Kirsten's Final Story

When you wake up with me,

I’ll be your glass of water.

(Paul Hester, Italian Plastic, Copyright Control, 1991).

Kirsten raised herself onto one elbow and looked across the bed, watching as Martin stood into his slippers and onto his feet in the one fluid movement. Her bottom, still red from the night before, flared into life to remind her that she had indeed done things she shouldn’t have done. The consequences had been severe.

“Good morning gorgeous,” Martin had come around to her side of the bed to kiss Kirsten’s forehead: a chaste kiss, almost brotherly. “How are things down under?”

“I’ve not spoken to them yet.”

“Not your parents Kirsten, I meant your...”

“Oh, tee hee, still sore.”

“I’m not surprised.”

Martin deliberately stroked Kirsten’s hair, beginning from her forehead and continuing across the top of her head he then grabbed a handful of loose ponytail as the hair left her neck to fall loosely past her shoulder-blades. Of all the things Martin did to her, Kirsten enjoyed it most when he played with her hair. Martin gave a short tug, pulling Kirsten’s head back so that she was looking up and into his face, she grinned broadly at him and was rewarded with a kiss that enveloped the grin. She threw both arms around his neck and pulled him down on top of her.

“Kirstie, sweetheart, I don’t have time for this.”

“Don’t be silly darling, I shan’t keep you long.”

“Not today, well not this morning, perhaps later.”

Martin stood up, kissing Kirsten’s forehead a second time as he did so. He winked, and left the room.

And that was the last she ever saw of him. No one is entirely certain how it happened, “it just went out from under him” they said...” whoever the hell “they” are.

But she would remember that final kiss forever, not for its passion, or even for its taste, but for its being his: “the last time Martin...”

Still, she was glad of one thing, the soreness of her bottom fading back in to remind her as they pulled the tray out from the locker in the morgue, at least she wouldn’t have to eat the rest of that damn casserole.

Bloody thing had had her up all night with diarrhoea...