Monday 9 January 2012

Donna and Pigeons

‘Homing pigeons,’ said Donna.

It was a Saturday evening and we were walking home after enjoying a barbeque with Nellie and her husband. It was one of those balmy summer days that England only enjoys on rare occasions. Nellie had done well in marriage. As you may remember, her man was a very successful rugby player and was being considered for the national team. Despite her concerns that this might lead to prolonged absences from the marital bed (a venue in which Nellie claimed her husband’s prowess was definitely of international standing) she supported him altruistically. She had matured enormously since marriage but still managed to let her knockers appear dangerously close to escaping from her sun dress. She claimed they were uncontrollable and I did not doubt it. We’d had delicious Pimms, steaks and salads. I was replete and probably a little pissed as we wandered back through the beautiful city streets, my head resting sometimes on Donna’s shoulder which was a perfect height for me. Her arm was around my waist and I felt wonderfully happy. I was wearing my favourite summer dress; long and full and yellow and beneath a pair of Donna’s silk knickers – loose and comfy. She was wearing a pair of beautifully cut shorts in beige and a white silk shirt. She had a gold band around her neck and I was aware that beneath the shorts she had a pair of my knickers on. Too sexy for words.

Drunk as I possibly was I still recognised that tone which Donna adopts when she is mulling a question and uses me as a sort of second mind.

‘I have told you before, ornithology is not my strong suit.’

‘You have indeed. However I am mindful as always of your superior education if not intellect.’ I had many times told Donna off for mistaking her paucity of education for stupidity. It annoyed me that she so undervalued her own mental agility. She was one of the cleverest people I know but it had taken my aunt Lisa to finally stop Donna from putting herself down. She had said, quite simply and brusquely, ‘College is right. If she were not you would not be doing so well in your professional life, so start believing her.’ I had kissed Lisa and Donna had from then at least paid lip service to an acceptance of her own abilities. Lisa was right about Donna’s professional career and here I shall allow myself a brief diversion. You may recall that I mentioned that Donna’s employer, Katerina Denton-Smale, had recognised her talents as I had. She’d given her some teaching herself but decided that she would benefit from more and had arranged for her brother, an academic in art, to provide some coaching. This was highly successful and he, Ken Smale (lacking Katerina’s need to up his social standing by double-barrelling his name as she had) became a firm friend. Katerina opened a new gallery in Bristol and promoted Donna to be in charge of day to day operations in the Bath gallery. This had led to a significant change in Donna. She had come home with a bottle of champagne the day she heard of her promotion and we had celebrated by drinking it in bed between bouts of extremely invigorating coupling. She had demanded at one point that I fetch the ‘Fuck-in Hat’ and who could refuse her anything on such a day. My compliance led to another development in our sex life which I may reveal another time. Suffice to say for now that she used an alternative entrance for my delight and hers. When we were not conjoined in some delectable way she expressed a need to consult me on the matter of her appearance. Her concern was that when customers entered the gallery they instinctively knew that Katerina was the boss and she the underling. How, she wondered, could this be? Now, Donna is an amazingly pragmatic individual and also knows the depth of my love for her. I therefore was brutally honest, albeit after a little hesitant reflection and with a certain temerity.

‘Could it be, perhaps, the way you dress?’ My heart sank as she turned her head slowly to me with a frown and her mismatched eyes appeared strangely cold. I need not have worried, she was teasing me. Her face lit up.’

‘Never was a nail so firmly struck on its head, College. You have reflected exactly my own ponderings. You are from this moment appointed as a consultant to oversee the transformation of Donna the grunge to Donna the professional – solely, you understand, on working days!’ We spent several happy days and many hundreds of pounds buying clothes that did not detract from her natural androgyny but allowed us to exploit it in ways which gave her professional confidence and authority. The gallery does well under her command and she looks gorgeous but then, she always does.

‘So, what about homing pigeons?’

‘Well, College, it’s this. Everybody goes home. Indeed we are wending our weary and in your case slightly drunken way there now. So what is all the fuss about your pigeon?’

I stopped and stood in the failing light of the evening and looked at my beautiful lover. ‘Who gives a fuck?’

‘Do I detect a hint of insubordination?’

I grinned and slipped my arm through hers and we continued on our way but she is like a dog with a bone as you will by now be aware. So eventually I made an effort to contribute to the discussion. ‘Could it perhaps be the fact that if you take a pigeon many miles from its home it finds its way back whereas your sparrow might not?’

‘Drink has flawed your mental processes. Do migrating birds not return to the very nest they vacated at the start of winter? Do they not travel thousands of miles to get laid and then hasten back to warmer climes? Surely they are homing birds too?’

‘It’s a mystery.’ We had reached our own love nest and with some difficulty I opened the door.

‘Should I take advantage of a woman so clearly under the influence of alcohol? A woman whose mind is dulled by wine, addled by alcohol?’

‘I sincerely hope so.’

It was one of those nights when Donna’s need was not to be delayed. She pushed me to bend face down over the back of the sofa, lifted the skirt of my dress and dropped behind me to bury her face in me. She was urgent but gentle and when satisfied she had got me to the point of no return she stopped and took me to the rug in front of the fireplace where she straddled my face and leant down to continue her ministrations. Thus soixante-neufed we made long and luscious love. God alone knows when she got her shorts off. We rolled around with her atop me and me atop her. We moaned and gasped and urged each other on with our words and deeds. At last we slowed and held each other our limbs tangled, our faces touching and stroked each other.

‘Good job you’re a homing bird, College, or I’d have had to shag you in the street.’ At that moment I am not sure that I’d have minded.

2 comments:

Saffron said...

Good to hear Nellie’s husband is a man of international if not long standing! However I can see how knicker swapping leads to hornithology. I note this week’s episode taking a slightly philosophic turn, although the munching on the rug in front of the fire is as delightful as ever. I shall come back for a second read when I have less work to do. Another great Donna *hugssssss.

jaye said...

So much to enjoy!
I loved this episode as I have the others."Donna" always strikes the right balance ...just enough sweet to accompany the tart.