The last bus left just as I turned the corner of the street. I run after it, my heels clattering on the pavement, making me think briefly about the clattering of hooves on the cobbled streets of times long gone. Long gone, like my last bus is gone. I reach the bus stop and stare after the bus.

“Another one will be along soon enough,” a deep voice says and I look round and see a tall, slim man, slightly older than me, with short, greying stubble. He is wearing an old fashioned flat cap, a long, camel hair overcoat and what appear to be tight leather trousers underneath. He is wearing Doc Martin boots which don't fit with the overcoat but which look good with the trousers.

I try to judge if he is drunkenly hitting on me but he seems sober enough. I expect him to be smoking, not sure why, but he isn't. He looks briefly at me, then walks to the timetable on the bus shelter, reads it carefully and says, “Yes, ten minutes."

“It was the last bus,” I mutter, suddenly embarrassed. I am acutely aware that I am dressed provocatively, not something I normally do. Norah's party had been her attempt to have me meet eligible men and she had told me to dress sexily and foolishly I had obliged.

Although I am used to wearing high heels in the office, the shiny black shoes I now have on are higher than I wear to work. These are Saturday night shoes. For some reason I had chosen to wear a pair which fasten around the ankle, impossible to just kick off, and the ankle straps pulled a little tighter than really needed.

And then a short satin mini-skirt reaching down to just above the knees, not so indecent really and concealing whatever I chose to wear underneath. My top was flouncy and loose fitting, white and low cut, framing a simple gold chain around my neck dangling down and nestling in my cleavage. I had no jacket, the spring evening had been warm when I left home, turning chilly after dark.

This clothing related mating display hadn't brought out much intelligent conversation in the men she had introduced me to and I had failed to hit it off with anyone. Not that it was the lack of a decent conversation that had stopped me from losing track of time and missing my last bus. The real reason I had missed the bus was I had expected to be able to walk faster, forgetting that my shoes and tight skirt would slow me down.

Now this stranger seems determined to help me out.

“New timetable, started yesterday. Must be your lucky night!” He smiles at me, looking me in the eyes, ignoring my low cut dress which had fascinated all the uninteresting men at the party. His smile and his cool look both relaxes me and unnerves me. I shiver.

“Are you cold ? Would you like to borrow my coat?” he offers.

Taking aback at this chivalrous gesture, which would have been more appropriate in the time of the horseshoe clattering cobbled streets I had thought about earlier, all I can say is “Uhmm.” 

My apparent indecisiveness is taken as a yes and he takes off his overcoat, steps besides me and throws it over my shoulders. I feel his arms on my shoulders, lingering just a little bit longer than really necessary. Then he steps back and leans against the bus shelter. I am surprised to see that he is wearing a loose black shirt, largely open at the front, with broad laces across his naked chest. His chest is only slightly hairy, dark hairs. His flat top cap suddenly looks incongruous.

“I was at a play party,” he offers as explanation. Unsure what that might mean, I nod and smile. I feel warmer under the overcoat, its weight pressing down reassuringly on my shoulders. I think about pulling it closed at the front but I decide to leave my cleavage on display, slightly disappointed that this stranger has not even glanced down from my face.

I do glance down. At his open shirt, at his tight leather trousers, at the bulge in the front of his trousers. I stop myself. Embarrassed, I raise my eyes to his, leaving my head slightly bowed from looking down.

I can feel my cheeks hot.

“Thank you,” I say, “for the warm coat.” 

There is a long and silent pause. A cool breeze blows through the bus shelter, cooling my cheeks and hopefully returning my face to its original colour. He doesn't seem to notice my embarrassment or maybe he just does not care.

I hear a car pulling up behind me and my stranger looks past me.

“That's my ride,” he says. “Will you be alright waiting for the bus or can I call you a taxi ?” 

“I'll be fine,” I say, glancing at the car. There are two ladies in the back, one other lady driving and a man in the passenger seat. Just room for one more in the back seat.

“Okay,” says my stranger. He pulls a small trolley bag, which I had not noticed, round to the back of the car, opens the boot and lifts the bag into the boot, closing it quietly. He walks round to the driver's window and says something quietly to the driver. She turns and looks at me. She is wearing bright red lipstick and has an old fashioned elaborate black necklace. Her hair is up. Elegant earrings too. Is she wearing a black evening dress? My stranger walks back round towards me.

“I was just sheltering from the wind for a moment, waiting for my friends,” he says, indicating the bus shelter. “It was nice to meet you.”

He pauses in front of me. So damnably self confident and calm. I want to offer to go with him, not wait for the bus. No room in the car though.

“You can hold onto the coat for a while if you would like to return it on a date next week,” he suddenly says.

“Thanks,” I nod. A thrill runs through me. Would Norah approve? Who cares, I think.

“How can I contact you ?” he asks, cocking his head to one side. I fumble in my handbag and find a small metal box containing business cards. Luckily I had not had time to fully sort out my bag for the evening and the business cards were still there from a networking event a few days before.

I offer my card to him, reaching out my hand, then pull back and offer it to him with both hands, my head slightly bowed, as Chinese business people do. I don't know why I do this. He takes the card with one hand and looks at it. For the first time, he looks surprised.

“Your work business card,” he laughs. I like his laugh, unfettered and spontaneous, genuine and kind. “How trusting.” A strange thing to say I think.

Excitingly close, he reaches out to me and takes the lapel of his coat in his left hand and pulls me nearer to him. I stumble involuntarily forward on my heels, click clack, pulling up short, our faces close, suddenly feeling young and uncertain again.

I expect him to kiss me. Instead I feel him still lightly pulling me to him, the overcoat opening and his right hand slowly rising inside the coat, brushing delicately like a spider's touch, upwards along my abdomen. Thank God I did all those stomach crunches, I think, then I feel the back of his hand on my right breast, my nipple stiffening in response to his uninvited touch. I am sure he can feel it.

He reaches inside the pocket of the overcoat and removes his own wallet.

“I will need this though,” he smiles again, lets go of the overcoat, steps back, pockets his wallet into his leather trousers and says, “Goodnight, Mara, see you soon I hope.”

“Goodnight,” I say in reply. The car drives off and I stand in the cool breeze for a few more minutes, drawing his overcoat around me, smelling his odour from the fabric. A few minutes later the newly scheduled bus arrived and I travel home.

Lying in bed, his overcoat folded neatly over the chair of my dressing table, a candle lit beside my bed, I draw the back of my own left hand slowly up my stomach, gently over my right breast, nipple stiffening in memory and I realise that I do not even know his name.

Author's Note: Please visit my profile for more about Mara's Awakening.