"Aren't you pleased to see me," I asked.
"I am...I am," she said hesitantly, "I didn't expect to see you until lunchtime."
"Ah, we need to talk about that," I said. "Just something light for me. Granary toast and marmalade, please." Her eyes narrowed and she pouted her lips, in fake petulance.
As she went back to the counter with my order, the eyes of the men at the next table followed her. This was a far cry from the sexless woman that I first encountered four weeks ago. Granted, she was dressed for work but she dressed and moved like a woman with confidence, with ride in her appearance. Gone was the shapeless blue overall. Instead, she wore a tight off-white apron, over a figure-hugging black jumper that accentuated the curves of her ample breasts. Below that, she wore cream calf-length trousers that seemed designed to draw attention to the ankle chain, sitting above the sensible but not too sensible black patent shoes.
She came back to the table with a concerned look. "Is there a problem with lunchtime?" she asked quietly.
I looked at my watch evasively and said, "I need to make a quick 'phone call. I'll be right back." I left the cafe, waiting for the final customers to depart, before going back in.
"So," she said, "what's the problem?"
"Let's talk in my car," I said, "can you leave now?"
She went back to the counter and chatted briefly with the chef who kept sneaking glances at me, over her shoulde. She turned and came towards me, looking sightly flushed. I made sure that my hand lingered on her hip as I opened the cafe door and ushered her through it.
In the car, I lied that I couldn't meet at lunchtime. I told her I was free all morning. I stroked her cheek and I told her how much I was looking forward to seeing her. Her hand reached inside my jacket, as I leaned forward to kiss her. I pushed my tongue deep into her mouth as I caressed her breast.
"Christ, I need fucking," she said.
"Well, let's go somewhere now," I said.
"Can we get a hotel at this time of day?" she asked.
"Doubt it. What about your place?" I asked disingenuously.
I felt her body tense with apprehension. "I'm not sure about that," she said hesitantly. "Maybe we can meet for lunch tomorrow?" My hands roved over her body and kissed her neck as she spoke.
"The rest of this week will be difficult," I lied.
This ping-pong chat went on for a little while until her libido got the upper hand over her logical brain.
As we approached her house, I began to drink everything in. The street name. The types of cars. The address. Going through the front door, the adrenalin hit my veins, opening up my senses and slowing time, like in a car crash. The smells, the furnishings, the pictures and the letters on the hall stand - every detail I could take in. As we moved towards the stairs, I slipped a utility bill, unseen, into my pocket.
In the bedroom , she was ravenous, almost tearing the clothes off of me. On her back, legs wide apart, she paused suddenly. I asked what was wrong.
"I don't have my diaphragm in she," she said. "Give me five minutes."
"I have had a vasectomy," I said, pointing to the scar. "But I have some condoms, so I am not asking you to trust me."
She needed it badly, so she trusted her medical eye and she trusted me.
At this point, you could be forgiven for thinking that I could have easily used a knife, some time long ago, to self-inflict a fake vasectomy scar. You would be right in thinking that I am capable of such deceit. But you would be wrong in thinking that, in these days of DNA testing, I would want to risk a knock on the door from the Child Support Agency, god knows how many years into the future. It is just not worth the risk of me impregnating subjects personally.
And so we fucked every which way in Kim's home, in Kim's bedroom, in Kim and John's bed. Another boundary crossed.
I didn't think this kind of shit actually happens. I hope for both our sakes that this isn't really happening.
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