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The curve of her breast, the hollow of her hip and the soft, yeilding flesh of her buttock, sometimes barely a brush, the merest of touches, sometimes a pulling, almost frantic grab that skirted the borders of pain and pleasure in her already turbulent mind. She did not sit motionless, passive. Her head responded to the pressure of his mouth, her tongue darting into his mouth and her hands joined in by slipping under his shirt, front and back, skimming the surface of his hot skin, a rake of nails on occasion taking him to an edge that was delightful, a pull of a nipple and back to a feather touch, enticing him closer to a state of uncontrolled passion. They both were becoming lost, the film a forgotten noise in the background to the sounds of their breathing, the sounds of beating hearts and shifting furniture. He was begining to lose focus, to fall into a state of animal passion and his hands responded, one moving from her neck to the back of her blouse, seeking the clasp of her. The note just said that these items were for my daughter and me and that no repayment was necessary. I was signed by Ralph, the owner of the town market. I rushed right back to the store and found Ralph in his office, and told him that I had no way of repaying him, at least anytime remotely soon. He cared nothing about that, and asked me if there was any milk for Olivia in the house. I admitted there wasn’t any, and almost immediately he handed me a gallon and told me to take it home. I could ‘pay him later’ when I could. My eyes were again filled with tears as I thanked him and left. The next morning, I was sorting out the boxes and cans to plan a slightly better holiday dinner for my daughter and get a rough outline of what the week’s menus was likely to be, when there was a knock at the door (my doorbell, like almost everything in the house, never worked). Outside were a couple of ladies from ‘The Church’ (thankfully dressed, but my little house I was on the ‘clothed side’ of.
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