George walked past again, swinging a bottle. The characteristic tinkling laugh followed down the corridor. Ryan drank his cider from the glass jar and watched. And wanted.
Georgina had caught his eye early on at university that year, a funny mixture of self-assurance and self-mockery. With her swishing ponytail she was hard to pin down as any particular "type" and her easy manner made her attractive to everyone. She had a big smile, a twinkle in her eye and a way of pulling down one corner of her mouth when she made a joke that stayed in his mind long after. He longed to spend more time with her, and hear her laugh, listen to her voice, sit up close to those generous womanly curves she had, maybe kiss those quirky lips... but it wasn't going to happen anytime soon. George (she hated Georgina) was always moving around and laughing, always popular, always surrounded by friends it seemed. And Ryan was not those things. He tended to be on his own. Alone but not lonely, he would sit and watch others, and he knew better than to try and tell jokes.
George was now in the lounge room of the shabby student house that was hosting the party. She was with her best friend Erica, as always. They seemed to be inseparable, laughing together at stories that only made sense to them, hanging on one another's shoulder, sharing the odd kiss - done mostly to shock other people, Ryan suspected. He watched them doing a sexy dance together, while the boys, and girls, around them cheered. With her arms above her head her breasts were lifted up and swayed invitingly. She rolled her hips around to more cheers and applause.
Ryan shook his head. Mate, not a hope, he said to himself. Then another thought came to him. Hell, why not? This has been a great day. It's worth asking, and if she knocks me back, I reckon she'll be kind about it.
Earlier that day, Ryan had picked up an essay and got a nice surprise with the mark, more than he thought he'd get. This had inspired him to persuade the coffee shop lady to make his own invention - a vienna macchiato, which was tried and admired by his friends. Then tonight's performance was a great success. George, Erica and Ryan were in the university choir. They were observing an old tradition of holding a party after every show, which was why Ryan was drinking cider from a jam jar in a shabby student house. A good performance made for a good party, and Ryan felt good. He took another drink.
Then he saw George's bottle. The same cider he was drinking. He thought, this is a sign, mon brave.
He was sitting in one of the quieter rooms. People were chatting, talking about the performance, arguing ridiculous points of view or just sitting around. George walked in with her cider bottle and looked around for a chair. Unusually, she was alone.
"Hey George, I need to tell you something. Come and sit down."
Ryan gasped inside. Did he really say that? What had come over him? How much cider had he drunk?
George looked at him with her eyebrows raised. "Sit down? On what? I guess you'll have to do." She twisted the corner of her mouth, then sat on his lap. She took his jar, splashed some cider into it and took a sip.
Ryan's senses were reeling. The girl he had dreams about, was sitting on his lap. Her breasts sat proudly right in front of him, he could see them rise and fall slightly with her breathing. Her perfume, her hair, the scent of her sweat from the dancing intoxicated him. The warmth of her skin electrified him where her legs and arm brushed against him. The weight of her was real, her lean towards him took over his mind.
"Ryan? Any thoughts you might want to share?"
Ryan started. "Oh George you... you're gorgeous. Amazing..."
George paused, staring. "That was it? Not exactly poetry, but what a sweet boy you are." She kissed him, lightly at first, then gradually more intensely, licking his lips, his teeth, slurring around his tongue. She tasted of the sweet cider. Her tongue played in his mouth.
Ryan's sense reeled more. Tingles shot down his body and arms. His whole frame seemed charged and ready. Something stirred in his hips. His hand found its way to George's waist and rested in the womanly curve there. Their noses brushed. Their eyelashes brushed.
George pulled away finally, leaving Ryan stunned where he sat. She bent down to whisper on his ear.
"Chase me."
Then she was off, whisking away into the hubbub of the party. Laughing, dancing, shimmying her way through the rooms.
Ryan was breathing heavily. Chase me, she'd said. Well, why not? This evening is like no other already, why stop now? He got up and wandered off himself. He started to put a plan together, then rejected that, remembering a quote he'd read. "There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune." Shakespeare's nailed it he thought, let's just go with the flow.
Ryan was a bit of a Shakespeare tragic. He found when he got through the difficult language and the sheer number of people and scenes, he met reckless characters committing deadly and beautiful acts. Unlike Ryan, they lived and died vividly, purposefully. Ryan had vivid dreams, but they stayed just that - dreams.
Except maybe tonight...
He found George again, sitting in the kitchen, half-listening to the conversation. Ryan came boldly up to her.
"Move over a bit. I've remembered what it was I wanted to say."
