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Little red
I liked the feeling against my skin, a little cool, a little rough

April 15, 2002
The Iranian

The first sense triggered was sight. I was walking quickly on the sidewalk. Without looking up. Without looking sideways. Lost in my thoughts. Careless. Carefree. When suddenly, it caught my attention.

It was a window like any other. A store window I passed hundreds of times. But today, it was waiting for me. Beckoning, flirting with me from behind the glass. In that provocative little red number. Flashy. Trashy. Just shiny enough to make me pause. Turn on my heels. Go back. And put my face to the glass.

Helplessly. Harrowingly. My eyes narrowing. I hesitated no more than a few seconds. Then I pushed the door knob. And I entered. I was in love.

Once in possession of my precious prize, I lingered before taking the next step. I played with it eagerly, turning it on one side, then on the other, from the palm of my right hand to the palm of my left. I liked the feeling against my skin, a little cool, a little rough. Just right. Slowly, carefully, ecstatically, I pinched it. Took it between my fingers. And began pulling.

KKkkrrrrrrssssshhhhhh. The sound of the crisp, brisk wrapper crackling as my fingers eagerly unknotted the envelope hiding my little precious gem was sweeter to my ears than wind chimes softly playing in the light breeze. Than the dainty melody of Tchaikovsky's sugar plum fairy dancing her delicate steps. Than the innocent chirps emanating from love birds kissing in the sunset.

Finally, the tender task of undressing the object of my affection had subsided, revealing to my teary eyes my love in all its glorious nakedness. Hmmmmm... How could I proceed without first drinking in the inebriating aroma of this unique treasure I was holding in my trembling hands, my heart racing, my temples throbbing with the sounds of my heart hammering its way up to my nostrils, my head dizzying with guilty thoughts of the delight to come.

Oh how I wished I had the self-control to make this moment last forever and ever! Stars! Fireworks! Incandescent comets flying in the darkened sky like Van Gogh's starry recreation of a hot evening in the South of France!

Aaaaaahhh, only the first bite and already euphoria exploding on my tongue with all the tenderness of a machine gun, overtaking my senses, joining them all in one huge, united upheaval of flesh, emotions, spiritual epiphany, and ooohhh, ohhhh, ooohhh... so soon?

I have nothing left of my love but the sad little red memento of our first eye-contact.

I think I need a cigarette.
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Niki Tehranchi

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