Before I sleep….

He was so tired, so very tired, when he crawled into his big bed at the Old Parsonage Inn. But despite his tiredness he wanted to do one last thing before he called it a day: he opened his laptop and connected to the Internet and to Skype, to reach out to his wife across the 8,390 miles and across the different time zones.

He was trying very hard to keep awake, smiling but his eyes were tired, soft, unfocused; his soul was beautifully opened like the unfurling of a lush fern after the rain. She, from a distance of 8,390 miles, stared hungrily at him, at the powerful well-defined muscles of his upper arms and chest visible above the crisp white sheet. My husband. How she hungered for him. The hunger was almost physical. It started like a knot in her stomach – a tightening of her insides – that made her catch her breath at its crescendo.

She said nothing.

He watched her, smiling lazily at her earnest face. Thinking to himself, “Isn’t it ironic, I have just been with my mistress yet it is my wife I long for before I go to sleep.”

She touched his face on her computer screen, her fingers moved almost in wonder, as she yearned to feel his skin beneath her fingers. Instinctively, he did the same from 8,390 miles away. He reached out to touch her on his computer screen; he touched the image of her lips. Their eyes met, they smiled at each other almost shyly. 8,390 miles away but distance was incinerated by the bytes and bits of their electronic touch.

“I’m coming home to you, Karin,” he said softly. She was not sure if he was aware of what he had just said. She knew he was in Oxford where that dirty girl was. That muloi with dirty energy who wanted her husband.

She watched him a little while longer as he drifted off to sleep, thinking to herself, love is not the passion nor the desire. It is not the adventures nor the highs. Love is the coming home when there is no more physicality. The highs of physical passion are merely incidental, waiting for love to reveal itself.

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Excerpt from Chapter 13, Inside the Higgs


Becoming alive


She began giving her husband what he wanted, though it was taboo to her.

He was thousands of miles away in Oxford, and she in the veld, where the internet didn’t work properly. Though he was sat in his office ready for his next meeting, he felt this intense longing for his wife. There was something erotic and comforting at the same time about their familiarity and intimacy. And so he called her.

“Oh, I’ve just come out of the shower,” she said.

He wanted to say, switch Skype on, but he couldn’t. There was something of a Wonderland feel to the situation, a surreality, because they were in different time zones. And there was something erotic about making love to someone across the miles and across time zones. He thought for a moment before saying:

“I have a meeting in six minutes’ time, so I have to leave you for the moment. But this is what I want you to do. Think deeply about all the places on your body that you want me to kiss. Then use your lipstick to mark X on each and every spot that you want me to kiss.”

If she was startled by his request, she did not show it.  “And then?”

“And then show me.”

He rang off, and she began her task. She tentatively touched herself, imagining his lips instead of her own fingers. She started touching her own lips, and wondered what he tasted there that drove him wild with desire. She remembered kissing him in the torrential rain. Yes, she wanted him to kiss her there. She marked an X on her mouth.  Her fingers moved down the hollow of her throat; another X. And on and on her self-exploration went. She sometimes had to twist and contort her body to mark a particular spot out for him to kiss.

And when she finished, spent, she sat patiently and waited for his call. It came, in the form of a text instead of Skype, to her disappointment.

Show me, he said. “Take a photo.”

“No,” she replied. “Only on Skype.”

Einstein’s light experiment with the mirrors. It changed the way we looked at the world, because for the first time, we are faced with irrefutable proof that time and space are elastic. She wanted to see his eyes when he looked at her body in real-time, at just a shade under 186,000 miles per second information transformation.

A pause, and then his reply. ‘OK, just for a minute. And I can’t speak, because I am in a conference call.”

Her Skype flicked to life and she showed him.

He wrote back, his fingers burning the keypad:

And I would kiss you in all those places …. many times. Gently at first and then becoming more hungry as I move my mouth across yours and then move down your torso. I want you so much.

She knew he could not hear her  voice as he had turned off the sound function;  she took her lipstick out again as he watched her with hungry eyes. She wrote one word on her body, right across her breasts, and that one word was his name.

(from Chapter 13, Inside The Higgs)





Life and love is circular

They walked towards Cornmarket filled with festive cheer – Oxford is truly magical at Christmastime – and as they approached the clocktower, Alice’s suggestion caught PW by surprise. But feeling mellowed and happy, he readily agreed. She undid her scarf and wrapped it round his head until he could no longer see. She led him by the arm through the throng of Christmas shoppers. All PW’s senses had to go on was the happy chatter of voices all around him, the fragrance of roasting chestnuts and Alice’s smell. Now and then, his arm would brush against her pregnant bump. PW was exhilarated.

“Enough, my dear Professor?” she asked laughingly.

“No, I want to walk more!”

And so they did, lost in a world of their own creation.

“Where do you think you are now, Professor?”

“I think you are leading me to Magdalen.”




Blerrie hell, where am I?” He ripped off his blindfold, and was astounded when his eyes took in his surroundings. Though they must have been walking for what seemed like hours, they were still in Cornmarket.

“We were walking round the clocktower, PW,” Alice said. “You were walking in a circle but you did not know. You perceived the circle in a linear fashion. You thought we had walked to a destination a certain distance away. What I am trying to say to you, my love, is that you would have no idea whether it has a beginning or and end, or whether it was finite or infinite.”

“Son of a bitch!” PW exclaimed. “That’s what you’ve been trying to tell me, isn’t it? It’s in your book, your blerrie Precision & Accuracy. Like most scientists, I am so convinced that there is a Big Bang, starting from that point called Singularity, from where our Universe keeps on expanding and expanding, as proven by Hubble’s Cepheid Variable star. You, on the other hand, believe that there is no beginning, and that the Universe is infinite.”