1.
The first time I saw him we were reaching to squeeze the same orange. I hate buying oranges that look so delicious and then taste like damp, bland fiber after you’ve peeled them. Our eyes met. His were shining out of a dark, rugged face and so damned blue, I could have drowned in them. I realized I was staring and made myself look down.
“Excuse me.” he said, “After you.”
Those were the innocent words spoken but I had suddenly felt as if he had said, ‘Take your clothes off. I want to fuck you’. I felt my neck grow hot as I went from orange to orange until I had a half dozen. I felt his eyes on me the whole while but I didn’t dare look up. I put the oranges in the basket and moved down the aisle. I waited until I was past the fruit to look back. He was gone.
I was distracted as I went down the rest of my grocery list. From one aisle to the next I kept hoping to see him. I even scanned all the lines as I waited at the checkout. If that single minute of contact had not been so vivid though, he might have been a figment of my imagination.
On the drive home, I let the few words he had spoken drift through my mind. There had been no noticeable accent. The words themselves had been innocent. His sound had been unique. It was a one of a kind voice. Still, how had he filled a polite apology with all that sexy undertone? I shook my head to rid it of his echo and chided myself for acting like a love struck schoolgirl.
Getting out of the car with the groceries, I dropped my keys and almost lost the eggs retrieving them. He was still in my head. It was as if thinking about him was making me clumsy. The answering machine was loaded. I listened as I put things away in the kitchen.
“Miara, Miara, Miara! Pick up! It’s Jenny…..O.K. I guess you aren’t there. Give me a buzz and promise you’re not going to back out on me Friday night. Trust me, Bill’s friend is hot and you need to get out more. Later, Girlfriend.”
Beep.
“Miara. Tom Jenkins. There’s a teacher’s meeting after classes tomorrow. Just more crap from the Dean about student evaluations but I can’t get you out of it. See you there,”
Beep.
“Miss Miara Martin? I hope I’m pronouncing that right, anyway this is just a courtesy call from Sun Coast Condos to let you know you’ve won…”
I shut it off. I wondered why no one had yet released a deadly virus that exclusively targeted tele-marketers. Classes had been even more discouraging than usual. I hoped a long soak would get rid of the tension in my neck. I went into the bathroom and started a tub. I thought some bubbles might brighten my mood, so I added a big dollop of the peach scented stuff I had put in my own stocking for Christmas.
I put one of my Edith Piaf CDs in and cranked it up loud enough to reach the bath. I kept promising myself that I would learn how to say more than merci beaucoup in French but I hadn’t yet. It didn’t matter though; I enjoyed her voice, even without being able to translate the lyrics.
While I was undressing, I thought about the double date Jenny had set up for Friday. Her last attempt had been a washout. The guy had been better than average in the looks department and had dressed nicely. I thought when I first saw him that the evening might go somewhere. No spark though and when he finally asked me to dance I couldn’t wait for the music to end. He’d put an arm around me and leaned in to say something. Christ… his breath was awful. Poor guy must’ve had a gum disease or something, Anyway that had been it for me. I would have to decide whether I felt like rolling the dice again with this friend of hers and Bill’s on Friday.
In the bathroom, I lit a couple of lilac candles and turned out the light. I pulled the pins out of my bun and let my hair down. I lowered my head and shook it out. It almost touched the floor. I tossed it back over my shoulders. Naked, I studied myself in the mirrored tiles behind the vanity. My reflection was softened in the dancing candlelight. The woman in the glass was attractive. Beautiful even. She was I. So why didn’t I feel as beautiful as she looked?
I turned off the taps and lowered myself into the bubbles. I had to force myself down into the heat. I always got it too hot but that was the way I liked it. It was actually painful at first but as the pain faded, the pleasure increased. The extreme of one sensation seemed to quantify the other.
I put my head back, closed my eyes and drifted on Edith’s voice. I couldn’t understand a word of her songs and yet they were so sensual. I knew she was singing of love, and pleasure, and yes, pain too. There was the sound of yearning in it. Yearning for what? The ultimate lover? Sex? Yes, it was definitely sexy.
I opened my eyes as it dawned on me. The sound of his voice, uttering those four words, displaced the soft French lyrics. Now I knew how I had recognized what he had really been saying to me. I was sure I was right. I had not imagined it at all. That handsome son of a bitch had reached out with four disguised words and sexed me up. No wonder I had felt so confused. It had been too bizarre to recognize initially. Even being certain, I had mixed feelings. My first impulse was toward anger but I had to admit that I had gotten a vicarious thrill from the encounter as well.
I closed my eyes again and let his dark features and those sapphire eyes come into focus. It had felt as though his eyes were holding me. Even remembering it, I felt my nipples fill and felt compelled to touch them. I pinched them to try and stop my thoughts but it only felt better. I brought my knees up and pressed them together hard. Of its own accord one hand moved down over my belly. Like a small, silent sea creature it slithered its way between the tight press of my thighs. Its fingers coaxed me with their promise of pleasure and my legs surrendered and fell open. My cunt began to throb then. I was helpless against its demands and my other hand left my breast to help answer them. I could hear his damn voice again as I began to frig myself.
“Excuse me.” he had said, “After you.”
But now I heard,
“Come for me. You know you want to.”
I got my feet under me and arched up. I drove two fingers as deep as they would reach and crossed them, while my other hand strummed my clit frantically. With the water around me, I felt as though I was riding the crest of a giant wave. I came so hard that I yelled into the empty house. I trembled as smaller orgasms shook through me like the aftershocks of a quake.
2.
All I had wanted was an apple before I saw her. I had been maneuvering through the usual after work rush hour when the craving came over me. I had plugged in a jazz CD and was refusing to let the half-assed drivers get to me. The car’s motor and gears were more impatient than I was. A 911 just does not sound patient in slow traffic.
All at once I wanted to take a big bite out of a nice, juicy Macintosh apple. These sudden fits have always been with me and I’ve always dropped everything to satisfy them. I whipped the Porsche out of the commuter hassle into the lot of the first supermarket I saw.
I broke the law and left it in the fire lane up front. I loped in to get my apple. I picked out a big ripe one and dropped it in my jacket pocket. I was on my way out when I noticed her. She was picking through some oranges.
She was maybe an eight. Attractive, but by no means super-model material. She was dressed like a librarian. Hardly any make up and had her hair done up all tight and proper. I’m not sure what it was about her that turned me on but it was like with the apple, I wanted her.
I moved up the next aisle until I was across from her. Up close, the attraction was even stronger. I checked for a ring and saw that finger was bare. I willed her to look up but she was intent on feeling up the oranges. So I took hold of the one she had her hand on and she looked up then.
“Excuse me.” I said, “After you.” and pulled my hand back.
Her look of irritation faded as I caught her with my eyes. I had her gaze locked with mine and for a second I was sure that if I had said ‘ Follow me.’ she would have dropped the fucking orange and done so. She recovered though and broke the look. I stayed there, willing her to look up again. She wouldn’t do it. She moved off up the aisle without looking back. I’d lost her. I hate losing.
I made an instant decision and left. I pulled the Porsche to the corner of the lot and waited for her to come out. It took awhile but I had the apple to amuse me and I ate it slowly. It was the nicest apple I think I’ve ever had.
She got into a dark blue Volvo wagon and I was one car back when we left the lot. It was easy to stay with her. I wondered if she had a lot on her mind or was just another half assed driver. She led me out to a typical, middle-priced burb. In fact, everything about her was so typical that I couldn’t figure out why I was bothering to follow her. She started moving along quiet neighborhood streets, so I dropped further back. I was ready and when she pulled into her driveway, I eased to the curb. The only difference between her little ranch and the rest of them was the color of the paint. She dropped something on her way to the door and almost lost her groceries.
Once she was inside, I rolled up the street and parked directly across from the place. I studied the house. After awhile I could almost visualize the layout inside. There are only so many floor plans a ranch can have and the window placement can tell you a lot.
I saw her shape moving about for a while in what had to be the kitchen. Probably putting away the stuff she’d bought, I thought. Then she must have moved to the back of the house. I waited but saw no more movement. Probably in the bedroom. Maybe she was running a bath.
I had no trouble picturing her naked. As briefly as I had seen her, I knew exactly what her body would look like. She’d had a high, round ass and long thighs under her drab skirt and nice calves showing too. She was one of those long waisted women. Her breasts would be widely spaced, with dark, dollar-sized areoles. She had carried her head well and below that elegant neck, I knew that her collarbones would be prominent.
I wondered if she let that long, lustrous hair down when she bathed. Of course she did. It made sense, all wrapped tight at work and loose as a goose at home. Seeing her in my mind’s eye had gotten me hard. I had half an urge to come but I’d never been much of a wanker. No, I’d wait for it. Wait for it until she begged me to take it. Some things just took a little longer to resolve than an urge for an apple.
3.
The morning’s classes were, thankfully, less frustrating. Perhaps the students were beginning to get it. My desire was to bring the past alive for them. I believed in the theory of cycles. History has never been the dry record of dusty, irrelevant events. It has always been the key to the future. Not understanding and heeding its lessons was what had led to us into the futile quagmire of Viet Nam and now had us embroiled in the no win mess that Iraq was becoming. Our involvement in these places would have been considered ill advised by any astute student of history. Unfortunately, the value our policy makers placed on historical precedent was on a par with that of my freshman students.
Jenny caught me at lunch in the cafeteria. She was the women’s track coach and her only frustrations centered on her stopwatch. She was a small, wiry bundle of chocolate energy. She would probably have made an Olympic team if her stride had been longer. I knew what would be on her mind. She was determined to get me hooked up. I supposed I should be glad that she cared. When I had begun teaching at State, it had surprised me when the first one to befriend me had been a black woman. Since then she had become my closest friend.
“So you are still down with me on Friday night, right?”
“How’s this guy’s breath?” I breathed at her, elaborately.
“Don’t start, girlfriend! His name is John, I met him the other day with Bill and he is fine. A year from now the two of you gonna be up all night long with a yellin’ tow headed brat and you’ll have me to thank.” She laughed.
“I’ll be there but don’t you dare even hint to him that he’s going to score.”
“I promise but I know you gonna want some of this man’s rock in yo’ roll!” she leered. “He got my panties wet when I saw him and you know I hardly ever eat white bread.”
“You lie like a rug, Jenny. You’d date a schizophrenic albino if he had big muscles.”
“Where can I find one?” she joked, “O.K. I gotta motor. See you Friday night and pahleeze don’t show up dressed like Miss Grundy.”
I watched her trade laughs from table to table on her way out of the room. She was one of those naturally social creatures. I had been planning to cancel on her but after the other evening I changed my mind. If a chance meeting of minutes with a stranger in the produce section had me masturbating, it was obvious that I needed to get laid. Maybe I did want a relationship.
My lecture that afternoon had examined the New Deal era and its profound effect on the average man’s expectations. There had been rabid opposition to such revolutionary concepts as Social Security and unemployment insurance. Unbridled greed had placed the U.S. on the verge of economic collapse and the possibility of revolution had been real. Only the establishment’s terror at this prospect had allowed an astute F.D.R. to gather the power necessary to force these reforms down the throats of big business. They had hated the idea that a man or woman might be allowed to rest and enjoy a small part of their time on earth after a lifetime of toil. They would have much preferred that everyone beneath them die in harness, yoked to the wagons of the wealthy. The fact that unemployment insurance might allow a person the time to find work they enjoyed rather than be forced to do as their betters bid also irked them. Not only had they actively opposed these advances in the human condition, but in the years since, their sons and grandsons had taken up the task and were working behind the scenes to reverse this progress.
The lecture had been well received and I hoped I had them thinking. Then we sat through an hour and a half meeting that was, as Tom Jenkins had predicted, an exhortation to be tactful with our evaluations to the parents. They wrote the checks and the Dean did not want us pissing them off.
It had been a long day and by the time I left the campus I felt like plopping down somewhere next to a stiff drink. There was a small pub called ‘The Pig and Whistle’ on my route. I had never stopped there but I decided to give it a look in.
There were people aplenty inside. Probably most of them having a drink while they allowed the traffic to thin. I sat at the end of the bar, facing the room so I could people-watch. I saw Pimm’s No. 1 behind the bar and ordered a Pimm’s Cup. It was good but not exactly as I remembered it from my one trip to London during my student days. I surveyed the interior and saw that, in fact, it was another one of the pseudo English pubs that had sprung up over the past decade. Somebody must have made a fortune peddling all those obsolete red phone booths to these people. I figured there must be a factory somewhere turning out ‘Piccadilly Circus’ signs.
I was debating whether to order another or leave, when he came through the door. What were the chances of this happening? The same guy appearing the very next day? Well, the supermarket wasn’t that far from this pub. Maybe this was his neighborhood. All these thoughts tumbled through my head as I watched him.
He glanced around; the way people do when they enter a room. Nobody greeted him. At the bar, he got a draft beer, which he carried over by the dartboards. Alone, with his back to me, he began pitching darts.
I am no expert on fashion, as my friend Jenny has often told me, but I doubted that what he was wearing had come off a rack at the mall. He looked…well, tailored; I guess is what came to mind. His black slip-ons had that dull, expensive looking luster. I couldn’t study his features but he moved easily when he went to retrieve the darts, which he flew accurately with an almost lazy motion. I suddenly felt stupid. There I was, analyzing his dress, his form, my God, even his shoes.
What the hell was wrong with me? He had probably never even given me a second thought after I had ignored his tricky little come on. There would be no shortage of hungry fish in the sea for a man with his looks. I made up my mind that I had to either put him out of my mind and be on my way or just walk over and introduce myself.
4.
I was parked on her street, bright and early, when she left for work. It was not much of a surprise when we arrived at the university. Maybe she really was a librarian, I mused. She was too old to be a graduate student. I cruised past her parked car. A teacher! How had I missed that faculty sticker earlier?
I waited for a space within eyesight of her car and finally got it. I found the admissions office and a cute, little work-study chick gave me a big smile along with the university catalogue I requested.
I found a shaded bench outside and sat down to find out just who this woman I had decided to seduce was. There she was, all right, in the faculty section. The picture did her no justice at all. Strange, I thought, had I not been drawn to her in person and that photo had been on the front page of the paper, I would have never bothered to read the article. I read about her now though:
Martin, Miara. Born in Haverhill, Mass. Graduated, Freetown High School B.A., history, Barton College. M.A., Political Science, Northeast University. Dept: History. Course: Modern History.
The rest was a course description and schedule. No real information beyond her name, and birthplace and the fact that her last Wednesday class let out at 3:30. I had not expected much more. Nowadays, people had to be careful about what they let be known about them. There were all manner of crazies loose in world. I was confident that her school history might give me a clue or two though. I tossed the brochure in a litter basket and walked back to my car.
Traffic was light and I was back at my apartment in the city before noon. I parked in the basement garage and took the elevator up. I always enjoyed pressing the button for the top floor. There were only six apartments up there. Each one had its own roof garden and terrace. At night, the city below was a carpet of Christmas lights. It cost a bloody fortune but what the hell, I had money and the only thing I planned on leaving behind was a pot full of ashes.
I sat down at the computer and went to work. My best guess put her at around 28. She would have been a senior in ’94. I key-worded her high school with that year on six different search engines and finally found a David Martin who had graduated from there in ’94. I figured she couldn’t have been the only Martin in her school.
I got the number of the school library and identified myself to the librarian as David Martin. I told her the sad story of the fire that had destroyed my home and had burned up my prized high school yearbooks. I asked if I could impose on her to scan the pages from my senior year and zip them to me. She was so sorry for my bad luck and would be glad to help. I smiled at the phone as I hung up. It was, I thought, a 3 to 1 shot. I might have missed her age by a year either way but at the track those are the odds on a favorite.
I made a little lunch of smoked salmon and garlic bread and waited for the little voice to tell me I had mail. An hour later I was feeling pretty smug. There she was. Right next door to David Martin’s acne peppered mug. A young and very serious Miara Martin, looking out into the future through a pair of glasses. She must have gotten contacts or had lasik. The rest was standard stuff. National Honor Society, debating team, the drama club, the literary magazine, Future Teachers of America. The only unusual bit was that there was nothing listed for sports. This woman was all about her head.
Knowing I had the year right made her college info a snap to get. The glasses were gone in that photo and there was the bare hint of a smile.
“You must have finally gotten laid.” I said aloud, smiling at her photo.
Otherwise it was all academic mentions, Dean’s list, graduated summa cum laude and a PBK key. There was still no mention of sports. I doubted she’d had much social life. Nope, my sweet Miara had not been in with the in-crowd.
I was waiting for her at 3:30. I was still waiting almost two hours later. She must have left with someone, I thought. A boyfriend! Why had I blocked out that obvious hurdle?
I had already started the car when she came swinging along and climbed into the Volvo. She was alone.
We were headed right back to her home and I was starting to wonder if today’s routine was her whole life. The notion was dispelled when she stopped off at a little roadhouse called ‘The Pig and Whistle’.
I gave her some time before I followed her inside. The place was crowded but I spotted her at the end of the bar. I got a beer and found some open space in front of a dartboard. Even though I had not let my eyes linger, I got the feeling she had recognized me but I couldn’t be sure.
I kept my back to her and stalled by tossing the darts. It was time to make contact but I wanted it to seem a random meeting. I was going through the options when I felt a tap on the shoulder. I turned and found she had saved me the trouble. I gave her my best smile.
“Excuse me,” she said, “you probably don’t remember… but we almost met yesterday.”
“I remember.” I assured her, “You’re the lady who was searching for a perfect orange.”
5.
“Yes, that was me.” I said, needlessly, “Orange’s are always fooling me. I like to have one with breakfast instead of juice. But if you get a dry one it’s so disappointing and it really is hard to tell by just looking at them. They are kind of like books that way. You can’t judge them by their cover.”
I realized I was babbling and shut up. His beautiful smile turned sardonic.
“Yes. I know exactly how you feel.” he said, “Being fooled by a piece of fruit will ruin anyone’s day.”
He turned back to the dartboard and after a pause, flew one into the bull’s eye. I stood there feeling really silly now. I supposed that having sounded like an anal-retentive fool that I had been dismissed.
“Well, I was leaving when I thought I recognized you. Just wanted to say hello.” I said, clumsily trying to extricate myself.
“Maybe I’ll see you around.” I finished lamely, backing away. Feeling like an idiot, I turned to leave.
“Sit down.” He said it softly but it sounded like a command.
His back was still to me and he was aiming another dart. This stuck me as being rather rude but I sat down anyway. I guess I was just happy to think he hadn’t dismissed me as a complete fool. He made another bull’s eye. Maybe darts were serious business with him. Then he left the darts in the board and sat down across from me. The beautiful smile was back, and if anything he’d turned it up a few watts.
“You are pretty good with those.” I said, indicating the board.
He shrugged the compliment away and continued smiling at me in silence. It was like he was forcing me to carry the conversation. I was tired of making one inane observation after the other. I gave up and just looked back at him.
“Alan Cameron.” he said, at last.
“Miara Martin.” I replied, extending my hand.
Instead of shaking hands, he encircled my wrist and held it. He beckoned for my other hand as well and when I gave it, he held that wrist also. He was looking down at our hands. I wondered if this was where he would pretend to read my palms or something.
“So,” he said, quietly, “Tell me about yourself.”
“Like what? There’s not much to tell. I teach history at the university. Want an encapsulated version of today’s lecture?”
“No. Start back when you were a little girl in Massachusetts.”
It startled me and I would have drawn back but my wrists were still imprisoned. It was odd because he was exerting no pressure and yet I felt as if I was wearing manacles.
“How do you know that?” I asked.
“Your accent.” he said easily.
No one else had ever told me I had an accent. I certainly didn’t use a broad ‘a’ or anything.
“There’s not much to tell there either. A typical childhood in your typical small town.” I said, lightly.
“Oh, I don’t think you are at all typical, Miara.”
His voice had that sexy undertone again and I felt myself blushing at this simple compliment. Having my wrists held all this time was making me feel uncomfortable too but for some reason I made no effort to free myself.
“What about you, Alan? Tell me something.”
“How old were you when you had your first kiss?” he asked, ignoring my question.
“I was sixteen, I think. After my first school dance.” I answered, impatiently, “Really, Alan, it’s my turn. I’m curious about you now.”
“I’m an Aries. Now it’s my turn again. How old were you when you gave up your virginity?”
This was too much for me and I jerked my hands back. I pulled back too hard, for though it felt like he was pressing my wrists tightly, he had been barely holding me. It made me feel as though I had over-reacted.
“Do you always ask women you’ve just met such personal questions?”
“Never mind. I already know the answer. It happened during your senior year at college. Probably with some guy you were sure was as serious as you were.”
The man made me feel as if I was an open book that he could leaf through at will. He was right, damn it. I had been sure that Michael would propose. We had gone together for two years. I stopped there…I never thought about Michael anymore and didn’t want to now.
“This is boring me, Alan. I’m not into mind games. I guess I’m going to take off. Nice meeting you.”
Stupid me! I stuck my hand out again and he played the same trick with my wrist.
“You are so wrong about yourself, Miara. You are totally into mind games. In fact, I’ll bet physical activity bores you to death. You probably never played any sports growing up either. Your mind burns up all of your calories or you’d be fat.”
“It’s too bad that a good looking guy like yourself hasn’t learned that arrogance is not very attractive.”
I had hoped to put him in his place. It didn’t work, he continued, as if I’d said nothing.
“You do like sex though,” he said, “and you’d like to talk about it but you don’t know how. When was the last time you got laid, Miara?”
This time I carefully disengaged my hand. I picked up my bag and made it obvious that I was leaving. He smiled disarmingly but made no move to keep me. I was relieved and disappointed at once. My feelings were confused, to say the least. I didn’t like being so attracted to a man who seemed to delight in discomfiting me. The hell with it, I thought. I was turning away when he spoke again,
“Let’s go out Friday night. I’ll promise to be charming and completely humble.”
“That would be worth experiencing but I have a date.”
“Break it. You’ll have more fun with me.”
“I can’t… but thanks anyway. Maybe we will run into each other again.”
“Eight o’clock. Friday night. I’ll meet you here.” he said.
I started to tell him he’d be wasting his time but just shook my head. I glanced back at the door and found his dazzling smile still on me.
I drove home wondering if I should take the chance and meet him Friday. I couldn’t do it if I wanted to. Jenny would throw a fit.
6.
At half past seven, Friday, the pub was not yet busy and I had no trouble taking the same table. I had to admit that it was a toss up as to whether Miara would show. I had felt her attraction to me but I might have made her too uncomfortable. There was also the date she had mentioned. Was there really a boyfriend or had it been an excuse she’d made up? She had smelled lonely to me.
Either way, thirty minutes would tell. If she were coming, she would be punctual. Teacher’s lives revolved with the hands of their watches.
Since our meeting, I had arranged for the evening’s dinner and I had been shopping. I had found an exquisite Florentine choker in 14 carat gold. I had taken it to a goldsmith and had him replace the clasp with a combination tumbler and splice in a small clip ring. I had commissioned him to make me a matching leash in gold as well. He had said a week was absolutely the soonest it might be done. That had sounded just about right to me.
I was on my second Manhattan when she walked in, right on time. I stood up and held her chair.
“You look stunning.” I said, sincerely.
I was sincere. Her long, silky hair was down now. It shimmered around her shoulders. She had chosen a black sheath of elegant simplicity. She wore no jewelry and her make up was light and perfectly applied. As she sat I got a hint of her perfume.
“What made you think I would show up after all?” she asked.
“After you ran out on me, I prayed, and just in case God was busy, I also made a deal with the devil.”
“I have been thinking you are the devil.” she laughed.
“Is that ‘Sicily’ you’re wearing?”
“Now how would you know that? My Aunt sent it to me. I’ve looked for it and it is not very common.”
“Before I retired, I owned an import-export business. Perfumes were among our items.”
“You are young to be retired. I’m impressed.”
“Life’s a short go. Stopping to enjoy it was an easy choice. Would you like a drink or shall we go? I have great dinner reservations”
“I can pass the drink. Let’s go.”
There was no fuss about leaving her car there. I figured it would be safe enough over the weekend. I’d agreed to bring her back to it but I hadn’t said when. She didn’t ‘ooh and ah’ over my ride and that impressed me. She did ask where we were going.
“Let it be a surprise. I think you’ll like it.”
I parked in the private underground garage and led her to the elevator. As we rode up, her curiosity was killing her but she remained silent. When the door opened to the foyer it was obvious that I had brought her to my apartment.
“I had no idea there was a restaurant up here.” she said, with a hint of sarcasm.
“It’s new. Tonight is the grand opening.”
I led her through the living room and out onto the terrace. The caterer had gotten everything right for once. The table was set on linen for two with globed candles. A uniformed waiter was holding her chair. The trio I had engaged was set up and playing as we walked out.
After a gasp of surprise, she walked past the single table for two and leaned on the balustrade and let her eyes wander out over the lights. She stood there with her back to me, in silence, for a long moment. I moved up behind her and rested my hands on those soft, bare shoulders.
“This joint seems kind of dead. We can find a livelier one if you like.” I whispered in her ear.
“Alan, I just had to get hold of myself. It’s wonderful. You must be crazy! Why would you do all this? I almost talked myself out of meeting you.”
“I told you, I made a deal with the devil. Come on, sit down, I’ve heard they serve a mean lobster thermador here.”
The dinner was perfect all the way to the peches flambé. I was witty and charming and didn’t bully her once. In return she told me all about her childhood, her favorite music, and her pet peeves. We never once touched on history. As we sat with a pair of orange liqueurs, the trio was playing ‘Misty’ and I asked her to dance.
She moved a little uncertainly at first but once she gave herself over to my lead it was smooth. I called for another bottle of wine and dismissed the help. While she sipped her glass and enjoyed the view, they picked up quietly and slipped out.
Remembering her mentioning Edith Piaf over dinner, I put on ‘La Vie En Rose’ and we danced again. She was melting in my arms. Timing is everything with a woman.
“You’ll stay.” I said.
“Yes.”
In the bedroom she let me undress her. I did it slowly, letting her know I was enjoying it. She stepped out of her pumps and held her hair up for me. I ran the zipper down her back and helped her step out of the sheath.
I walked her over in front of the full-length mirror and held her gaze through the glass as I unclasped her black lace bra and let it fall away. Her breasts were exactly as I had pictured them. I weighed their fullness as I massaged her nipples to erection. Still holding her eyes, I put my lips to her neck and inhaled her perfume. Her eyes closed then and she put her head back against me. I hooked my thumbs in her panties and kissed my way down her back as I sank to my knees and drew them off. I gave her bottom a tender bite and turned her to me. Her stance widened and she thrust her cunt forward. I buried my face in her and breathed in the smell of her desire. I ran my tongue inside her and she flooded it with nectar.
“The bed.” she whispered, “I want your cock inside me.”
7.
I couldn’t believe I had just asked him for it. I’d never felt like this before. When his mouth left my pussy it almost hurt but I was glad too, because I wanted his cock pounding into me. When he stood up, I moved toward the bed but he stopped me. I was impatient. Didn’t he know what he’d done to me?
“Wait.” he said and turned me back to the mirror.
From his pocket he took a gold necklace. He reached around me and held it up. It was beautiful.
“I want you to wear this. Will you accept it?”
“It’s too expensive.” I protested.
“Will you wear it?”
I agreed. I was ready to agree to anything to get him to take me to bed. I held my hair and he fastened it around my neck. I saw that a heavy ring hung from it like a pendant.
“It’s gorgeous, Alan, but it looks kind of like a collar.”
“That’s because it is.”
“Oh.” I said, blankly.
“Do you want to fuck now, Miara?”
“Yes.”
I was unable to keep my urgency out of the word. At last, I thought …but then he was holding a black scarf in front of me.
“I want to blindfold you, Miara. It will heighten your sensations.”
My sensations were driving me wild already. I was uncertain about this idea but I trusted him. When I nodded, he bound it tightly around my head and everything went completely black. Then I was pulled forward, not by the hand but by the choker he had given me. It felt strange and a bit scary. I felt myself being turned and then the edge of the bed pressed the back of my legs. I let him lower me onto my back. I spread my legs to invite him. My pussy felt empty and anxious and I needed him to fill me. I felt something soft being fastened around my right wrist and then my arm was pulled above my head and I couldn’t pull it back. I realized then that I was being tied to the bed.
“Alan? I want you. Why are you doing this?” I asked nervously.
“I know you want me, Miara. Just be patient and trust me.”
I remained quiet as my other hand and both my ankles were secured. I had opened my legs for him but being tied like this made me feel not just open…but exposed and helpless. Strangely enough it also made me feel beautiful and desirable. I had already been excited but now I could feel my pussy actually leaking. I could hear Alan undressing and my anticipation was beginning to drive me crazy. I was ready to beg him to fuck me if it would hurry him to me.
I finally felt the bed take his weight and then his lips closed on my mine. I forced them open with my tongue and moaned into his mouth. He kissed me back hard and I felt the breath being sucked from my lungs. By the time he lifted his head I was gasping. Next, I felt him at my nipples. He was biting one but the pressure increased so gradually that I loved it. I was at the point where I couldn’t stand any more though. I started begging.
“Please! Please, Alan, please fuck me, Alan. Please just fuck me, Alan.”
Thank God, I felt the tip of his cock in me at last. The bastard was still teasing me with it though. All he was giving me were shallow, short, slow strokes along the roof of my vagina.
“Harder. Please, Alan, hard.” I moaned.
He pushed it all the way in for me…but slow… and then back out. He was alternately giving me friction along the top of my pussy and nudging up against my clit. If only my hands were free! I could grab his ass and pull him into me. My hips were churning up at him and I began milking his cock with the muscles in my cunt. I would make the bastard fuck me hard whether he wanted to or not!
For some ludicrous reason I felt like saying, ‘Look, Ma, no hands’. Anything might have gone through my head at this point. Finally it began to work and I had him thrusting faster and ramming my pubic bone. He grabbed my breasts and I could hear him grunting with effort. I felt myself begin to tighten and squeeze the hot spot inside me that was demanding to get out. When it finally burst loose I could only hope he was with me because I was oblivious to everything. The heat spread through me and I came so hard I thought I was pissing. My poor toes clenched till I feared they might crack.
The blindfold made it easy to float off into blackness but I think I would have anyway because I was certain that orgasm had rolled my eyes up into my head.
(Chapters 1-7 of 21)