Strange Taste - 7. Suckling

Feeling elated, euphoric, Alyn watched her close the pure-white door. He looked around the room. There was a pine dressing table, a turquoise stool to the side of the bed nearest to the bathroom, cluttered with a lady’s make-up: lipsticks, combs, clutches of old framed photographs. Lindsey’s mother in a pure bridal gown on her wedding day. Sunbathing on a sandy beach in her red bikini. Suckling her babies. Holding them over the font, as they were anointed.

Strange, there were no photos of her husband? Alyn decided that this should be Georgie’s side of the bed. The twins were conceived here, he surmised, Georgie wants to make love to me, here, on their parent’s bed.

He switched off her light. There was a royal blue armchair on the other side of the bed, his side. Alyn undressed, folding his jacket, shirt and cords, placing them in a neat pile on the chair. Then he sat, pulling off his socks and pants, throwing them as soft balls at the chair. He switched off his light. Stretched out on the bed. He shut his eyes and waited, content, naked as a new-born baby, for her.