You see her. Over in the corner. Propped on heels that make her legs look six feet long suddenly ending in an ass, so big, it could drag the moon out of orbit. An ass that it seems to exist in a fourth dimension, beyond the black lase that is so delicately wrapped around her pelvis, crawling up her torso, and finishing halfway up her breast tissue. Situated on top of this flesh, her horse like neck bends around and once again reminds you of how every day you wish to sink your teeth into those tendons. Tasting the sweet honey like sweat that drips from her hairline and slides down her olive tainted skin to caress her chiseled collar bones. 

You think of how it felt to have her pushed up against you. Naked and soft in the early hours of the morning as you held the sunlight back. Hands circulating her waist. Your legs entangled in hers, and hers gently wrapped in yours. The way the light would depict her perfectly irregular freckles, displayed on an imperfectly regular face, and how she would roll her ocean eyes at you; a look so delicate and seren, it withered you. 

You knew her. You loved her. 

Do not approach. 

She attended Kansas State University in the fall; enrolled in the MRS Degree. Submissive girls there to gain a title. Prefixing their names and securing their futures. This is where you meet her. A face that screamed I’m-an-over-privileged-white-girl-that-had-a-lousy-First-World-childhood, one of those do it yourself or no one will kinda things. This is when the days got warmer and she set to abandon all cover ups. Flaunting around, you were thinking what everyone was, and thankful to you, it wouldn’t have taken more than a strong wind to undress her, and to this, you may have never lost your virginity. Your thing progressed from here on and you remember the long afternoons with her riding in the front seat of your car, the city hanging tilted in the rearview. How summer slipped you underneath her tongue, and how your quiet afternoon crush turned into your fixation. 

Perfumed with obsession, in her second year she was to enter a painting phase. Sprawling wild and fluorescent colours across a blank canvas. It reminded you of the love you had: unmanaged and haloed. As if pulled straight from a child’s colouring book, her mind flowed out onto her brush with her delicate finger tips kissing the smooth wood attached to the bristles. You had always wondered what was in that mind of hers. What compilations shuttled through the coils of her intellect. Sometimes you even imagined opening up her skull and scoop out her brain with a spoon. Sifting through her mind and those coils, trying to catch and pin down any thoughts of importance or interest. Wanting to jump inside of it. Rearrange it, play with it, stack it up, pull it apart, and restart again, and again, and again.

You wonder if she still thinks about us the way you do. You think that a lot, but you must not act, not yet.

Bite your tongue;

Wait. 

Her co worker ‘Stacy’ parades around in the background, her locks pulled in reverse. A slick oiled ponytail with a single piece of hair cast across her face like a shadow on a barren field. She has a small countenance, eyes too close to her nose, and if you bothered to share a conversation with her, she would tell you how she only stripped on the side, but she feels her calling – her true calling in life – is to write. Providing you took the time and the $50 out of your wallet, just so you could gently unstrip her and feel her warm damp breath so close to her body, and the rubbing of such silk skin on yours, she would scream terrible white girl things while you fucked, and in the afterglow, while you lay there in desperation, she would tell you about an idea for a novel she has. A $50 you’d wished you’d kept. A $50 not well spent. 

Your left hand twitches for a second time. It always does when you get nervous. Your mouth gets dry and palms sweaty, as if all the liquid in your upper body has drained down and slowly began to leak onto the timber floor. She would of though that this was stupid. Pathetic and childish. Once again with the roll of the eyes that pierced your soul.

There’s only one other man in the building. A glass of bourbon, half empty, drooped in his outstretched arm, clasped with minimal effort. His yesterday’s suit in an effortlessly half tucked, untucked look that makes his self pity almost burn you just from allowing your eyes to glaze over him. He’s the kind of guy you look at and know immediately drives a Mercedes-Benz with an 8-ball of coke in the glove compartment. Cokes an investment bankers best friend, unlocking the id and ego. You know that the taste of her tongue will still be fresh in his mouth. But this will later be tarnished with cigarette smoke from a rolly assembled utilizing crinkled paper and old baccy he managed to scavenge out from the bottom of his pocket. 

He makes you think how real life isn’t real life. Probably more like this dumb basted in a strip joint at four in the afternoon on a Tuesday. Wondering how the hell he ever got here. Wondering who he’d pissed off in that previous real life. 

You feel indisposed at the sight of this scene. You loathe the sickness that becomes you as you awe at the legs you can not touch, the lips that do not smile at you. Hips that do not reach for you. And a Heart that does not beat for you. A sort of sickness you gain after she has lost all evidence of your contact, your touch, your presence. You don’t want anyone else to have her heart, kiss her lips, be in her arms, be the one she loves. 

You don’t want anyone to take your place. 

You catch her eye and for one second it melts you. One second of pure serenity. One where you touch her gently, and she calls your name, you smell her perfume, and she flicks her hair, you clasp her hand and hear her footsteps and shed a tear and walk away and come back and smile and laugh andcrieandtouchandfeel and one second is up. You resist the urge to approach. Over in the corner. She sees you. 

Text Title and genre	Coming of age, and how she got here, first chapter is where the book would be ¾ of the way through but after the first chapter we go into her last years at high school and what happened, first half year at college and then onto where she is now Chick literature Coming of age
What Happens in Chapter One	He/you has entered the club in which she is working at. It is the middle of the week, mid afternoon so there’s nearly no one in there. He/You egins to set the seen on the background of Her and how he was involved with her but not now. Through seeing her he shares what she was like, what she did before hand and what they did together
Point of View	2nd person
First Sentence
Setting	Brothel/strip joint 4 in the afternoon on a tuesday
Initial incident	He/you has come in and seen her, this triggers him into thinking all about their past but he can not go over to her (control of her over him where he becomes scared?ish to approach)
Character	Him/YouHerThe Co-worker, ‘Stacy’ (she will feature in the rest of the story as well but not to much)The guy watching Her (investment banker, as the novel progresses he will appear in the story more as he is …)Possibly the club owner?
Control	He shows control not to go over to her, he has to have control around her to keep the reputation they had between each other as it is  Control of you/him not going over to her Point of control – control over each character, girl – olders man – man in suit – The control the man in the suit has over the girl (your girl) dancing
Where does the story go after the first chapter	The first chapter is real time, the second chapter then goes back to when she was in high school and is like a coming of age kinda thing and then tells up to where they are now, that’s like ¾ of the way through the book and then for the last ¼ it goes on from where I left off, told from the perspective of you/him
How chapter one is set up	He sees her, remembers what they did together Tells about their love starting off slow and going into heated, this is interwoven with what she was doing at the time (only very lightly as the rest of the novel goes into this)Now you/he has to have control into not go over to herTalks about the setting now, this is where she is after their love ended, goes to the co-worker and the man that’s in there, possibly the owner if word count is enoughNow you/him catches her eye and she sees you