A Mermaids White Thighs.
A Short Story By Meherzaidi.
She could almost feel him standing behind her. A warm, musky smell. A sort of smell, well, she imagined would come from him or her own skin after they had made love. Torrid love,passionate love. The sort of love that comes after two partners understand each other .Want each other completely. Totally understand the nuances, the arguments,the meaning of what is said like friends. The kind of understanding that comes when they want to be with each other all the time, every day, every moment. The kind of passion that makes the world such a beautiful place. She knew that understanding between married couples was different. The soap that he likes, the food he dislikes, are his shirts ready on time and all the boring stuff. That kind of understanding did not produce torrid love. That kind of understanding did not arouse the passion that makes lovemaking magical, mythical.
She felt him behind her as she cooked her meal. She felt his warm arms encircle her waist. His smell was so strong, almost primal. A mixture of cigar smoke, musk and well she could not place it but she loved it. He kissed her cheek , ever so gently almost as if a light feather had touched her. A huge wave of passion engulfed her. It passed almost above her head. She could feel the warmth way above her head. Her pale cheeks flushed. She felt her breasts heave up and down. She wanted to see herself in the mirror. Love is like a sweet heady wine. So addicting. She felt his lips on her neck. It was too hot in the kitchen. She needed to get out. She needed a cooler place.
He had made love to his neighbour. That is what he said. She was happy. What neighbour? He had not told her about this girl ,though. Does not matter. She was happy as he was happy. What did he find in her that lighted his desire? Her white thighs, he said. Her white thighs. She again felt the huge warm wave of passion engulf her. She touched her neck. Sweat was dripping from her forehead. Sweat was over her lips. It was too warm at this time of the year . She almost burned her food. The feeling of his love was too good, addicting. She wanted him so much that it almost hurt her.
She felt his masculine hands hold her hands in a tight grip that it almost hurt. He is too passionate. Her heart pounded. Have I forgotten my cardiac medicine today? She wondered. She felt his hands move down to her lift her skirt and touch her thighs, ever so gently. The huge, warm, passionate wave engulfed her. It made her limp .like a jelly fish. No she felt like a mermaid, beautiful, enticing, magical, mythical sitting on the shore. His hands were touching her white thighs. His warm, musky, strong manly hands. Her head was spinning. She was walking in a dream, a warm, hot ,magical dream. She was dancing in a daze. Floating Mermaid.
Then the telephone rang. He was on the other end. His voice was like a lifeline. I want you now, he said huskily. But you made love to your neighbour ,she asked. I want you. But you loved her white thighs. No, my darling ,he said in a hoarse voice. They were your white thighs. I am coming down by the twelve o clock train. Cannot wait to see you, can’t wait any more. She froze. Her head was spinning, she was losing consciousness. She gently uncovered her thighs and looked at the lower half of her body. Her mermaid’s body. And she pushed her wheelchair out of the kitchen as she could not breathe anymore.
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