Miranda and I returned home from the combo store and went to the kitchen. Rhea waved the forgotten shopping list.
Immediately she made light of it, "we can go later?"
"It's fine; Miranda starred," I remarked, lumping the shopping bags on the bench.
"Have a break," Rhea urged, "I've finished. I'll get our last dinner ready. You watch some TV before you box it."
I managed the faintest of smiles. Miranda skipped joining her sisters in playing with the last unpacked blocks.
I plopped in the lounge chair. Rhea recognised my tiredness from a busy day boxing the garage. I looked to the kitchen; my partner, a marvel, still trooping on, cooking.
I pushed the television remote.
Damn, horse racing!
I tossed the remote to the adjacent sofa.
My mind spiralled — Ruby!
Then it sunk — Miranda — I answered my daughter with, 'Just someone.'
'Just' means now; in this minute, how insensitive and unfair to use the word when memories of Ruby harked back to school days and France!
Just was nowhere good enough; it verged on a hardened heart.
The horses jumped out of the barrier; I wasn't viewing the race call.
I scrutinised myself— just someone.
Someone could be anyone - a name unremembered.
My conscience sledge hammered my ego.
You can't stop knowing an individual.
My ego cunningly counterpunched.
Once I believed, I would never forget Ruby.
Bam! in daily married life, a suburban mortgage and three kids, Ruby overlooked.
My mind confronted what I let fade.
How long since I last thought of Ruby?
Memory shamed me in a suburban petrol station.
My ego scathingly summed it as — memory the unfaithful bitch.
The horse race replay filled the TV screen. The camera crew panned to the mounting yards for the next race.
Rhea called from the kitchen, "Luke, a glass of white. Our last in this house."
She held the bottle, ready to pour.
I half smiled, lacklustre.
Rhea three-quarter filled my glass, tilting her head at me, and then brimmed the glass. My darling, unfazed by a hectic day of packing and three young kids.
I loved my wife!
Rhea brought me the over-generous glass of wine and placed it in my hands. She lingered in my close presence as fingers touched.
"We need to finish the bottle tonight," she stated, "We'll have the rest at dinner."
She subtly permitted me to relax. I watched her 'mom butt' in jeans stroll to the kitchen.
There and then, I determined to leave the memory of Ruby behind.
My life offered a new start, hundreds of kilometres away, beginning tomorrow. I could go into a new local store or attend the local races and not see Ruby.
Only seeing her triggered her memory.
I tried to convince myself I would avoid thinking about her if I didn't bump into her between quick sips of tart wine. I decided to sum up Ruby a final time before packing her away — for good!
I mused; I wasn't indifferent to Ruby; ambivalent, yes.
We shared some of the most intense, pleasurable moments of my life. She held the most cutting, too — kissing her sealed lips.
I recalled drinking wine in her Paris apartment.
When I idled before Ruby's evening returns. I fancied architectural comparisons.
What architectural masterpiece condensed the inscrutable miss?
She encapsulated more than 'someone' in Paris!
My first choice embraced classic design, Ruby soaring like the Eiffel Tower.
Later, Chenonceau, a romantic château, presided over by a bevy of powerful women. The château's famous bridge, I thought, would lead me to what lay behind her eyelash flutter.
After sealed lips, I pictured her as the nearly impregnable fortress of Krak de Chevaliers.
Ruby the impenetrable.
Horses raced, and punters won and lost.
I moved on, as we do.
The rest of the evening, I dedicated myself to family time. Rhea, the kids, and I ate dinner in our apartment one final night. This home contained the cosy courtyard where I proposed to my wife.
After the girls were long tucked into bed, Rhea started the final clean-up.
"Throw the wine bottle in the trash, darling."
Simple enough. Outside I confronted a dark nippy evening. I dropped the bottle in the bin, and it clunked into a different bottle.
Ruby blazed into my mind like a comet across the night sky and placed me in Paris.
I recalled myself in the alleyway next to Ruby's apartment block. I bundled the apartment's waste, including two wine bottles. It was after nine in the evening, already cold and pitch dark. The alley at night oozed a permanent murk, uninviting.
Beyond unattractive, looming sheer walls, fire escapes, trash bins and poorly lit. I binned the garbage in the silent alley, broken by the dropping clink and clang of glass. I cartwheeled fast, hands stuffed in my pockets and screwing my nose at a foul smell.
I clapped my eyes on a peppy Ruby returning from the hostel at the end of the alley. She strode the lane toward me, arms swinging as her watermelon scarf kept out the cold. She wore a red felt beret which clashed with the cashmere.
My immediate aim was to hurry inside. Her fluttering lashes seduced me. The brunette grabbed my arm and delivered a cheeky slap on my rump as she corralled me to the wall. She trapped me between the waste bins.
Ruby planted a lush, wet kiss into my receptive, eager, reciprocating mouth. Next, she framed my face between her knitted gloves.
The touch bristled coarse like two days' facial growth, yet it generated raw lust in me. Her wanton eyes demanded and craved together. She paused and yanked her black gloves off using her teeth. Her mittens were stuffed into a coat pocket.
Her breathing climbed sharply, matching mine as our hands explored. A crotch grope initiated her invitation to join the risqué. Anticipation moved to action. Ruby unzipped me and kneaded my rod. I thrilled at her slender-fingered, firm gripping massage. I didn't freeze below because her warmth teased me to rapid growth.
Thank God my balls remained inside my trousers.
Ruby tugged her thick black hose to her knees in a rare awkward moment. She wore a skirt.
"Christ, this hose is worse than condoms for slowing sex," she joked.
Her snigger was lewd and magnetic. Her heavy pleated black winter wear lifted quickly, clutched by the handful.
I yanked her red panties aside. She had removed the major obstacle to sex: her tights.
I fingered her inner sex, certifiable divine.
Ruby's mouth's steaminess catalysed a lush sluice of enchantment. The combination of our glowing flesh contrasted against the frosty elements of the night. Our breath sent signals to each other as sensual steam. Heavy, lustful petting by me built her wetness.
Ruby to the hilt, energised by illicit, public opportunity.
She licked my ear and rasped the demand, "Bang me here."
Every inch of my pecker eagerly agreed. Our bodies were hunched and nestled, compacted to the brick wall. My hardness snuggled into Ruby's delectable cavity. She lifted a leg to get some extra friction and delight. The pixie enjoying a sizzling buffeting — moaned unabashed.
Her hands fondled frenetically from my rump to my face. I sensed her escalating climax revolving around our location.
Ruby's head wheeled, glancing to create ogling eye contact with an innocent passer-by.
It appeared to be her desire, perhaps!
I heard the steady tap of heavy boots on the cobblestones. Faint at first, then louder. Ruby reacted faster than me.
"Oh God," she shrieked wide-eyed, "Someone is coming!"
She frantically tried to push down her skirt to retain some modesty.
"Orrgh, Ruby, I'm coming."
Beyond stopping, I spurted inside her and down her thighs.
"Pardon," stressed Monsieur Giscard after a cough of hesitation.
Portly Giscard, the elderly neighbour in the apartment above hers.
Ruby hitched her tights like an errant schoolgirl. Next, the gorgeous, now unflustered brunette smoothed the pleats of her skirt. While doing this, the minx fluttered her lashes at Giscard.
My struggling trouser zip was pulled up fast and sounded like a prised ripper fart in a silent auditorium.
As Giscard threw away his rubbish, we stayed glued against the wall. Ruby yanked me tight, binding her scarf around our necks.
Giscard spoke to himself as he walked out of the alley, ensuring we overheard, "Meme il ya cinq minutes, je pourrais avoir rejoin en…," he sighed.
Ruby managed a quiet laugh.
The Monsieur strolled down the alley, whistling.
"Okay, what did he say," I queried, "Something about the time?"
I playfully massaged her shoulders.
"No, sunshine. He would have joined in five minutes earlier."
And Ruby had a giggle fit and slapped her hand on her thigh.
I remained speechless; a threesome!
My underwear wedged uncomfortably; I tugged it free.
Ruby equally rearranged her hose ungainly under her skirt.
Even if the minx only thought of a threesome, I didn't let my mind venture there until my ego recalled Lena and Leise.
Grabbing Ruby's hand, I said, "Coffee at the brasserie?"
The alternative loomed as catching Giscard in the apartment stairwell!
She tugged away from me!
I stared hard, trying to read her. I watched as she pulled on her mittens and gently tilted her beret, so sexy.
My hands flopped at my side.
Ruby seized my mitt and tugged me along the alleyway.
Together, hands swinging, we strode to the café.