Glam - Part Two

Inside, a step allows those entering more headroom than I had expected.  I notice the light from outside still streaming in so I turn to find he had vanished.  A habit which, from him, relieves me greatly.  Scanning the street to find no one watching, I flick an orange flexed light switch and pull the door gently to.

The corridor within led past several industrial looking fans and caged generators towards the top of a spiral staircase.  Fearing with every step I was getting too deeply into this, I began the descent.  It was warm below.  And smelt of dry honey.  A waiting type area with two leather armchairs flanking a low table and some expensive looking art upon the walls.  It surprised me then that the walls were not breeze block, as the corridor upstairs had been, but plastered and tastefully emulsioned.  The floor too was more comfortable, linoleumed and berugged in Turkish wool.  The one door leading off the pit was fractionally ajar and I made my way through it, the eyes of the tormented women in the picture frames writhing in eternal paroxysms of ecstasy or of vengeance as I passed.

I was home.  I looked back at the door to find it the very door to my own flat; post addressed to me in the basket on its back.  The bookshelf and its contents unmistakeably mine.  I opened the door again but the waiting room had gone and the familiar stairs down to the street existed in its stead.  I had been transported.

The bra still hung in the kitchen from the fitting.  As I went to unhook it, a pair of naked feet padded in behind me.

"And how do you s'pose we got it up there?"  Laughter escaped her full lips and I turned, steak blade in hand, to find my abductor wearing my old jeans and shirt which soon fell to the linoleum as we ripped at each other with our sweaty fingers and rucked on the pile in the laundry basket fresh from the dryer.  I am not a man of much physical means but our athletecism there and then, then in the hall, then in the lounge, and twice again on the bedroom floor would have qualified for points in some league I am certain.

'Lauks a lordy, it's good to have you home again,' said Erin.  'I'd quite forgotten what you looked like.'  She sat brushing her hair, a holdall having appeared beside the bed.  I stare into space, squeezed like an empty tube of or puree, contemplating the night and the morning to come.

I sleep.

I wake.

She is gone.  It was all a dream.  I am in my own flat, in my home town.  The holdall is no longer there.  I shower and make toast and pour a pineapple juice.  There is no lacy brassiere in the kitchen.  I smile at how real it all seemed.

Back on the road I grab a bus and take a seat.  Checking my 'phone for messages I notice the date.  Four months have passed.