One swallow doesn’t make a spring #35

I said I had more. I hadn’t, though. I had enough energy left to roll over and fondle Svitlana’s mango-wet cunt. I thought about having an erection, and her skin was firm under my hand, but my mind kept slipping away. I could see the ghost of the tree in front of my window, shimmering out of the night, and there was a bird woken up and piping on a single note, answered by another bird with a call like a handful of pebbles tossed into a tin helmet. 

cuddleIn ten minutes I was mostly asleep. I was vaguely aware of Svitlana wrapping herself round me, one leg over mine, and that mango pressed against my thigh.

She was a quiet sleeper, and companionable. I woke up later and flipped the light out.

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