468

It wasn’t until the first really warm day in spring.  The cheerful music of the jazz club floated into the warm scented air.  Keith came around from The Lord Grey and they had a latte each before Esmé locked the front door and they moved into the back courtyard.  They sat side by side on the bench, listening to the jazz, to the muted roar of the city and the cheerful ping of the trams as they rumbled past along Brunswick Street.  At last Keith stood up and reached out his hand to her and they started to dance.  A very competent rendition of Benny Goodman’s I let a Song Go Out of My Heart filled the air.  They danced close, their torsos stroking against each other, their thighs brushing.  She could feel his erection.  He was wearing boxers.  She could always tell.

 When they kissed, at first it was tentative and wary.  Then it deepened and they stopped dancing and simply held each other.

He pulled his head back, his breathing ragged, and asked, his eyes warm with concern and affection, “Ya okay with this?”

For answer, she squeezed him closer into her arms.  “Yes,” she said, her voice muffled, her head against his chest.

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Episodes 1 to 460 (without pictures, 20 episodes per chapter) 

434

It was another warm summer evening, the air scented with the odours of the city, of a city living life to the full.  The tunes from the jazz band in the café down along Brunswick Street drifted into air, magical and romantic.  Esmé had seen where the band played, in daylight, and it wasn’t at all romantic, the sofas worn and greasy, the walls stained, and the floor holed ancient lino.  Yet in the dim light at night, with the light glinting of the metal of the instruments, with a glass in your hand, somehow it all seemed glamorous and exciting. 

There in the tiny courtyard, the music was softened and muted by distance and the thick air.  There in the courtyard it seemed sheer magic, unspoilt by tawdry recollections, by reality.

The band was playing “Love is the Sweetest Thing” and Keith and Esmé were swaying slowly across the worm flagstones, their dance floor as private as any in the most expensive penthouse apartment.   The tepid air was filled with the orange-blossom scent of Chinese jasmine which grew with robust shiny green leaves over the weathered brick.  She could smell Keith’s Brut aftershave, his male body, his end-of-day armpits, the slight sourness on his breath from the wine.  She could feel his erection. 

When he kissed her, it was perfectly right.  

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Episodes 1 to 260 (without pictures, 10 episodes per chapter