The Tenements Bus Stop by Chris Armstrong

She told me she loved me. She whispered it. She breathed in my ear. She brushed my lips and breathed into my mouth. We hugged and she pressed against me. I could feel her body against mine. She kissed me and I found myself responding, my lips against hers. Briefly her tongue flickered and pushed into my mouth before withdrawing. Of course I told her I loved her and held her tightly, urgently. My hands exploring – daringly I thought, until her impatient hands moved mine. Her hands… quickly, she whispered. And then I saw it: we came out from behind the bus shelter and I boarded the bus back to Sauchiehall Street, to the stop outside the cafe where she worked – my photo has my number on the back, she had said and crossed the road to her Dad’s tenement block. So, we parted, I was still nineteen and still ignorant; I travelled back alone to rejoin my ship. I never saw Baillieston or her again.