Memories of Travels in Time

Do you remember when the wardrobe was a time machine?  When the most exciting thing was to be the Roman soldier the teacher had been wittering on about for the week before?  Well, actually the most exciting thing was to be able to boss your cousins because you knew what it was like in the Roman times and they didn’t, because they didn’t go to your school.

Then the time machines, they became books, remember?  Stories that transported you to places far away in time.

Now I cannot say I have been on a time machine, but I know that I remember things that I shouldn’t know.  Like reading a story and thinking, interesting that is how you thought it was because I don’t feel you have remembered it correctly.  And real things, I was riding down the street on my bike this afternoon thinking what a beautiful day it was for cycling.  At the shop I had had a stilted conversation about it being a beautiful day for cycling, the conversation become boring when the sales assistant asked about drinking water.  Yes, I have a water bottle, no it isn’t hard to drink on the bike, yawn.  But back to my cycling down the road, I must not get distracted telling you about the sales assistant no matter how nubile she might have been.  I assure you I am an old lech, yes, on a bike I enjoy all the women in their summer outfits.  Cycling today I noticed a young woman walking her dog who was  wearing a very light vest top that left little to the imagination.  I remembered the curve of her breast, I remembered running my hand along her side from the nape of her neck over the top of her breast down, curving out then in then out round her hip.  I remember thinking about her pubic hair, trimmed but not shaved.  I remember my hand dropping as I drift away leaving her to enjoy her relaxation.  Relaxing, she must have been sunbathing in her back garden, or lying on her bed after taking a shower, sometimes it is difficult to remember the whole scene.  Sunbathing or showering is what you do on a hot day like this.  And as I drift away I look back at her I see her smiling at me, but she wasn’t really looking at me, she is smiling at her memory of my touch.


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