A dreamy boy
I thought she had left the plane at Mombasa but she hadn’t. She was there in the departure lounge, a few chairs further, with a nostalgic, maybe a sad look. In her twenties, tall fluffy light brown hair, full round bottom in tight jeans. And he had spotted her.
« She could be soon one of your clients in Nairobi, who knows ? » I said.
He didn’t answer. He was just peeping at her and then looking gently downwards, then having another glimpse of her then again in a kind of dreamy way. Which dream ?
Maybe she reminded him somebody he had known a long time ago and he was lost in his sweet memories. Maybe listening to her worries in his consulting-room, trying not to show how impressed he was by her good looks. No, just imagining how she would react to his interest. Or rather slowly undressing her on the silent beach, fondling her breasts, moved by their responsiveness, then already exploring the secret corners of her feminine essence …
« Passengers to Nairobi are kindly requested to proceed to gate number four », the loudspeaker whispered.
It was a remake of « The man who couldn’t make love without being interrupted. » 