Julie and Hannah, two Erotic Fantasies

Julie

My basket-weaving skills were, I suspect, not lost on Julie -
They proved, if nothing else, that I was not a Presbyterian.
"I'm nonplussed," she confided, "Do you fancy some Valerian?"
I paused to breathe her perfume, mingled mackerel and patchouli,

And gaze with longing at the half-picked scab upon her forehead.
"In fact", I said, "my name isn't Valerian, it's Harold:
I am no Roman emperor, though my surname's double-barrelled;
But yes, I'd certainly like whatever's going, if it's torrid".

"I see." She turned to shoo a wayward llama from the doorway,
Then, gathering up her first editions of Sir Walter Scott, she
Went into the kitchen, saying "Do you like it blotchy?"
I answered "Dark and filmy". She said "All right, have it your
way."

What seemed an hour went by. I whistled in the style of Tippett,
Ate scones, took all my teeth out, played Mah Jongg with her kid
sister,
Who finally scratched her head and said "I'd better tell you,
mister,
That cute late 50s hairstyle nowadays just doesn't rip it."

I blushed and placed a Hidden Kong face up upon the table.
At that point Julie entered, wearing sequins and a turban
(she told me later that she'd bought it on a trip to Durban);
She said "Should this be hand-washed? be a darling, read the
label."

I bent in search of the instructions on her splendid sari,
When suddenly, a cormorant made me lose all concentration:
I think it was its noisy manner of regurgitation,
Though Julie's sister went on calmly playing with her Atari.

"Don't pay attention to the fowl's attention-seeking ruses,"
Said Julie, "seabirds tend to get quite tiresome in the winter;
And this," she added, "is for not being fond of Harold Pinter."
With that, she kicked my shin, which left me nursing several
bruises.

My passion burst, as you can well imagine, into flames:
I covered her with kisses, cottage cheese, and post-it notes,
On one of which I scrawled a quote from Captain L.G. Oates,
While on another we played tic-tac-toe (she won both games).

Then later, as we rested quietly by the fireside's glow,
She asked about my pancreas: I said "it's made of plastic".
"A plastic pancreas?" she laughed, "That must be quite
fantastic!"
I mused on this for maybe half an hour, and then said "no".

Years later, still I dream about that magic night in Morden:
The choking of the cormorant, her wondrous First Editions.
I'd love to have accompanied her on all her dangerous missions -
For Julie was in fact an undercover traffic warden.

Hannah

"This grapefruit looks quite dodgy," Hannah said, "and you've no
heating;
Your annual income's five per cent of mine, you own a jackdaw.
It's hard to see why I should not leave, right now, by the back door
-
But I'm sold on your basket-weaving skills. They take some
beating."

She winked and, with seductive movements, took off her
sou'wester.
I sighed to see her raven tresses gorgeously cascading
Into the cat's bowl. "Never mind," she said, "that wig was
fading;
The cats can play with it while we go have a long siesta."

She had a husky voice: in fact, I've never heard a hoarser cough;
But what was most alluring was the way she quoted Tennyson
While rolling up her sleeves. Her skin, the colour of grilled
venison
Was like a dusky fantasy inspired by Rimsky-Korsakov.

But somehow, my mind dwelt upon the grapefruit she'd rejected:
I just kept thinking "grapefruit?" while she dabbed my knees with
turpentine
(A pleasure that I'd not enjoyed since rowing on the Serpentine
With Mangy Meg - but that's another story). I detected

A note of peevishness when she exclaimed "you seem so distant!"
I answered "I'll be back soon," and switched off my
walkie-talkie,
Reflecting on how hard it is to please girls from Milwaukee,
But how I'd find a grapefruit somewhere if I was persistent.

I finally returned home with a heavy bag of victuals.
I also brought a waitress from a gin-joint, called "No Standing",
In case my partner had got tired of waiting on the landing,
And left without a wig. But there she was, just playing skittles.

"Who's this?" said Hannah. "I am just a poor girl who's enamoured
Of this bloke's basket-weaving skills," said No. "Well, join the
party!"
said Hannah. "Are you hungry? Would you like, perhaps, a
Smartie?"
"Well. No," said No, "But I do rather fancy getting hammered."

And so we left No in the kitchen with a jug of Pernod,
And sated our desires upon the carpet in the hallway,
While listening to a Denver cover played by one James Galway,
And watching Newman do his stuff in "Towering Inferno".

'Twas only afterwards, when she was lighting up a Consulate,
I showed her my new grapefruit. "Yes, that's fresh, of course, but
actually,
I don't eat grapefruit - it's bad for the pancreas!" she said,
factually.
I don't mind telling you that I was terribly disconsolate.