I went to the kitchen while Ana skipped past me in the corridor, trailing her blanket and a towel I’d given her. Sa’afia had made coffee, and tea for me since I don’t drink coffee. She was building a pile of buttered toast.

 I gave her a cuddle, since I’d decided to ignore her earlier moodiness. There was an instant of resistance, and then she relented and held me like she wanted to. There was still something wrong but there were things that weren’t wrong as well. I’d go hunting for it later, that wrong thing. For now we didn’t have time. 

I brought out prosciutto and a cheese, white as the moon, whose name I’d forgotten. And loganberry jam made by my aunt. And milk and orange juice. When Ana came back, wet-haired, towel-wrapped and demanding knickers from Sa’afia (who’d bought emergency supplies yesterday afternoon, my clever girl and good cousin), I gave Ana mushrooms to cook, and went to shower myself.

When I came back, shivering a little inside my suit – Sa’afia and Ana had used all the hot water, but a cold shower was probably a good thing for a man who’d had as little sleep as I’d had – I heard earnest talk in the kitchen. I considered backing off for another couple of minutes to let them sort it out, but then the talk stopped, so I walked in. 

Ana and Sa’afia were in each other’s arms, and I supposed some sort of reconciliation was happening. I watched them from the door for a few seconds since they were beautiful, but then I entered noisily, whacked Sa’afia’s arse and demanded tea and toast and mushrooms. 

Ana looked around at the room, mildly alarmed, then looked up at me. At least she’d seen me before. I said, “You have to get up, little monster. We’ve got a busy day.”

Ana rolled over onto her back, decorously taking the blankets with her. She yawned, frowning. “Why’d you call me a monster?”

“I like monsters.”

“Mmmp.” She decided to accept that that was an answer. “Oh. Law centre. Cops. Oh god.”

“Yes.”

“Are you coming with me?”

“Of course.”

The blankets, and Ana, launched themselves at me. I caught her, carefully. “Thank you.” She shook her head. In a more serious tone, she said, “no, everything. thank you.”

An armful of Ana is never a bad thing. I held her for a few seconds, trying not to touch any bare skin. Then I pulled back and patted the blanket on her shoulder, trying not to dislodge it, and feeling like an utter fool. I said, “That’s ok. But it’s shower time. Then get dressed, and I’ll put out some breakfast. Shower. Now.”

I left. I I didn’t look back.

I let Sa’afia have first shower, put on a robe and went to wake Ana. She needed to be up and ready for the meeting at the Community Law Centre.

It was still semi-dark in the living room.

Ana lay on the couch, on her front with an arm around her pillow. The blankets had wrapped themselves around her thigh, and most of her back and side was out in the morning air.

Her face was turned towards the door, her eyes closed and her mouth open. Her back rose and fell, golden brown, as she breathed.

Men shouldn’t look at undressed, sleeping women they’re a little bit in love with. Especially the ones they shouldn’t be a bit in love with. I might have been sexually exhausted, but beauty is dangerous, and it is not forgettable. Ever. Anyway, perving at girls is creepy.

But I couldn’t call Ana from the door to wake her up. I had to make sure she really did wake up and get up. So she’d be pretty much naked, suddenly disturbed, and there I’d be, trying to have a conversation about breakfast, showers and law centres, with the naked cousin of my girlfriend. It would be bad if Ana minded, and perhaps worse if she didn’t mind.

I walked over and pulled the blankets gently back over to cover her. Ana snuffled, and her mouth opened and closed, but she didn’t wake. I touched her shoulder through the blanket, and rocked her gently till her eyes opened.

I hadn’t taken Sa’afia anally, or even talked about it, so I didn’t know how she’d react. Under the small, polite pressure of my fingertip she gazed down at me, with a certain kind of haggard intensity. I’d seen that look before, so I pressed my finger down, making her  little ring yield and open, and pushed down into her to the second knuckle. That was my first entry into her ass.

Sa’afia squirmed harder, and made a little sound. I whispered in her ear that I’d cane her for this tonight. I still wasn’t sure what “this” was, but she knew. And later, when I’d caned her, I’d fuck her with my cock up her ass. So just a few seconds later Sa’afia came, massively and loudly. And when I praised her for coming so well, and kissed her, she kissed me back.

She’d probably be staying with her mother that night, so I wouldn’t really cane her that evening. And I wasn’t going to fuck her ass tonight. Or any other night, at least not without a bit more conversation about that first. But I’d seen that the idea had excited her, and that was enough for now.

And she wasn’t angry at me any more. Whatever it was, I’d have to find out about it later. 

I didn’t know anything, except her mouth, and my cock. The middle of my body was no longer touching the bed. My fingers pressed and twisted into the sheets.

IHer nipples brushed against my thighs. It occurred to me, as the sweetness built up in me, and I was ready to release, that I should warn her that I was about to come. But it was hard to make words, and anyway it must be obvious enough. I made noises in the back of my throat, gutteral noises, as I felt myself reach all points of no return. I came.

There was a second’s interruption in the rhythm. She drew back for long enough to swallow the first release, then she sucked and swallowed smoothly, and continued. I laughed, just for the happiness of it.

She kept sucking, still pleasuring me. She made a loving, nasal sound. It seemed she loved my cock.

I’ve tended to find it surprising when women like my cock. Or, I suppose, when women like cocks in general, since there’s nothing special about mine. Anyway, I don’t mean I’m surprised by women liking the way my cock makes them feel when things go well. That happens. It’s more that some women, or many women, get angry about cocks in particular, when they feel angry at bad male behaviour. 

I’ve had girlfriends who can get up from our bed, perfectly happy or better than that. But when they met up with girlfriends they’d chat over coffee and biscuits about men and how crap we are. In these conversations cocks feature prominently (I was going to write “come up”; the language will have its way). So some, or many, women distinguish between the pleasure of fucking, in which cocks also feature prominently, and the cock that does the fucking. Cocks become a symbol for selfishness, stupidity, arrogance, and so on. So even lusty women who love sex with men can have an attitude to cocks that ranges from ambivalent to slightly hostile. Well, some men do some horrible things to women, involving cocks, so there it is. 

Anyway, I was being mouthed and tongued by someone who loved cocks, or my cock in particular. It was tenderness, and I was surprised by it. She stayed on me, loving and cleaning me, until I began to soften in her mouth.

I took a long time to soften, and I understood that she wasn’t going to stop while I was still hard. I think, though it isn’t a gentlemanly thing to do, that I’d fallen asleep again before she had finished.

The woman reached up into the air. She touched my belly just above the base of my cock. And I fell out of the sky. The world spun around. It contracted. And darkened.

I was in my room, lying on my back. In my bed. And my cock was erect, as I’d dreamt I was. There was a hand stroking my cock, and then a tongue touched the underside, just below the head. My cock jumped, like a rising trout, and I found myself taking my weight on my heels and the back of my head. I shook my head, still waking up. I said, “whaaaah?”

A mouth took my cock, my cock disappearing past a barrier of teeth, though she was trying to keep them out of the way, into a warm and wet abyss. Her lips pressed on the shaft of my cock about halfway down, so I made a comfortable mouthful, not too challenging. She began to suck, moving slowly up and down that shaft.

I said, “ahhh, good.” I sounded hoarse, even to myself. “Good gi-“

Sa’afia said, “shhhhhhhhh.” She put her hand on my chest and pushed me gently back. I relaxed, and apart from pushing slowly back and forth in her mouth, I let myself be served.   

I woke up in the dark. It was two or three in the morning. I’d been having a dream, with preternaturally bright autumn leaves, yellow and black and pale and hectic red, gliding in unnaturally orderly formation over a glowing green lawn. It meant nothing. It was beautiful and faintly sinister. I was floating over them, so I was happy. The leaves were weird, but I like dreams with flying. 

There’d been a woman walking through the grass. Naked,  arms folded under her breasts. She was dark, although she wasn’t Sa’afia. Or Ana. her body was more mature than theirs; she was probably over thirty. At that time in my life I’d never had sex with a woman of that age. I’d had the odd flirtation, but uncertainty and cowardice had stopped me from making the move. Ah well.

She’d lain down on her front, idly drumming the fronts of her feet on the ground. Her bottom bobbed with the rhythm. I lost interest in the leaves while I watched her buttocks and thighs. So this was a flying and sex dream. Those are the best of all. 

She’d become aware of me floating above her, looking down, and she slowly turned over onto her back. She sat up, saw me, tilted her head, and smiled. She had her right knee up, her left leg relaxed on the ground. Then she lay back, knees apart. She had made her invitation, and she had no doubt it would be taken.

Dreams sometimes do treacherous things. I was still gliding. I couldn’t control my flight. I couldn’t get down.