Her departure is the least simple physical motion I have ever experienced. Her body twists slightly, her hips no longer turned away but slipping around to face me so that as she leans inward to recover her balance her whole body briefly seals against mine. From thigh to shoulder my left side is embraced, the contact just a fraction longer than it needs to be, the brief extra pressure of groin and breast emphatic. Her upper body comes away first, the motion pulling her upright, the last fading touch imparted by her hips to mine, undeniable gravity. Even the scent of her is right, is what it always was: olfactory Stella-ness.