I arrived on time and stood waiting outside The Wellspring.

There, at the restaurant’s heated entrance, I tried to look as though I belonged. I scanned the light pink, gummed paper menu three times over, illuminated by a small white bulb, in a gold-panelled box. It looked simple enough, though many of the dishes had accents and marks beyond my familiarity. Looking over at the golden, grand piano, I tried not to appear impressed. Each dish was being brought out by the smooth waltzing march of identical waiters, beneath a modern-looking clock on the restaurant wall that said quarter to seven, occupied patrons, each looking lovingly into the glistening, glossy eyes of their other. Small talk— compliments, well-rehearsed jokes, love poems, risque anecdotes. I did a lap around the block in the hope of calming my nerves, bare soles pacing the warm pristine granite slabs, before settling for a marble bench. I didn’t know what she looked like, which in turn stunted my imagination. In my mind, I had no face to be annoyed at.
The longer that I waited, the more sick I began to feel. The evening’s exhale against my bare body softened the nicks from serrated, judgemental eyes, passing me in their doubled-pairs; bare-chested, breasted couples hand in hand, gawping indignantly with narrowed eyes at the loner, waiting for his carriage. Clothless suitors, with their tempered glares, assessing my body, its viability— vitality, fertility, by fleeting tallies of scars, stretch marks, suspicious-looking moles, undeserving of poetic, astral comparisons. I’d heard and read all about being stood up, and sitting there, mulled over multiple realities, all tainted with the emotional fallout of returning home, unwanted and useless, cast back into the evaporating, stagnant pool of biological failure. When I was convinced that nobody was looking, I checked my breath on the base of my palm.

She was twenty-five minutes late when she finally arrived.

She was older. She was slender, with an appropriate posture and pleasing ears, but slightly large and sweaty hands, which I noted as disappointing as she outstretched a paint-tipped palm. Her hair was much shorter than I imagined, her yellowing incisors much too large for her already conspicuously pink gums. The wrinkles around her eyes and forehead were deep and numerous, while the distance from her sternum to her chin was particularly long and remarkable. Her navel would have to do, but thankfully her breasts, hips and vulva looked satisfyingly, appropriately proportioned, prompting me to sigh deeply with relief as we walked inside, both speechless.
I’m ever so sorry, she apologised, sincerely, as we were seated. It’s not like me. I mean, you hear such stories, don’t you? I am glad that I came, though, even though this… well, I was nervous, is what I mean. Am I making sense? I’m probably rambling. Anyway, I’m glad to be here. It is nice to make your acquaintance.
China plates brimming with leaves were lowered in front of us both, respectively. I asked her, her name. Her voice and her eyes dropped. I don’t feel comfortable enough to share that with you, she whispered. I’m sorry. Please, don’t take it personally, though. I'm still an honourable woman. The Matchmaker was right about that at least.
I watched as she eyed the entire room, with what felt like misplaced paranoia. The air felt conditioned perfectly, and I wondered if it was for our benefit, or that of the mature fig trees, potted, dotted around the room, swollen yellow ripe gonads fit to drop. It was only then, looking up that I noticed the orange butterflies, dancing around the upper reaches of the tall ceiling. It can be nerve-wracking meeting a stranger, I said. You do hear stories, you’re right. In any case, I’m glad that you did come. I am glad to be here.
I sneezed, making her chuckle. She complimented me on the shape of my eyes, and I, on the angle of her nose’s bridge. A sweet, fleshy scent rested in the air, and I wondered if it was the fruit above, the exposed pits of her mole-dotted arms, or her vagina, perhaps. Or worse still, someone else’s. I only wanted to be attracted to her. I didn’t want to complicate this.
I began shovelling oil-dressed purple foliage into my mouth at high speed using the elongated silver organ’s prongs, while I listened to the couples around us harmoniously talk, and laugh, and be generally satisfied with one another’s company.
What would you like to talk about? I asked. She cocked her head to the side. You know, I’m not sure, she said. It’s one of those things— you have all of these questions planned in your head, and when the real thing comes along, they’re all gone. Perhaps we should tell one another about ourselves, to start? So, I let her go first. I watched her mouth and lips wink, as she told me about her life, to date— where she was born, the schools she went to and the degrees she had collected over the years, like mere trinkets. What she did for a living and what she did in her leisure time. When the time came and the waiters took away our plates, graciously, I told her about my life— more or less, as honestly as I could. She looked impressed at times and horrified at others, and I began talking faster without being able to control my speech much at all.
I find people like you so brave, she said, calling over to a waiter with a gentle signal. I mean, I’m the kind of person who needs the stability of a steady paycheck, but people like you? Well, they’re their own people, aren’t they? I mean, I couldn’t do it— heaven forbid, but I supposed deep down, everybody wants to be free, don’t they? I can only dream.
I suppose so, I said distractedly, as I watched her handle the butt of the small black dropper. I guess that’s a compliment. People like me are just getting by, just like you. Doing our jobs. Living our lives. Lifting it from its tiny china plate, she held back her head, releasing three drops of amber tincture into each eye. When she exhaled, it was ecstatic and warm. It was as though her body’s spent oxygen entered my own, filling each of my organs’ cavities until they swole with adoring satisfaction.
I’m really sorry, she said, visibly relaxed, her face looking younger, I really needed that. I’m not used to this sort of thing. I’d be no good to you, sober. I’d be nothing but an old boot, waffling on about sod all. Now there’s a thought. You’d be… well, you’d be cursing The Matchmaker, that’s for sure.
I’m certain that’s not true, I said and paid her a compliment. I told her that her eyes were as radiant as a glowing, gleaming star and that her body was as succulent and divine as that of a demi-goddess, fallen from undeserving heavens. She smiled until tears gleaned in her wide eyes. In turn, she said that I looked like an archangel, moulded in the image of a benevolent god— The Creator, as precious as I was beautiful, unworthy to anyone who would be lucky enough to have me. In the background, the piano began to be played, and we exchanged some more words. She clutched my hand, and I kissed hers, The capillaries in her restless hands protruded, like healthy, thirsty roots. The song we all knew, and yet this time, it felt real.
I bet you say that to all the girls, she said with a sad smirk. A fig fruit, falling at our table with a clatter, made us both jump. I watched as she handled the yellow gonad carefully, as if it were a small creature.

Before I knew it, night had come, and the world outside was reduced to sharp shadows and amber lights. I thought I heard a saxophone in that moment, but I didn’t. Sorry, I’m spoiling it, aren’t I? You can leave if you like. I wouldn’t judge you.
Isn’t this place rather special? I asked, and she waved her head side-to-side. Oh, yes, she agreed. I mean I do like it— I don't know— I imagined it differently though. Isn’t it funny how you can spend every waking hour, building an exact image of something in your mind, only to be later disappointed? Doesn’t really make sense, does it? Quite paradoxical— problematic? Being let down by something you had no right to predetermine? God, am I rambling again?
Why should one have no right to predetermine? I asked, frowning. Surely that’s one of the few veiled joys that we have in life. Chaotic life with its craziness. It’s one of the few liberties we have today, after everything: the belief that things will be one way, when in fact we have no clue nor power. The Spheres may be gone— yes, but what does that mean for society? For order? She looked at me like a summer caterpillar, perusing a prized fruit. Well, that’s sweet dear, but I think you’re much too young to understand. Maybe we should change the subject.
I watched her impatiently flag down a waiter for more drop, tinkling the tincture beneath each eyelid. A crude, near-genuine happiness groped her face, twisting it stupidly. I’m sorry, she said, really, I am. It’s just nerves. Have some with me, will you? I’ll feel like a reprobate, having it on my own.
Her areolas began to curiously puff, nipples emerging like full berries, before shrinking. Handling the dropper, I administered myself, shakily. In an instant, my vision was tainted amber. The world seemed to gleam and shine. The air entering my lungs went light, and cool as menthol, as though I was breathing for the first time, as if each proton of oxygen was a radiant offering, received as graciously as it was bestowed. A surge of blood rushed through me, into my genitals, crowning with an erection that went as quickly as it came. My mind felt stockpiled with euphoric thought, like a dragon's trove. Holding her hand, I kissed its nobbled centre.
Would you like to go dancing? I asked. I’m not sure why I asked it; whether it was the drugs, or a desire to take control and assert my masculinity; decision making. I’m not very good, for the record, but I’m sure it could be fun. I watched her deliberate. Oh gosh, I haven’t been dancing for at least a decade. Dancing? Now, I’d really be showing myself up there. Well… hmm, screw it— why not. OK, I said. Let’s do it. I know just the place.
Settling up, I gave the waiter my diem-digit and we took our leave, out into the dusky metropolis, hand in beating hand, bare feet silently pacing. The silence was awkwardly indulgent and my mind somersaulted with questions and anxieties, and fantasies of the act— us two semi-strangers entwined from this night until eternal expiration. You’re as beautiful as a summer sun radiating over a fertile field, I said to her and she kissed my cheek. You’re as gorgeous as a glowing moon, glimmering over a tamed seascape, she replied, and I rubbed the small of her back.

Our destination was a glassy box of a venue. Half a century earlier, it very well could have passed for an upmarket art gallery or a bourgeois boutique in Chelsea, or Notting Hill somewhere. She tugged me up towards the bouncer crowning the queue of paired hand-holders. Whispering in his ear, he unclipped the barrier, ushering us into the venue’s warm, moody womb. The club itself was filled with all manner of biological pairings, each enamoured and mesmerised with one another, swaying transcendentally to the silken, yet aggressive music that filled the tight expanse. At the bar, she ordered us both expensive-looking drop, and wetting our retinas, we held hands, walking towards the dance floor. In the low light of the venue, I was surrounded by scores or arms, raised, writhing like tides; mammaries of all shapes and sizes, sweaty embraces, peaceful faces, amidst shadows, technicolour-lit in strange loops and orbits. My thoughts felt airy, heady as misty mountain-cloud, my vision as thin as golden cellophane, my body craving amorousness in way that it hadn’t before. Before I knew it, I was dancing. Carefully, she guided my hands towards her body, resting them specifically on her gourdish hips, and we danced. Drowsily I kissed her hand and then her neck; or neck and then hand. Her upper thighs swung like pendulums, the bassline rattling my fragile form to the very bone.

How’d you know that bouncer? I asked, shouting in her ear, ignoring the fading erection. Grabbing my hand, I watched her swirl her body in a perfect spin. Oh, that… that’s from another life, she said. It’s all very boring. Connections from back in the war. There’s a lot you don’t know about me.
You’re quite the mystery woman, it would seem, I replied hoarsely.
Mystery— ha ha. Mystery. Our paths are so free aren’t they, and yet, in the grand designs of the republic, they are set for us— carved out like… like ice or something. Ice. It’s so hot in here. Don’t you agree? Oh— I love this song. Let’s go.
Deeper into the heart of the dancefloor we moved. A wall of naked bodies surrounded us, the scent of laboured flesh, dehydrated breath, life itself, seemed to gather in a stubborn haze. She held her head towards mine, nose against nose, until I felt her pubic hair against my own. Each smudged, clammy step against the mirrored dance floor, felt delicate and precious, and we faded amongst the lights in a dazy swirl. I held her cheeks with earnest aggression and kissed her. I kissed her as though she were a source of a life force, soon to expire.
It was the wrong side of midnight when we finally made it back to the hotel. In the lobby I gave my diem-digit, eavesdropping as my partner offered the young man behind the desk hers too:

333—21873

As soon as the loft doors closed, we kissed. Down the hallway we continued, onwards into the domain of the luscious room, loaned to us. Its luxury, curated and excessive, rooted me to the spot in silent awe. There was no doubt in my mind that it had been offered to us by The Matchmaker on account of my partner. Gleaming gold panels shimmered across nearly every surface— the large regal, asymmetrical bed, across from a submerged jacuzzi, nestled in the corner. Plants— specimens that I’d never seen before, towered beside ornaments and sculptures, carved from stones that seemed to glow in their strict and precise arrangements.  Beyond the large glass panes of the window, was a view over the dark capital, red lights beaming in collections across the darkness.
When she returned from the bathroom, her eyes looked as reflective as placid rock pools. Wide, pinched with a forlorn salinity. Her breasts themselves looked larger— her hips more pronounced and rotund. She gestured at me with a minute black tincture dropper, which I accepted. At that moment, I wanted nothing else but her. Holding her, I pressed my lips against the skin above her womb, with nothing but love in my mind and heart.
You are a life-giver and I praise you, I said in between kisses. Holding me by the chin, earnestly she handled my forehead. I couldn’t tell if the trails, falling from her eyes were tears or overflow from having administered too much drop. Despite towering over me, she looked minute and fragile. It’s OK, she said, you don’t need to say all of that. You don’t need to do all of that with me. Come. Let’s do this, shall we?
Centering herself on the bed, she lay flat, and smiled at me, before finally opening her legs. She presented her genitals, her fruit-like labia parted on my account, having never seen such a sight up close. Lowering inside her, I followed the flow of energy from her legs, thighs, hips, each ebb and flow as warm, sticky, indistinguishable as the other. When we finished I watched her raise her knees, clutching them together, then back against herself. Her lower half was arced altogether like an arthropod in determined defence. By the time I returned from my shower, she had already begun to swell and dome. You look gorgeous, I said, lighting a quartet of pillar-tall candles nestled beside a porcelain-potted, dwarfed palm tree, I really mean that. Like… like an amber, beaming sun, rounded and nurturing. Pregnancy suits you. Amber, she said, stroking the rising, new dome of her stomach, oh Amber. Well, now there’s a lovely name. An honourable name. If it’s a girl that is. What would you prefer? We don’t have to decide on names now of course. I’m sure by tomorrow, we’ll know for sure. Right now, we can just be happy. We can enjoy the moment. I lay beside her, nestling, and held her torso. I would be grateful for any reality at all that includes you, she said, and I believed her.

When I woke in the morning, she was gone.

***