Milka's mother
makes me
a cup of tea
as I wait for Milka
downstairs.

She'll not be long,
her mother says,
although don't
hold your breath,
Benny,
she adds,
smiling.

I like her smile;
it's like warm milk
of a motherly kind.

I sip the tea,
looking as her mother
walks from the sink
to the cupboard;
her plump body
cosy as a cat's
snuggled up close,
her backside swaying
like waves of water.

She doesn't deserve you,
her mother says,
giving me
a brief glance,
you are so patient
with her,
waiting for her,
doing things for her.

I recall Milka
dressing madly,
after the last
*** episode,
and her mother
downstairs,
having returned
from shopping early,
Milka flushed,
and I,
well, I was
in a trance,
dressing as fast
as I could,
thinking of reasons
to be in Milka's room.  

Would you like something
with the tea?
The mother asks,
looking at me,
her eyes searching me.

I try not to say
what's on my mind
and say,
a biscuit would be nice.

She smiles and goes
and fetches the biscuit tin
and opens it for me.

Help yourself,
she says.

She has very nice *******,
I note,
not staring,
but noticing as
she nears me.

I nibble and sip.

Milka is upstairs
getting ready
to go out,
taking her time,
while her mother
seduces me,
unwittingly.

I smile.

Is that,
I muse,
a crime?