Tag Archives: sweat

Granddad shirt

Raspberry fool – the colour – and picked up in some Edinburgh hippy clothing store – collarless granddad shirt. It suits me so well, and in my teenage mirror vanity, I’m satisfied.

Lenora and Pete are visiting, and then, Lenora just on her own, as Pete’s back at Uni. The sun’s hot outside, the green world baking, and scents of golden river water, reeds, and newly-shorn lanolin sheep.

Like the sheep, I’m sweating – but in my case, with awakened desire.

Somehow – a word, a hand touched, she moves to me. It’s way beyond my own know-how or self-esteem, and yet in these hot days, it’s soon done.

We camp up North, north of Applecross – a shambolic bus journey of poorly packed gear – arriving in rain followed by a midge-storm.

In the morning, the confined tent smells of blood and sex, warming in sunrise light. Occasional cars dodge sheep on the road beyond the dyke.

Hand in hand, boot after boot, we climb the rocky, rugged mountain above, pausing by pools.

Hot water bottle

It glugs and almost somersaults out of my hands like a slinkee. I grasp the obscene pink plastic tightly.

At the filling stage, first emptying the air, and holding the neck at right angles to avoid spurting, scalding, volcanic projection of searing liquid. I feel the steam sting my eyes with rubbery hotness.

It’s there in the centre of the bed, radiating like a hot, hidden heart, bringing discomfort and sweat and sleeplessness. She needs it, wants it, but I sweat and fret, throwing up barriers of down to shut out its influence. Sweat sheens my back and drips wetly onto the damp sheets.

Waking up with taste of staleness – “badger breath” – and excessive thirst. The heat has boiled away all hydration overnight. I lie uncomfortably worn out, postponing, before swivelling out and staggering in search of a pint glass of water, and a pee.