In the lift

In the lift with the two Japanese girls, and I am hideous. I am skulking behind them and all the hair on the skin of their necks are highlighted in flourescent gold. I am the creature to be hunted down, frankenstein built. I watch the fur on the soft white collar of one of the girls. I watch the neck and it's light fur. I see the coy downward cast of eyes that are fringed by the most exquisitely dark lashes, deer like. And they are so thin. I could catch them up each in the crook of one arm. I could bundle them together and carry them without effort.

At school I dreaded any kind of sport because the girls would race into the showers, peeling away their privacy, exposing their flesh to the monster in their midst. Then there is the sauna. I have been but I don't like the uncomfortable closeness of other people's flesh. It is as if my body will betray me, sprouting an erection like a pointing finger, a flag to mark the place of greatest disturbance.

So in the lift I breathe more shallowly. I can smell the pleasant cherry scent of their flesh. We climb too slowly. This is like a scene from a movie. Look out! Turn around! He's behind you!

The doors open with a gasp of relief. One of them, the one with the fur lined jacket, turns and bows and thanks me although I have done nothing. Thank you for not acting on your impulses perhaps. Thank you for remaining at a respectful distance.

"Thank you" she says and the doors close and I the beast is once more contained.