Wake up by Tim Pears

Author:Tim Pears
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9789085241522
Publisher: For the Benefit of Mr. Kite
Published: 2001-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

But she orders most of such clothes from internet shops.

“Right,” she said. “They’re a company started and run by people who live the outdoor life.” She squatted down and untied my shoelaces.

“When they’re not living the executive life,” I said, stepping out of my hand-stitched shoes.

“That has nothing, zero, zilch to do with globalisation,” she said. “These shoes were Made in Portugal, by the by. Plus, anyway, Patagonia’s cotton is one hundred per cent organic.”

“You left the info-label attached,” I said. “Listen to this: A lightweight technical pullover that provides exceptional warmth with minimal bulk and weight. Ideal for a great variety of activities, from providing core insulation on technical outdoor adventures to keeping warm at the beach when the sun goes down. Slim fit through the hips minimizes conflict with harnesses and hipbelts. Anatomically engineered for women.”

Some job: anatomical engineer for women’s second skins. Call me a pervert if you will, but am I the only person this kind of thing turns on? Lily, meanwhile, was unrolling my socks.

“As with all of our products,” I continued, “our fleece garments are engineered with the same ideology—ideology! who said it was dead?—the same ideology of minimum weight and bulk with maximum performance. We have utilized some of the most innovative fabrics in the world to ensure incredible freedom of movement for high mobility and activity. And a close comfortable fit that maximizes warmth to weight ratios.”

As Lily stood up I lowered myself to one knee, grasping the top of her thermal leggings on the way down: as she rose, I peeled them down her legs.

“They donate a percentage of their profits to environmental groups,” she said.

“They can afford it,” I said. “Their profits are vast. They’re a corporation. They’re worth millions. And why not? There’s nothing wrong with that.”

My wife, leaning forward, put her hands on my shoulders for balance. I pulled the leggings off her lifting feet. They had the feel of an underground nocturnal animal; I brought them to my face and breathed in her heat and her aroma.

“Dakini,” I said. “Made in USA as well. Holders of the Crazy Wisdom, it says. Buddhist tights, no less.”

She grasped my neck just below my ears and ushered me up. As I rose I took her pink sleeveless T–shirt with me: this time she leaned forward to hurry its removal, and stayed there to unclip my belt and unzip my flies. The trousers crumpled to the floor. I stepped out of them as I grabbed her hair, and squeezed handfuls of it. She’d yanked my briefs down and took my throbbing cock in her mouth. I could have come quicker than either of us wanted.

“No,” I said, pulling her off me. I leaned over her back and undid her bra, holding the undone catch in place till I’d encouraged her upright again before letting the bra go, so that I could watch the spilling release of her gorgeous breasts. I put a hand on the back of her head and pulled us together and kissed her while with the other hand I eased down her knickers by clumsy degrees.

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