It stirs menus and stacks of serviettes flutter. The couple leave the café hand-in-hand, braving the storm together.Jealous, I watch them go. I want what they have, that comfortable closeness and communication without the need for conversation. Unity.The heavy glass door swings shut once more, lulling the maelstrom and muffling the hubbub from the street beyond. The steady patter of the rain on tarmac and paving diminishes; the swoosh of tyres racing through the puddles becomes a dull drone, the unwelcome breeze is banished. Serenity is restored until the coffee maker to my right hisses into life, spitting noisily. I turn to look as cups are rattled and cheerful pleasantries exchanged between the smartly-dressed baristas and customers ordering refills while they sit out the storm. No-one's keen to move. I'm certainly not.I pick up my mug and take a sip. My coffee's gone cold. How long did I stare at that couple? I shake my head and, cradling the mug in both hands, I contemplate. ‘What? Wrong again? I don’t know if I like this game!’ ‘You will,’ I encouraged. ‘Just keep trying.’ So he touched my thigh. I tagged him. He touched my calf. I tagged him. He touched my foot. I didn’t tag him. He fondled my foot a little, not quite sure what to do with it. But I gave him assurances in the form of sighs and little noises of pleasure. I suggested he try another member of his team on my feet. So he rubbed his arm on them. Then he began to kiss them all over, and draw the toes into his mouth to suck on them. I squealed with delight, at the sound of which he left my toes and spread my legs, touching his tongue to the folds of skin at their juncture. I tagged him. So he went back to my feet. I tagged him. He moved to my calves, and I didn’t tag him. His pillar had again grown full and upright. He began to rub it along my legs, doing contortions with his buttocks to guide it where he wanted it. ‘M-m-m,’ I said. ‘I like that.’ He was doing very well for a beginner at this.
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