Temporary Secretary

Part 84

25 December 1981

Friday 10:35am

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The baby was sleeping in its basket. The Beach Boys record was playing.

Paul was out, cutting more wood for the fire. What a strong sensual fellow you had. The dream, of course.

The last of your wood was in the fire.

Over the past weeks, you'd been getting parcels in the mail. From his relatives, Paul said.

You'd begin opening them when Paul returned, as it was finally Christmas morning. Paul had as little clue of what was inside them as you did. Though, he'd said it was likely baby things for the new addition to the family.

Watching the fire, you found yourself wishing you had a cat again. What good was a fire and carpet without a cat?

You walked to the door when you heard him coming near, opening it for him.

You reached out your arms, smiling warmly. He was carrying some chopped wood, leaving the rest in the stockpile.

"Come out of the cold." You said. "Oh, Paul, you shouldn't be working on Christmas day."

He was too pretty to be out chopping wood.

"Should've done it yesterday." Paul muttered. "Had to be done, y'know."

He took his boots off, shutting the door behind him.

The fire was still going well, he stoked it with the poker.

The kitchen timer went off.

"Oh, the cookies are done." You said. You sat up from the sofa.

You walked to the kitchen, putting back on your oven mits.

It was christmas, so you'd made gingerbread cookies. A few days ago Paul had brought home the necessary ingredients on your request.

You didn't have cookie cutters, but made do with a knife. It wasn't perfect, but you made little trees and (slightly jagged) gingerbread men.

When you stood back up, setting the tray on the counter, you were given a little start, lips on your neck, body pressing against you. He'd snuck up, you hadn't heard him come.

"You're a dream, aren't you?" He crooned. "My little lady in the kitchen."

You stiffened, turning your head. His eyes were fixed in a sultry gaze, a pleased smile.

You slipped off the mit, your hand coming up and stroking his cheek. His eyes half opened spacily.

"My pretty boy." You said.

Paul purred. His hands came around your body, pressing against your stomach. One came to your abdomen, causing you to shiver.

"I wish you'd given birth to me." He purred thick. "What I wouldn't do to live inside your womb, safe and warm, then be delivered through your passage of bliss."

Your mind went blank. You didn't even know what to say.

"The fuck?" You said.

You couldn't even tell if he was taking the piss.

You also felt some self-consciousness with him touching your middle. You'd more or less recovered, yet weren't what you used to be. Even if it had been far from your mind with the peacefulness of daily life, it was different when attention was deliberately drawn to it.

Paul blinked. You could feel his eyelashes on your neck.

He could say the most insane shit and still act so demure. A delicate angelic dame. He was still cuddled up to you, a dreamy gaze.