It seems somewhat insufficient to say that Charles was confused by what he witnessed. It more than confused him. It chilled him, sending ripples of discomfort coursing through every highway of his nervous system. Only a few moments prior to it he had believed, matter-of-factly, that Paul, a childhood acquaintance he was meeting with for the first time in years, was a simple and well-adjusted man, little different in nature and behaviour to himself. But not now. Not by a long way.
What had happened, you see, was that Amy, Paul’s tall, long-legged wife, 43, had chewed up a piece of lemon cake and spat it lovingly into her husband’s mouth. What’s more, Paul had not reacted with disgust, surprise, or even embarrassment at this. To the contrary, he had thanked her, and then asked for more.
“Not now,” Amy had returned seriously after this request. “I’ve put a lot of effort into the lamb. You know how long it takes me. Save some room.”
Amy, it has already been remarked, was a decidedly tall woman, standing at 6,2ft when wearing heels. Her legs, thickly muscular and yet smoothly feminine, were impossibly long, a fact she had emphasised this day by wearing a tight and short secretarial skirt. Charles had, at least before the event described, found her stunningly desirable.
“You do like lamb, Charles?” she checked, placing the remainder of the lemon cake on the coffee table.
“Ugh, yes,” he stuttered, lifting a frown.
Relieved, Amy left the room to check on the cooking. Charles glanced immediately at Paul.
“I know,” Paul said, suddenly summoning embarrassment from somewhere, “I know. But her legs….”
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