The Café Pt. 05

What had happened? He never knew. One day they had been there, very much there -- naked and there - the next day Milka and Toma gone. Disappeared, as it were, into thin air. Had it been planned? Had they known? Was it a moonlit flit? Had they been behind with the rent, in debt; perhaps in trouble some other way? Had they gone home, back across Europe, to their homeland? Had Milka then had those babies? Had Toma at last sheathed his penis naked within her, rather than clad in latex. and moved it to inseminate her, as he himself had done so many times?

Just once he had thought he had seen her again. He had travelled to her country, had taken a package holiday because it had been cheap and because he had been curious about Milka and Toma, they had not left his thoughts; he had wanted to see where they had come from; had wanted to think of her. He had been in a café, had been sitting with other members of the tour, had been drinking a cappuccino when he had seen across the room a woman who could have been -- just could have been -- Milka. It was seven, eight perhaps nine years on and she would have changed a bit. Inevitably time would have wrought its changes. The hair was different, but it just might have been. It just might have been.

Chris was unsure and before he made up his mind to walk across and ask, she was gone out through the glass door and into the street. Gone. He should have got straight up from his seat, should have gone closer, should have asked her. It was a cause for regret. He kicked himself again and again not just that day or on the holiday but for years afterwards.

And so, there he was, twenty years on from his happy days in the little café in Soho standing outside it once more, an older man now, thinking and remembering

Despite finding erection not coming so easily at seventy, Chris stood reminiscing with just that in his trousers; as hard a penis as he had had in those rooms above the café. He looked up at the windows above, to where he had once upon a time copulated with the lovely Milka. How good for one more chance with the girl. Even in her forties now, that would be good! He sighed, just a memory; just memories of happy days past. He had not forgotten Milka's malapropisms, He could still remember her as she had been when she had said that phrase that had so stuck with him down the years, 'I slurps it down.'

Chris turned on his heels and walked northwards to Oxford Street to meet his wife, do some shopping, perhaps have a cappuccino someplace and then, later, have lunch.