Those eyes! She was looking at him in that way, pleading, urging him on, begging. Vetfaan wiped the bead of sweat from his forehead, flicked his tongue over his dry lips – but couldn’t tear his eyes from that body.
It was wrong of him to look at her like that. He knew that. But he never knew, never realised, that a body could be so perfect, so beautiful. The rise and fall of her breasts told him she was as ready as he. Come on, her body shouted, what are you waiting for?
Vetfaan thougts raced back to Sunday school, to his parents and to the sermons on morals and purity. This is so wrong, his mind said, you should not be doing this! His body disagreed. He watched.
Maybe, he tried to convince himself, if he closed his eyes, it would be better. It wasn’t. The music – The Unchained Melody – swept him along. He could imagine the passion in her embrace, the warmth of her kisses. Even touching her wasn’t necessary; the mere sound of her voice was enough. Rarely, if ever, had he been so excited in the presence of a woman.
The loud knock on his front door is like a bucket of ice water on his reverie. Cursing, he gets up to see what Kleinpiet wants. He switches off the TV as he walks by; he’ll just have to finish watching Ghost at some other time. Maybe, if he’s lucky, he’ll dream about Demi Moore tonight. Demi, and the clay, and the music…and that body.
Without that meddlesome ghost, of course.