By mid-morning the sizzling June heat had become almost unbearable. Relieved to get out of the sun Magenta kicked off her garden shoes in the kitchen doorway and flicked on the radio switch. Time for Woman's Hour. She never missed it. Today they were talking about sex.
Magenta looked out of the window at the man who was working on the vegetable bed at the bottom of the garden. He had stripped to his waist and wore only a pair of shorts. She watched the way the glistening nutbrown muscles of his back and arms bunched and swelled as he moved and she wished she could reach out and feel their slippery firmness under her hands.
Her blouse clung uncomfortably to her damp skin and she could feel rivulets of perspiration running down the inside of her thighs. He was listening to the radio too. She could see his small solar powered set propped up on the wheelbarrow next to where he worked. She knew he listened to radio 4. They were talking about the female orgasm now. What was he thinking? Did the heat turn him on as much as it it did her?
Magenta unbuttoned her blouse and peeled the clammy material away from her body. She moistened a tea towel under the tap and dabbed it against her belly, gasping at the coolness. Beads of sweat tricked down from her bra strap. She unfastened it and pressed the tea towel up under her breasts.
The man put down his spade and stretched. Magenta could see the tufts of dark hair under his arms. He was drenched in sweat, the skin shining in the bright sunlight. On the radio they were discussing the ways a man can heighten a woman's climax. He turned towards the house, seeming to look directly at her through the window, even though she doubted he could see into the darkened kitchen from outside. She waved experimentally but he did not respond.
Unable to bear the oppression of her clothes a moment longer she shrugged off her blouse and let it fall to the floor. Her bra had come loose and after a moment's hesitation she pulled it off, luxuriating in the sensation of air circulating freely over the moist skin.
He continued to stare towards her. Could he see her nakedness through the glass? She ran a hand between and over her breasts sliding her fingers over the wet skin, imagining they were his fingers. He began to walk towards the house and she allowed her hand to linger sensitively at the tip of a breast before unfastening her cotton skirt. It fell away and she stepped out of it, turning towards the kitchen door. He was already there.
'Come here, husband of mine,' she said. 'I have plans for you.'
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