A photograph started it all.
It showed a group of people sitting in benches or pews, seemingly attending a church service. Henry looked at the various faces that could be distinguished, recognizing none of them. In one of the back rows, however, he spotted Mrs Rokota, sitting with legs crossed. Unfortunately for her, under the back of the bench in front of her a small gap faintly showed the underside of one thigh. His heart beat with excitement at this sight, for she was a woman he had salivated over. He had held fantasies in his head about fondling those so-seductive hips.
He had met her at the Alliance Française where she was the Head Librarian, and he visited that cultural Centre several times a fortnight for the various activities on offer. He had, at one time or another, enjoyed art exhibitions, plays, and short courses to improve on his language skills. He also belonged to the library where he went to read, borrow books and exchange them when he had finished with them. He noticed Mrs Rokota as soon as she took up the post from the previous occupant, a taciturn Frenchman who had held it for more than ten years.
She was Madagascan, of medium height and light-skinned. Her eyelids were a bit on the heavy side. But what struck him the most was the width of her hips, coupled with the apparent thickness of her thighs. As she walked through the reading hall he followed her while keeping up the pretense of reading, his attention stolen by the sway of her hips. There was another of her quirks that held his attention: she tended to let her knees part slightly when she sat, affording him a view partway up her thigh. This would whip up his emotions to fever pitch. By all indications she would be completely unaware that she was over-exposing.
Afterwards as he lay on his bed about to fall asleep, he fed these images through the iMovie software of his mind exaggerating every detail until he was having his way with this married woman. He saw her sitting at one of the staff stations, whether for a consultation with a staff member, or sorting out a problem or query, he had no way of knowing. But after an interval, as she relaxed one knee parted company from the other, exposing an expanse of thigh. In the movie he was now directing, he could reach over and fondle one smooth, soft knee and then the other. He could hear her speech with the assistant begin to falter as his hand explored her further inland. He inserted his hand more properly between her thighs, letting his fingertips slide softly over that tender flesh. She involuntarily parted them further, allowing him to caress them with more purpose.
In the convenient fashion of dreams and fantasies, his mind got rid of the assistant at a stroke, leaving him alone with the woman he desired with his whole being. She could now part her legs fully for him, and soon he arrived at their junction, encountering her panty-clad pussy. He could feel the solidly packed mound, his finger tripping into the slit between her lips. Her heat reached the skin on the back of his finger; soon he felt the beginnings of her wetness. Crooking his finger he grazed the whole slit, trembling with excitement when he thought of the sensitive clit just below where his fingertip grazed. Taking courage, he inserted one joint under the elastic of her panty, causing a surprised gasp to escape her mouth.
Flesh encountered flesh now. He went against the lay of her pubic hairs, then down with them. Pushing the elastic to the side, he inserted his finger into her wet, leaking slit, causing her to jump. Turning his palm he entered that kingdom while her hand joined his. Suddenly he pushed hard, sliding the second joint into her. He heard her sigh of contentment as he set up a rhythmic motion in and out of her, finger-fucking her. Barely any time had passed before she caught her breath, tightened her hold on his hand, and a thick warm liquid flowed all over her pubis and his hand. At this point in his fantasy he came in reality. He had wet his sheet with fresh sperm. Now his worry was how his housekeeper would wash the sheet without seeing that slippery patch. He thought he would fix that in the morning, but anyway sleep overcame him.
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Almost every morning he woke to this fantasy, soiling his sheets even more with his excretions.
Now, seeing her in that photograph that seemed to have been taken at a church not that far from the Alliance gave him a thrill of excitement. If she attended church there, it could mean they hosted a French service. Henry determined to find out for himself since he did attend that church from time to time. He determined that he would, even though he had not planned to, attend services at the nearby church to see if he could learn more about the Librarian. Maybe if he met her in that more relaxed atmosphere, he might be able to speak to her.
On Sunday morning Henry was up early, showered and put on a suit. He drove the short distance from his flat to arrive in time for the second service; the children's service for the primary boarding school had just ended, he learnt from the large board posted just inside the entrance. It also showed the other services that would follow. Near the bottom he saw another that almost caused his heart to stop; a French service at 11am in the Old Church. He had no idea where this was located in the large compound but he determined that he would find it since he had slightly more than an hour before the French service was to start.
It did not take much time or effort to locate what was called Old Church. He was shown to an ancient-looking building beside the huge multipurpose Hall. He could hear the loud music from giant speakers as the Youth service progressed in that Hall. The small old church had a plaque beside the double doors that indicated it had been built in 1910. He walked through the door to encounter an aisle between two rows of pews. The floorboards echoed the sound of his shoes. Henry read a board telling the story of the origins of the church when this building had been made, then some twelve years before the present time it had been moved stone by individual stone from its original site beside the highway to its present one inside the church compound.
He heard murmured voices behind a door to the right of the entrance, guessing that those in charge were readying the service so he joined the few people already sitting in the pews, choosing a position not far from the back.
Mrs Rokota came out of what he had taken to be the vestry carrying the open Bible, leading the others. The service ran in familiar fashion with the exception of the language, and afterwards people shared juice and biscuits in front of the church. Here he was introduced to the husband of Mrs Rokota, a plump man with greying hair whom he had earlier spotted playing the keyboard. He spoke to her among the throng and was delighted that she recognised him from the Alliance. Taking advantage of the engrossing conversations going on around them, he slipped his business card to her. He joined another group in conversation, then another, circulating as much as he could. At a suitable moment he excused himself and went down towards the car park. Before he reached his car his phone vibrated in his pocket.
It was a message from an unknown number, but when he opened it, he read, "Merci beaucoup pour votre numero (thank you for giving me your number) Henri, -Nivo Rokota." She had wasted no time in giving him her contacts. He did not pause to wonder where her husband was but he shot off a reply.
"You're most welcome, madame!"
"Coming to Alliance this week?" His heart was beating somewhere outside of his chest.
"I will knock on your office door when I do."
"You are welcome to do so, any time." His palms were sweating as he drove out of the church compound, thinking that the following day, a Monday, he would return one of the books that were due on Wednesday if only for the chance of seeing her again.
