Phantasmagoria

The street is filled with noise. Balloons fly and explode. Flags at high mast on top of office buildings swing in the breeze as chanting and singing fill the open space that is Melbourne’s boulevard de prestige; a wide, treelined promenade featuring the Botanical gardens on one side and directly opposite the Arts Centre, The National Gallery of Victoria and the State Theatre. I stare, remembering my time on those stages; the Green room, last call, the orchestra tuning up. Love of my life as a musician, now gone, metamorphosed into something else, a change, a sacrifice.

A girl bumps into me, laughing. She is drunk and fickle, not taking care how she goes. ‘Hey’, I start, ‘ watch where you’re going’. Falling down, her mate, a young guy picks her up by the shoulders, dragging her to a grassy corner. I turn and make my way down to the revelry.

The LBGTQ festival is on and everyone is in high spirits. The heterogeneous, interdenominational crowd refresh the street, seemingly opening and widening the avenue. Flamboyant and wigged out guys dance and hold hands while butch dykes hover together, their demeanor stern, leather jackets zipped tight.

My girlfriend hasn’t come; period pain. She was tucked up with hot water bottle last I saw. I stroll over to a drinks stand, ordering a beer. My good friend, Ratchit, (Rachel), saunters over, nudging me. ‘See her?’, she points a thumb at a femme looking girl. ‘ Oh yes’, I respond, checking her out. Not for me, I think, placing this into my brain filofax for later dissertation. ‘She’s mine by the end of the night. ‘Go for it’. I mean it. Ratch deserves love, especially after a nasty recent breakup.

We lean against a bench, scrutinizing every girl that happens to pass our way. What perves we are, I say to Ratchit who has removed her blue scarf and replaced it with a black one. ‘OK. So what does that mean’, I ask referring to colour. ‘Oh ha just hankypanky’, she replies, making disperate association with sharp ease. Ratchit moves away, towards the crowd.

The dazzling glow in the sky, oregold-yellow and shimmering warms my eyelids and soon I drift into a reverie.

I see the flame reflecting in her eyes, made warm and mellow by the slanting autumn sun. She looks directly at me, a flick of the head, now turning away, searching. My vision blurs, unable to fully take her in. Damn my short sightedness! Why didn’t I bring my glasses?! Because you don’t like wearing them in public Mimi. Make your head look bigger.

Dark brown, deep set eyes, broody. Full lips, sensuous, unchaste. Preraphaelite auburn hair, cascading. Her pale face seems uncertain, maybe she’s confused by the ruckus. Reminiscent of Ophelia I think…on Laudanum!

Is she lost or knows exactly where she is; does she have friends here or likes being alone. Go ask Ratch. Shit! Where is Ratch? I look at the girl again, and her mouth opens. God, I want to kiss it! I’m rigid, my nails are digging into my skin, and I can feel my eczema creeping up underneath. Fuck. What’s to do.

Deciding it’s no good to lust after strangers, I lie back on the grass, legs up. I’m wearing a green sash skirt that is billowing in the breeze. My breasts and nipples awaken along with every other erogenous zone, panting with desire. The cool air reaches my panties which are stuck to my pussy. Shit! I want to rub it, feel its moist opening, thrust two fingers inside. My clit starts to throb increasing my frustration. God I have to touch it! Sneaking a hand underneath my skirt, I manage to paw the growing knub, feeling it swell under my fingers. Ah! That’s better. Looking around for spies, I see people chatting, laughing and not remotely interested in me. I wonder, should I continue til I cum or.. FUCK! ..it’s the girl with preraphaelite hair standing right next to the bench, right near where I am lying, fingering myself. Christ. Covering my eyes with my hand I pretend not to see…anything. I’m now stiff, mortified and any horny trails have dissipated. I lie as stone.

I fall asleep and dream. A lithe, lissom creature, sylphlike and elegant is capturing trees through its graceful movements. Gently touching each leaf, limb it glides on webbed feet. I reach out, speaking in whispers. Disappearing, the magnificent figure is nowhere to be seen. I wake stuttering, trying to speak and yell out ‘Flidais!’. Then I become aware that I’ve just cum.

I take a look at my immediate surroundings, surveying the green ferns, being watered with a circular spray hose. Thinking of Zara in bed I get up quickly, ready to leave. Shaking leaves out of my hair, I start walking towards Queens Road. A minute passes before I sense someone following me.

A flower is placed carefully into my hair by fingers delicate as snowflakes. She is walking by my side, an exquisite, adorable light. I barely take a glance so heavenly her aura. I stare at the ground, taking in her scent and observing her well kept boots. A sublime kiss is planted on my cheek, enticing me to turn and look at her. Considering me with an alluring gaze which sends a 300 volt through my plexus she suddenly moves in front of me, pushes me to the side of the road and quickly runs over. A Jaguar 12 comes screeching to a halt, having tried to run me down.

‘Zara’. I am trying to be very quiet as Zara is still asleep but I get into the bed and wrap my body around her. Her scent is captivating sweet kisses like white petals, I adorn her figure with them. Opening her legs she takes my hand and places it on her mound of Venus. I feel inside; like an ocean full of secrets wave onto wave of desire pulling you under, the white ripples surging then plunging you down, onto seabed floor.

Like an octopus she curls up to rest, sprawling languid torso melting pot.

Honeydesire you came to me when I was just a girl.