To those who discover discreetlyMature

Mussels in a black bean sauce, some fresh strawberries and cream and a chilled bottle of chenin clanc were sitting at the table when he arrived.  He was early, almost so early that if this was any other occasion I would have been repelled by it.  For him though, it spoke not of overzealousness but fear and naiveté and that made his presence all the more arousing.

He stammered and dared not look at me as I poured us both a glass of wine.  I was wearing a summer dress, lime and bubble gum polka dots.  My hair was combed straight.  He may have been fourteen years my junior but I'd be damned if that would bother him.   I was single, well off and free  The feminity which marriage and motherhood had stripped from me had returned with satisfying abundance. 

The mussels would sit untouched.

"I want to thank you", I said sweetly as I walked towards him, inches apart, and pushed one of his hands onto my breast.

His awkwardness was extinguished with the fire I had lit.   And over the weeks that followed, Mujcinovic Nezir would arrive at my door full of an animal frenzy only one who spent his days skirting disaster could  muster.  Pent up fear and desire found their apex at my headboard and I was ecstatic.

Sure, we lived in different spaces.   He was twenty five, a career  ahead of him alongside hope for picket fences and barbeques.  Those were, if you'll excuse the pun, all dead to me.  He chatted at length and I feigned listenning as I waited for him to recharge, only to send him out into the night, his firegear in tow, making sure that this time, the neighbours did see as I embraced him on my stoop.

He had started to talk about families.  About mine.  About meeting his parents.      As relationships have a way of developing, he was becoming fond of me and I would laugh and push him off off each time he uttered any words to that effect.  

"I'm too young", I'd mutter, as I nibbled on his ear and slapped his ass and he'd laugh in that deep bulgarian way and look at me, again, fondly.

This, however was not to be an issue.  It was late at night and he had collapsed on the bed beside me, rather than making his own way out.  I knew this early, the next morning when his clothes were still on my floor.   He was not beside me, and searching blindly for my robe, I followed light switches into the living room.  There in my rocking chair, Mujcinovic Nezir had the look of sheer surprise a firefighter toyboy carries upon finding the diary of his mistress, the murderer.


The End

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