‘Can I have a stroke?’ I ask, all mock innocence.
This time she laughs. ‘Sure. Take a seat and go for your life.’
I sit next to her on the sofa and turn to make a joke about the heat between her legs, but before I know what’s happening, one of the people who work there, looking after the animals, puts a ferret on my lap.
A goddamnferret!
I stare at it in horror, barely able to believe it’s really there. It’s like something from one of my nightmares, where something is intent on taking a bite out of my dick.
Don’t ask me to explain those dreams. My therapist’s had a good go at getting me to ‘unpick’ where that fear has come from, but I still have no earthly clue.
Though isn’t every guy mortally afraid of castration?
‘Jesus,’ I whisper, sickening heat swamping me as I lean as far back as I can from the offending creature that’s now walking around in my lap, trying to get more comfortable.
‘You don’t want it?’ the café employee asks, sounding not only surprised, but a bit miffed.
‘No. Take it away. Please,’ I manage to grind out through gritted teeth.
Thankfully, she does as I ask, scooping the long, pale, furry creature,with razor sharp teeth, away from my crotch, then gives it a consoling cuddle before putting it back in a cat basket.
My heart is racing and my palms are sweaty with the lingering fear, so it takes me a moment to realise that Chloe is frowning at me in concern.
‘You okay?’ she asks. ‘You’ve gone a bit pale.’
‘Is it any wonder?’ I gasp out. ‘Those things have needles for teeth and they love to burrow their way inside trouser legs!’
I can tell she’s trying not to smile and I swallow hard, my throat dry and my frown deepening as humiliation creeps over me.
This is not how I hoped this little interlude would go. I want Chloe to see me as a strong, capable human being, not some weak, anxiety-ridden kid.
‘Hey,’ she says, lifting her hand and cupping my jaw. Her touch is like a balm, and I feel myself start to relax as I look into her eyes and see only compassion there. ‘It’s okay to feel afraid. No-one’s judging you, especially not me.’ And she leans in and kisses me firmly on the lips, as if wanting to prove she means it.
A sense of relief floods through me and I lean into the kiss, grateful for the distraction from my angst.
When she pulls away, her eyes are shining and she gives me a gentle smile, her expression full of warmth.
That’s new. Up until now, all I’ve had are playful smiles from her, but this one feels more genuine, like she actually cares about me.
Not wanting to ‘unpick’ that either right now, I stand up from the sofa and clap my hands gently together.
I’m feeling pretty fucking spun-out right now.
‘Okay. I’m going to find my drink. I’ll be back in a minute,’ I say, not waiting for her reply before I head off to the cabinet to soothe my now rather rough-feeling throat with the coffee I ordered when we first came in, which has been deposited on our shelf.
I knock back the entire drink, grateful for a short reprieve from what felt like a significant moment just now. I know we’re only hanging out with each other while we’re both here in Kyoto, but I’m already beginning to wonder how I’m going to deal with it when it’s time for us to say goodbye to each other.
I’m distracted from that unsettling thought by one of the other employees approaching me with a friendly smile and what looks like a cat’s toy. It’s a long wooden stick, with a rainbow-coloured piece of furry material attached to it, which I guess is meant to represent an animal’s tail.
I stare at it quizzically for a moment, until she points towards a metre-high plastic partition a few feet away from us, which runs the width of the room and has a small gate in the middle of it.
Looking over the makeshift fence, I see two small creatures wrestling with each other, their tails whipping around as they tumble over and over along the floor.
They’re meerkats. Bloodymeerkats.
They’re hilarious though, and look like a couple of rambunctious siblings, larking around together. As I watch, they separate, then start to chase each other’s tails, playfully trying to bite the other’s, though clearly not with any intent to hurt.
It makes me think about how my brother and I used to playfight when I was eight and he was twelve. Though ours had been much less about play and more about dominance. Of which he usually got the upper hand, being older and bigger than me. Not to mention more competitive.
