Elisabeth and the rain

Recommended soundtrack: Portishead - Sour Times

It was raining. My window was facing the street. Sometimes a car passed, sometimes it was a carriage. It was not cold, but it was not hot either. The temperature demanded a light sweater.

Sitting in my white-walled room on a white couch, I gazed out at the rolling landscape outside, through wooden windows as white as the wall or the sofa.

She walked past the window, quickly, without umbrellas, wearing a black cloak instead. She should have been just another passer-by, however she walked into my residence, even if the door was locked and only a copy of the key existed, and it was with me.

I stared in amazement at a beautiful, dark-skinned woman with smoothed hair, synthetic leather pants and a high-heeled boot whose height went slightly above the knee.

I got scared and asked what she was doing there, inside my house, and how she got the keys. In response I heard that there was no time for amenities. Next I was asked if I had already taken out the trash and the boxes that previously held the refrigerator and the set of dishes she had bought (now the new pieces in the kitchen made some sense). I replied that I had not proceeded with the transport and heard back that not even for that it was possible to count on me.

All of a sudden she started undressing, while heading to the bedroom. By the time she reached the door she was completely naked - and beautiful curves were showing, it's true. She looked at me with a mixture of surprise and impatience: "Is it for today or what?"

I walked to the place and found her stretched out on the bed, biting her lips and caressing her right leg with her left hand. She was tickling herself and laughing, but continuing the movement anyway, while her right hand tried to stop the left from moving forward.

As a good connoisseur I undressed, and beside her I lay down, even with the bedroom window giving full exposure to my bed. People, however, did not look into it, being more focused on not letting water into their shoes.

I turned over her, and for about fifteen minutes we did what was due. Soon after, without delays or cigarettes she got up and went towards the bathroom, with her right hand still trying to discipline the left one.

She came back after ten minutes, dressed again, but this time, in a single coat, and she carried in her arms the result of that passionate act. It was a girl at the end of her childhood - maybe eight years? -, with curly, rust-yellow hair. She put the girl on the floor. "Her name is Elizabeth," she said, already making her way out of the bedroom, leaving my home and locking the front-door.

Elizabeth came and sat down beside me on the bed. Only a white sheet covered my shame, still excited. "What have you got to eat?" She asked. "There's cheese in the fridge," I replied.