Headline: Storeroom

They had been in here for some time. Earlier conversation had come to an end, the room was silent with the night still ahead. He looked at her, she back at him. No words were exchanged, expressions were scrutinised but only led to more questions. They sat on the floor with their backs against the wall, almost opposite one another. The pea green door still locked, the grubby brass handle, motionless, a question mark. He was trying to resist a sexual urge. A fantasy of being locked in a room all night with a woman. A beautiful, young woman. She was trying to think of something to say. Working out what to do for the next few hours before, inevitably, sleep or release came. It was a small room, with floor to ceiling ocean blue wallpaper that had a sweaty shine: no windows, the only light from the single strip above them gave out an oppressive tobacco hue. He shifted on the spot, adjusting his genitals as he did so. The legs of his navy blue trousers lifted slightly to reveal brown socks. A counter lined three of the walls, she sat underneath it, the top half of her body in shadow. With her shoes off, her feet pointed to the ceiling with heels on the stained carpet. She thought of something to say, but then she considered what he might be thinking, erasing her point of conversation. Magazines lay strewn on the counter above them, lurid colours and salacious headlines. He dragged a pink cardboard box containing five hundred packets of bubblegum closer and leant against it. The boxes moved and gave a little under the weight of his right arm. He thought about taking off his jacket but perhaps it would send out the wrong signals too soon. She watched as he moved the box and toyed with the idea of using the empty cartons near her for support but decided not to. She didn’t want to move. Not wanting to draw attention to herself, as if she was yet to be seen. He could see the corner of a page from a magazine, a teasing tongue that flapped over the edge of the counter. Blonde hair and flesh. He wouldn’t read it but he knew the pages inside. Their eyes met again, though briefly, and he knew one of them would start talking soon. A shot of anticipation. Maybe she had smiled. He imagined fucking her over the counter. She tried to get comfortable, still in disbelief at the situation. A sound came from the other side of the locked door and they both turned to look. His mouth tasted stale.
“Wanna fuck?”
He turned and looked at her, imagining the words falling from her pink lips. She was worried her feet smelt, is that why he looked? Maybe she should put her shoes back on. She closed her eyes instead. Relaxed. She could feel her hair on her shoulders and covering her ears. She saw herself that morning, asleep, or just waking, feeling the heat of Tristan as he pressed against her back and pulled her close. His arms wrapped around her. Warm skin, soft and familiar, arousing her as she felt his penis rise. She had loved him since they first met. Her left hand stroked his as he held her left breast. Eyes closed, hearts open.
He watched her resting. He touched himself, slowly moving his hand across his trousers, worried she might be tricking him and suddenly open her eyes and shout out. She flicked strands of hair away from her mouth, so that startled, he pulled his knees towards his chest. He realised that maybe it was as signal, she wasn’t sleeping or ignoring him at all but was only shy. The man has to make the first move, he could hear people saying it and he could see her sucking his cock, her eyes still closed, head moving back and forth, up and down.
She could feel herself getting heavy, the stupor of the dream taking hold so that she was no longer in this room at all. She was safe in her warm bed, the heavy cover making them hot and clammy, skin holding together before peeling away from each other, then slowly coming together again, their hands guiding themselves, sensually navigating in half asleep. The room stirred as a gentle morning light embraced the couple’s movement. Soon, Tristan would leave the bed, without lifting the cover from her naked body and disappear to the kitchen. She knew he would return to the bed with two glasses of cold orange juice and a cold body that would slide against hers and they would again embrace, before getting up and starting their day. This last thought put her back in the room, locked and annoyed. She opened her eyes to see him staring at her, it was more of a leer so that she pushed away the feeling of this morning but kept the thought of Tristan.
“What?” Her accusation clear.
“Nothing, I was, erm, seeing if you were asleep, it looked like you nodded off, yeah”
“Not sleeping, I just had my eyes closed, trying to forget being locked in this shit hole” And so the morning evaporated from her mind.
“ Yeah, can’t believe we’re still here” Cheerfully, as if it was a practical joke.
“Well someone’s gonna get it in the neck, I can’t believe this! Do you think we’ll be here all night?”
Here was a chance “Who knows? Not me but here have my jacket if you want?”
“No. Thanks. It’s pretty hot in here anyway, I can hardly breathe”
He could see her, head back, panting, trying to pull in air, grabbing at him.
“Yeah”
She looked at her shoes and then leant forward to put them on. He watched as her blouse parted and he saw her purple bra. He ran his fingers along his trousers to his knees, one eye on his prize. He saw himself licking and sucking, pushing the bra up as his greedy mouth gobbled at her tits, flicking and twisting her nipples.
“Argh, I’m so bored, where the fuck are they?” And she stood up, a swift movement that took him by surprise and so that she was right in front of him. His head at her knees. She had turned her back to him, leant on the counter and started to look at the various magazines. He looked up, imagined his arm push against her back, inhaling her smell as he pulled down her skirt and pantyhose at once, pushing his face into her from behind.
“They write such shit, as if people live their lives like this” a glossy magazine, hanging from her right hand, looking over her shoulder.
“Yeah it’s shit” Should he stand?
“I mean it all so fake, the lives, the pictures, the relationships, their bodies for god sake aren’t even real. Argh, I can’t believe were still here” Magazines hit the floor, their pages sliding across one another like a sea creature on land. She saw them as a puddle of lies and hollow aspirations.
“Sorry, it’s just that I had things to do tonight” Her frustration ebbing.
He could see that things were changing, she was talking too much and getting worked up. He felt an anger swelling inside, his fists clenched, he thought he might be sick.
“I’m sorry” He stood up and the light went off.