Wednesday, 13 June 2012

Marina, Part Three

As noon drew near the following day I wandered from the metro station to the coffee shop where we had agreed to meet. A few texts had passed between us, but I was not thinking of Mooseish matters as I strolled down the broad avenue called Tlalpan in the direction of coffee and Marina. If I thought about anything at all it was probably how nice the weather was compared to the cold damp country that I had left behind a few days earlier. The vibration of my mobile phone shook me out of my daydream. It was a text from the Moose who was waiting for me at the coffee shop:

I have a horrible stomach ache, I am nervous and I hate it!

The hour of retribution was at hand.

I pushed open the door to the coffee shop and looked around for Marina. There she was, her Blackberry and some papers on one side of her, and an expensive handbag on the other. Give the lady credit, but she had made an extra special effort with her dress and make-up, not that she needed to do much, being naturally lovely. Still, I was pleased to see that she was wearing a skirt, something that she had told me the year before that wore, and which had obviously been put on for my benefit since she knows that I like them.

However, the most delightful aspect of her appearance was the way that she fidgeted nervously in her seat, glancing at her watch, before picking up her mobile, only to put it down again a moment later to cast an anxious glance at the door.

As soon as she saw me strolling towards her she let out a yelp of delight and got to her feet with her arms held out for the obligatory hug and load smacking kiss.

"Hamster Face," she warbled at length, her voice catching in her throat.

"Hello, Moose," I replied, quietly. "What have you got to say for yourself?

"Nothing... I need to go," she indicated the ladies' room with a shaky index finger.

"Off you go and I will get myself a coffee," I replied. "Do you want anything?"

"I haven't had anything all day - I'm so nervous."

As Marina went off to do whatever it is that women spend so long doing in toilets,  I enjoyed my coffee and reflected on the fact that one of the nicer things about women is the way in which when nervous, their fears travel at the speed of light from their brains to inside their panties. It is not that they become aroused, exactly, but they do tend to become nice and moist and that is manna from heaven to a man like me. I resolved that when the Moose returned we would spend a happy few minutes chatting about her immediate future, just so that I could enjoy the sport of watching her squirm in her own juices, as it were.

The Moose returned and took her seat across the table from me. She cocked her head to one side and fixed me with one of her dazzling smiles, and then when I did not respond she resorted to pout mode, sticking her lower lip over the upper one, a trait that had led to her being given the the nickname of Moose in the first place.

"Please don't be too hard on me," she pleaded.

All I did by way of reply was smile slightly and leave her to babble, which was something she then proceeded to do. Women, no matter what nationality they are, always babble when they know that a fire will soon be ignited underneath their skirts and inside their knickers.

She fidgeted in her chair as I knew that she would, because most women do at times like that, and I sat back and enjoyed the show. Her hands fluttered like butterflies, and she crossed, uncrossed and then recrossed her legs again and again, constantly changing her position in the seat as if she wanted to remove her bottom from the unyielding surface of the chair that was beneath her.

"Is there any reason why you cannot sit still for more than a few seconds?"

"Evil rat! You know why I am being like this, don't you?”

"Remind me," I said, in a voice that I kept deliberately low and even.

"You are going to torture me," said the Moose, never one to miss an opportunity for hyperbole.

"No, but I am going to put you across my knee and smack your bare bottom until it is the colour of a ripe tomato," I replied.

"Please let's get it over with," she pleaded.

"Of course. Just as soon as I finish my coffee," I told her with a smile.

A cry broke over Marina's lips as she realised that the retribution was going to be delayed by a hot cup of coffee. She was in the worst possible bind, not wanting to be spanked, but wanting to get it over with as quickly as possible.

To say that the Moose fidgeted and squirmed in her seat as I slowly drank my coffee is putting it mildly. She put on a display of terror that was a joy to behold, and behold it I did as I swirled the remaining dregs of my coffee around the cup and took a final swallow of the delicious brew. Looking at Marina I kept her in my eye as I stood up, gave her one of my more genial smiles and then told her calmly and quietly that it was time to leave.

To be continued.

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