ISIS AND THE END OF DAY. Jodie has finally fallen asleep.

Isis looks at lights moving over the ceiling. Can hear the breathing, the in and out of breath. She can feel the body just behind hers, the hand placed on her hip, the knees drawn up, touching her back. Jodie and her always need of sex. The age difference beginning to show, she becoming more tired more slow. Even now she feels a guilt rise in her like bile, the days back when Jodie entered her bed for that first time at the private school, Jodie’s hands out to reach her, she a pupil, Isis a first time teacher. Jodie moves in her sleep, her hand slips from the hip, rests on the sheet. Isis watches the patterns of light on the ceiling play. Years ago all that. None knew, none found out. The shared bed, much against her conscience, but her conscience lost, the love and lust set in. Isis reflects, the

lights play on, the patterns move. Each part of her touched, kissed, Held, licked and sucked. Well and truly loved, well and truly fucked. Back then the tense fear and need on both sides, the excitement of the deeds done, fear of exposure, the secret meetings, the passing over of messages in corridors, quick kisses in doorways, in those days. Isis lies on her back, hands on her breast, eyes watching the patterns dance on the ceiling’s screen. Just once more, Jodie had said, wanting sex and kisses as before. Now all done and time for rest, all thoughts pushed away, closes her eyelids like shutters on another full day.