Two Chevrons apart

I sense him before I see him. It’s always been that way. I had forgotten the feeling. Except that now it revisits me. The goosebumps that appear quite suddenly on my arms. The slight shiver that accompanies them. I scan the room quickly, trying to be as discreet as possible. My drinking buddies engrossed in their conversation and cocktails, barely notice. I spot him at once. He’s at the bar. Alone.

I perch myself precariously next to him, leaning forward to catch the barman’s eye, maximising my cleavage, to give him an eyeful.

Does he remember me?

He turns slightly, takes in the wares, smiles into his drink, and turns away. I pay the grinning barman quickly, and totter back to my table, thinking fast on my feet.

“Miss?”, he calls out behind me. “You dropped your scarf”

I don’t respond, ignoring him deliberately. As I sit myself down, he appears next to me.

“Your scarf?”

I look up and smile, registering surprise and gratitude.

“Why, thank you! I hadn’t noticed. How kind of you. Please….do join us….Let me buy you a drink…”

He hesitates, then looks at me again, taking in the short dress that clings provocatively to my curves, the shapely leg that swings back and forth in invitation, and says, “Yes, okay. Why not?”

Does he remember me?

There are introductions, more cocktails, and then a colleague shouts out, “Time for tequila shots! It’s Sana’s birthday after all.”

“It’s your birthday?”, he asks, focussing on me.

“Yes”, I respond, searching his eyes for a spark of recognition.

“Then this round’s on me”


The lift is crowded with late night revellers, smelling of stale cigarettes and too much alcohol. I press against him, my heart tattooing a wild beat inside of me. I can’t remember if he asked me, or I suggested it. Coffee! What a euphemism for what is about to happen.

Inside his hotel room, he throws aside his jacket and grabs me in one move. His mouth is upon me, and my sigh gets buried deep inside my throat. His tongue pushes my lips apart, plunges into me, tasting, feeling, probing… I kiss him back with a desperate hunger. My fingers are ensnared in his hair and I pull him towards the bed. We fall upon it together, laughing, mad in our lust.

He tugs at my dress, pulling down the straps, exposing my ample breasts to his hot gaze. The dress bunches underneath, pushing the orbs up, offering them up to him, to do what he will. He licks a trail between them, his tongue sending ripples of desire coursing through me. Deliberately, maddeningly, he avoids my nipples, even as they pucker, waiting to be sucked, to be bitten, to be swallowed up whole. I moan, and pull his head towards them. He laughs, and pulls my dress down further. His fingers are at once strange and familiar. I lie there exposed, but for a sliver of cloth that covers the molten centre of me.

He leaves me there and quickly unzips his jeans, kicking them aside and begins to unbutton his shirt. His erection springs up: large, proudly tumescent, throbbing, a purple hue. I gaze at him reverentially.

Does he remember me?

Skin upon skin. I feel like I’m burning up. He trails kisses down my stomach down to between my legs, where he pauses, and then blows ever so slightly, to part the curls that are dampened, awaiting his arrival. His tongue darts in, exploring me, tasting me. Wantonly I moan, my head thrashing side to side. Bolts of pleasure shoot through me, very nearly sending me over the edge. But he withdraws again. His mouth searches mine and I taste myself upon him. His taste, my taste and the tequila mingling into a cocktail that quenches a long forgotten thirst.

“Rahul…”, I murmur against his mouth.


“I want you….now…please….”

He parts my legs with his knee, and enters me swiftly. I am ready to receive him, and I stretch to accommodate his widened girth. We fall into a rhythm almost immediately, his chest hair tickling my nipples into even tinier buds. I feel so full, so complete, so at home, that I find myself wrapping my legs around him, to pull him in even deeper. I try and look into his eyes, but they are closed, his face contorting in pleasure. He is so close, and I find myself upping the tempo, to keep up. He roars his arrival and my whimper of an orgasm is nearly drowned out. Spent, he falls upon me, and I almost cannot breathe, but don’t want him to move. To remove his weight off me, to remove himself from inside me.

We lie wrapped up together for a while, his sweat, a damp, musky smell that merges with the unmistakable scent of sex. Thrilling, fulfilling sex.

Does he remember me?

We make love again, changing positions. I straddle him. He spoons me. I take him in my mouth, and drink in every precious drop of him. We barely pause for breath. There is too much to explore. Desire ricochets off the walls of our room, and if anyone can hear our moans of pleasure, we are too beyond caring. Night slides into morning, and we finally fall asleep,exhausted from our frenetic coupling. His hand cups my breast, and I feel his limp member press up against my bottom. I lie there, floating somewhere between ecstasy and pure, unalloyed joy. We sleep like the couple we were always meant to be.


The rays of sunlight that filter through the curtains are bright. Harsh and unforgiving, they illuminate a room that has been emptied of its contents and its occupants, save one. My legs are all tangled up in the sheets, and I sit up abruptly.

“Rahul?”, I croak, knowing instantly that I am alone.

My eyes search frantically for a sign, any sign that he means to return. They alight upon the note propped up on the bedside table. There is a wad of Rupees next to it. I read the note, with a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Thank you for last night. This should cover it.

The lone tear drop that falls on the ‘o’ makes the ink run, till it shapes itself into a heart that is broken in two.

© Poornima Manco 2014


6 thoughts on “Two Chevrons apart

  1. Your writing carries me along like I am riding a runaway train. It is impossible to stop, impossible to leave and always with a sudden, hard-hitting ending. Brilliant, P, just brilliant.

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