This is a modern day tale of lust, and of the taking of chances and, ultimately, of catastrophe. Our hero is a young gentleman of whom I have known for some time. A scholarly lad; tending to be somewhat backwards in coming forwards, noticeably so when it comes to womenfolk. Unhappyily, or perhaps happily, that is the exact focus of this tale. A woman.
The lady in question was a comrade in study. Cordial and frequent was their interaction. Warm friends they grew to be. But, dear reader, our hero wanted more, oh so much more. He dreamed and imagined and supposed and conceived a million times over. But, how? How? How should this great desire be realised?
He put his mind to work and arrived at a plan. Perhaps not the greatest, in scope or inventiveness. Perhaps not the most foolproof, nor memorable. But it was a plan and it was his, and that’s bloody well got to count for something.
One balmy evening, following a jaunt to the cinema, our noble hero generously, though with intent, made offer of esquiring her to her home by means of car. She gladly accepted, and the game was afoot!
There they were, on the street outside her house. The engine’s cooling hum, and she making the beginnings of a goodbye. He must act now! Summoning all his grit and will, he assumed the pose of the free and easy, and spoke. As the words left his mouth, he leaned, so nonchalant! against the door. He spoke the noble words ‘I think we should make out’, his elbow bumped the central lock, and all the doors instantly locked. Realisation and panic. He froze, and stared, silently, at her, until she slowly unlocked her door and got out of the car.