The night, part 1

She liked the night. She loved the hidden shades of midnight wrapping themselves around her. The world would fall silent with a sigh and she'd take a moment to hear herself breathe.

She loved the luxurious seduction of 3am. She'd open her windows, close her eyes and feel the night wind passing softly over her skin like black silk, its scent pregnant with cold moisture and mystery.

But most of all, she loved the night for bringing him to her. He would come to her long after darkness had fallen, a guitar in one hand and a never-quite-full bottle of tequila in the other. Sometimes he'd wear a smile, but mostly he'd greet her with a momentary, searching look, a look that would haunt her nights and days alike. And then he'd break the moment and her heart at the same time with nothing more than a casual, "Hi, 'Rora."

They'd begin their nightly tribute to what she wasn't sure she'd call a friendship. Her voice cutting the night air, his fingers over the strings, the stars above them all. The night heard them and understood, accepting their raw offering of music and softly-spoken secrets.

She always searched his face when she thought he wasn't looking. She searched for the answers to the riddles he sent her way with nothing more than his unsubtitled gazes, but all she got was more riddles. She'd watch his fingers as they strummed, plucked and pressed, wondering what they would feel like beneath her own fingertips. She'd look at his bare shoulders on hot nights when he'd take off his shirt, and she imagined her lips on his salty skin. She'd look at his eyes, and she willed them to turn towards her and give her the answers she wanted, but they never did.

And then, one night, it all changed.

They both staggered to her room, boozed and giggly after a night of partying. They draped over her floor, telling dirty jokes and giggling even more. He took a look at the open bottle of red wine they'd brought back with them. They might as well finish it, he said. It was merlot, his favourite. But the night was not for sipping, so they swigged, and the wine was gone before long.

The giggles turned to low, throaty chuckles and the room swirled slowly and hypnotically around them. He turned to look at her, and held his gaze this time, a small, uncertain smile playing around his lips. He was tired to climb five storeys up to his room, he said. She said he could stay, there was enough room for two. They climbed clumsily onto her bed and collapsed on it, giggling again. Yes, there was room for two, as she'd said.

He suddenly mused that ears could be massaged. She laughed and asked how on earth one massaged ears. Reaching over, his fingers found the outer curve of her right ear. His thumb and forefinger began gently kneading the soft skin of her ear, slowly working their way to the base of her ear lobe, where they paused as they made contact with the hollow of her jaw. She drew a breath with a gasp, then held it, hyper-conscious of the feel of his fingertips lingering, almost swooning under his touch. Then, very slowly, his forefinger started tracing the line of her jaw, but he suddenly withdrew his hand.

The momentary silence between them lay pregnant and electric. Her voice broke the stillness as, raising her own hand to his ear, she asked if this was how it was done. Her thumb and forefinger softly kneaded the outer curve of his ear, as he had done, down to his ear lobe. There, her forefinger lingered for a moment. Then, she slowly slid her finger behind his ear, gliding down the length of his neck, tracing the length of his collarbone. There, she rested her hand on the warm skin of his chest. She moved her hand over his skin, silently relishing his smooth heat. Then, as her hand passed over his stomach and over his waist, she paused, suddenly unsure.

Her arm was by now stretched across his bare upper body, not quite daring to rest its weight on him.

Then she felt his hand over hers, moving up the length of her arm. She felt him turn, sliding his hand up to her shoulder, then resting on her neck as she felt the weight of his body on hers as he leaned over her, propped on one elbow, the other hand still on her neck. Lowering his lips to her ear, he whispered, "Are you sure you want to do this?"

She whispered back, "I love you."

He nodded once, then moved his lips to touch the skin of her neck as his hand slid from her neck to her breast.

Part 2...

What everyone needs

A best friend, of course. And for me, an entire evening of yakking with my dear Ruilian is always therapeutic.

I think we're the perhaps the best customers Coffee Club could hope for. We usually end up eating in the same place. We somehow end up ordering the same thing. We ALWAYS order dessert after dinner. She always smiles at the serving staff while I always say thank you to them. And, if they're eavesdropping carefully, we're always full of strange stories of strange people.

I think, between the two of us, we know too many weirdos than is healthy outside of an institutional setting.
Love a-plenty to my favourite chick! Always the most reliable and unassuming friend there is.

This 'n' that

Been awhile since I could be bothered with the blog. Somehow the past few weeks of utter craziness has left my brain fried and devoid of anything interesting to say. But now that I finally have a lull in workload, here're some little interesting things I've noticed here and there.

Exhibit 1: Mystery suburban toilet bowl. Spotted at Serangoon Gardens along the pavement near where Liquid Kitchen is. Finding a toilet bowl stuffed with plastic bags and a slipper isn't something I see every day, so I deemed it worth a snapshot.

Exhibit 2a: Know how navel oranges have this little protrusion of extra flesh at one end? Well, this pomelo I chowed on some weeks back had a similar protrusion, and look - isn't it cute? The entire fruit was at least 8 inches across, but this little bump fit right in my palm. And it tasted just as sweet! Peeling it properly was a challenge, though.
Exhibit 2b: Single piece of the pomelo 'protrusion'. So small, so cute!

Exhibit 3a: If the haze has created anything good at all, it'd be the red sun we've been seeing. Didn't manage to catch the huge, bloody ball near sunset I saw awhile back, but managed to yelp at Kelvin to snap this sight from the car last weekend. Every now and then, little swirls of grey would glide across the red disc, which was quite a sight (a fleeting sight, considering I can only stop so long at a traffic junction).
Exhibit 3b: Close-up of the red-rimmed view of the sun.
Haven't taken any good photos of late, haven't found the impetus to venture out looking for interesting spots to snap. The haze is partly to blame I suppose. Tried taking a shot of the Deeavali light-up along Little India, but kinda hard to find a good spot to set up a tripod in the evening hours when people are thronging the streets in hordes.

Driving in that area during this period hasn't been a picnic either, not that it's ever been. People milling around that area seem to cross the road with some kind of death wish and I have to be quick with the brakes if I don't want to make hood ornaments out of these people. There are also few things more terrifying than driving down one-way traffic...and suddenly finding myself face-to-face with a cyclist or trishaw rider heading almost right into me. Looking for parking in the little lanes is another nightmare in ordinary times, and worse these past two weeks with MORE people gathering around the stalls set up along BARRIERS set up to close off lanes. It takes all my patience to not mow anyone down. But it's tempting.

Can't wait for Deepavali fervour to subside so that traffic conditions come back down to normal levels of insanity. Yes, I'm aware of how self-centred that sounds, wanting a festival to end fast just so I can drive more easily, but that's what city driving does to you. See how cabbies turn out?