Doctor Jekyll lifted the fourteen thousand-pound Armand de
Brignac bottle, from the chiller, pouring her another glass of champagne. She
was mysterious, eloquent, a delight to be with and an adventurous flirtatious
being. He liked the flirting, even loved it, despite being his reserved self.
He’d ordered the champagne, disregarding his reservations, against his better
judgement. The content, the alcohol, would be absorbed far faster than he’d
ideally prefer and that, simply, would not do.
Since he was a child, he’d known that he had something
peculiar about his sensibilities. A difference. A feeling from within. He’d
witnessed the mood swings, those temperamental moments that didn’t seem like
his own. Slowly, like the falling of a shadowed moon, or the creeping of a
solitary spider, the other personality worked its way into his life. That ying,
with the yang, not quite completing his psyche.
He glanced across to her, holding his eyes to hers as he
returned the fantastical bottle to the cooler. She was, simply, magnificent.
She’d worn a bodice. An outfit that displayed her finer sensibilities to the
world, both of them, pushed up and forward to ensure that she was provided the
correct attention. No matter how much of a gentleman he was, at times, he did
struggle with his own mortal nature. His hidden side, on the other hand, revelled
in such matters. Bathed in such moments. Even, or he’d say, often, exclaiming
to the high heavens of such debauchery with included mischief.
He would admit it, to the both of them, maybe even if she’d
ask, that he did want her. He knew it as well. He tasted the desire, the need,
the wanton pressure from within his male soul. Crawling, embarrassing, wishing
for him to actually let go of his sensibilities and to live. Even if it were
for mere moments, he often wished to give in to the darker nature of man. He
wouldn’t. He’d deny such notions with all of his energy, despite feeling his
other side gaining more and more control upon each new day.
If he felt fear, loathing, anger or any emotion, the other
side would start to dominate his thoughts, pushing him aside. Jekyll could
think, analyse, assume, even create the wildest plan imaginable, but emotion
still escaped and filled him with fear of what was to come. Despite the view in
front of him, his mind moved towards the very moment when everything changed. He
was a small boy, adventurous, vibrant, filled with the notion of a world filled
with such stories of grandeur. Nothing could hurt him as he, within an
imagination of innocence, could virtually fly as high as the world could take
him.
He’d climbed the tree, that tree, the mighty tree within the
back yard of his safe place. His Father, upon that day, had left the both of
them, the words being spoken by a sobbing Mother that had fallen to her knees,
in front of the tree. His world, shattered, his arms, weak, no longer holding
him in place as he felt the world fade from his view. He fell, his instinct
sending him cowering into the folded arms of supposed safety.
He heard his Mother gasp, exclaiming her terror, as his
world snapped back into place. He looked up, to see his hand holding a branch.
Saved. Amazed at the reflex, until the hidden character appeared within his
mind, speaking insidious words, “Stupid boy! I will never permit you to hurt
us!”
He remained silent about that day. His stoic mind coming to
terms with his predicament, learning, evolving, creating a stable life despite
the inner instability clouding his flat thinking. Jekyll would party, would
have fun, if it were not for his real fear of his other side taking control.
“Do you like these?” she asked, moving forward to rest her
ample cleavage onto the table. Jekyll snapped away from his daydreaming,
returning to the present moment and his obvious surprise. He never knew that
she could be so forward, from the various hours of conversation and mild
flirting.
“My Dear, they are very, very presentable!”
“Come now Mr. Jekyll, you know what you’d really like to
say! And do. Why don’t you let Mr. Hyde come out to play?”
Jekyll rested back into his chair, his mouth mildly open in
shock, in wonder, pondering as to how she knew about his other side. It was, of
course, idiotic of him to think that people wouldn’t eventually notice. He was
calm, mellow, polite, a consummate gentleman, while Hyde was a braggart, a
ruffian, the brawler, a voyeur, a ravisher and an absolute thirst filled
playboy.
He felt his eyes lower to her neck, wishing that he himself,
could simply allow his emotion to run rampant within his defined world. From
his own emotion, his own thoughts. His eyes lowered still, taking in the view
of her presented flesh, her womanly prowess doing what it was meant to do. He
felt his mind shift, just a small amount, letting go of control to become the
passenger in a vehicle that was about to speed so very, very fast.
If Jekyll were honest with himself, if he were to be true,
despite a part of him being the way it was, he, himself, ashamedly,
altruistically, also enjoyed the things that his other side did.
“Good Evening, my Dear! You have my full attention. Mr. Hyde
is…, “ Hyde paused, looking immediately at her chest, pursing his lips, nodding,
agreeing to the sight before him, as he returned his eyes to hers, “… now at
your service!”
Jekyll took a seat within his own mind, watching, realising,
that sometimes a man had to be two very, very, different entities to survive
within their own little slice of the world. The yang to the ying, the brute to
the gentleman, the very ‘Hyde’, to the ‘Jekyll’.
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