The Very First Touch

The first touch

Anxious is the word I would use to describe my mental state when I set forth to meet a person who has carved for herself, a warm place in my heart, who is always present when I need her.

To me, she was a complete stranger. Our acquaintance was limited to a single phone call, the previous night when she told me that we had to meet. She was an absolute unknown. Yet, that solitary phone call had the element of persuasion. Her confident stand was coercive; there was a masked eagerness in her paced tone, which compelled me to agree.

The rendezvous – her workplace, the decided hour – eleven. I was determined not to keep her in wait, it would reflect poorly on me. I couldn’t afford to be late, not the very first time. So I hustled and bustled, made six frantic attempts to kick-start my much-slower-than-a-bullet Enfield (popularly known by all as ‘Bullet’), and felt quite relieved on hearing its familiar thump, as it came alive.

The sweltering October heat was all set to dissuade me, was going great guns in ruining my day. It seemed as if the scorching sun truly wished that I should present myself as a perspiring youth, thoroughly embarrassed with his disheveled appearance.

But, that was not about to happen. I would never allow that (Nobody in his right mind would). Upon reaching my destination, I wiped off my face, the blackening agents it had generously collected on the way, smoothed my slightly creased shirt, ran ten fingers through my tousled hair and was feeling overall pretty much upbeat about what was to follow.

Right beside the door, seemingly annoyed over the delay, tapping her heels in impatience was a petite, pleasant girl, armed with a sugary smile. From the corner of her eye, she beckoned me to follow her. Inside.

As she closed the door, her annoyance vanished, in thin air. Quite understanding of her, I should say. I was feeling somewhat awkward, not knowing what to speak lest I say something, which would put my discomfort on display. Before I could utter a single syllable, her bewitching gaze took control of the situation. A soft, soothing look paralyzed my fears. She urged me to relax in a plush, reclining chair. As I obliged, she rested herself beside me. At pretty close quarters, I dare say. Flawless complexion, satin skin accentuated by mahogany lip shade. Large forehead, depicting loyalty. Shapely nose, hinting at grace. Such elegant features speak a lot about a person.

She gave me an impish grin and drew her chiseled face closer to mine, for a reason, for a purpose I could foresee. And then, her delicate fingers brushed against my cheeks, sending shivers down my spine.

This was the very first time wherein I had been touched, in such a manner, by a girl. My natural impulse made me slide back a bit, to reduce the unhealthy proximity, to gather my senses. But, when her gesture was repeated, it had a kind of innate innocence, which reassured me, which killed my defense. When my eyes met hers, two divine pools, those pearl-shaped eyes, a rare blend of deep blue and a charming white, I could sense a serenity. A serenity, which was inviting. Gently, she placed her palm on my forehead and whispered, ‘ Close your eyes. You’ll feel better.’

I could see it coming. Without giving it a second thought, I surrendered myself.

I had to. She was my dentist !!