I couldn’t believe it when Suze finally agreed to a date. I’d fruitlessly pursued her for months, often at speed, gifting her with hampers of apples, pairs and juicy mangos. I’d done everything bar quit my narcoleptics to convince the picky cunt I’d be a catch. I’d scrawled her name countless times in dogs blood on the white washed walls of her isolated cottage, dedicated endless requests of romantic Police tracks on adult alternative radio, even once paid a dubious French company to name a star after her dad (RIP).
Finally the dear wee girl relented and our destined soul fusion began. I bundled her into the boot of my Nissan Micra, kicking at the face and knees to make room beside the delectable Fortnum and Mason picnic hamper (delish). We drove together to the pounding whack of Aphex Twin’s acid avant-garde industrial anthem ’Come to Daddy’. I didn’t much like modern music, but she’d insisted. Mid journey I drovepood in a plastic M&S carryall, avoiding the unnecessary delay stop of a number two break, like a clever astronaut woman.
Her love mumbles from the boot began to wreck my head so I kangarooed the junket, shit kicking my reluctant bride to contemplative silence. What strange new beauties would her broken form assume, there in the remorseless cramp of the boot? I could hardly wait to look.
We decided to splash out on a fancy motel, and I carried her playfully struggling form across the threshold. I hate to admit it, but I can be mushily romantic at times! While I shaved my wrong and powdered my nose, Suze prettied herself in the bedroom. We wanted our first night together to be something neither og us could forget. I’d bought her a secret present, and strapped it on, admiring my sleek L shaped form in the bathroom mirror.
I returned to the bedroom, swinging the double headed catspaw like a rubber dilettante.
’I wish you were me’, I told her, jibbling above her cloth sack. As I swung that twin tongued tummy tingler it seemed to change, seemed to become the cobra we both wanted it to be.
Later, I buried us, placing a gentling kiss on her writhing plastinated head, and nailing our coffin bucket closed from inside. As dark closed in, my hands felt about, enjoying the confinement. It seemed I hadn’t cleaned our home sufficiently, some detritus from the forest remained. I scooped it up, counting the wet fat fronds of humus. Five leaves left.