She listened to the silence as the small child finally gave in, and slept, succumbing to his temperature and his illness. Her other child was out with friends and she settled quietly, hoping, just hoping her son would not wake; she was tired and needed some silent respite and some calm.
Lying back on the cool duvet, she closed her eyes and smiled; the secrets skipping around her head, making her dizzy, making her slightly squirm. France was actually in France now and had sent her a melancoly message, yearning and desiring. She needed something more immediate.
Picking up her phone, the message glimmered into view; she'd heard his voice earlier and they'd laughed and talked and shared. This was not an unintelligent man; not by any means. She knew he wanted her, but the balance had to be right; had to be immaculately right.
No. Not doing it.
Swiftly she rose and sauntered down the stairs, steaming coffee later, she lazily switched on the screen....hotmail.com..again, amidst the trash he was there; amidst her thoughts he was there;
amidst the sexy, passionate, sexual loneliness he was there; amidst her unspoken fantasies he was there.
He'd just come out of a board meeting. She guessed the type and he exceeded her guesses.
No longer 'Manc Man' he was now a completely Mysterious Man with incredibly passionate urges and desires; just like her.
No bullshit.
No pretence.
This is how it is; this is how it will be.
Precision.
Balanced.
Equal.
Glancing through the amended and rather sophistiacated audition notes, she smiled, sipping her coffee, suddenly dropping into the feel of Floyd Fan and then reaching out above him.
I've never done bad things.
I've never done good things.
Sleep will sort this.
Switching the screen off, she tiptoed upstairs and secreted herself inside the bedroom, on the marital bed...squirming, this time for real; she no longer wanted the lonely orgasm but wanted to feel completely shared, wanted and desired. She wanted to ache and to feel bruised from the hardness of fucking, the hardness of touching, the hardness of kissing.
'Yes. Call me,' she texted...
Knickers around her thighs, she'd started without him...but fed off the eloquent diction of sex as it seeped through the phone...
Seeped into her.
Seeped warmth from her as she loudly shuddered and shouted drowning his words....
He still spoke so well afterwards.
They still laughed, so relaxed afterwards.
He wishes to wait for his climax.
She endeavours to complete a rigorous audition.
Not long to wait.
A last minute booking.
1.30 pm tomorrow.
P.S. Finally, she has deleted THAT email address...no need, not for now.
