When Jean’s husband didn’t arrive
at the restaurant for the threesome
meal she said, just like him not to show,
meant to be a threesome isn’t it, but
no, now it’s a twosome and serves him
right, she added, casting a dark look at
the Chinese waiter by the door. Clive
gazed at her cleavage, her words and
tone like lemon drops to him. Maybe he
had a good reason for lateness, Clive said,
maybe he’ll show just in time. Jean looked
at him her bitterness soothed. Don’t be
worrying your sweetness on the fart.
If he shows he shows, I couldn’t give a
wander’s wet wee if he shows or not.
The waiter came to the table and they
ordered their meals and he went off
towards the kitchens in his black trousers
and white jacket. Clive wondered where
Pandy could have gone, not like him to
miss a meal. Jean sat looking towards
the door, fiddling with her small white
handkerchief. Clive studied her sitting
there, her profile satisfied, her dress,
bought special for the occasion, clung
to her nicely, as I would like to do right
now, he thought, opening the large napkin
and spreading it over his knees. You don’t
want to be messing with Pandy’s wife;
Dai said to him over a pint one evening.
He’ll take off your head, he said. I’m not
messing with his wife, Clive replied,
although he was, and so what if she didn’t
mind it who was he to disappoint. If he’d
been a marshmallow she’d have eaten him
by now. That time he went to her apartment,
knowing Pandy was away working in some
distant place, and she was all over him: hands,
tongue, fingers and if only Pandy could see her
now, Clive thought, as she unzipped him and
brought out the fellow. The waiter arrived with
their meals and they started. They were half way
through the first course when Pandy came,
hot and bothered with sweat on his brow.
The car’s broken down, he stated, sitting in
the vacant chair. Never mind that, Jean said,
at least you're here now. More’s the pity, she
thought, giving Clive a stare, feeling his knee
touch hers under the table, seeing Pandy
order from the menu, beads of sweat running
down his face. And imaging, as she looked away,
she and Clive making rampant love at her place.
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Book / Poetry
Short Story / Romance
Short Story / Romance
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