He reaches across my face to accept a drink. His muscular, hairless arm is dangerously close to my lips. A tattooed red rose is near enough to smell. I gently blow a warm breath over it as if trying to disturb the petals, then innocently close my eyes. Settling back we share the harsh, sticky arm rest. I gently nudge his elbow, clearly marking out my territory. He moves away; his lack of resistance gives me satisfaction and confidence. Slowly, sliding my foot into his zone, I become the Space Invader. I love playing this game with long-haul strangers.
John Holmes writes stories from his home in the North of England which are usually about being away from his home in the North of England.