Futility’s cotton wool cloud

Sometimes its hard to fight your way out of soft and fluffy.

Sometimes its hard to fight your way out of soft and fluffy.

Section 81 wants a cuddle

Wearily Vernon put down the phone and sat in a contemplative haze. His head seemed full of cotton wool as if synapses were firing vainly into an absorbent cloud of futility. His constant dull pain of loss was keener now. Every time he returned the children to their home, or even at times such as this, when he put down the phone and terminated a tense conversation, it was as if something in him expired. Right now however, the pain was like a metal splinter beneath a finger nail; piercing and impossible to ignore.

No zone is comfortable unless its comfort is of a chosen kind

He trudged upstairs to bed, for once hoping that the amorous fires of Africa had cooled. He’d happily settle for the enveloping reassurance of an unasking embrace. Nsansa was asleep when he turned out the light. She stirred and caressed him erotically almost speculatively, but there was little conviction in it and eventually the day ended well with her closeness supplying precisely the comfort he craved.

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