I'm standing in the hallway, I am just about to say goodbye to the eldest son, I have my earphones in, A Perfect Circle; 'one chance, one kiss, one taste of you, my Magdelena.'  She says something to me from the kitchen, 'Huh?', I say, taking my phones out of my ears. 'I said, Night, Sweetie.'... 'Oh, OK, bye.' ...She is standing there stirring some hot chocolate, by the doorway, wearing thin cotton pyjama bottoms and a cutaway sleeveless t-shirt, her breasts look full and large, her black hair is down, her head in that little tilt she does, her eyes slightly small, elongated, cat-like, beautifully dark as always.

I walk out of the front door. In my mind, I have wandered back  into the kitchen, squeezed her bottom with one hand, grasping, massaging and put my face in her hair as she has her back to me. She turns round and looks up at me. Her little nose, her long lips, I rub my nose gently against hers, and her eyes widen and sparkle. I brush her mouth with my lips, then deeper and deeper, as she makes a surprised sigh and groans with desire. I have her thin trousers down against her thighs, dark, thick wiry pubes, on my knees next to the oven, my tongue into her, against her slightly protuding clitoris, slowly, slowly, up and down, ah ah ah oooh. She gets up on the table, legs open wide, I pull up her top and taste the full milk white breasts........

...Sweetie...

She will be home soon. What gets me, is her absolute womanliness. The completeness of a person, when I witness it I feel like I am only half a person. It is confidence... A sexual confidence? It must be her maturity. It must be in her gentleness towards me. Those eyes! Thick dark eyebrows, yet underneath piercing bright eyes. She wears contact lenses, her eyes naturally hazel, yet the other day, they were kind, unfathomable, loving, bright pale blue.

I sniff the tobacco she keeps in a little cheap tin, with a sparkly dolphin icon on the lid. It is like liquorice, strong, sweet. She sits opposite me in the kitchen, on her usual 'reading' chair, silly books all about drug-addled dectectives, nevermind the heavy Russian novels and the sex manuals on the bookshelf at the top of the stairs. She must have read them long ago. She rolls me a cigarette and licks the paper slowly, all the while keeping me under one of her sultry intense dark stares. We have just eaten a homemade meal created by her, bits of bacon, kidney beans, strange sauces. I stood by the oven, stirring the food, while she busied herself tidying the table, as she walk passed me, her bottom, accidently? brushed past mine.

I never know what to say to her, I stutter, sometimes I even giggle, but she rests her chin on her hand and smiles.

She had left her bottle of perfume on the table, after she had gone up to bed and I was still hanging around, getting my things together, it had no label on it. I even sprayed some on my wrist, just to know what she would smell like, intimately. At first it was stark, mature, strong. As it faded a little, it stayed fruity, fresh. It smells like the clean white pillows on her bed.

There was another woman, but she was silly, really, the same age as me, even got married to a Brazilian man, just so he could get a Visa to live here, soon after we met. I went to a party with her, but put up with being ignored the whole night, watching her play silly flirtatious games with her female friends. She wasn't for me at all, oh, she was pretty, French, but there was no sexuality in it.

..............................................................................

Just as I'm about to leave, she walks in through the door, with a cheery hello to the house. Already I feel as though I've outstayed my welcome.

I had her, on the way to her house. Just ghostly images of her that floated across my mind while I walked with a slow stroll, savouring it, walking so I could clear my red-faced thoughts before I got to her door. Her black hair, sooty, caught up in itself, sorta wiry, wavy, messy...falling from her shoulders over my body, caressing my skin, burying my face. Her white breasts, pink nipples, maybe a little purplier now with age, my wet tongue licking carefully, then flicking quickly over mound flesh.

She was still at work when I got there, her house in the middle of a row of wonky foundations in a terraced street. Every room was small, already close to each other, we could get closer. Every room was dark and antique looking, full of her scent, of mildly spicy exotic food, tobacco smoke, perfume, dampness, clean laundry, cats...

I sat in the kitchen, cos the kids were there watching television, doing homework in the living room. I called it the front room, she calls it the living room. I rolled a cigarette from the dark green packet she had left on the table with its plastic, red dotted tablecloth. Like her red and white polka dot slippers, into which she would slip her bare feet, a little dry, cracked heels, in and out, in and out, playing with them, gently flicking her toes upwards, then slowly turning her ankles round and round, a habit of hers, a beguiling LOOK, a highly sexual beckoning, as she would always do it when sitting in the living room underneath her bedroom, her feet pointing up to bed. She would even do the same thing when she got home from work and would sit on the sofa slowly unzipping her leather boots, with a quick almost questioning glance fixed towards me, sometimes she would hold that glance and purr...I would have to watch from the corner of my eye, like most times she was near, otherwise my eyes would betray me and my face would turn desirious embarrassed red.