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  Lastly, his matching suede shoes, he had ripped off along with his camel-coloured soft wool socks.

  He picked up the latest copy of the Australian Women’s Weekly for the month of December and turned to page fifty. He had bought the mag just prior to his departure from the lucky country. It looked like an informative read, some valuable tips on landing the perfect female caught his eye.

  The running taps were switched off just before the tub overflowed. He let a little spare water escape down the drainhole, replaced the rubber plug and half submerged his sporty body into the revitalising water. He pressed on the button that activated the spa, the swirling sensation turning him on. He dried his wet hand.

  An adorable picture of Audrey Hepburn’s face that closely resembled Angea-Lea’s, caused an immediate reaction whereby he grabbed his vital parts, gripping and slipping round and round and up and down until he spooflicated onto her cherry lips.

  He scrawled in big black printing, the words ‘THE PURRRFECT PICK-ME-UP!’ just below the line that read: Write in six words or less what this famous actress means to you. He wiped off the cum.

  “The winner of the competition could win a trip to relive the legend at a Retrospect Museum and a visit to the 2000 Olympic Games in the heart of Brisbane Australia for four people,” he read aloud. He kissed the coupon and her smiling lips for grande luck after filling out his personal details, ripped it off along the dotted line and sealed it inside the free stamped addressed envelope provided and placed it on the edge of the washstand. He towel dried his body then powdered his chest, his doodle and his botty with baby powder, then jumped into his cotton shortie pyjamas that had little yellow ducklings and soap bubbles printed on the slippery blue-grey fabric, and slipped his size thirteen feet into a pair of matching slippers. He removed his ‘Fifth Avenue’ silver box chain necklace from his neck and placed it in a small porcelain dish on the bedside table.

  A massive canopy bed, the ebony frame intricately carved with Thai figures and patterns and highlighted with gold trims graced the bedroom. Malachi slid under the soft embroidered cover and sheets and tugged the Thai royal drapes of coffee-coloured silk around the sides of the frame.

  Dreams of being a wealthy noble king in a grand Malaysian palace filled his subconscious. Lingering feelings of sentiment permeated his thoughts of seven beautiful naked dancing gals.

  “Give us a song,” they cried out to him. He broke out into a musical variation of the big hit Born Free, the voluptuous figures swaying to and fro designed to excite and gratify his softer emotions. A sentinel was posted outside the palace to keep guard lest would-be invaders disturb him.

  A colourful and melodic parade marched along Chantelle Boulevarde, in celebration of the eve of Noëlle and had woken him from his peaceful slumber at the ungodly hour of six a.m.

  Following a shower, a shit and a shave he pressed his crinkled pale blue and white pin-striped business shirt, slipped it on and stepped into his pin-striped trousers and climbed into his waistcoat and overcoat of a darker shade of blue and crossed over and knotted his post office red tie.

  He prepared for himself two slices of toasted and buttered cherry almond bread plus a tall glass of macchiato coffee stained with a tiny blob of reduced cream. A handful of fresh cherries completed the morning snack.

  He lounged on a rustic style window seat under the bedroom bay window, munching and sipping and watching the procession. His eyes almost popped out of their sockets the moment he caught sight of Antaeus in uniform leading the way. Angea-Lea was piping the flute beside him, her light pleated woollen skirt blowing up like a parachute in the strong breeze showing off a pair of frilly pink bloomers and a sexy pair of coral coloured curvy legs.

  Today was the day Malachi decided to settle the score with the apartment.

  He made his way to the Banque de France to exchange the withdrawal of the amount required from Australian dollars in to french currency, a cheque was then issued in the name of the owner Alfredo Romanique. Malachi carefully slipped it into his wallet and walked quickly out of the revolving doors squeezing his wallet into the back pocket of his trousers as he entered the busy streets.

  A brief sprinkle of snow fell, he tucked his top lip under his bottom lip and with one short, sharp blow of warm air he blew the sprinkled snow from the deep creases either side of his nostrils.

  A rather large man stood on one corner with a bell verbally advertising the arrival of an Australian Swing Quartet called Swinglegum. He committed to memory the place, time and date.

  Just around the next corner, Lisbeth’s Boutique displayed a long-sleeved drop waisted silk frock in watermelon pink with tiny, shiny black sequins for pips and a large side bow of stiff black lace. It draped over a perfect size twelve dressmaker’s live model as she twirled her garment-clad figure in the window. He thought it was just the thing to bring out the best of Angea-Lea’s coral coloured flesh and eyes of green grapes.

  “I’ll take that dress in the window, use festive wrapping please,” Malachi ordered in a spritely tone.

  “Excuse me Sir but you cannot have that particular one or my model will be left naked,” the shopkeeper warned politely.

  “Have you got another one in that size?”

  The shopkeeper nodded then went to a crowded rack and plucked another off it and walked quickly back to the counter and neatly folded the frock and pressed it in between layers of mauve tissue paper and placed it in a bright red box. A large Christmas bell was adhered to the lid and the french words for Merry Christmas written in elaborate scroll under the motif. He quickly handed over the required francs and fled out the door clutching the box.

  At ten on the dot he dropped into the Caffé-Latté theatre to pick up four tickets to Swinglegum’s one and only appearance.

  He enjoyed his small shopping spree in Paris judging by the number of beers he downed in the Pacifique Hotel much, much, much later.

  It was just on midnight when he reached the apartment. To his surprise Angea-Lea was sitting cross-legged on the cold, hard tiled floor in the foyer waiting for him.

  “Do your parents know ya ere?” he asked her.

  “No,” was her reply as she stood up then leapt into the air like a basketball player.

  “I broke away from the band and followed you and then when you went to the hotel I came here.”

  “Come inside you must be frozen solid in that bum freezer.” He turned on the heating unit. She followed him into the warm cosy apartment. He took the phone off the hook.

  “Who is this freezing bum you refer to?” she quizzed with a frown.

  “It’s just a fancy Aussie name for a short skirt,” he answered, laughing.

  She began to weep uncontrollably.

  “There, there have a good cry,” he held her closely to his chest, her heaving ample bosom giving him goosebumps all over.

  “You are my good friend,” she told him, still sobbing her heart out.

  “You are my shadow,” he reassured her in a caring positive expression.

  “I think I will miss your companionship the most when you return to Australia,” she shared. She thought he intended to use his apartment for a holiday residence only.

  “How could you miss what never eventuated?” His truth upset her even more. The sobs became louder and louder.

  “Come now you’ll drown in a sea of tears.” She longed more than anything to get to know him on a more personal level, to gain a window on his world.

  “I have decided to live here in France permanently. I have the cheque all ready to buy the apartment, soon it will be all mine, how does that grab ya baby?”

  “It thrills me, oh Malachi how happy I am now,” she threw her arms around his neck.

  “You can see me as often as you wish, how does that sound?” his hands slipped around her waist and rested on her plump botty cheeks.

  “Oh no, I almost forgot. Last night papa mentioned to mama that it would be best for me to pursue a career in floral artistry at an Institute o
f Advancement in Switzerland. We will be miles apart,” she sighed, listening closely for his reaction.

  “Look forward to the rewards it will bring for yourself in the future,” he reassured.

  Angea-Lea had difficulty looking to the future. Her watery eyes closed gently as she bowed her head and reflected on their recent past, she reopened her eyelids and stared at his wet memphis blue suede shoes.

  After having told him how selfish she thought her father’s idea was and the very fact that it would grant her very little leisure time to spend on herself and him, she sat, balled up on the corner couch, he sat spread-legged beside her and she stared into his eyes of beaten bronze.

  He stared into hers playing with the lower part of his lengthy tie to attract her attention to his greater southern region. She gradually slid her gaze from his eyes down the entire length of his upper body to where his hand was. Then…stared in awe as both his index and third finger swiped the end of his tie to one side, revealing an eighteen and a half inch erection. She had not noticed just when he had unzipped.

  Her lively smile he interpreted as “Party Time!”

  “Does the sight of my lusus naturae excite your appetite?” In the entertainment room of his mind the pet vet was already playing the game of mish-mashing work and pleasure itching to get her on all fours like a playful pussy for an intimate inspection.

  “Is that the name of your pet snake?”

  “It certainly is. Actually he is a sea-snake and his fancy name means of all things, a monstrosity, a freak of nature, and his favourite pastime is snorkelling.”

  “Why?”

  “It offers him a glimpse into a special world, a waterworld – whoosh!”

  “What does your pet sea-snake feed on?”

  “Fresh, plump oysters,” he drooled hoping this could be the start of a firm friendship. “There’s nothing like a little night life mingled with a splash of watersport to bring two lonely people closer together,” he told her.

  She could feel her pool filling fast and instinctively urged, “Dive, Dive, Dive Mr. Lusus Naturae,” thinking his sea-snake would be as slow as an old tugboat but in actual fact…it was a swifty new speedboat she soon discovered. She dubbed him “speedy”.

  Each time he hit he yapped “stroke” and what she yapped was dynamite.

  “Majestic mountins

  rolling seas

  much gold and grandeur has he

  My angel-boy has riches

  Truly - just for me.”

  Soon, the deep throat of her water lily became super-sensitive and their private pyjama party graduated to a flirtive casino night where they both hit the jackpot with no burn scars to his credit card. They both crashed on the sofa after the big night. But…sleaziness has its price the following morning when wine bottles start to fly. Antaeus guessed right where his little girl had spent the night. Malachi had forgotten to close the door and in the wee hours of the morning Angea-Lea’s father arrived on the boyfriend’s doorstep aggressively warbling aloud, “The Carnival Is Over!”

  With a look of ugly disgust Malachi whined, “Who left the cellar door open?”

  Angea-Lea rubbed her weary eyes asking the most important question of the day, “What is for breakfast?”

  Malachi wasn’t at all ashamed of their nakedness.

  Antaeus clicked his fingers trying to remain cool growling ironically, “What a shame I forgot the complimentary bottle of vintage champagne to cap off your romantic bed and breakfast.”

  Antaeus was clearly not impressed his daughter’s valuable treasures were on display before a mug of a wine sampler. Antaeus packed a powerful punch mouthing off at the speed of light the battling words, “Mr. Castle, I regret to inform you that Le Chateau de la Rochepot has been ordered to close its doors for the final time and will be blown to the shithouse if you do not hand over Mademoiselle Angea-Lea immediately, move it you vagina-sucking vet.”

  “How enchanting,” Malachi drawled helping Angea-Lea on with her clothes.

  “I think I shall write a book and call it “Suddenly Single,” Angea-Lea announced sharply.

  “A major faux pas!” Antaeus spat in his face hooking his daughter out through the exit.

  All the way home Angea-Lea kept silent as if her tiny mouth was stuffed with Gâtaeux Chantilly and all the way home her father lectured her on how not to allow her life to end up like an Australian Banana Butterscotch Trifle.

  As soon as she walked through the side door of the garage she was filled with rage and stormed noisily up the steps to her room slamming the door behind her.

  She grabbed her nightie, a fresh towel and a washer from the end of her bed and raced into the bathroom and twirled under the shower after cleansing herself inside and out with an evening primrose skin-sprinkler.

  Furious feelings pitchforked fancy reflections until her sunny fertile mind resembled a dustpit. Not so long ago, cheerful and bright, considered far too brash for her pallid-grey natured keeper. The flame-coloured strength that laughed from the depths of Malachi’s glowing soul she’d captured unknowingly and it suddenly spooked the anger and angst that was threatening to strangle her sweet innocent heart with its bitter sorrow.

  She was able to soar to new heights rising above the limp and lifeless below to her sparkling castle in the clouds above. Lifting up her eyes heavenward she laughed at the darkness, the dingyness and decrepitness authority smothered her with and freedom decorated her entire self like a stained-glass window in a light-filled boudoir.

  That precious moment on the couch had captured her heart. The time they shared together she would never forget. “Pa can never tear us apart,” she sang. A warm flush flowed through her as she towel dried her dripping flesh and stepped into her wool flannel parsely coloured panties and slipped her winter-white shetland wool knit nightie over her silky shoulders. It bounced then draped delicately to just below her blushing thighs like lavish flowers sprawling over rocks.

  Tearing back into her boudoir she grabbed her baby’s brush of powder blue and brushed her silky blond mane until it shone in the flickering candle-light. She waltzed over to the corner sink and brushed her teeth with an aussie-made natural sugar-free tea-tree toothpaste until her teeth sparkled.

  Earlier in the week Angea-Lea had applied coloured leaf motifs of lilac to dress up the plain white see-through curtains that covered the old sliding window opposite her bed. The heart-shaped leaves promised to make her lucky-in-love but now that her father stood in between her and her lover she felt threatened and insecure vowing to herself to hide their future potential in order to gain her father’s approval. She needed this cultural sea change.

  A peek into her hand-held mirror told her a plain and simple truth, ‘Be Bold! Blonds are supposed to have all the fun!’

  Now heady and giddy from a sudden rush of verve, the meaning of love and life for this young angel became abundantly clear, “Being born a blond is a windfall and I am not about to let daddy die my hair and spoil my fun.”

  Not a sound was heard, then…a high pitched whistle coming from the street below broke the silence. Malachi’s magical therapy restored her aching ankle to a healthful soundness the moment he piled on his affections at her very first visit to his floating palace barely brave enough for a close encounter with his trapped fountain of youth.

  Pounding the floor towards the opened window she cast her eyes downward catching sight of Malachi’s taught frame under the glow of the lamplit street. Their eyes locked, he blew her a kiss goodnight and she blew him one, he bowed his head turned and walked away. Excitedly she watched his tall, bulky bod sway in rythmic motion to the charming wistful sound of the chestnut trees as they swayed in the evening breeze, she could see he was reluctant to go back home she could feel her nipples harden she could sense his balls tighten. The fresh night air tantalized her all over, she adored this.

  Once under the soft sheets, she pulled the designer quilt with its floral border, in various shades of purple up to her chilly rose-blossom c
hin. The room had a refreshing and relaxing appeal in the summertime and a romantic and comforting appeal in the wintertime giving her twice as much pleasure. She could not stop thinking about the Aussie and his pet sea-snake.

  Her father had gone to bed steamed, not just because he had found her lying naked in the Australian’s arms but because she had failed to turn up for work at the florist shop that day. He had intended for her to spend two small hours sweeping and dusting.

  But, bigger things distracted her.

  Pretty soon the room became chilly and she crawled from under the bed covers and walked around the other side of her old royal-blue painted chest at the base of her bed, sliding open the bottom draw that stored a mid-blue woven blanket fashionably edged in the deepest blue velvet trim. She pulled it out, kicked the draw shut with her bare foot and walked slowly back to her bed neatly tucking the throw rug between the top sheet and the quilt.

  Ever since he’d captured her attention towards the south pole her tigerlily vine bloomers were constantly damp due to their salivating trainer and therefore had to be removed from time to time and stuffed into her bag and a new pair tied on.

  “Oh, O! A repeat performance,” she whispered to the man in the moon and off came her parsely panties with rapid speed taking their place at the end of her cosy bed. She drew the dramatically dyed pinky purple netting around her resting body. Sequins of silvery-blue had been attached randomly to the open-weaved fabric for an even more enchanting look. She had it in mind to repaint the old wooden chest over the coming weekend, forgetting completely her father’s plans for her departure.