Goodbye in November, by J.C. Almain

The leaves that are falling now
will be renewed next year;
but she,
she will never return

Lorraine, by June Pettitt

Gerald had been known as Gerry to his friends: not that he had many of those since his divorce - a messy affair, where all their dirty linen had been aired in public. Since then he had more or less kept himself to himself.

  He was exhausted. It had been a tough week negotiating terms and prices with a new customer for the building company of which he was a partner.   ‘Thank goodness it’s the weekend,’ he thought as he packed his briefcase and closed his laptop. He could not wait to get out of the office. Every weekend he would drive to the Lake District where he owned a small cottage. It was in woodland in Grizedale National Park and was quite isolated. It had been left to him after his mother and father had passed away; his father first after a short illness. His mother, who was devoted to her husband, died shortly after from a broken heart. Luckily, if you could call it luck, it was after he had been divorced and a settlement had all ready been agreed, or the greedy whore would have claimed half of that.

  Unlocking the car door he put in his briefcase and laptop, he had packed his weekend case before leaving for work that morning. Gerald loved his Jaguar, often reverently stroking its blue metallic bodywork.  When he sat in the cream leather driving seat it was like sitting in a warm bath. ‘At leased the bitch hadn’t taken my car,’ he thought.

   He could hardly wait until he reached the cottage where Lorraine would be waiting for him. ‘Lorraine. Lorraine, my beautiful Lorraine.’ He repeated her name over and over again, sometimes even making up a song about her. At times, in his eagerness to see her, he would drive too fast. ‘I must be careful. If I got killed, what would happen to my Lorraine then?’

   It was dusk when he reached the cottage. No lights shone from the windows, but he hadn’t expected there to be. Lorraine always liked him to switch on the lights when he walked in. 

  Leaving his briefcase and laptop in the car he grabbed his weekend case. Just in time he remembered to lock the car, although there was very little crime in the area. ‘You could never be to sure,’ he thought. That was why he always told Lorraine to keep the door locked when he wasn’t around.

  Eagerly, he ran up the steps to the cottage and unlocked the door. Putting his suitcase down in the hall, full of anticipation he opened the door to the lounge and switched on the light. His breath caught in his throat when he saw her sitting on the settee waiting for him. She looked so beautiful dressed in a scarlet chiffon and satin evening gown. Slowly he walked towards her, savouring every moment before putting his arms around her.  ‘Darling, darling, you look wonderful,’ he whispered as he pulled her close to him. He kissed her cheek then her pouting lips. He did not want to hurry this first encounter.

  Sitting her back on the settee he asked if the champagne was in the fridge. ‘I knew it would be,’ he said, going to fetch it. He poured two glasses and lifted his, saying, ‘Here’s to the most beautiful woman in the world.’

  He sipped his drink slowly, devouring her body with his eyes. His gaze travelled from her long blonde hair to her brilliant blue eyes, fringed with thick dark lashes. Her lips smiled invitingly. ‘They could wait,’ he thought. He wanted to take in the rest of her beauty. His eyes went down her slender neck to her half exposed taut breasts, their nipples aching to be touched. Her suntanned legs were crossed provocatively; his fingers itched to stroke them.

  She sat there not saying a word. She knew that’s how he liked it: quiet and submissive, not like his ex-wife, who had the language of a fishwife. Lorraine knew how to please him.

  Gerald carried her into the bedroom where he slipped her evening gown over her slender shoulders.  She wore no bra - there was no need with her firm breasts. He removed her red thong leaving her standing before him naked. Gently he laid her on the bed, stroking and kissing her all over. Gerald loved the taste and smell of her body.

  When he was fully aroused he pulled her on top of him. This was the way she liked it. Lorraine’s eyes gazed unblinking into his.  This always unnerved him a bit, but because of all the other wonderful things about her he pushed it to one side. Grabbing her, he moved her up and down. Oh, it felt so good. She put up no resistance; he could do what he liked with her.

  After he had climaxed he lay back exhausted, both of them wet with perspiration from their love making. Lying by her side, he pulled the duvet over them and fell into a deep sleep.

  The sun streaming through a slit in the curtains awoke Gerald. He thought of last night and of how wonderful it had been. He put out his arm to touch the now deflated latex body of Lorraine.

Sicily, by Annabelle Jane Palling

What land is scented quite like this?
Of sun-drenched lemons, pepper, thyme,
Almonds, stone, baked earth, azure,
Sea and salt, and honey wild?

Murmuring skin that speaks
To mine, and in a tongue
I love to learn?