“Well, fetch a corkscrew, Thomas. You must celebrate her little gift. An act of love; I know it to be that. The dear girl has you in her heart, as Ethel does,” said Caroline.
“Ah, yes-of course. They both are angels-that they are. A half glass only, eh? It must be a most unusual brew-an ancient vintage,” came from Thomas who appeared to liven up, procuring corkscrew, glasses, and the bottle taken then from Jane's uncertain hand.
“A special vintage, yes indeed,” said I, “Procures a wondrous afterglow, Jane said. Did you not tell us so, my dear?”
“Eh? Did I? Yes, I must have done,” she flustered.
The cork popped. Ethel sat as if encased in ice. She had the slightly haunted look her sister had. I knew that they would sip as slowly as they could, feeling the inexorable fire of it and then with helpless wondering drink on.
“You will not stay for half a glass?” asked Thomas of us with a certain merriment, though innocent enough.
“Oh no! No-no-they must be gone, Papa. Jane's eyes alone urged us away.
“Regretfully we must,” I said. Our farewells made and we were gone.
“The last act, alas. We shall not see it played,” said Caroline as we took to our carriage, entered it, and looked towards the house where the lights glowed and the wine was being poured with grave exactitude.
“A pleasant taste,” Thomas would say while his two angels nodded timidly.
At the last gulp, fire seeping through their veins, their eyes would glaze a little, and all would relax. Ethel and Jane would feel the swelling of their breasts, their nipples stiff. Their loins, grown warm, would pulse impatiently. Their lips would part, and all would softly breathe. Thomas would cross his legs uncomfortably to hide the glowing stalk of his erection which would tentpole his trousers quite remarkably. Then, growing careless in the deeper flush of it, he would let his legs fall lax, apart, and feel a boldness on him he had never known before, the bulge displayed unhindered to their sight.
“It is quiet tonight,” I imagined him to say.
“It is indeed, Papa.”
Jane would speak first. Their voice would sound hollow in their heads. Cunnies would tingle, wanting to be touched. Their knees would fall apart in turn, and they would sigh.
“Will you not sit with me? Jane-Ethel? Come…”
Unsteady would their rising be, and yet not timorous. The floor would seem to bend beneath their feet-their hips would sway. The sofa would squeak a welcome to their bottoms, and their heads would fall upon his shoulders, one on each side, lips apart.
His head would turn. His lips would fall first upon Jane's, her mouth kept open to his seeking tongue. Ethel, in turn, would lose timidity. His arms around their waists, beneath their armpits, he would boldly palm their titties nearest to his hands and find them swollen rich, beneath their gowns.
“It is hot tonight, Papa. Is it not hot?”
“Indeed it is, my pets. Loosen your corsages, remove your dresses and your drawers. Let us be free from these unwanted coverings at last.”
Their hands would move like hands that never moved before, the buttons slipping from the buttonholes, the silky, milky gourds revealed, the nipples firm and rubbery, expectant, tingling to his touch, weighed, fondled, while they raised their skirts…
“What are you thinking-thinking now?” And this, across my thoughts, from Caroline.
“That Thomas will not stray again, nor will the girls have cause to-fret for their inheritance.”
“Those are the words. What of the music, dear?” she laughed, and whispered, “He will plough their furrows in the night. Will you, too, be my ploughman in the night, lie on my belly, plight your troth to me-again, again?”
“Again and ever on,” said I.
The cartwheels rattled. In the dark, a bird twittered somewhere from a dusky hedge as we drove by, and then- amazed by its own indiscretion-it fell quiet. The house had long diminished from our sight-had grown smaller, as immediate memories do, waiting to burgeon later when one dwells on them and draws them out from cloudy nothingness.
“Autumn will be upon us soon,” said Caroline.
“Coal fires and kindling wood, the evenings chill,” said I.
The lanes narrowed and closed-in behind us as we rode, waiting for dawn that they might open up again and let the world unroll upon us once again with all its mysteries, its seeking joys-the pleasures that await to be distilled.
