Tag: fun

High in the sky

Lavinia was enjoying her holiday: the sun was hot, the sky was clear and she was away from all the many cares and concerns of her job. She was by the pool, under a parasol, getting her lips round an enormous lolly (in a way which had caused a waiter at the poolside bar to spill a drink) when she noticed, once again, the colourful butterflies of the paragliders drifting, floating and twisting in the sky above her. They drifted in droves down from the mountains to land, with variable amounts of delicacy, on patches of grass in front of the beach. Her initial reaction had been “rather them than me!” but as they came overhead several times a day she began to think that this was a very well established service and consequently one to be trusted. Holidaymakers each went with an experienced pilot, after all

She further distressed the waiter when she dealt with the drips of melted lolly which were adorning her well-oiled frontery, before slipping into her gauzy coverup in preparation for a walk. Lavinia felt she should not walk in the resort streets in just a bikini (though others did)but her efforts to be more demure were foiled; The word coverup was possibly inappropriate as the fabric was SO gauzy and fine that the gentle ripples of breeze simply had fun with it. They flicked it around her curves, clinging momentarily, then fluttering away and generally performing their own teasing show as she walked.

She was a decisive person. Having decided that she would try the paragliding she simply booked it, leaning her barely contained jellicles over the page as the agent filled in details. The shadow of her chestage made his writing go a little wobbly. She was confirmed on the last flight of the day.

Lavinia got dressed, and as it was still very hot she chose a little dress which had small net inlays around the waist to encourage breezes. They needed no encouragement to waft in and wrap themselves around her soft belly. She pulled on some trainers and made her way to the meeting point.

Once on the minibus for the trip up the mountain to the launch site, she could feel her excitement mounting. Around her, other passengers chatted awkwardly, or giggled nervously, or even cried. But she was determined to enjoy every stage of the experience, and eagerly looked out of the windows at the scenery as the winding road raised them by turns higher and higher above the resort. The mountain fell away more and more steeply as they got higher, the vegetation got thinner and spikier, and eventually disappeared completely as they neared the top. The pilots lounged in their familiar seats, casually dressed in shorts, like the surf dudes of Australia. They chatted amongst themselves – the journey was routine to them.

On leaving the minibus, Lavinia felt a firm hand rest on her arm, and looked up to see one of the pilots smiling at her. His skin was dark, his eyes were darker. In the brilliant sunshine he was almost a muscular silhouette. “Come with me” he said in a voice which was soft and as dark brown as the rest of him. She followed, her heart beating in her chest with an intensity which was not entirely due to the vertiginous environment in which she found herself. The ground sloped away out of view, looking as though if you stepped too far you would inevitably tumble out into space. Her mouth was dry. The pilot was ahead of her, further down the slope, arranging the cords of the chute which was spread on the ground. “Come here, come here” he urged. At this moment there was probably no-one else on earth who could have induced her to, but the chocolate tones of his voice, combined with the muscular outlines of his limbs and torso as he clambered nimbly around drew her forward, little by little. He stood up as she got near, and, reaching behind, lifted the harness up onto her shoulders. It hung there and he reached down, ready to catch the last strap which went between her legs. There was a moment of stillness, a tense pause in which two sets of blood pressure rose dangerously high. At this point Lavinia had a passing thought that shorts would have been a better choice. It was only a passing thought though, as the moment when his strong hand brushed against her thighs was, in every possible sense, a seminal one for them both. He looked up at her, as if to apologise, but that seemed unnecessary. Their eyes met and in an instant, shook hands, exchanged smalltalk and agreed a date.

It was at this moment his helmet came out.
Then he produced one for her too

A few moments later he was behind her in the harness. “Walk forward” he had said. “Don’t sit down til I tell you”
Lavinia felt she would do absolutely anything he said, and not only because she was about to be launched into the air with him.
They walked forward a few steps and the chute, ably prepared by a helper behind, billowed out and carried them upwards.

She took a moment to gather her senses: the view was awe-inspiring. After a few moments the pilot gently removed her helmet and clipped it to the harness. Her long luscious hair immediately fluttered in the breeze, and in the pilot’s face. She muttered an apology and raised a hand to secure it. She felt the pilot lean forward, his cheek against hers, and whisper quietly “It’s ok. Don’t worry” After a moment she was aware of him nuzzling into her long blonde hair, and could smell his cologne…

He pointed out features of landscape as he always did, carefully using a right arm to indicate things to their left, and vice versa, as this meant reaching his dark, muscular surf-dude arm right across her body. He told her to relax and lay back, and she did, resting her head against the back of the harness. In this position he could look over her shoulder, down at her amply-filled cornets and watch the wind ripple the thin dress around. Even up here the breezes had a sense of occasion and were making the most of it.

For Lavinia, the sense of floating in the sky engulfed, as it felt, in strong manly arms, the drifting wafts of masculine cologne, the stubbly cheek and chin pressing tenderly into her hair, entirely did away with any fear – except the fear that it would end.
The pilot, for his part, (obliged to keep at least one hand on the control cords, responsible for their safety) experienced the exquisite torture of her proximity; her soft fine hair tickling his manly cheeks, her perfume, the memory of the moment he legitimately touched her thighs, the sight of the winds glorying in her volumptuous heavages. He had cause to be glad that the harnesses were roomy as he found himself requiring more space over his lap than usual

He leaned forward, his stubbly, manly jaw against her cheek and whispered “Would you like a swoop?” This was not a question for which Lavinia was prepared, but she was an adventurer, so she said yes. He murmured “put your arms out wide” and after a pause added “Like in Titanic” This might have made some people nervous but the nearest ice was in only cocktails so Lavinia complied. The pilot adjusted the cords and they did, indeed, swoop, dropping a little over a valley before being caught by the winds and arched up the side of the mountains.
“Thermals” whispered the pilot. “Very hot…..very hot” his voice trailed slightly, his dark manly lips fittingly hot against her ear.
Swoop completed, Lavinia would have agreed (if asked) that things were indeed very hot. She lowered her arms, only to find they came down to rest on his muscular, hairy thighs. She started slightly. He didn’t. He merely whispered “relax and enjoy” into her now very hot ear.

“I am!” she assured him, “I wish it would go on forever”
“We have to land….30 minutes is all which is allowed” he whispered
“Also I have not eaten all day. This is the last flight.”
“When I go down, I am very hungry” he added meaningfully, gazing over her shoulder at her curveaceous softliness all laid out above him. The thin dress had blown up and her grapplable thighs were exposed almost completely.

“Are you hungry too?”
Lavinia suddenly realised she was, in fact, extremely hungry. They were descending low now, over the hotels, the swimming pool by which she had been laying with her lolly in what seemed like a other world. In this heat the lolly was now inadequate…

They were preparing to land: “Stand up when I tell you, and walk” the pilot whispered, his voice briefly authoritative. They seemed to come in quite fast, and then as the ground surged up in front of them, without a jolt they slowed rapidly so that as she heard his voice say “stand up” her feet touched the ground. They had come to a perfect halt, and yet the ground had moved. In fact, it was still moving.

Behind her the pilot unclipped things. Harnesses dropped to the ground around her, and she stood, curvulocious and nubile before him with her little ventilated dress rippling around her; the land-based breezes were claiming their moment.

“Are you still hungry?” the pilot asked. Lavinia gazed at him, having been unable to see him during the flight she had some catching up to do: he was still as musculariously dark as before, and his bristly jawline was very handsome. The air swirling around them was dry, but Lavinia was starting to feel quite moist.

“I’m starving” she said
He nodded, and after pausing only to roll up and pack the chute, they walked inland to his apartment. There were cold drinks here, and there was plenty of food but none got eaten for a long time, as the pilot was busy pulling all the correct cords and navigating his way around. Lavinia didn’t want it to end, but of course it did.
So they did it again

The eyes have it…

Evadne’s mind was a blur: indeed her whole life was a blur. She was even obliged to squint at the Specsavers adverts. Things had reached the point where she needed to act, but this presented her with a problem: how does one find an optician? She had determined the location of one on the internet (she could sit really close to the screen)but actually locating it on the street was another matter. Evadne anxiously hoped that it had a really big sign, which, when you think about it, would make sense. It did have a big sign, but since it was called Aye-Aye-Sir it took her some time to locate it. She had allowed herself plenty of time though, and so was still a bit early. She however failed to see that the glass door was automatic, and tried to push it open, resulting in her falling through the opening and landing, discomfited, on the doormat the other side.

She was squirming with embarrassment when she became aware of a large presence close by. She looked up and through the fuzziness a handsome face appeared. It belonged to body which crouched down beside her and offered her a hand.
“Damned door!” it exclaimed “I’ve been caught out like that and I work here”
Evadne didn’t believe for a moment that this employee would have fallen foul of the door, but appreciated his efforts to deflect her embarrassment.

Once she was up on her feet (he was still holding onto her hand at this point) she said “I’m a bit early. I’ll just take a seat”

“Oh no. Come straight on through. I don’t have any other appointments til much later” and, still holding her hand, he guided her through the premises to a room down a corridor at the back. He closed the door gently behind him. The room was dimly lit, with a soft rosy light. His hand holding hers was strong and manly, and she imagined it cradling kittens and stirring casseroles.
He sat her in the big leather chair and placed himself in another, close by.

It was a long time since Evadne had seen herself properly in a mirror: she was able to do a bit of makeup (that was close-to) but when she pulled clothes on she was unsure of the end result. For this reason, whilst she knew her jeans were on the tight side, she had not given much thought to the jumper. This, as it happened, was also on the tight side, and this elastane-mediated style statement had made an instant impression on Gary “Goggles” the Optician. He has seen her walking slowly and anxiously past the windows, squinting at the sign, turning back and preparing to come in. So her hourglass figure,- buttocks doing battle with denim, and nervously heaving breastolators pumping against wool – was already impressed on his consciousness by the time she sprawled through the doorway.
“A girl with a welcome mat” he had chuckled inwardly as he helped her up. Now she was sat in front of him in the dimly lit room, the soft lighting playing on her cheekbones. It was very quiet, so he could hear what it was playing.

He watched he closely as she looked around, absorbing her blurry surroundings. Then he asked her to relax, and reached forward with a large pair of oculists’ testing spectacles, with adjustable sections and big metal rims to fit an assortment of trial lenses. As he came closer with them, she leaned away, looking worried. “What are they?” she cried, fearing he might be proposing them for her glasses.
“Don’t worry” he said, but he was being distracted by the sight of her, (all soft and breathy, her jumper clinging in a desperate bid to restrain her warm jubblies) and his explanation lacked technical accuracy whilst on another level shedding light on his thoughts:

“Don’t worry” he said, “These are just my oculists’ testicles”
There was a long, meaningful pause.
“I’m guessing he doesn’t work here any more” Evadne replied.
Gary laughed. Evadne laughed. Laughter tends to work like that. And she relaxed, and let him, everso gently, fit the gadget to her head. His soft, firm hands adjusted the earpieces and the width with great attention, and Evadne became aware that she found having her face and hair touched in this way was remarkably erotic.
She had lovely hair, silky and soft: the sort of hair which lifts and moves flatteringly in a light breeze, and is ideal for tossing. A point which had occurred to Gary, who was keen on such things. They both held the moment: he was close and could smell her perfume: he was so close that she could see his nostrils whiffling.

Gary clicked a button on a little remote control device and some letters appeared on a screen on the far side of the room.
“What can you see?” he asked
Evadne looked. She looked and looked. She squinted (rather cutely)
“An N? Or perhaps an H?”
Gary reached into a big tray and deftly slotted two lenses into the frame Evadne was wearing.
“Now?” he asked, his voice resonant with masculinity
There was an urgency in that question which set Evadne’s heart beating. “Oh gosh! I can see it’s an M!” she exclaimed

He put a black disk into one side and then for the next few minutes Gary was flipping lenses in and out of the frames, asking “Is that better? Or worse?”
After a while they reached a joint decision for both eyes. Then he swung a huge machine across in front of Evadne and whispered “Rest your chin there. Press your forehead here, and keep very still while I look into your eyes”
Evadne did so, enjoying his quiet strength. She held the position well, leaning forward, and Gary spent a few delicious moments looking at her chest pressing eagerly towards him. But her eyes would not wait forever: he returned to his measurements, complimenting her on her retinas.

Finally he had taken all the measurements he needed. Evadne got the chance to see him in focus, – albeit whilst she was looking through the huge adjusted frames. She got a shock, but it was a very nice one which travelled through her body to its natural focus deep within the tight jeans. He was very handsome, with chiselled features suggesting his father was a dab hand with a chisel.
He had the sort of jaw which can set as required in a crisis, and brown eyes with long lashes. There were other bits too – all the ones necessary to keep the jaw and eyes in the correct relative positions, but it was these features which caught Evadne’s now-roving eyes. Then he smiled, and she added “lips” to the list.
“Wow!” she said innocently, and then blushed. She hurriedly added “I can see you in focus!”
But they both knew what she had meant, as clearly as if it was written up on the eye chart.

“You’ll need to choose some frames next” he said
“How will I see what they look like?” she asked
“I’ll help you” he said, adding that he thought she would look fabulous in any. She turned slowly towards him, looking meltingly at him through the big lenses “Even in these ocular testicles?” she asked
Gary laughed, and assured her that Yes, she did. The he lifted them oh so gently off her, reducing her surroundings to a rosy haze, brushing her cheeks and hair with those strong hands we mentioned before. Evadne shivered, or shuddered (depending on your preference)and leaned closer – so that she could still see him.
“I hadn’t realised how vulnerable I was feeling” she explained
“Don’t worry” said Gary, though his hand trembled a little as he put the equipment away.
“There’s no hurry to go yet – as I said I have no more appointments for ages. I’ve just got to get my stuff sorted out”
“Me too” Evadne replied, wriggling a little in the big leather chair “Go ahead.” she giggled “Don’t mind me…I mean I can’t see anyway!”
Gary slid his chair up close to hers, and murmured into her hair “I’m so familiar with it, I can do it by feel”
Evadne, her own adjustments as yet incomplete, whispered back “Or I could help?”

She could, for with her poor eyesight she was also very accustomed to doing things by feel. It is a system which has worked down the centuries, and it certainly worked here in the rosy glow of the examination room, with its ample leather chair, her ample bosomage, his chiselled jaw, that jumper…. She had been flustered by the compliment to her retinas, (no-one had ever said that before) but when Gary began to gaze deeply into her eyes without the intervention of gadgets, the moment was so intense as to do what intense moments do: Clothing is a distraction at such times; Quite soon Evadne was gazing in the direction of the eye chart and crying out….but “O! O! O!” were not the letters on the screen.
Somehow that didn’t matter. The oculists’ testicles had prevailed

Philomena’s pumpkins

Philomena had been living in her little terraced house for several months: it was time she had a housewarming party. As the nights were drawing in (in what? Philomena had no sketchbooks) she decided a hallowe’en party would be good.
She was a very creative young woman, and inspired both creativity and procreativity in those she met. (Especially the men) So as the day approached, she had cut and glued, baked and decorated until all was ready.
Her buns were beauties, and generously topped with cherries. To welcome her guests, she had opened her curtains and put her magnificent pumpkins on display. They glowed invitingly in the windows and the porch

The guests had all promised to take up the fancy dress theme with great gusto: the first, however, arrived dressed almost completely normally, with just a model of a mousetrap dangling out of the front of his jeans. Philomena was baffled. “What have you come as?” she asked,
He leaned forward, perilously close to her hot pumpkins
“Hampton Court”
Philomena showed him the way in, her laughter tinkling like the Manneken Pis.
“We’re doing cocktails in here” she said, showing him into her kitchen
He smiled. “I’ll have a think.” he said “But perhaps later you can tell me some?” he winked, and the mousetrap wiggled…
She was busy then, answering the door to groups of guests, wearing fangs, capes, bandages, fake blood and many other creative disguises.
In no time at all it seemed that the place was full, the music was pounding and people began to feel hot in their rubber masks and elaborate costumes.

Time for some games, she thought. Having always tried to introduce some variety to her themes, she had replaced the usual apple bobbing with the somewhat gentler plum bobbing. Latin scholars were amused by this and many intellectual jokes were cracked on the theme of Plumb Bob, but Philomena explained that she had always found it terribly difficult with apple bobbing: getting a grip on the hard, moving fruit was tricky, whereas getting her lips round soft plums was far more appealing. So they dunked their heads down in turn, being oh-so-gentle with the plums to avoid damaging them, and all agreed it was a much better way to play the game.

They played Hunt the Spider too: though this was less successful as Philomena’s girlfriends were all meticulously groomed. Still, it turned out to be a very popular game, nonetheless.

The cocktails were popular: every seemed to have one, and the giggling coming from the kitchen suggested that many were very entertaining.

It was time for Philomena to get her buns out. They were received with gasps of admiration. A handsome man dressed as a wizard came up to compliment her on them. He leaned close and whispered in her eerie: “They are magnificent!”
Philomena smiled, and as she did so, felt a nudge from his broomstick
“Trick or treat?” he asked
Philomena turned and looked at him: he was tall – or was it just his hat? It was certainly very big, and she had always felt that was a good sign. On impulse she flicked his brim – gently, so as not to alarm him. He laughed, and complimented her on her costume. She was dressed as a witch, in a most becoming black gown which clung to her buns, baps and other baked goods in a way which made him very hungry.

“A witch and a wizard!What a pair!” he exclaimed, his eyes fixed on her bewitching chesticles “Maybe I should take you away from all this…” Philomena opened her stunningly beautiful eyes wide (she rarely did this, feeling as she did, quite guilty about the people she stunned) and teased him; “On your broomstick?”
There was a slightly awkward pause…then the man conceded “Ah. You noticed. Sorry, it was just when you got your buns out then…” his voice trailed off in embarrassment.
“Oh no!” exclaimed Philomena, with one of her delicious melon-eating smiles “Don’t apologise! I am very flattered that you liked then so much”
He relaxed, and then, feeling more confident, whispered in her ear “Would you like me to dust your cobwebs?”
Philomena nodded. Her mouth was dry. No matter; soon she would have a cocktail of her own
They left the other guests to their plums and cocktails, and crept upstairs.
It was her first experience of straddling a broomstick, and she found she had no fear of flying. Together they made magic: there were sparks, and spells, and eventually all her cobwebs were blown away….

Gloria goes in search of a good hardback

Gloria was a great book lover, always hungry for a new experience between the sheets of a publication. Having filled her small apartment to the brim she decided that perhaps she should stop BUYING books and try the local library instead.
It was in a beautiful building, but she went with a certain ambivalence, remembering the smell of polished cork tiles and foisty paper, the shushing, and the unwelcoming stare of the librarian from her childhood. Libraries, Gloria thought, needed a makeover.
She went through the doors feeling somewhat defensive, a feeling which only he as she approached The Desk.
The woman behind The Desk lived up to her expectations entirely, being dressed in something thicker and tweedier than a highland landowner, and having lips so pursed she could keep her savings in them.
“Can I help you?” She asked in a sort of reverse stage whisper, – it sounded like normal speech but was inaudible from further than two feet.
Gloria hesitated.
“I’ve not been here before” she began, unnecessarily. She looked around urgently. The woman remained pursed, though still, amazingly, able to speak. She packed an astonishing amount of disapproval into her tightly bound frame.
“You can read though I take it?” The woman gave a tight half-smile, eked out so as to make it spread as thin as possible. This was as close as she approached to a joke.
Gloria simply nodded, uncomfortably, and stared down at The Desk.
“What sort of thing do you enjoy reading?” She asked, more gently.
“Do you like, say, history, or travel?”
Gloria felt too awkward to reply at first, and as she was considering her response, the woman said tautly “I have to go now. Please tell my assistant what you want” and silently dematerialised before the oblivious Gloria.

Gloria in the meantime had been considering her thoughts on books, and so began, initially to thin air, to answer the original question.
“I quite like mysteries, whodunits, that sort of thing. A bit of a puzzle. But I do like it to be hard. If it’s not hard it’s just not interesting or fun. And thrillers. I like something which will thrill me”
“What about length?”
Gloria, having just got into her mental stride about books did not at first notice the change of voice. She was still staring at The Desk, but lost in her thoughts. The deeper tenor of the respondent went unnoticed…
“I prefer quite long. I like something I can really get into. Plus I like the feel of a real thick one. One which has got a bit of weight about it”
“Interesting….I’m sure I have something which will keep you happy”
Suddenly Gloria noticed the change of voice, and looked up. Her eyes beheld (which is what eyes do, of course) a burly man. With curly hair. So curly burly, and attractive enough to put Gloria into a whirl. He was whirly curly burly, and that is enough to moisten up any woman

“Come with me” he said, with a discreet little librarianoid wave. Gloria followed him, her manumpcious breasts heaving with anticipation at the thought of a thick tome being selected for her personal pleasure.
He led her down a narrow aisle at the far end of the library, where the lighting was in one sense a little inadequate, but in another sense, perfect.

“I think we can find something for you here” he whispered, leaning closer to her than even a librarian needs, so that his lips brushed her ear. This made Gloria giggle, so he put the brush down and just nuzzled instead.
This sent such a thrill up and down her that she struggled to keep quiet.

“I am sure I can tell exactly what you will enjoy in a good book” he murmured.
“Go on…” Gloria replied
“I think you something which begins with a little surprise to get you interested, then builds slowly. Something where the tensions rise and rise, and keep you on the edge for a long time, before a really big, dramatic climax”
“You’re SO right!” Cried Gloria, melting against him
He ran his fingers down her spine.
“Are you interested in bindings?”
Gloria suppressed a chuckle “I’ve never tried! But tell me what YOU like in a book. Do you like something where the tension rises slowly…our do you prefer one which sucks you in straightaway…?”
“I like all kinds…as long as they’re not too foxed….”
He gathered her into his arms (she was blowing around a bit) and with a free hand, reached for a pencil and drew her close.
“I want to riffle your pages and kiss your watermarks”
He gazed into her lovely eyes, dark and Dewey. She stroked his hardback.
Gloria felt his soft hands gently open her covers and stroke her watermarks. As his fingers flipped through her chapters, Gloria could feel the tension rising….
“Would you like a mystery or a thriller?”
“Can I have both? But I warn you, when it comes to mysteries, I like them HARD”
“Ssssh” he whispered urgently to her “You’re making too much noise”
“I’m sorry….I’m a bit loud. I have been known to gasp at the crucial moment”

And the librarian moved on through the chapters, creating mystery and atmosphere, raising the tension, until the moment when all was revealed; Gloria discovered whodunit, and it was HIM. She made a LOT of noise, and if it hadn’t been the librarians fault, he would probably have thrown her out.
As it was, they both stayed to enjoy the epilogue, in which it was stated that there were more books to come…

Edwina and Hanky Panky

Edwina’s little treat, on her way home from work, was once a week to divert from her normal route for a little Hanky Panky. This was a pancake stall up a small alleyway, and the delicious smell of it wafted out onto the main street…a teasing mixture of honey, cinnamon, vanilla and all good things. She allowed herself once a week to be drawn round the corner into the alleyway by the smell which was even more irresistible in the confined space. So it was with the quickened pulse of expectation that she made that turn one evening, and walked in a daze of anticipation towards the stall.
In front of it, she looked up, expecting the usual woman to be serving. The woman knew Edwina’s favourite order…. But it was not her. It was a man, dark haired and brown eyed, with lips as full and kissable as a warm, moist pancake. Edwina had never imagined that ANYTHING could rival the pancake moment, but just then she was willing to risk it.
“Hello” he said, smiling. “Can I tempt you with anything?”
Edwina had instantaneously forgotten her usual pancake order: she wanted to be tempted with something else entirely. Her mouth was dry, her tongue, which would normally be slipping back and forth across her anticipating lips, seemed huge and unwieldy. She couldn’t think of anything to say, so she just nodded, unaware that her tongue was, of its own volition, slipping back and forth across her lips. The man serving had noticed though.

He helped the situation along by continuing “we can do lemon, with honey or sugar, cinnamon, chocolate spread, caramelised banana…” His voice trailed off, as his attention was becoming focussed more and more on Edwina’s lips.
“How do you like them? Large, small? Thick or thin? I can do everything”
Edwina did not doubt this.
“I like large. And thick please”
He smiled and turned around to make the pancakes. Edwina’s gaze slithered over him as he turned, taking in the tightness of his T-shirt and the muscles of his arms as he deftly, with the flamboyance of a mixologist, poured batter from a huge jug onto the hotplate. It poured in a thick stream, until it made a big circle. The last few drops lay like a pearl necklace across the lip of the hotplate. Then he turned back to Edwina.
“Which would you like?”
She hesitated. “I’m not sure…everything!”
He laughed. “That’s a BIG order!”
She pulled herself together abruptly. “No. Not on the pancakes. But I am rather hungry” she added, pressing her hand to her belly. This had the effect of lifting her fabulous breastage right into Antonio’s (for that was his name)eyeline.
“Me too…” he replied, and turned back momentarily to titivate the pancake. Edwina admired his delicate touch, working gently round the edges first, tickling, lifting, stroking with the edge with the palette knife, before giving a firm thrust underneath into the very centre to work it free. He flipped it over neatly before going to work on its other side. She was glad to see he wasn’t a tosser.

The first one was almost done now. She would have to make up her mind.
“Spread honey all over it” she said, her voice breathy with excitement
Antonio gently lifted the pancake and laid it onto a plate. He picked up a ladle from a big jar of honey and lifted it with a flick, trailing a stream of honey. The rest he poured in a loving swirl across the pancake, them smoothed it tenderly with the back of the ladle so that it covered every little part.
With the palette knife again he neatly flipped and turned the edges of the pancake into a manageable shape, and turned to show Edwina.
“I love having this done to me” she whispered “I mean, I love having it done FOR me, …I’m not a very good cook…” she trailed off, blushing a little.
Antonio smiled, and his brown eyes sparkled like dustings of cinnamon.
“Shall I do it again?”
Edwina nodded eagerly, and he reached for the batter jug. “Do you want it large and thick again?”
“Oh yes!” she answered, reaching forward so she could almost touch her pancake, and almost touch Antonio. Both were in front of her, just out of reach.
He poured out the batter for her second pancake. “What do you want on this one?”
“Give me everything!” Edwina cried, unable to contain herself any longer. Antonio looked around in surprise, and saw the gorgeous Edwina push open the half swing door at the side of the stall, and burst through, her bulptuous chest heaving with excitement. It was enough to make him drop his ladle.

He squatted down to pick it up, and found Edwina there too, her lovely face, all pink-cheeked and eyeworthy, close to his own. Her warm breath was on his cheek. On the hotplate the pancake batter solidified. There was no-one there to tickle the edges of it, to flick and thrust and flip and smear with honey, because he was down on the floor of the stall applying his many talents to the delicious customer who loved Hanky Panky