right there, on the spot. I’d given in, given up, willingly let go of everything, for the wanting, the desperate wanting of love, of this promised kiss.
So yes, we kissed. And it was like falling into a luscious, thermal bath; like a long, slow sup of molten caramel; like swirling in time with the earth’s autumnal turning. Like a glorious, transcendental death.
And, so it was: exactly like death. An unending, merciful, mournful, wholly exquisite, surrendering, all-consuming kiss…
Even now, I wonder if it wasn’t equal to all other living kisses?
Thanks for reading!
Mesmerising- and yet all throughout my brain was scrambling to work out ‘who, what’ & uppermost ‘what next’ ?
Totally absorbing, beautifully crafted writing 🧡