Purple was the color, a perfect mixture of chaos and courage. 

 

Purple was her dress, slit on her side and low on her back.

 

She held her glass of champagne as she laughed. She did not care if it spilled on her beautiful dress.

 

Her smile was warm. The kind of smile that could not be faked. Her large round earrings danced by her neck-length, wavy blond hair, and I danced by her.

 

Caressing her, touching her. Her fingers too, rolled on the muscles on my back, clawing me and grabbing on to me.

 

How could one tango and sip wine at the same time? Maybe I was going too easy on her.

 

“Surprise me,” she chuckled. I could hear her well enough. She had dragged me away from the crowd and the music to a corner. It was full of unoccupied party tables and well-organized chairs still untouched by the guests.

 

Surprise you how, I thought.

 

“My Lady, what can I possibly do for you that no one else already has?” I asked, holding on to her hand.

 

She laughed. I smiled and spun her under my hand. Not to my surprise, she moved like a ballerina. When she landed back in my arms, she dropped her glass and pressed her lips against mine.

 

It’s been years since I’ve had that feeling. The purple feeling. The thrill of a new romance, the possibilities and the dangers and the taboos.

 

She was soft and supple, cozy and warm. A drop of sweat ran down my forehead as our tongues touched, my rough hands touching down her spine and grabbing her hips.

 

This epitome of perfection, this beautiful forbidden fruit, right at claw’s reach. It awakened something primal in me, something that defied all constraints and logic.

 

She finally let go of my lips, staring right back into my iris with her green eyes. She breathed hard and fast, her red lips pouted and parted. She yearned for me and I yearned for her. 

 

Why? I asked myself.

 

She could have anyone she wanted. Any one of those pretty boys dancing under the spotlight. Why would she pick me?

 

I was handsome and muscle-bound, sure. She was however, a goddess, incarnate of aphrodite on earth.

 

I had wealth and standing, sure. But she was a shining star with the wealth and fame I could only dream of.

 

She could not be a gold digger. She was gold itself.

 

She had no reason to fake this. She had no reason to pretend. She wanted me and that was that.

 

And that was purple. That was the rush of adventure, of striking out into the unknown of a foreign land. The possibilities, the dangers, the rewards. The youth, the uncaring disregard for law and order. The rush of rebellion.

 

I was young, once more. And that was purple.

 

As she rushed in for another long and hard kiss, I found myself reaching under her dress and found her opening the buttons of my shirt.

 

Bliss was her form under me and my form above, my hand around her neck and her legs locked around my waist. All the pleasure in the world, focused on one act.

 

Yet with every thrust she faded. With every thrust, the sound of heartbeats shook the world. It was not sudden, but like a ghost wading away. The pleasure was gone, and so was she.

 

And there I was, eyes blurred and the lights changed.

 

The birds chirped, the sun painted the wall yellow. As the blur faded I saw the first face I could recognise. 

 

Above the soft, white sheets and the red blanket, was the face of the cat. She looked at me, curiously, and she let off a short meow. 

 

The world became clearer as the cat nestled herself in front of my chest. 

 

I scoffed to myself, smiling.

 

“Of course…”

 

I grabbed the cat, took her into my arms and gently stroke her back. She began to purr in approval.

 

“Back to reality.”