Thought of you yesterday, strolling round the park, trees in flower and air filled with birdsong. Those student days, intermittently together, well, what I was thinking, for me the thing that becomes clearer with the years, those times had a unique character, more than that, they were sexually formative.
I think maybe it’s the sunshine in the park that puts me in such a buoyant mood, mindful of picnics and chilled frizzante wine and the sense of naughty physicality. Cheeky little face of Jane looking at me, nose slightly freckled, ready for things to take any turn, discussions of Chaucer or Heidegger, or just falling asleep in the shade.
Or hugging and kissing and touching, secret groping of bodies, I remember that once, early days, I pushed my hand down your jeans, you looked at me surprised, then unhooked the button, pulled down the zip, parted your legs slightly, then when my finger touched you it was clear your juices were everywhere, you looked at me smiling, said, what did you expect?
You know what, baby Jane, writing this, my hand went unthinkingly to my nose, exactly like I did that day afterwards while you were looking elsewhere, I remember my finger was rich with that wonderful baby Jane smell, it’s almost in my nostrils now as I write.
Lying down on the picnic rug, looking up at the cloudless sky, you off to the toilets and to buy ice-creams, I remember thinking, we can do more lovemaking later at the apartment, maybe take a shower together first. Also thinking, life, I don’t believe it can get better than this. And I figure I was right, baby Jane, it couldn’t get better because it was perfect.
