Victim of His Own Impulses


She was a lady in the crowd,  undistinguished in all matters but one: on her right shoulder, underneath her blouse which was white, I could see a black bra strap. I thought it odd that a woman with a white blouse  should wear a black bra, but after that brief moment of enquiry my mind passed on to other matters.

Suddenly there in front of me, and how she got there I don’t know, was the same woman, but now staring intently into my eyes, ” You felt it too. You felt the magic didn’t you ?”  I stared at her, puzzled and slightly unnerved ,but also, and this is the secret part of it, surprised and quietly intoxicated by this urgent and exclusive attention. I’m a man who lives  a largely unassuming life; a trusted part of the domestic furniture, and had been in what I considered to be a contented marriage for the past twenty-eight years.

Why it was that she effectively unsettled me, I can never explain it, but under her stare,  and in a moment of profound emotional disorientation, I presume, I lost all sense of who I was. For a second  I became a student again, living in, and exploring the moment: I almost watched myself as I leaned in to kiss her lips. I was part of the moment, and yet a bewildered observer at the same time:  our lips met, only for that second: the kiss seemed chaste but not quite so,  I think you understand: I was as shocked as you must be reading this: I backed away immediately: she glowed with an unnerving triumph.

“We will be together for eternity” she said, her eyes blazing with excitement. I nodded at her, too polite to  apologies or give an explanation, although I felt the panic rising within me.  “Follow me” she said, and I did for a little until, seeing an opportunity, I swerved to the right and vanished into the crowd. panic controlled my every step.  On the journey home my mind was full of the incident  and  guilt  and the memory of how her soft hand had pressed against my chest and then slid under my jacket and across it.

I had never done anything like this before and always looked with horror on those who did: I swore to myself that I would never act like that again .Why I had allowed such emotions to escape me, and where they had come from, was something I will never be able to explain but there it is:  the hard facts I still cannot escape.

At last I got to the familiar front door.  I put my key in the lock and walked through the hall into the front room  and met the eyes of my wife and  saw the lady from the gallery standing there beside her. ” This lady says you kissed her” said my wife, ” Is that the truth? ” I thought to lie  but after 28 years the truth is always written in the look, and she could read mine easily. ” I want you out of here” she said. “I want you out of here now and out of my life, ” What can I say, guilt, it seems, robs us of initiative, and as this strange women moved over to my side, I turned around and left .

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About Peter Wells aka Countingducks

Trying to remember what my future is
This entry was posted in character, creative writing, Fiction, life2, Love, Relationships, Romance, writing and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

16 Responses to Victim of His Own Impulses

  1. ksbeth says:

    intense, peter, intense.

    Like

  2. elainecanham says:

    I thought you were going to say it was his wife. And who was this painted Jezebel, anyway? I want to know what happens next! Go on, give us a sequel.

    Like

  3. Al says:

    You rascal, you.

    Like

  4. Ina says:

    Aristoteles said that a kiss is not heavy; maybe so, but the weight can be a burden? 🙂

    Like

  5. Bruce Goodman says:

    Oh! Oh! Oh! I loved being returned to the comfort of domesticity. And then the black bra strap made a reappearance. Oh! Oh! Oh! Absolutely terrific, thanks.

    Like

  6. Jane says:

    He should have run away at the black bra with the white shirt….too much of a fashion blunder…..
    great story

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  7. Naughty Boy!!!!!!!!

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  8. Victim or Victory? Sounds like a win win to me, Just one innocent kiss that wasnt your fault. You don’t have to be an elusive husband or anything like that, but please, for the sake of yourself and your loved ones, if your wife truly loved you, she would not throw you out and you werent dishonest. not the signs of a broken heart. Honesty is the real key to happiness. Don’t break your loved ones’ hearts, and don’t let them break yours. things just happen sometimes.

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  9. Oh my gosh! I think we all are capable of having this “thing” inside us. 😊 . Sequel please!

    Like

  10. And his life was changed in an instant…

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  11. Maybe writers need these kind of … temptations … experiences? It’s about exploring the shadows as well as the light of ourselves (and others), where it takes us in our imaginations and souls, whether or not it goes further. 🙂

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    • I think a writer can be braver and more adventurous in imagination than life, but to have the courage of your imagination is a characteristic of the true artist

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      • Yes, the courage of the imagination does make a true artist. I think what is interesting is how individual being a true artist can be … I’m thinking of Emily Dickinson, for example: the depth and breadth of her poetry. And, yet, she was isolated and without a lot of ‘real’ life experiences (externally – but a rich range internally). Then, there are ‘examples’ like Hemmingway, who lived life to the full (perhaps, too full!).

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  12. nelle says:

    Well, he left with his privates still attached. That’s something. 🙂 Nice venture past your comfort zone, Peter. Well done.

    Like

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