"What are you doing luv?"

"Sewing your jacket sleeve"

"I have lackys for that"

"That poor old Malcolm, and Neil whatshisname, are not lackys. Well, even if they are... I'm doing this one. OK?"

"Ok luv, but as soon as you're done, back over here on the sofa with moi" Hooking me arms behind my cranium, looking up to the ceiling, light shines on the situation "Tell me Jacqueline, how did I not manage to get you into your plush bed again?" She's relaxed and grinning like she's got a secret. Legs slung over one arm of her armchair give a long view of creamy, oh so soft, flesh. I could just bite her upper thigh. I might. When I get up... in like sixty-one or two hours. The short tours are nearly as crippling as the long. Screaming hordes stop any semblance of sleep, Richys snoring adding to the melee.

"Well, we arrived back here, out the front, and began kissing rather inappropriately in the motor. The bobby knocked twice on the windshield and shook his baton. You made a joke about your baton, and here we are. You all worn out and me fixing your fans, feisty clawing destruction, of your jacket."

He's so fine. Hair tussled and shirt hanging ever so artfully over the lamp shade above his head. Big breath taken... A large sigh of sated contentment of his person being draped all over my tacky little sofa, leaves reddened, well kissed, lips.

"Still doesn't tell me how I ended up bent in a pretzel shape on your sofa luv"

"Spelling it out was never my forte"

"Try please, I need a sweet dream to plonk me back into dreamland, or you, one or the other"

"Such a charmer" A grin pulled as cotton tugged. Tugging, pushing, pulling, touching, kissing.... What no! The jacket! Eyes down girly. Tugging cotton was one thing, shoving the needle... Pushing... come on girl, concentrate.

Shoving through the thick material was one thing, recounting the heat, all that lava hot heat of the very dirty evening, another "A lady never tells"

"Just the condensed version then. The ins and outs, if you will. The height of the evening, the screams"

"You did scream a bit"

"Bollocks"

Her giggles drive straight to that erogenous zone down below. Something about getting a tough as nails' bird giggling drives a lad wild. She bites the cotton and her teeth make an appearance. The night flashes before my eyes. Skin, lips, her lips, geezers... up he goes.

"Did you light your candle again?"

"What' you on about luv?"

"That thing"

"Thing?!"

He's grinning at my lack of conversational skills. But how do you do it?

Speak when Paul McCartney's eyes are upon you. Centre of his attention. Absolute centre.

In that moment, the centre of his entire crazy universe.

Not on stage, not surrounded by fans, nor his bandmates, manager, not Mal and Neil whatshisname. He is here, alone, in this too small flat staring, watching and grinning.

Like I'm a cream pie.

Mmmhmm, I'm his dessert.

Yay me!!

"Your... your... um..." I can't. I can't say it out loud like that. That's my little private name for that glorious, first-class, skillful, masterly, powerful, crackerjack, scholarly, smooth, polished, long-lasting, don't forget supreme, superbly phenomenal and well-developed piece of his anatomy. He's too far away to just grab hold of it and take his mind off asking me what I call it. I'd be here all night if I listed those qualities out loud! I'll whisper instead "Candlestick" There done, and the jacket is all done too.

Standing.

Casting his jacket aside, overly suggestive stretching wins his further, thoroughly engrossed, attention.

His beautiful eyes turn to lust.

Dark fires burning... stretch a little taller, his candlestick increases to full mast.

Its mine, all mine.

He's... mine.

Well this evening, and tomorrow morning before nine (?) anyway.

"Candle..stick. I like that..."

The sexy grin covering his face breaks any resolve to saunter slowly toward his mouthwatering body, yep all disappears into thin air... Any thoughts, to let him have his fill of silvery pale lines on tummys plus every inch of skin above and below, perish. Launching at speed, Paul's laughter and groans then delicious moans eat up any silly fears, and only his lips alone can satisfy life in this oh so glorious elongated passage of time.

A growl bursts forth, his eyes rove with haste and want and, above all else, searing heat; and everything he thinks is stated so plainly on his features, all taking the breathe away from the luckiest woman in the worlds' heaving lungs.

Holding hands, fingers threaded, lips supped upon. The whirlwind of residual feverish heat skitters between two spent bodies. The afternoons delight weaves contentment around hearts and minds and thoughts. His heartbeat makes this silly girl-woman all gooey and womanly in one. His contented hums, lift a smile to recently mauled, in the most delicious of ways, lips.

Paul McCartney's' fingers swipe low, running patterns, figures of eight, tracing the bones in the spine up and down, dipping lower to pat an arse he just recently pronounced so fine, it should be in the Louvre on display for all the world to inspect and proclaim to be the 'best arse in the land'.

The worshipped body part jiggled in memory. A ripple of laughter racing to escape, catching him unawares.

"Laughter?"

"My arse..."

"Best in the land"

Giggles erupt again, along with a grin so magnificent.

Bloody hell, draw a breath man. She is... She was...She's... all that. No, she better not be. The world needs single Paul. Yeah, heaps to go around. But hers today mate.... Hers today.

***

"Still awake! Shouldn't you be tucked up in bed"

"I- no, I thought it best to stay up til you both got home. Have a nice time Missus Lennon?"

"Oh, hello luv- Cyn remember. Yes thank-you... Was Julian a good boy?" Setting the shawl aside, eyes spy Bethys' face light up upon seeing John. Ohhhh... to be young again. Innocent crushes and idol worship. Poor ole John, it must be a nightmare- yeah right. He gobbles it up like it's bacon and eggs for breakfast.

"Julian was perfect. A little grumbly for bed but I sang him a lullaby"

"Did you now?"

Cheeks reddening, breathing stilted at Johns enquiry.

Was that the trick- sing?

Be a singer and the music man with the most perfect dreamboat scrumptious eyes lavish undivided attention?

"I'll duck up and check Jules and change for bed. John?"

"I'll finish up this fag over a glass of something strong"

"Don't be up too late. You know Jul will be up early. Don't want daddy to be a grumpy bear do we"

"Ok Luv, don't fuss about late nights, it's only... a quarter after two. See you in a bit" Listening to the not so high heels click and clack up the stairs, for a moment the world disappeared.

The giggles of the babysitter, slash Pauls' current squeezes' daughter, broke into the quiet of the living room. Tinker-ling merrily as the brandy brandished, sloshed and dribbled over the side of the glass. Wrong sort of glass but who bloody cares. If it holds liquor- it passes in this house. Could be a teapot and would be suitably dandy.

Bethy squeezes up alongside and runs the dish cloth over my alcoholic mess, fingers visibly shaking as she skims the back of my hand. She's a sweet thing but so young. Too young to have these feeling running through her.

Musings of a busty stripper that turned up at mums years back, must have been barely fifteen, break through. Never had a shake or quiver prior but that peeler had this kid friskier than a sailor after a twelve-month sea voyage.

Bethy is stood close, too close, her fingers touching the material of the shirts' sleeve. Her skin burning hot through the fabric, her breathing faltering.

The arsehole inside wants to taunt, the older brother- I couldn't be her father- wants to wring her neck. Yet that is entirely scary too, crushing her dream of Moi.

Bloody 'ell when did fans get so young.

Or am I getting old?

She scans my profile like a fine art collector, no doubt picking up on the sweat currently beading, then dripping, from the brow of this old codger.

Her lips, sweet innocent lips, wisp a sigh as her hand climbs through the air to... what? Comb through me hair!? What no! Abort, step away from the mad fan gurl. And I do and her face crumples then recovers with false cheerfulness and a flush of ruby blush. She knows I know. Of course, she does.

She may be only thirteen or so but all those rampaging hormones are stampeding to the fore.

"Right off to bed now lass. See you in the morning" My bite, my asinine voice, heavily leaning on the ass, slashing her unnecessarily hard.

"Oh. Oh yes. Umm"

Stalking to the window holding up the frame, trying to not see her upset reflection in the glass. Clutching the non-correctly shaped, but who bloody cares, glass tight, I hold out on turning about to see the little girl who is trying so hard to be the wrong man's woman.

"I'm sorry... Jo-"

"Nothing to be sorry about Bethy. Go on now, off to bed with ya luv"

"But I... you know. Too close. I'm so... You are my very favourite human in the entire world, you are. I didn't mean to upset you. I love- Oh! I'm so sorry. Good night" The scuffling of young female feet needing escape pounds in the ears. Shit.

Beth wields around in a tizz and nearly careens into the door frame. All the destruction of her childish, yet to her, real dreams might as well have knocked into that doorframe. The reflection shows her near miss. Geez I can't crush the girl, can I. Let her innocent feelings die by my own callous thoughts "Bethy luv..."

Her gait pauses, hand clutching the banister tight.

"Come back here"

And she does. Young feet stepping ever closer.

"I forgot to give you a hug goodnight" And I do and she snuggles and smiles and gazes up at me, her most favourite human in the entire world.

With tears close, but happiness touching upon her lips.

Nothing else, just that. I'm seventy-five, or six, percent positive it's just that.

No underlying puppy love, no trying to cop a feel. Nope, just happiness, give or take a percentage point or two.

Any whoooo...

Best goodnight hug ever.

***

Jacqueline cooks the best eggs and toast this side of everywhere. Helps when she's ducking in the refrigerator in her definitely out of season, but who bloody cares, summery short dressing gown- bare bottom peeking from beneath.

What a sublime arse she has.

"Marmalade and bread for afterwards"

"Huh?"

"Marmy and bread- Never mind" Her middle finger slowly pushes up my gapping gob to a closed posi as her boobs sway softly from her movements in my eye line. What? Eggs, tits, sorry, marmalade? Oh, I see! Marmy for afterwards-got it.

Should be tired.

Should be flaked on the sofa, music blaring to cut out all other noise but she has me in some sort of homely sexy trance. I could get used to me jacket being repaired and marmy, bacon and eggs in the morn. I could get used her sweet helpfulness and sassy yummy mummy ways.

How is this possible.

Fighting the thoughts, sword clutched, blade drawn, ready to splice through the very thought of one. One woman, one person to stare at over breaky, one woman... in the bed.

Yet every time, every single time, the head throws up some sort of offense to the defense.

One woman, fifty.

One sweet anchor, or a hundred ports of call.

Dad says I'll regret it.

The ship of love will sail off on high seas while the dinghy I'm bobbing around in slowly fills with water. Age, fading looks. Christ! Baldness. Dads fucking near on bald. Sweet hairy Jesus! Not f-ing baldness. Life couldn't be that cruel, could it? I should stop, I don't know what... smoking, drinking?! Dad has a cigar on the occasion maybe just a fag a week. Hang on now! That's got to be years away all that- surely! Better fucking be.

"You're quiet"

"Thinking about you"

"All good, I hope. The toast is a bit dark. Is it ok?"

"All's fine luv. Come sit on me knee and see what pops up"

That's better. Settle the old head down a bit, with a bit. Works a treat.

Salve to the schlong as it were.

"You're so incorrigible"

"You're downright sexy making me breakfast"

"Right. Ok... I think my fussing is short circuiting your brain"

"Would it be ok to drop in when Bethy, the kiddo, is home. You know... I like your stew and that. Maybe I could bring some curry meals from that new Indian place on Baker Street"

Jacks eye alight, maybe food is the best way to a girl's heart. Girls pants or knickers man, no hearts. Not so fast to grab those, mate. Fun is the name of the game... try and remember you soft idiot. Even if you start balding- Nope not going to be doing that! There is a pretty girl in no knickers right there in front of you. Have at it. Stop thinking so hard.

"I haven't had curry. Is it nice?"

"A bit hot but I'll bring a nice sweet one for you. Ease you into it"

"Ease me into it"

"Mmmhmmm"

"I do like the sound of that"

"So... Do... I" I've created a sex maniac. A girl after my own randiness. The eggs are gulped, orange juice thrown down hastily as she laughs and swings about, flirting happily as she clutches the bannister rail tight.

I run, she screams and we find the armchair. Her legs tucked down in the edges by my thighs, as I nestle her into her favourite seat- Me.

Haha, not quite yet but here's hoping.

My god her sweet lip movements scream 'complete me' and I can't stop thinking I should.... Expediently of course.

Her body engages and we fire on all cylinders.

No boats.

No thoughts.

Anchors away...

A few good quality minutes later...

Sorry.

Scrub that.

A good hour, later...

"Paul!"

"Jack!"

"What time til we get Beth?"

"Really?!"

"What?"

She's so fast to be back on the daughter track.

From this current point in time back to when my own Brobdingnagian point released all of my encapsulated 'elixir' is short.

The total time of her thoughts swinging violently sideways, is like- what? Twenty-two seconds, no joke.

She's thinking about the consequences of little girls running in and I'm just thankful my lungs are in one piece, although my heart is busy flipping itself about like I've completed a marathon.

Not that I know what my heart would actually do in a marathon- probably explode from the fact I was exercising- but yea, it's kinda hard to breathe right now let alone think of kids and John-

Oops there it goes, all my libido, thinking of Lennon. Damnit. I know, I know, the libido was still firing when Jacks mentioned the kid moments prior. Lennon thoughts are total sex killers though. That face of his pops into the old noggin and poof! Acidic asides and lunatic rantings I imagine him socking me with are a real mood killer. I can only try to get back on track.

"Stop thinking about tomorrow, Jacqueline darlin"

"Tomorrow?"

"Yeah I want you one hundred percent in this moment. Now. Us. No daughters, lunatic bandmates, or even bandmates in general. Us. You and me, my body touching yours... all over. Pressing..."

"Just tell me when I will see Beth again then I can breathe, Paul!"

"Ok, how's this?" Carefully adjusting her on the lap of her dreams, fingertips stroke her cheek "Lunch at the Lennons (Poof! There it goes- bye bye semi), pick up the munchkin and get you two lovely ladies' home at a decent hour..."

Grabbing her bum cheeks, resettling her comfortably facing the definitely non-balding stud in her front parlor this time, the sigh she grants, tells all.

Relaxed.

In the moment.

Jacqueline, I imagine, doesn't relax much so if my idea of relaxing, relaxes her. I'm happy and so is my-

"Tomorrow..."

"Tomorrow luv"

"I get you all night... again?"

"Alll of meee baby"

"Let me help you with that candlestick then sweety, It's a pressing issue isn't it... Such a needy candlestick" Jack takes a good hold of the situation and I don't recall what or who Lennon is... any more.

A/N: Sexy Paul  craving writer I am