Home > life, Uncategorized, writing > THE SZENTENDRE TRAIN – [7]

THE SZENTENDRE TRAIN – [7]

“I promised you goulash and bread,” I reminded him.  “Please make yourself comfortable while I change.

I sent him to the living room where he sat while I went to the kitchen.  I took the pot of goulash I’d made on Wednesday from the refrigerator and put it on the stove to warm and went upstairs to my room where I chose very tight jeans and a very loose white jersey top, and of course, no brassier.  My legs were quite long for my height, and my boobs were big and beautiful and I knew it.

When I returned to the living room, Attila jumped to his feet and just stared at me.  He had turned my CD player on, and a Charles Aznavour song was playing softly.

          “You really must let me draw you,” he said.  “And paint you and sculpt you.  You really are remarkable to my eye.”

I served the bread and goulash on my gallery, overlooking the dark garden where individual pools of light surrounded each light pole.  He ate quietly, pausing only momentarily from time to time to complement my cooking skills.  He looked out over the garden from time to time and back to me.

          “I am eager to see your garden in the light,” he said.  “I’m sure it’s beautiful, having been created by so beautiful a flower as you are.”

I looked at him and searched for irony in his eye, his handsome face, in the tone of his voice.  But I heard no irony or sarcasm or even humour.  I looked into his soft hazel eyes and saw desire.  There was a glowing fire within this young man and I had ignited it.  I decided to bring the obvious subject to the surface.

          “You do realise that I’m your mother’s age,” I said.  I studied his face for a reaction.

          “My mother enjoys a full, satisfying life,” he said.  “She is in love, she has lovers, she has a profession and a home, and is very happy.  It’s true that I am young enough to be your son.  It’s also true that I am old enough to be your lover.”

We washed the dishes and the gulas pot together, standing side by side at the sink.  Attila was much larger than I was, and it made me feel young and fragile and safe to be near him.  He asked where he could shower and sleep, so I took him upstairs to my en suite bathroom.  I went into my bedroom and got undressed.  When I returned to the bathroom, Attila was in the shower and his clothes were on the floor under the sink.  I shed my kimono and stepped into the shower facing the warm spray.  I was afraid to be frontal with him.

I stood with my face up to the spray, the warm water flowing over my nipples, around my breasts, down over my belly and between my thighs.  My heart was pounding, the warm water, the scent of the young male animal behind me and my imagined images of how he looked made my knees weak.  After a moment he put his hands on my shoulders and sent a wave of heat through me.  He stepped closer and slid his hands down from my shoulders and wrapped his thick arms around me.  He cupped my breasts in his big, warm hands and caressed my nipples.  They became erect and stiff.

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