Trapped in the murky water of my thoughts, I found myself struggling to properly excise myself from the difficult reverie I found myself wrestling with. With the mental door opened, I could not contain the intensity of the thoughts any longer. Here I was, walking side by side with my dear friend Claire, the single occupant of my sweaty, fervent and lustful dreams.

Guiltily I found myself fantasising about her, ashamed at the intensity of the lust, and the undeniable betrayal I was inflicting upon her for being attracted to her. In my mind, the fantasy Claire desired me as much as I wanted her, and in the fantasy world, I was accorded every opportunity to sample the wonderful, delicious feast of her. In the flesh, I was jolted out of reverie by a sudden brush of my arm, and nearly jumped out of my skin with a guilty expression on my face.
“Penny for your thoughts Tony?” Claire asked, her expression combining amusement and concern in equal measure.

All I could was return her gaze stony faced and stoic. Tell her what? That I had been in love with her for the better part of several years? That I wondered what she tasted like, and how loud she would moan and writhe under my passionate embrace? How soft her hands would be, how sweet her throat? I would never succumb to such selfishness: I respected her too much.

“Nah pal. Nothing special.”

I grimaced, eager for the topic to be changed, and swiftly.

“You sure? Because, you were totally zoning out and more than that, you were smiling.”

At the sight of my frown, she hastily added, “God, that was cattier than I intended. It’s just…well, it is so rare and pleasant to see.”

I merely nodded, not trusting myself to speak without revealing my true feelings.

Claire sighed deeply. I cautiously observed her, waiting for the proper response, the most politic reaction. God her hair was pretty today and I found myself nearly faint with the giddy, exhilarating scent of the coconut shampoo she had used. I could feel myself stirring, and desperately, anxiously waited for the tell-tale erection to disappear.

She sighed again, a dramatic gesture that was somewhat unlike her. Sensing some difficulty, I sought to break the stalemate.

“What’s up pal? You seem troubled.”

Her luxuriant brown hair cascaded down her neck like a sensual waterfall, inviting, a siren call of erotic encounters to come forward. She looked down at the ground sheepishly, and awkwardly shifted her weight from foot to foot.

She cleared her throat.

“Tony, I am under pressure right now with uni, and the workload is getting to me.”

I wordlessly listened, eager for her to finish the preamble, but too polite to hurry her along.

She continued.

“Can I borrow your laptop? It’s just, my flatmates are really noisy, and I just can’t study properly. But I need an internet connection to access my study notes, and the resources the lecturers are putting on the Moodle for us.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, I acquiesced. How could I deny her anything?

“Sure thing Claire. No problem. I’ll bring it round later on today.”

Realising I had errands to run, I relented, and offered to fetch it there and then. On my return, and having handed custody of the laptop over to her, without warning she squealed a high pitched giggle. She threw her arms around me, enveloping me around her and smothering my face with kisses.

“You are such a good friend Tony, I really appreciate it. My guardian angel with special shoes!”

I waited until she had finished, and when we had gave our goodbyes, I turned my back to her. I couldn’t bear for her to see the tears coursing down my face. I shakily inhaled, and tried to pace myself, torturing myself with the possibilities that I had shamed myself. Did my hand linger on her back a second too long? Were they properly situated, and not too low, or high? I had taken a dreadful risk smelling her hair, would she feel my breath on her follicles?

Realising the futility of the exercise, I mentally recited a Haiku to steady my nerves, an eccentric quirk of mines designed to fend off anxiety and panic attacks by channeling my energies elsewhere. Turning the collar of my trench coat upwards, and prissily fussing with my tie, I went home, to lick my psychic wounds relishing the rain and the beauty that Kelvingrove Park had to offer.

Sometime later, after a shower and nap, I returned to my bedsit to find a rather ominous sounding text message from Claire.

“Need to talk.

Urgently. Come round soon as you can.”

Puzzled, and fearful of what may have happened, I dressed as quickly as I could, desperately trying to subdue and quell the gnawing sense of worry that lay within my stomach like some malignant foetus.

Sensing that I would need some moral support, I decided to don my favourite shirt. It is a fortunate person who can walk into an unknown situation and be assured of a positive result and regrettably, Lady Luck and I weren’t on speaking terms. Polishing my ring to a near luminescent dazzle (another nervous tic of mine) I set onward on my journey to solve the mystery of Claire.

Arriving at her flat, I knocked on the door and patiently awaited her to allow me in, taking stock of her expression which was curiously, a mirror image of my own: a cautious, poker faced stoic mask of uncertain assertiveness.

Desperate to break the ice, I enquired what was wrong.

She didn’t respond and I seized the opportunity to allow myself in. Wordlessly and without complaint she let me past, and I stepped into the hall relishing the delicious smell of cooking that was tantalisingly wafting from the kitchen. She closed the front door with a discreet click, and walking ahead of me, silently motioned me to follow her. My curiosity and concern piqued in equal measure and laden with a sense of foreboding I followed her into the kitchen.

We sat at the dining table, and she averted her gaze from my own, as if I were some frightful Basilisk, a snake that would turn her very essence to stone. In some respects that was entirely true, given how uneasy she seemed. It pained me immeasurably to see her so agitated.

Finally, she broke the silence.

“Tony…” she began.

I glanced at her impassively, fearful that were I to speak, I would interrupt the incantation, and distract her from the obvious effort it was taking for her to even speak.

“On your laptop - I’m so sorry, but I saw some things on it.”

I could tell she was anxious, she licked her lips in an unconscious act of innocent eroticism, and in doing so, I found myself stirring unintentionally. I was struck by the porcelain like sheen of her skin, a milky white colour that managed to be on the right side of pale.

At the mention of this it felt as if the blood in my veins has turned to ice water, and my heart, pounded loudly within my chest, as if it were some late night penitent, demanding entry to the church for absolution. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on my forehead, and the room felt hot, so unbearably hot.
Adopting a seemingly nonchalant air to conceal my increasing unease, I consciously forced my voice to remain light when I asked:

“And what did you see?”

My eyes had taken on the colour and consistency of liquid tar, two deep seated pits of stone in some tribal fetish head, a stony faced tribal idol impassively awaiting the response from a supplicant, and I could feel my jaw tighten as my anger and fear began to rise.

At this, Claire flushed, quickly glanced at my stony expression as if to acquire some measure of my thoughts and feelings, and having stared into the abyss, and finding nothing, she blurted out,

“Kinky BDSM stuff. Spanking mostly.”

It was as I feared. At that moment, I hated her, with every inch of my being.

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t snooping, well, I mean I just…oh god…..”

At this her voice trailed off shakily. Regaining her composure she continued.

“I accidentally clicked on some folder and there was all this porn and I was curious because you are so…reserved all the time and I just wanted to get to know you a little better.”

I had spent so long concealing my kink and my desires, living in equal fear and shame of them, and forever doomed to worry or contend with the possibility of discovery that what she had just bleated even register. It was if Claire had spoken some archaic, dead language: a word that whilst laced with menace, was not fully comprehensible to the listener.

The smile that had slowly spread across my face was frozen into a rictus, and for the first time in a very lengthy period of time, I felt that cold, icy chill of anger deep within my chest. I favoured Claire with a wintry smile, and given the anxiety on her face, it seemed that conveyed my feelings far greater or eloquently than mere words or threats ever could.