you to keep on thinking just that. He had always had a thing for her, from way back, when she first hit the limelight and he was just one more nameless fan staring at the sexy singer on the TV screen, harbouring his unseemly secret thoughts.
He was crazy for her.
But then, after the chaos of the Sloet case, six months ago, it happened for the first time, and it was everything that Benny Griessel had dreamed of. Lord, that woman could kiss, and her body was just the right combination of soft and firm, even though she was closer to fifty than he was. She was so instantly responsive, her hands all over his body. Her eagerness, her spontaneity, she didn’t mind showing her pleasure, shouting, in her jubilant velvet voice: ‘Oh yes, Benny, yes. Good, Benny, so good, more, more, more,’ along with a few other things that you wouldn’t ever mention to anyone, but that were thrilling all the same.
Afterwards, he would lie beside her, spent and wet with perspiration, in love, lost, and so immensely pleased with himself and with her, and with them. He thought, fuck, finally life had given him a break, this sexy creature, this fabulous woman.
And from there on it only got better.
Between her busy scheduleand his unpredictable work, at least once a week – now and again two heavenly times – they would repeat the miracle in her big double bed. A couple of times in the sitting room, and once in the shower, soaking wet and slippery with soap. They learned more of each other’s tastes and bodies and pleasures, grew relaxed and easy, and Griessel was happy for the first time in he didn’t know how long.
And then he went and moved in.
‘It would be so nice to have just a little more of you, Benny. Even if it is a half an hour in the morning, or evening.’ That’s how Alexa brought it up.
He thought that, if it was so amazing when he saw her so seldom, it could only be better when he saw her more. Logical argument. In addition, it made economic and practical sense. She was alone in that rambling house, he was cooped up with his cheap furniture in his cramped bachelor fl at.
And they loved each other.
So he gave up his flat, and took the furniture back to Mohammed ‘Love Lips’ Faizal’s pawn shop, and with the proceeds he took Alexa to her favourite restaurant, Bizerca, where he, SAPS Detective Captain, sat eating oysters in the knowledge that his constant struggle was over, life was good. That first moving-in night they fucked like teenagers, and he knew it had been the right decision.
The second night, when he came to bed, Alexa slipped her hand under the elastic of his pyjama bottoms and she stroked and teased and kissed him, and he njapsed her again.
The third night, the same thing. His soldier struggled to stand quite to attention, and his performance was not what you’d call first rate, but he pressed through.
And by night four he knew he was in trouble.
In his twenties, when he and his ex, Anna, were young and horny and newly married, he could do the deed two, three times a day.
But that was in the old days. A quarter century and a thousand litres of Jack Daniel’s ago.
Now it was altogether a different matter.
So, what did you do?
He couldn’t say to Alexa ‘no, fok weet , this is a bit much’. Not when she looked at you with those eyes full of love and compassion and sexual need, not when you had been njapsing her with such abandon for the past six months. Not if she had bought you clothes and an iPhone, and treated you like this big hero.
There was no way he could sit in front of a doctor and say ‘I want a prescription for Viagra’. His sexual prowess had nothing to do with anyone, he didn’t have that sort of courage, and he couldn’t swallow those pills every day. Then he would be addicted all over again to something new, walking around with a permanent Jakob Regop – a constant boner was trouble that he really didn’t need.
All he could do, was to sleep over at work. To get the lead
He was crazy for her.
But then, after the chaos of the Sloet case, six months ago, it happened for the first time, and it was everything that Benny Griessel had dreamed of. Lord, that woman could kiss, and her body was just the right combination of soft and firm, even though she was closer to fifty than he was. She was so instantly responsive, her hands all over his body. Her eagerness, her spontaneity, she didn’t mind showing her pleasure, shouting, in her jubilant velvet voice: ‘Oh yes, Benny, yes. Good, Benny, so good, more, more, more,’ along with a few other things that you wouldn’t ever mention to anyone, but that were thrilling all the same.
Afterwards, he would lie beside her, spent and wet with perspiration, in love, lost, and so immensely pleased with himself and with her, and with them. He thought, fuck, finally life had given him a break, this sexy creature, this fabulous woman.
And from there on it only got better.
Between her busy scheduleand his unpredictable work, at least once a week – now and again two heavenly times – they would repeat the miracle in her big double bed. A couple of times in the sitting room, and once in the shower, soaking wet and slippery with soap. They learned more of each other’s tastes and bodies and pleasures, grew relaxed and easy, and Griessel was happy for the first time in he didn’t know how long.
And then he went and moved in.
‘It would be so nice to have just a little more of you, Benny. Even if it is a half an hour in the morning, or evening.’ That’s how Alexa brought it up.
He thought that, if it was so amazing when he saw her so seldom, it could only be better when he saw her more. Logical argument. In addition, it made economic and practical sense. She was alone in that rambling house, he was cooped up with his cheap furniture in his cramped bachelor fl at.
And they loved each other.
So he gave up his flat, and took the furniture back to Mohammed ‘Love Lips’ Faizal’s pawn shop, and with the proceeds he took Alexa to her favourite restaurant, Bizerca, where he, SAPS Detective Captain, sat eating oysters in the knowledge that his constant struggle was over, life was good. That first moving-in night they fucked like teenagers, and he knew it had been the right decision.
The second night, when he came to bed, Alexa slipped her hand under the elastic of his pyjama bottoms and she stroked and teased and kissed him, and he njapsed her again.
The third night, the same thing. His soldier struggled to stand quite to attention, and his performance was not what you’d call first rate, but he pressed through.
And by night four he knew he was in trouble.
In his twenties, when he and his ex, Anna, were young and horny and newly married, he could do the deed two, three times a day.
But that was in the old days. A quarter century and a thousand litres of Jack Daniel’s ago.
Now it was altogether a different matter.
So, what did you do?
He couldn’t say to Alexa ‘no, fok weet , this is a bit much’. Not when she looked at you with those eyes full of love and compassion and sexual need, not when you had been njapsing her with such abandon for the past six months. Not if she had bought you clothes and an iPhone, and treated you like this big hero.
There was no way he could sit in front of a doctor and say ‘I want a prescription for Viagra’. His sexual prowess had nothing to do with anyone, he didn’t have that sort of courage, and he couldn’t swallow those pills every day. Then he would be addicted all over again to something new, walking around with a permanent Jakob Regop – a constant boner was trouble that he really didn’t need.
All he could do, was to sleep over at work. To get the lead
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