June 17, 2019

Peplum Diary: Waiting For his Move

mirror room

He gives her a light peck on the cheek and whispers in her ear, “I’ll be back just now.” Then he walks away. The singer lingers, staring poison.

‘It’s on,’ those eyes seem to say.

The singer sways and walks away. She watches her as she goes. Black suede heels, long striped skirt-black with wide white bands, the slit goes up to her knees, simple black turtle neck top and crimson red boyfriend jacket. She clenches her jaw, this singer presents a competitive package. Especially dressed like that in church. She keeps an eye on them, not really sure why.

“I’m seeing those legs”

She’s caught off guard. She turns, half embarrassed and half offended. If it’s one of her friends she’s let it go, if it’s some random pervert she’ll slap him as hard as she can.


He stands looking at her, his hand on his hairy chin, a boyish smile playing across his face. There is a naughty but nice twinkle in his eye.

“What? A man can’t look?”

“But they’re my legs!”

“Now, if you put them out there for us to look at…”

She’s feeling the blood rush to her cheeks. A smile forces itself onto her face despite her efforts to hide it. She decides to punch him in the arm. That should distract him from the effects of his not so subtle flattery. Her quickly formed fist meets his chest. ‘Damn. It’s so hard,’ she thinks as the light thud fades out. He smiles a mock smile.


“Now if you hit a rock…”

“You’ve been gymning again?”

“I need to keep it good for the ladies”

“Which ladies? Those ones singing in praise and worship?”

“Those ones are crazy! I’m thinking more like you”


“Yeah. You.”

She would normally take this as a compliment but he’s not her type. In fact, she’s starting to feel uneasy. He steps closer to her and says something about her body but she’s not really listening. She’s looking for a way out of this situation.

He brushes some hair away from her face. She’s startled and steps back.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I was just…”


“You don’t have to raise your voice”

“Get away from me!”

He holds her wrist even as she steps away from him.

“Bosco, stop”

She takes one more step back and hits something soft. Startled, she stops with a jumps and looks behind her. It’s him, right on time. He looks dead ahead, a steely gaze fixed on Bosco.

“Is everything alright here?”

“We’re just talking…”

“Let me go Bosco”

“I think you should leave now”

He steps closer to her, that rich perfume enveloping her. Her pulse begins racing. It could be fear or excitement, or just the desire to get out of here. But she doesn’t want to get out of here, what girl would?

Her mind races fast. Should she put her hand around his waist? What would he do? Should she take the risk? Bosco still has her wrist in his hand.

‘It’s now or never,’ she thinks. Slowly, with the precision of a laser guided missile, she lays her head on his chest and slides her free hand around his waist.

‘What am I doing?’ she asks herself as her breathing intensifies, faster and faster. She’s waiting for him to make his move.

His chest heaves up, slowly. Her head moves with it. She can feel his heart thumping away at his ribcage. His breath, warm and moist, caresses her forehead in its calm rhythm. She’s still waiting for him to make his move.

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