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Object of desire

Here is my Furious Fiction entry for August. We had to include the words dizzy, exotic, lumpy, tiny and twisted. In addition, it had to be humorous and mention a sandwich. We had a weekend to do it and it had to be 500 words or less.

Object of desire

The belly dancer spun past him, her hair fanning like submerged seaweed. Tiny cymbals jostled in time with the coins on her hip scarf and she glanced his way. Just breathe, Gary told himself. Don’t look too keen. The drums became louder and he bopped in his seat. Why couldn’t he get any of his girlfriends to do that? Although, he wasn’t sure whether any of the women he’d fraternised with qualified for the title.

Kissing Jemima at the school dance probably didn’t count and his awkward encounters with girls at Uni were best forgotten. And anyway, most of the ladies at the office were skinny-hipped, flat-chested nerds like him. He couldn’t understand why females were always dieting; it was as if they were scared of their curves. Moreover, to make matters worse, they turned weight loss into a competition.

The woman in front of him clearly had no issue with her curves, which only added to her exotic charm. Her lumpy abdomen contrasted sharply with her narrow waist, making Gary dizzy with desire. Would she ever consider dating him? At the thought, his guts twisted. He was invisible; the faceless, nameless guy who took care of the company accounts. Nobody ever asked him to Friday night drinks and the only person who deigned to say hello was the workplace masseuse.

Some patrons at the restaurant were laughing, while others hoed into their tabouleh and hummus. Gary clenched his fists, appalled. How dare they ignore her! It wasn’t as if she was playing background music. She must have spent years perfecting her technique, perhaps decades. It reminded him of the model aeroplanes he’d built which his parents derided. He’d glued those pieces of wood together lovingly and painted them with the delicacy of a true artist.

‘Here’s your sandwich,’ a man said, plonking a brown paper bag onto Gary’s desk.

‘Oh, thanks,’ Gary replied, handing him a five dollar note.

Lunch forgotten, Gary turned to his computer and kept watching. His eyes bulged as the dancer jiggled her hips and presented her ankle. What fancy foot work, he mused, wondering if he could replicate it at home. Unnoticed, Paula strode by and made her way into the kitchen. The women from Human Resources were gossiping as usual, coffee cups in hand.

‘Did you see Gary ogling that dancer?’ Debbie said, her upper lip curled.

‘Yeah, I couldn’t believe it. His eyes nearly shot out of his head when she started clashing her cymbals. I thought he was boring but he’s got a sense of rhythm,’ Gretchen added, jigging her eyebrows up and down.

Paula rolled her eyes. She was a little plump and shy around guys, but the woman in the video had given her courage. ‘Do, do you think I should ask him out?’ Paula said, her voice barely above a whisper.

‘Where would you take him?’ Debbie asked, hand on hip.

‘Um, Salsa!’ Paula replied, smiling already.


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