The darkness slowly claws its way through the chilling streets and drags the inevitable dawn behind it. Houses are still and silent. Starlight peppers the streets and lanes but leaves the darkest corners untouched. Oppressive clouds breathe heavily onto the village.

Everyone is asleep, dreaming their dreams.

What if you were inside her head? Margaret Prothero’s head. What if you felt what she felt? Drempt what she drempt? Saw what she saw?

What if?

Margaret Prothero the sweet shop owner is asleep and dreams of …Men, one man, any man, but one that is next to her, wanting her, needing her, a man to caress and squeeze and cuddle and share her life with. A man that she adores, and one that adores her. A lover that shares her waking moments, entices her, arouses her sexually, and then fucks her until she smiles, sighs and falls back to sleep – fully sated.

You can hear and feel her breathing. Her breasts pushing the bedclothes upwards with every breath and through her thoughts you experience her waking moments as the dark night slips away.

Margaret wipes her eyes and stretches her legs to erase the memory of sleep from them. She realises that she is horny, but with no-one to share the morning with, she turns to her trusty friend. You see her reach for the very vibrator she used just several hours earlier; just when the blackness drained the sky. You can see her touch her sensitive nipples and caress her breasts. She lets out a heavy and telling sigh. You can hear her breathing become labored as her hand slips down her body. You see her touch herself in the sweet zone that she loves so much. She moves her hand in a circling motion that arouses her and raises her mind to levels of unprecedented consciousness. Her heart races towards her climax as her other hand grips her vibrator and completes her mission into blissful release.

And suddenly the dawn is upon her, its cackle of sounds accompany the first embers of the glowing sun as it is pulled across the sky. The knuckles of the wind knock on the door and unmoving walls of Margaret’s safe haven. Birds chirp in glorious harmony while the sun starts to warm the village.

Yet another day begins, and you see Margaret Prothero slowly leave the warmth of her bed.

Margaret looks out of the window and sees the postman on his rounds. She sees his strong muscular body and firm thighs as he wanders, almost randomly, through the streets. Slowly, the post is delivered. You feel her anxiousness, her need, and her desperateness as she follows his every footstep. She briefly feels his gaze upon her skin but then he is gone.

You feel her despair at never receiving a letter, never having the opportunity to invite him into her home. Never having –

You feel Margaret’s mood slowly fade as the ominous cloud sinks to the ground.

Margaret returns to her lonely kitchen table, set with one bowl of cereal, one spoon, one mug of coffee and one piece of buttered toast waiting eagerly, for its one spoonful of marmalade.

She stares at her apron, eats her breakfast and wishes.

You can hear her wishes.

Margaret puts on her brave face and opens the doors to her shop, smiling at the screaming kids and teenagers that buy the sweets and toffees from the glass jars that adorn her shelves. It will be the same brave, smiling face that projects contentment in her life, and the same smiling face that goes unnoticed by all the people that enter the shop as part of their daily ritual.

The morning reaches a crescendo that comes and goes in a moment of time. She has sold her sweets: in the morning, at lunchtime and when the kids have returned home. Clouds move eagerly across the sky, helped on their way by the silent breeze coming from the sea. A coolness descends upon her shop; tucked away, as it is, in the corner of the village.

It is evening and you see Margaret Prothero fiddle with the TV remote control.

Margaret Prothero is alone. She sits on the sofa watching the television, her supper lies on a plate, and she eats the food from the safety of her lap. She watches the chair opposite her, wondering when someone will sit there with her doing the same thing; making polite conversation with her, telling her how much he loves her, needing her, wanting her.

She cries, fills her face with a chunk of potato, and cries.

You can feel her tears snake down your face. Margaret Prothero’s world doesn’t care. No-one cares for Margaret Prothero.

Darkness falls and the day slips quietly into the night and rapidly heading for that special time reserved for tomorrow.

Margaret slips on a sexy nightdress; looks at herself in the mirror and smiles. She thinks she looks lovely – sexy. Her hands slip over her body. The polyester crackles with static as she cups her full breasts. She slides onto the bed and buries her body beneath the sheets. Her hand reaches out for her trusty friend and she pulls it close.

Her hand caresses between her thighs and with eyes closed, her finger slips along her wetness.

You can feel her wetness and smell the aroma of her arousal.

Margaret caresses her sweet spot and soon she has raised her expectations to some heavenly state; a state that she so much wants to be in every night and every day. Her trusty friend is grasped and Margaret Prothero feels the pleasure she craves.

As the night moves relentlessly towards another day, Margaret dreams of –

Men, one man, any man, but one that is next to her, wanting her, needing her, a man to caress and squeeze and cuddle and share her life with.

Margaret Prothero falls asleep – dreaming.