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having had the dickens royally fished out of me”.
     
    M8's nose wrinkled, first in a silent guffaw and then in a loud one.
     
    “Oh dear” she breathed, patting her chest, “now I've roughed my throat up”.
     
    Remy watching 'The Pink Panther Strikes Again' through eyelashes. Nica gr umbled when I parked myself on the sofa. Saturday afternoon and Sunday disappeared down a smoky hole, thinking of nothing but Nancy's hair trailing over my body.
     
     
    Cha pter 9
     
    I'd knocked at her door at six Monday morning, unable to contain it. Now naked next to me, her head in the crook of my neck and her hair obscuring my left breast, the span of her thumb and forefinger fitting comfortably under my right, she was telling me in decorous English of her very unladylike want. Her voice resonated in my collar bone and for some reason, I saw a poor old dancing bear.
     
    It had started in February when she'd first seen me, her attraction swiftly crystallising until she was overwhelmed by its intensity. Something bizarre had taken hold, a fixation bordering on madness. She would sit at the window hoping I would go by on my motorbike, oscillating with a desire so profound and manifest she had to wear sanitary towels. In May, the epic self-possession she'd had to muster to look at me with any degree of composure. And now unable to eat or sleep, but strangely focused on her studies and occupied with thoughts of me.
     
    Although this was only our second tryst, we'd covered a lot of ground. Her proficiency in this new craft was awesome, imaginative, dextrous, single-minded and wickedly dirty. During one experiment, I got the disquieting feeling that I was nothing more than an engrossing project, but I didn’t care because her face during our sessions was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. Her expression wanton, liberated, charged with desire and at times, a shadow of confusion as if she were emerging from a deep trance. She was months ahead, all the signs were there. Soon, something more would be required of me. “Not yet” I told myself, “not yet”.
     
    She had no qualms about us in the marital bed; there had been no sex there for some years. When quizzed about her 'needs', she maintained she hadn't really had any, she'd never masturbated and was greatly aroused by my insistence on looking at her vagina, point blank, something she said no one else had done. I smiled to myself; it was like her - small, tastefully convoluted and with a surprising capacity.
     
    Aroused again, she straddled my face, lowering herself onto my mouth, my rough hands over her ivory back and porcelain buttocks. She came with a mournful sigh, just as the guttural engine of the Triumph Triple died outside.
     
    Not adept at concealing my emotions, I was worried it was written all over my face.
     
    “Morning, guv” said Quincy, tramping along the basement corridor. Some people, like Quincy and Remy, are oblivious to the nuances of others; either because they occupy their own parameters entirely, or because they choose not to notice.
     
    Clive however took one look at my beatific smile and altered full lips: “The deed is done then” he said, in his creepy old man voice.
     
    Nancy materialised, descending the stairs, her footfall perfectly in sync with the hollow thunking, coming from the garden as Quincy banged out a plastic bucket, dislodging dried cement. An accidentally powerful entrance.
     
    Clive settled his arm across her shoulders. “You're one of the family now” he said. I squirmed at the mawkish comment, but Nancy gazed up at him adoringly. That's how you look at men, I thought.
     
    Secret looks all morning which set off small, lustful rockfalls. At least I had something to do. Clive watched with interest as she became increasingly tactile, interfering with my wrists and face.
     
    Matt was off for two weeks so it was just the three of us. Quincy, unfamiliar with the ways of women, probably perceived mine and Nancy's intimacy as