Thereâs a lot about death in his poems, death and love going together, Pleasure and Pain, you know.â
Sharon shivered. âDonât think Iâd like it much. My Mum always says thereâs enough nasty things in the world without people writing about them.â
Paul couldnât think of anything to say to that. There was a silence. Then, for something to do, he reached out impulsively and took her hand. She did not seem to mind and gave his a reassuring squeeze. Greatly daring, he leant across and brushed his lips against hers. They were warm and seemed possibly to open slightly at the contact. He was instantly aroused, though, in a sitting posture, this did not cause him problems.
He looked into her clear blue eyes, blank as boiled sweets. âYouâve got nice eyes,â he said.
âThank you.â She gave his hand a friendly squeeze.
Emboldened, he continued, âIn fact, all of youâs nice. âYouâre just nice.â
âSo are you,â said Sharon, to be polite.
He leant across and placed his large lips on hers, which parted slightly and pressed back with some enthusiasm. Sharon did not mind being kissed in public. In fact, in many ways she felt safer being kissed in public than when she was alone with a feller. On the top of a bus there was no danger of anything going too far, so she was prepared to be responsive.
Paul misread the reason for her warmth. He felt suddenly ecstatic, uplifted. She really fancies me, he thought. Sheâs really panting for me. She wants me. Right, tonightâs the night. We wonât go to the cinema, weâll just have a few drinks, get her a bit tanked up, then back to her place, Iâll ask to come in for a coffee, and then weâll do it, quick, before her Mum and Dad get back from the pub. The restaurant part keeps going after closing-time, theyâre never back till after midnight, Iâve got plenty of time. She wants it, too, no question about that. God, the time Iâve wasted. Should have got in there straight away.
He drew back from the kiss, smiled and leant forward for another little peck. She smiled back, a nice, safe, domestic smile. He looked out of the window. âHey, weâre there!â
He grabbed her hand and they scampered down the stairs, both feeling good, full of youth. On the pavement, he put his arm round her shoulder and planted a little kiss on her cheek.
âYou are nice,â he repeated, incapable of further invention.
âSo are you,â she repeated, polite again.
Relief flooded through him. It was going to be all right. She fancied him.
Pulling her by the hand, he ran down towards the pub. Sharon, who thought he was behaving a bit oddly but couldnât see that there was any harm in it, ran along with him.
The euphoria lasted into the pub. Paul felt in charge, felt for the first time for ages that he was dictating events rather than being dictated to. âDonât think weâll go to the flicks,â he said authoritatively. âJust have a few drinks.â
âAll right.â Sharon was disappointed. There was a Shirley MacLaine picture on at the ABC ONE that her friend at work had said was frightfully sad, and Sharon had really quite fancied seeing that. But on a date it should really be the fellerâs decision, she supposed, so sheâd better go along with what he said.
âThen maybe back to your place for a coffee,â Paul continued, atypically brave.
âAll right.â Sharon acquiesced to that idea too, but she was aware of the warning sign. Still, sheâd been lucky with Paul so far and, if he did try anything on, she felt confident she could handle it. Sheâd dealt with much more persistent boys in the past. And it was only to be expected. Paul had been slower than most, but there came a time when all of them, for reasons she recognised but did not fully understand, seemed to want a bit of a cuddle on the sofa. She
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