Fiction, Melbourne, Relationship and marriage, Writing


I watch Gillian as she ambles across the lush green grass towards me. I’m at a picnic table; was lucky to find it vacant when I arrived, so I almost threw myself on it. I’ve been here, waiting for her to arrive, for over thirty minutes.

She’s always late.

I always forgive her.

The wind whips her hair; it flies upwards and over her face. With her free hand, she draws a lock behind her ear. In her other hand she carries a picnic hamper, with a blanket rolled up through the handles. My stomach rumbles; I skipped breakfast this morning, knowing Gillian would pack more gourmet goodies than a family of six could tuck into. Experience tells me there’ll be a variety of cheeses, olives, wine and crackers, but I’m curious to lift the lid, see what surprise she’s brought along this time.

As I lift my hand to wave at her, I’m filled anew with gratitude. The luckiest man alive. I know it. I’ll never forget it.

Her hips sway sensuously from left to right. She’s only metres away from me now. Warmth flows through my veins, heating my body. I smile. She does too.

‘Hello gorgeous,’ she says. Her voice is smooth and dark, like treacle. She kisses me on the lips, and for a moment, I forget I’m in a public park and consider taking her right here, on the picnic table. Before I get a chance, she breaks away and places the hamper on the ground, unfurls the blanket and uses it as a table cloth.

I realise I still haven’t returned her greeting, but I can’t speak. I don’t trust my voice. My hands are in my lap, covering my obvious erection. My eyes follow her every move.

‘Not speaking today, Will?’ she asks with a teasing glint in her eye.

Today’s a big day. Not that Gillian knows this yet. But in my backpack, I have a ring, inside a little jewellery box. It’s time to put an end to two homes, who’s sleeping at whose home, and picnics in a park at the halfway point. I want this woman in my life, for the whole of my life.

Clearing my throat, I say, ‘Hey babe.’

‘Finally! He’s with me.’

If only she knew how my head is always with her.

‘You look fantastic.’ My gaze drags up and down her body, lingering on her breasts. The cleavage! Oh how I’d like to bury my face in there.

‘Staring at my tits again, Will?’


She’s grinning. My cheeks burn—at least I still have to decency to feel sheepish—as I have an idea.

‘Let’s take this picnic back to my house? That work for you?’

‘It will, Will,’ she says with a sexy lilting laugh. She’s already rolling up the blanket. Together, arm-in-arm, we walk to the train station.

9 thoughts on “Picnic”

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