The Anniversary Stories Read Online Free PDF

had even cut her
long, flowing curly locks into a pixie style similar to Helen’s.  She and Sydney
were both half-Black, half-Indian as were many Trinidadian and even in a thick
plait down her back, Florence’s hair had been a thing of beauty.  Loose around
her shoulders and flowing down her back, it had been every man’s fantasy. 
Helen had told him that Sydney had not been amused when his wife had cut her
hair.  Secretly John hadn’t blamed the man; he would have been apoplectic
himself!
    Earlier in the week when he
had been in the garden vigorously attacking the weeds around one of Helen’s
rosebushes, his t-shirt drenched with perspiration, Florence had popped her
head over the dividing wall and started chatting.
    Now sinking carefully onto
one of the sturdy chairs set around the kitchen table, she gave a soft sigh. 
“I shouldn’t really be drinking coffee but you make it so well.”
    “One cup of coffee won’t harm
you.” John reached into the cupboard for a small cup and saucer.
    “The house is too quiet
without the kids,” Florence remarked, taking the cup of sweetened milky coffee
from him when he had made it exactly to her taste.
    “They have probably exhausted
poor Susan.”  John chuckled.  “I was expecting her to bring them back after a
day or two, but they seem to be having fun.”
    His older sister hadn’t had a
playful bone in her body when they were growing up together, but she was the
complete opposite with his children.  They absolutely loved her and could
barely contain their excitement when he’d told them that she had invited them
over for an entire week.
    “So it’s just the two of us.”
    John’s heart had been beating
erratically since he had turned and caught sight of her in the sleeveless, pale
yellow dress.  It beat even faster at her words.
    It was his and Helen’s
wedding anniversary.  Helen had often teased him that Florence had a little
crush on him and had jokingly, he’d thought, said that she would ask the other
woman if she wanted to sleep with him.  He had dismissed the idea that Florence fancied him, but he had felt it each time the woman popped over to discuss plants
whenever he was working in the garden.  She loved flowers, roses especially,
but Sydney who had grown up on a farm didn’t see the point of planting or
growing anything that wouldn’t bear fruits or be eaten in some form.
    Sydney worked long hours and spent most of his
leisure time travelling around the country with his domino club.
    Florence was a bored housewife.
    A heavily-pregnant, bored
housewife.
    John just happened to be a
man who adored pregnant women—bored or otherwise.
    He had enjoyed Helen’s
pregnancy.  She was usually on the slender side—a trait shared by both her
parents, her three brothers and her much-younger sister—but she had bloomed
during pregnancy.  Her breasts, in particular, had surprised him completely by
going up several cup sizes and becoming even more delicious to fondle and suck
on.
    The twins had thankfully not
been large babies, but carrying two babies instead of one had been tough on his
petite wife.  He had insisted that she stopped working six months into her
pregnancy and though she had protested vehemently she had acquiesced when she
realized just how worried he had been about her driving to and from work each
day in her condition.  Bizarrely—well, bizarrely because it seemed contrary to
what most women experienced during pregnancy according to the pregnancy books
they had read—Helen had been in an almost constant state of arousal.  He had
often come home in the evening to find her eagerly waiting for him.  He’d often
had to eat her and then his dinner.
    They had hoped for more
children after the twins, but it hadn’t happened yet.  They were largely
content, blessed with a child of each sex, but they had planned on having four
or five children when they had first married.  They had discussed IVF when the
twins were three years old