"Coup de foudre"...

Bare feet are splashing through the sun-heated floor, stepping on the jeans that slipped down from tight hips so low that it seems if they’ll be pulled down just a little bit more, something that can be showed in the morning only to the intimate people will break free.

But now… now you see only two dimples on lower back… they seem to smile… or slightly wink… they’re warm-warm… still quite sleepy as their owner is…





Shows handsomeness? What a dick…
But you feel there’s a catch here… and this guy just lives his morning such as animals do… naturally and simply… without even intending to make a show of his deafening sexuality… most likely, he doesn’t often think of how he looks like… lives as breathes… feeling his half-nakedness as much as young tiger can feel that he’s not-completely-covered with his own skin…

And you?.. Something is happening to you right now?.. You become 'zombie' like… the usual rude words are escaping your lips almost automatically, you get angry at him twice as much as he deserved… you want to cry…. but it would be better to cuss thoroughly… or give someone a smack on the phiz…

And maybe then will not be pricking so hard the splinter of annoyance that this new ‘buddy’ is not just the sweetie you’ve met on street and who showered you with dull (as you deeply convinced) compliments to the dancing ‘pas’ that you’ve recently tested in the kitchen but new friend of your mother… and for some reason it hurts twice as much as it was before in such cases…

This way you once see the light of the sun on someone’s back that warmed with sleep… easy hips’ movements under stretched jeans (which was too wide already) and bare toes, easily springing on the steps that leads not to your bedroom at all, and you understand that nothing will ever be as it was…

but you can’t realize and will not for a long time ahead that in this very moment you faced the love…

France has found for this ‘accident’ the most precise definition from all the existing ones… she called it "coup de foudre"…

And if your erudition would be a little bit stronger, you, probably, could remember this, or, at worst, choose more suitable (to your way of thinking) expression, but you are not quite a woman… even not quite a girl… you’re teenager who gropes like a blind man walks down a path that is called “awakening of the senses”… “awakening of sensuality”…

Your actions are unpredictable, inexplicable even to yourself… almost instinctively… on the instinct level of a kitten who’s trying to smell out the desired saucer with milk…

You’re quickly going to the ladder, where he just went upstairs… hear the scraps of conversation… this one is so banal for the ‘first sound’ and at the same time too intimate for not to make your heart throw itself out of its usual rhythm…

You’re feverishly ransacking pockets of his jacket… in search for what?... almost anything… something about him, at least… the name, for example…

He’s Connor… just Connor… these several letters like a first little step towards him…

Stealing some money... will notice the loss?.. I don’t care… let he’ll just try… I will give him some hard time… only five pounds, so what?..





They will come in handy by all means… and you’ll remember his phiz when will make use of them and smile nonchalantly… This is the money that belongs to him, not to someone else… you’re grabbing for yourself a little piece of him which is even not for long, but so sweetly warming your pocket… and will make Connor slightly more tangible to you…

He chews his morning toast with jam and weirdly casts a glance at your usual morning outfit consisting of permanent duet of “pants+T-shirt”…
Staring at my ass?.. Well, okay…
do not jump to conclusions… there’s always a catch… you’re a bit embarrassed for a first time, because you have a feeling that for him in all of this there’s something that “is not quite as it should be”… and there, in his other world, the little girls, girls and women have a habit of wearing something completely different in this time of day… something more banal, but, without a doubt, the one that he finds more attractive and adequate…








And you’re getting annoyed again… and shouting angry… and ready to hate him… and hate your mother who’s telling him of you in the third person as of a big terrible hopeless child… CHILD… if only you could scream and scream…

but something is happening… the words unfamiliar to the ear are sounding… in low voice… and quite simple ones… as if they’d coming from another world… his world… which seems to you almost the Heaven right now…

- Wanna come? Off you go then. Get dressed.

So who are you, Connor?
Nobody, I was just flying by…

to be continued...