Today I thought I’d share something rare—a kiss from the very first short story I ever published. The excerpt below comes from “Glass House”, which was published in the 2003 Black Lace collection Wicked Words 8. I am amazed to discover the book is still available, at least in ebook form.
This story takes place in Prague. The main character already has two lovers, but she’s tempted by the brash young man she meets in a Czech pub.
When you’re done with my snog, click back to Victoria’s Sunday Snog page for sexy kisses.
“Let us walk down to the river,” he says, bringing me back to the present. “It is nearly sunset. And there is something that I would like to show you.”
We make our way westward toward the Vltava, in companionable silence. I am struck by the fact that, after all, I do trust Lukaš. For all his swaggering and sexual innuendo, he has treated me with respect. I know how easily he could have taken advantage of me; he probably knows it, too. Somehow, though I have told him nothing, he also senses my conflicts. He knows without being told that I am not free.
Clouds stained by the sunset heap high over the water, which flows gray and smooth like molten lead. Vermilion, ocher, coral, azure: ordinary color names do not apply to these flowing, burning shapes.
Against this multicolored background the spires and towers of Prague Castle on its crag across the river are fairytale silhouettes. For a long time, I simply stare, as the forms merge and change in the dying light. When I finally remember Lukaš, I see he is grinning again, as if he could take credit for this spectacular display.
“Is this what you wanted to show me? It is wonderful!”
“Not exactly. Look across the street.”
The first thing I see is a massive rococo building of yellow stucco, dripping with ornamentation and topped by an onion dome. Then I see the building beside it, and stop short.
It is totally fantastic, whimsical, and bizarre. It began as an ordinary, modern office building, with square windows and a flat roof, facing the river across Smetanova Street. But grafted onto this edifice is a second building, all of glass, shaped like an asymmetric egg timer and leaning at a crazy angle against the staid office block. The sunset colors reflect in its multifaceted façade, so that the building seems to shift and move.
I hardly notice that Lukaš has put his arm around my shoulders. “Do you like it?” he asks, his grin even wider than before. “We call it ‘Fred and Ginger.’”
I laugh, catching the reference immediately. The glass tower’s conical base narrows, like a skirt, up to the “waist”, then fans out again. The whole structure inclines toward the office building, like a dancer leaning on her partner. On the left side, the flared lower edge of the glass completes the illusion, seeming to flow as the dancers swirl away in the opposite direction.
“It is absolutely fabulous. Thank you.”
“You are welcome,” says my smiling young guide with his delightful Czech accent, and then he is kissing me.
He kisses with his whole body. His arms wrap all the way around me. His lean thigh insinuates itself between mine, just as his tongue snakes into my mouth. His hands are on my back, my breasts, my buttocks. I am swallowed up in this hot, wet kiss. The jungle has claimed me. I am sinking in quicksand. He tastes of tobacco and beer, completely delicious.
Just when I think I will stop breathing, he releases me. I am shaking. My sex is throbbing. I am, unbelievably, close to orgasm. From just a kiss. But no one has ever kissed me like that. Not Daniel. Not Rebecca. I am frightened by my reactions.
Lukaš acts casual. “Do you want to go inside? The view from the top floor is very fine.” He stands close, but does not touch me. I ache for another all-consuming kiss. I fear it.