Passion
She was wearing knee length boots, the shortest skirt he had ever seen and a little white beret perched cheekily on one side of her head. You could tell she was French.
He got up and followed her.
She led him into a churchyard and sat down on a wooden bench. He knew better than to sit next to her. He walked past her and sat on another bench some distance away.
When she got up and walked back into the high street he walked after her, just a few yards behind her. He had to show her that he had learned the rules. That first time had been terrible. He hadn’t known the rules and he had tried to talk to her and then he had touched her. That was so against the rules but he hadn’t known that then. He knew it now, though. He was learning all right but he had to prove that to her.
No girl had ever made him feel like this before. Those other girls! What had all the fuss been about? He couldn’t believe he had ever bothered with them!
She went into a shop and he hesitated outside. It was a woman’s clothes shop, a trendy boutique. He would look and feel out of place in there. Was he supposed to follow her in? He watched her through the window. She was browsing through racks of clothes, skirts and tops. She stopped and looked straight at him. Did she know what she was doing to him? Her eyes were laughing. It reminded him of the girls at school, from years ago, the ones he had those thoughts about.
She picked up some items of clothing and took them to the back of the shop, to the changing room. Now he understood. He was supposed to follow her. He stepped into the shop and sidled between the racks of clothes. The shop assistant was busy with a customer, she didn’t see him.