Wednesday, January 27, 2010

The Writer

The Panty-thief, Pen and Ink drawing, 10 x 12 cm

He excuses himself at dinner to go to the lavatory. He walks up the stairs along the corridor as if to go to the lavatory but passes it, instead finding his way to your and your wife's bedroom door. He pushes the door: it swings open: no-one there. He can hear the voices: distant laughter from the dining room downstairs.

He enters: trepidation. A sudden creaking of the floor under his shoe makes him gittery. He sees the chest of drawers on the other side of the bed, so far! He walks round the bed to reach it then, after pausing momentarily, pulls open the top drawer, peering inside. Yes!, he sighs, relieved. He sees a gorgeous array of costly pastel silk and lace: your wife's knickers. His palms are damp as he hurriedly selects a pair. He cannot resist stroking his delerious cheek for a joyful second with those panties before placing them in his side pocket, then scuttling from the room. He stops at the bathroom briefly before descending.

He returns to the the dinner table. You are entertaining the other guests with an anecdote about one of the directors of your company and scarcely noticed the guest's absence. He is a small, nervous man: insignificant. You do not sense that he is breathing heavily, nor see the beads of perspiration on his forehead.

Who is he? He is a contemporary novellist or a journalist, probably an Englishman.

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