They say thinking is cheating but I don’t believe that.

There’s nothing wrong in thinking. It only becomes a problem when the thinking starts running through your veins and seeps out through your pores into a forceful magnetism that you cannot go against.

When those fleeting thoughts become forceful touches. My problem is that I am not very good at denying my impulses. And impulses can often be mistakes, like Chinese food at a buffet. Sadly, I never seem to learn.

I figured she wasn’t the aforementioned gay sister. I had never seen her before and Clementine’s was a face you don’t forget in a hurry.

“Clem’s a dyke too but we have nothing in common.”


“Let’s do shots” I feigned nervousness.

Lesbians are so incestuous, but this could be taking it too far. I am not one of those people who have a fetish for sisters. I prefer my fruit whole, not in the salad variety. One mouthful at a time thanks. But I wasn’t sure I could call these two family, Clem was from another world. Turns out that world was just a training camp in Austria. A professional softball player, no wonder I hadn’t seen her around, you know, there just isn’t enough coverage of women’s sport, I sighed.

Athletes are the hardest women to crack, they have such strict schedules, diets, morals. They view someone like me as a risk to their training. I couldn’t imagine living my life under such restraint or pressure, I figured this to be worse than marriage so when Heather told everyone that Clem was back in Sydney to rehabilitate her shoulder I breathed a sigh of relief. The only thing sexier than an athlete is a lapsed athlete. She’s like a divorcee with a lot of lost time to make up for.

I went outside for a cigarette and to gather my thoughts. A few of Heather’s work friends had arrived and they were engrossed in what Clem had referred to as watering-can conversation. She stood back from them all, taller and domineering, kind of like a beautiful tree, she made the other girls look short and stumpy, like pot plants. Her chest bones protruded out of her thin singlet, I wanted to climb her body and hang there from her neck.

It wasn’t long before she joined me outside and asked me for a drag of my cigarette. “Surely you’re not a smoker” I asked.

“I quit years ago but since my accident I have been reacquainted with some old habits.”

I love a girl with lack of will-power.

“Back in Sydney for long then?”

“Who knows, now that Softball has been dumped from the 2012 Olympics, I feel like the universe is trying to tell me something”

“Yeah well the universe does know best.” and by universe I looked at her to suggest me, which is pretty hard to do in dim-lighting. “What is softball anyway, isn’t it just gay baseball?”

I don’t know why I flirt like a 5 year old boy. Jesus, I think I’ve offended her. She stared at me and stubbed her cigarette out on the wall behind me.

“H tells me you’re a writer?” she raised one eyebrow and looked me up and down. “Double vodka and orange juice please” I knew Heather couldn’t handle her spirits and hoped her anxiety in this situation would accelerate the effects. I needed her on the side-lines while I aquatinted myself with Clementine. She lucked out with the name I thought, but that was about all she missed out on. It was as if Clementine had sucked all the winning genes out of her parents and left nothing for Heather except tolerance and kindness.

“I hope you write better than you talk.” and walked off with that half-smile of hers.

Fuck me, I’m in love with this girl.