She had told him about the ‘one.’ He remembered the ache he felt. He was married, she wasn’t. How could he possibly be her ‘one.’ ‘I hope...you find him,’ his reply had been weak and transparent. She had laughed at him, ‘You know you want to try.’ He did. He wasn’t sure what he was most afraid of. Being the one, or not being him. One thing was certain, he wanted to be her love. He watched a man in a pickup smoking a cigarette. ‘Tobacco alley’, that was what she said on the phone. For a moment,. I stand, my back pressed against his belly. I can hear and feel him breathing, this massive, sensual beast. His light touch is almost a tickle despite the great force I can feel behind it.He smells me.He takes ages to do it, inhaling the scent of my hair, which he strokes and parts to get more of my aroma. He smells my neck, from the sweet spot where it meets my shoulder to my ear. He smells my arms, even underneath them. He smells my breasts, my belly, then gets on his knees to lift my dress. More

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