The conversation wound up a minute or so later. Sa’afia came back, eyes sparkling. 

“That was Ana.” 

“I know.” Sa’afia paused, in my shirt, glowing white – with yellow curry streaks – on glowing brown skin. She seemed confident, now, that I liked her breasts. “Now take that shirt off.”

She obeyed quickly, as if she’d been waiting for me to get around to mentioning it. I held out my hand and she gave me my shirt. Now she glowed brown, except that her nipples were purple-black and Sa’afia was a pubic hair girl, neat but retro and shining raven-black. She smiled, tremendously amused by me, and certain that I liked what I saw.

I smiled back at her, less brilliantly. “Now come and sit down. Dinner.”

I put my shirt back on while Sa’afia sat across the table from me. When I’d finished doing up the buttons I topped up her glass and mine, and we silently toasted each other, looking into each other’s eyes.

A clothed man and a naked woman, at table. We were doing something perverse. We both knew and felt it. I said, “eat.” 

But Sa’afia took a sip of her wine instead. “I told Ana that you spanked me.”