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Afternoon tea
A woman who takes you to London deserves a nice tea.
Just at the end of puréeing the frozen fruit for the Summer Pudding my handheld blender thing started making an angry sound and simulating an electric shock up my arm, before throwing in the towel with silence and a burning smell. Top culinary tip of the day: to purée frozen fruit, you need a fuck off blender. Then, in changing the sponges round in the oven I jerked one off the shelf and it slipped out of its tin and broke and fell down onto the flames. I fished it out and shaved it and scrunched it together as the unseen bottom layer.Struggling metrosexually with a broken blender and a cake half of which was at the back of an oven, giving off a dancing yellow flame, I rang and asked her if she could make her own way from the station. After a delay in which she got lost, she arrived wearing a shirt and bra I like, sweating from our hills and the menopause. I like her sweat and I wanted to lick it off her forehead, but I didn't, because to do that would be to reduce ourselves to the level of animals and that way lies anarchy.
We finished our tea and went upstairs. It was a rare bright, rain-free afternoon. "Do you mind if we keep the curtains open?" I asked. "No, give the Muslims something to get worked up about," she said. I undid one shirt button and reached round to the small of her back and grasped her shirt tight, so that the buttons at the front forced small oval openings over her tits.
We fitted surprisingly well into the narrow sofa cushion which serves as a bed. There was a comic moment where her leg wouldn't quite go where I wanted it to. "Oooh, ow, blimey looby--I'll tell you if it breaks." Everything came apart and we laughed. "Oh God---geriatric sex," she said.
We walked to the station in a clear summer evening. I felt giddy and exhilerated, still for a second wondering why nothing is going wrong, then feeling irritated with the thought. "Next time," she said, "we should just take some champagne to bed. Could have had at least another half an hour there."
I like this thing with Trina. I think about her a great deal. I fancy her. I like her company and I can't stop talking when I'm with her. She's not interested in my pretensions. She makes me feel safe and comfortable, sexually, and in other ways. She makes jokes about the things I'm most worried about and reserves seriousness for the sliver of life that deserves it. She's local and drinks bitter. She's got a smile which is disarming and sexy at the same time. I hope it continues.
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