Personal Log 008

Posted on 31 Jan 2016 @ 11:38pm by Lieutenant Olsam Mott

365 words; about a 2 minute read

Computer, begin log.

This evening… This evening, I encountered something new. Something that moved me in ways I thought I’d never experience. It’s one thing to see others engaging in it and to be the casual observer - to see the playful interactions, the secret smiles, the bashful looks. But to experience it myself? I’d always thought I was detached from that. I’d always thought I was above those base instincts. Until tonight, when I found myself beyond enraptured.

She had a face like a morning rose, and her demeanor was as sunny and open as a May day in my garden in Crecy-la-Chapelle. Sitting there across the room from me I couldn’t help but feel she was forlorn. There was something about her that made her seem all alone in the world. She had the look of a refugee, someone deserted and betrayed, but who craved attention like oxygen. I knew at a glance that she was provocative, opinionated, thrilling - all the things a person could desire. And, though I’ve long thought myself above these considerations, my eyes were inexplicably drawn to how buxom and voluptuous she was. She was built with curves like the hull of a race shuttle.

But what drew me to her most was her carefully crafted inaccessibility. Sitting there alone on her pedestal, encased in glass, she was at the exact interstice of prohibition and possibility. With a furtive glance, I looked to the shopkeeper.

“How much?” I asked with a dry, scratchy voice. No price would be too high.

“For you, my friend? We have a special discount.”

I knew then that I could buy her. I could take her in my hands. She could be mine. In fits of passion, I could lay claim to her. The thrill of it was intoxicating, to know that with an exchange of some currency, I could irrevocably own her. Together, we'd have a shoreleave that was unforgettable.

“I’ll take her,” I said.

“Wrap up the chocolate cake,” I heard the shopkeep tell her assistant.

Tonight… Yes, tonight, she will be mine. All mine.

Computer, end log.

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