Christmas
I drove with my Dad to the house owned by his friend, Sapphire, whose lovely and diffident and funny husband died ten years ago and the house was built by Lytton Strachey and frequented by members of the Bloomsbury group (she has photos of Virginia Woolf in the garden). Sapphire’s grown-up children arrived in the evening. Gina is thirty and very beautiful and flamboyant, but caring. Sam is diffident and funny and warm like his father, but slower and more softly handsome. My nascent crush developed into a gentle yearning. I thought quite a lot about having sex with him, and about wrapping myself up in his quiet attentions and feeling him stand behind me with his hands on my shoulders. In true life, we traded quips and smiled at each other. His girlfriend, Heather, also with us, was very nice.
Christmas passed with a walk, drinks, a stubbornly uncooperative log fire, lots of food, a game of Cranium and easy conversations.
Now, I am back at the Mom’s house sitting on the sofa with my little sisters and cousin. Em is being fucked around by her dicksuck of a boyfriend.