Swimming in Raspberry Jelly
Last night I dreamt of the time I found myself in an hotel room in a situation, and a country, I really should not have been in. Hot and humid, and that was just the cops. The flap of the failing fan fell from the roof and hit my ears, as welcome as a distant newspaper-man. Its lack of cooling power was only matched by that unsoothing noise, flap, flap, flap
Why they called them “Jelly” here, I’ll never know, but “Jellies” they were. Different flavours denoted different ethnicities and a half forgotten bet from a different life led me to choose differently that night. I called my fixer and he fixed me a Raspberry Jelly.
She knocked lightly at the door, and it swung open. Her open face swung around the room. They’d both seen better days.
Lazily she prowled toward the bed, where I lay, undressed in body and in mind. I motioned her to stop. Her long flowing bathrobe responded to the absence of breeze and remained icily static.
Slowly, coyly, sensuously she untied the cord. I was aroused initially as the robe began its delicious journey off her shoulders, this turned to startled surprise as it hit the floor to reveal the entirety of her body.
It was mine.
If you enjoyed this short writing, a whole load more are available in paperback, and kindle editions in your local Amazon site