fryda’s lips taste like the working effort of her carnal subconscious; of black cherries and bourbon sourced off the mixture she swirls in the tight hold of her nimble fingers, smeared a thick, tinted & similarly cherried print on the once sugared brim of the glass. a sweet homage and an exercise in manifestation longing for what she’d liked to invade her senses just yesterday, when they’d taken a stroll across farm to fork, their arms linked and tote bags bumping together with each step, sharing a handful of cherries and laughing away tales of strange customers and puzzled children.
‘oh, he would’ve despised you,’ a topic of an insecure lover past comes up when they’re seated on a bench at the park that same afternoon. ‘and I say that as the absolute best compliment I could ever give to you besides that the fact that you have the prettiest chin I’d ever seen on a human person,’ she meets her gaze again with a sweet grin but then her brows drop, her thumb reaching to swipe the dribble of cherry juice on her chin, her hold lingers as does her gaze, unfortunately, in further inspection, both physical and internal. ‘you know, as opposed to say, a selkie. although, give me your eyes — it’s quite all there; beautiful, very deep, baby cow gaze of the seas. very blessed — but anyway. despised you. that’s good! means you’re fun and far too beautiful for me to behave, apparently.’ a joke that she tries to cackle away but it’s then that she’d realized how close they’d been sitting the whole time and intoxicatingly so; close enough that romy’s scent is easily picked up in sniffs masked subtly as quick inhales; something sweet, berrylicious with the fruit in question standing out, tried in some shops ago. romy’s exhales make a third presence between the two of them. too close and fryda’s head swirls a tempest of thoughts that involve hiding in the bend of romy’s neck again, seeking the spritzed aroma in closer and far more intimate a proximity, wondering how it’d smell like when settled and warmed on her skin. a heady potion, no doubt, if it’s already this enticing. fryda sits up then, her face nearly crumpling in a frown, wondering if they’d ever get to lose the needless space and air between them again – tonight might have an answer to that.
“christ, thought you’d never ask,” a theatrical sigh that breaks into a giggle, tipsy, overjoyed and already on her feet, tresses sway in blonde ambition grass behind her back as she bounds onto the dancefloor, steeling away an urge to be a woo girl – reserved for when her song comes on, or sightings of her friends who share such chronic infliction – her body, loosened by the alcohol, already finds rhythm and relies partly on the push back of those dancing along and around them but doesn’t waste any time stepping into romy’s space either. “been wondering just when I’ll see those hips of yours in action.” flashes of fryda’s palm on romy’s hip with her back locked in an arch ambush her mind briefly and fryda flushes, barely biting back a helpless laugh. “in a way I hadn’t overseen myself.”
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