'n Engelse verhaal

She was barely dressed.

Her mischief was revealing something of God’s great mystery to life. It was not there yet. Like a word on the tip of one’s tongue, the great truth seemed only to elude me. I sat on the porch, having just waved to the nearest star as it collapsed into the depths of Hell.

 There was no terminative to the moment’s maze, as there is no end to a woman’s quintessence.  I had told her that I was cold. She obliged upon my shivering lips with lavish. We sat together on a suspended chair, and she was making faces to the music only a breezy evening could provide. Her hand slipped and fell on mine as she performed an innocently guilty act of touch.

We were somewhere in the known universe, probably a little town called Paarl. I would not know, as I was drunk in the presence of the intoxicating smell of oranges.

She sat closer and the chains of suspension opposed with rusty cries. “Jy moet stil sit!” I said. Translated, I conveyed that she was not to make hasty movements. The chair was hanging from an even older roof, it could break easily.

 She removed her white blouse and started humming something Elvis wrote. She then fastened it to the chains, almost like a sail. She removed her feet from the porch, as they were bare. They found their way across my lap, as she sat even closer. I told her something that probably did not make any sense. She could understand, as I could even cotton on the hidden agenda’s of her haunted breath. She started swinging the chair. “Hey!” I said, “Jy moet stil sit!” She tittered, and made more elaborate movements. “Ek sê...” She refused my apparent hostility, and answered affably by attacking my lips, in a weird tribal kiss...

The night exploded. The chair broke loose and we flipped into space. She did not stop, even as the universe, or rather the chair, flipped around a few times. We were airborne and moving quickly. Her white blouse caught wind, and we sailed the sky. Her grip fastened. I was being offered to the gods, on a fiery altar of affection. Being somewhat of a geek, I was happy to burn on our flying chair, given that she showed me the way to being a man.

 Moments stirred as I loved her in slow motion. We passed the school and the church; we passed ambition, religion, dogma, hierarchy, anarchy, athletics, maths, scrumming practices and all the other instigators of constipation. I felt only one thing, but I cannot give it name. It was something devout, but without any fear. For a moment I felt like I could touch God. I passed on the opportunity: I received enough virtue to repel any more. We went even higher as her body shivered. We lost no speed as we went over cities of sound and light. Somewhere down on planet earth someone was still under the impression that all of this could only be a dream.