Can you imagine watching warm honey slide down a plate that has been lifted vertical? It would creep slowly along the surface, coating everything in its path with a soft sheen, a large mass breaking into tributaries which push towards the floor. Even as the streams lengthen, they would move forward in a slow, graceful manner; consistent and deliberate rather than the wild path of a smoother liquid which chases itself over the edge. Watching the honey move, it would appear that it is pushing it’s way through the ceramic, pieces of plate shrinking inside themselves and allowing the honey to pass until they have been subsumed on all sides. Any uncovered areas seem to be fighting towards the glossy wave, eager to throw themselves under the warmth and sweetness. The plate becomes part of the honey.
Holly moved through a room like honey on a plate.
Her presence radiated outwards, gently capturing the attention of all those present. Heads turned like dominoes under an inverse gravity, pivoting towards the force, twisting necks reacting to those which lay between themselves and Holly. Men and women alike were glancing over shoulders before she had even come into eyeline. Holly was beautiful. Without doubt. Yet there were definitely more beautiful girls in the town; perhaps even in the bar that evening. But her presence was unrivalled. She moved with a simultaneous menace and grace, a panther prowling across the beer-splashed floorboards, each step pulling skin taught across an impossible behind and accentuating powerful shoulders. Like a jungle cat, Holly’s eyes opened and closed slowly, her nose alternately flanked by bright green irises and brilliant purple lids. Holly wore simple heels which tapped the floor where others squelched. Bright blue jeans were so tight she may have stitched them on. Lightly tanned skin gasped through the rips in the knee and thigh, a tantalising glimpse of what may be unfurled should the seams give way. Her perfect buttocks were like two divine water balloons in denim casings. Pockets which were the envy of all men clung to the heavenly droplets, straining against the rivets and most definitely attached for show rather than substance. It would have been difficult to pass a breath of air between the two pieces of cloth. A white blouse hung perpendicular to the ground from her chest. It lifted and dropped in a perfectly straight line as her breasts teased the floor, falling closer with every other step before sharply pulling away. Millimetre thick silk spaghetti held the sheet in place, against skin which hugged an athletic skeleton and lithe muscle.
Holly could always feel the eyes on her. Women purred, reserving bitchiness for less fortunate patrons and quietly envying her. Some men simply glanced, others gaped. But everyone looked. As she flooded the room she heard a glass break, one youth too eager to point her out to his friend. She heard the ignorant advances and crude remarks but chose to ignore them. “What are you drinking gorgeous?” “I just want to stop you and tell you how beautiful you are.” “Fuck me, look at the arse on her.” Holly would never claim to have disliked the attention. But she wished that it could be something richer than throwaway lines in a drink-filled room or, when she allowed herself, throw-away sex in a drink-filled cloud. Men overstretched around her, either trying too hard to impress or being too determined to establish their egos and cocks over her beauty. Either way, they came off as insufferable assholes and she found herself with Dean as the only fixture by her side. He was her friend and had been for years. Yes, they had slept together. A few times. But it wasn’t much of a sexual attraction for her, rather his warmth and familiarity which led to a carnal satisfaction of a primal instinct. Holly didn’t like what had happened to Dean; how he had changed since they were children. She didn’t want to be involved anymore. But it was difficult for her to break ties with him now; she felt she needed to rescue him. She knew Dean thought she was only still spending time with him because of the money and gifts he gave her. He didn’t seem to realise that she didnt spend the money and she didn’t wear or use the gifts. She wasn’t by his side because she had anything to gain – it was because he had much too much to lose. She was scared to see him descend any further, who knew what was next? Jail if he was lucky. Or worse… but good god, he infuriated her. Not only did he behave like a vulgar imbecile, but he acted like he owned her. She wasn’t anybody’s and she certainly wasn’t his.
The lights in the bar seemed to illuminate and dull as Holly passed under them. The bar lunged towards her, desperate to play its part in the room’s voluntarily slide under her aura. She had run the usual gauntlet of suddenly halted conversations and neanderthal stares. The same would happen as she made her way back to her seat, her audience absorbed once again. As she stepped forward through the last parting bodies to place her oder, she saw the three men supporting themselves on the bar counter. Two wore the familiar grins and glassy eyes. They jostled their companion who looked up sheepishly and met her eye. He volunteered a soft smile which said hello and also offered apology for his friends. Holly looked away, at the silent barman who stared at her while inexplicably clutching the beer pump, perhaps in some subconscious gesture towards her of his phallic potency. She could still see the smile beside her though it didn’t offend her as others did. Oh, fuck it, she thought, why the fuck not? Holly turned and, with a languid shift from purple to green met Michael’s eyes for the second time.
“Hello. My name’s Holly.”
Peter McFeely 
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