The Snoggers
By stevew
- 543 reads
I was looking for a roll,
but it's all baguettes these days.
On a rare,
moochy shopping trip,
I went into the pub mid-afternoon,
feeling late - alone.
And so,
the traditional English pub lunch:
baguette and
imported lager.
On the periphery,
I sensed movement
at a distant table
and, turning,
my cornered-eye
suspicions were confirmed.
Blind to observation,
the young twenties couple strained towards each other,
leaning over that table
in a loin-stirring snog,
punctuated only by the need for air
and the desire
to gaze into one another's eyes,
to smile
and to
see that smile returned.
A bit much for me,
on an empty stomach,
but the pangs were still
there.
The slobbering foreplay continued
as my tuna
baguette arrived -
well,
you don't worry about
germs
when you feel like that.
I'd been there
before,
and once or twice in the company of love,
so I knew how such moments
demanded the full
attention of the players.
All three of us were
open-mouthed,
what with me eating my baguette
and
those two eating each other.
I felt mayonnaise dribbling my
chin slightly
as I saw her laughingly wipe an overspill of
saliva
from the corner of her lips.
One day she
might look back
on this afternoon of passion,
a
reminiscence sparked, perhaps,
by the actions of others,
when she joins the ranks of the invisible
in the
company of snoggers.
I'd had enough.
I
left, unnoticed,
knowing that I would not feature
in their memory,
mulling over memories of my own,
and wishing that I'd found a roll instead.
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