That Autumn Night

It had started as a dare.

         I was going to a Goth club for the first time. 
         
         I stood out like sore thumb, a sore thumb lacking black nail polish. The walls and my chest vibrated to the screaming strains of Siouxsie and The Banshees over the sound system. I had retreated from the press of exquisitely appointed bodies to the bar. I saw her there, sipping a screaming orgasm. I had ordered a diet root-beer which had conjured up a strange, slightly aggressive glare from the bartender.
         
         Her quizzical, questing, querying, violet eyes (She must have been wearing contacts) sawn, shining in an event horizon of black eyeshadow. She had but some black stubble, as if her hair were the love-child of sand and lichens. She wore a white man’s button-down dress shirt with the arms passionately ripped off, a black tie with a blood-red rose tie tack, a perilously short raven black and midnight blue plaid skirt, pink and purple stripy thigh-high socks, and combat boots.
         
         Somehow or other we slipped out together. The angels must have been weeping for some still-born child as the rain was coming down so heavily. We jumped in every puddle from the club to my place.
         
         My home is a white ,two-story Victorian on the top of a hill, over-looking, but not on, the ocean. There is a dense woods nearby. The front yard is adorned with a vegetable garden with: onions, broccoli, Thai basil,and pumpkins. There is a brace of bat houses on the edge of the woods.  There is a round addition with my office on the second floor with windows all around. The bottom floor is my little warren, my T.V. and reading room, strewn haphazardly with couches and cushions.
         
         When we arrived I noticed through the soaked fabric of her shirt that her bra was jet-black and lacy. While I scurried away to fetch a towel for my hair, (she insisted on air-drying) she glanced at my DVD collection. She let out a child’s playful yelp as she spotted “Interview with the Vampire”. She informed me that she needed to watch it one more time for a total of a “lucky thirteen” viewings.
         
         As the film’s credits rolled I noticed her hand on my knee, fingers fluttering up the inside of my thigh. I preemptively caught it and brought it to my lips. “Not on the first date,” I whispered urgently, “or the fifth” I said now smiling. She may have blushed as we decided to spend the rest of the night sharing our poetry with each other. ( Hers was dark and sensual, mine soft and romantic.
         
         She playfully slapped my face for suggesting that the word “sanguine” should never be used more than three times in one work. As the dawn slowly spread across the sky she kissed me, gently but long and insistently. As we parted he teeth gently pulled on my lower lip as she simply stated, “I WILL see you again next week.”
         
         She left in a haze of sweet floral scents with a hint of something dark and intoxicating. I crawled into bed as the sun rose, already dreaming of Halloween weddings, the wedding night, and a honeymoon in a haunted Scottish castle.