Monday, 11 February 2013

BREAKFAST AT TIFFANY'S


The satin sheets wrapped her in their smooth embrace. Lying on her side she watched the dust motes dance in the sunbeam that had begun its slide down the wall. The faded peonies on the wallpaper marked the sun’s daily progress from dawn to midday when it left the room and moved on in the world.
Aaron’d promised to come early but already the clock loudly counted the seconds.  If she lay here much longer she’d begin to get cold, and the rumble in her stomach reminded her she’d missed breakfast in her hurry to shower, pamper her skin, fluff her hair and arrange herself seductively in the bed.
Fed up with waiting Tiffany flung the sheets back, untangling her long legs from the clinging folds. Hunger called. The air brushed her skin as she strolled around the kitchen. Delighting in her nakedness she scrambled the eggs and dropped slices of bread into the toaster. Cooking sans clothes certainly increased one’s enjoyment of mundane household tasks.
       The sound of the downstairs door slamming shut heralded his arrival. Her breasts stood to attention and her buttocks clenched.  What to do first? Eat her breakfast or jump back to bed? Food won the day and she remained where she was, a piece of toast in her hand, gently folding the egg mix over a low flame.
Behind her the kitchen door opened slowly, its creaking hinge announcing his arrival. She hoped her ‘modus operandi’ would increase his lust. Sometimes he needed a little help.
A gasp, a scuffle of feet, a rather non-Aaron noise and she swung round shouting “Surprise” intending to give him a full body hug.
Mid-stride she stopped.
         The plumber, his mouth open, a faint sheen on his forehead and certainly aroused, as evidenced by the bulge in his boiler suit, stood in the doorway as still as if someone had plumbed him to the floor.
Damn, it’s Wednesday.  She’d forgotten she’d arranged to have the dishwasher fixed while she was at work.
       Forget Aaron – he’d missed his chance. Running her gaze over the young man, his unruly curls, his broad shoulders and bronzed arms holding two steel toolboxes, she made a decision.
“Fancy some scrambled eggs – or a bit of rumpty-tum?  I seem to have both ready. Which would you like first?”
His smile began small and grew to reveal two rows of lovely white teeth. The toolboxes hit the floor. She stretched behind with one hand and turned off the gas
“Mmm… we’ll skip the eggs,” she said.
*****
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