"Are you seeing someone else?"

 

She dropped the lipstick she had been applying at that moment.

 

"What!"

 

Her stare, reflected in the dresser mirror, froze me, so much did it remind me of my mother's. I was instantly transported back to the times as a child that I had complained of feeling sick, not knowing that my feelings could be given labels such as 'depression' and 'anxiety'. I already regretted the question, of course, but I still managed to meet her stare. She turned to face me directly and we stayed like that for a while.

 

"No," she said eventually, and returned to her make-up, but she still glowered at me occasionally in the mirror. "How dare you," she growled quietly, but the menace in her tone sounded faked. I turned my back to her and combed my dolls' hair. I knew what she was doing now. She was doing that annoying thing of rubbing a finger then her tongue across her teeth. So revolting. "Tell Geoff and Sue I'm sorry I can't make it today," she said with exaggerated control while brushing her bob.

 

"I will," I replied, having forgotten it was Saturday, the day when Christine and I would normally meet our friends for lunch in town.

 

"Will you take your moped?" she asked, picking up her handbag from the bed, her manner brisk and ice cold. Even in this mood she was determined to maintain some decorum. "You've not used it in a while."

 

I nodded and again turned back to my dolls. She was right, I had not used it in a while and there was a good chance it might not even start, troublesome thing that it was. I heard her yell to me as she left to remember to feed the cat. I waved through the window at her as she drove off. If it had been just a few days earlier I would now be feeling a little sad, seeing her leave me for the day. But I felt nothing.

 

How had it come to this, the love of my life leaving me cold with everything she said and did? We had not made love for four days, a record for us. We had not even attempted it. Increasingly, she had withdrawn her affection from me, as if knowing mine were being channelled elsewhere. I had not spoken to her at all about the work I had done in the past week and she had not even asked, also unusual. And the thing that really surprised me when I realised it was that I no longer cared. Though she had been, until very recently, the sun my life orbited around, she had been eclipsed by a new heavenly body.

 

I spent the morning emailing and texting friends and my mother. Her new beau had showed up again, hungover apparently, having exhausted his beer money. I told her I'd see her in the evening of the following day, which I always did. I wondered if Christine would be off tomorrow. Surely not Sunday too? Then I emailed some scans of my new work to various galleries, casting my net wide and sending them all around the country, except to Lamorna gallery.

 

Late in the morning I dragged the black Vespa from the little shelter at the rear of the house. It seemed fine. I checked the tires and the oil, then started it after just a dozen kicks, not bad. I tied my hair back, put on my white helmet and set off, having ensured that that house was as secure as I could make it, closing all doors and windows and setting the alarm. As I had done so often recently I had scanned about for unwanted figures on the horizon, but had seen no one.

 

The country lanes were a little busy and vehicles were continually lurching suddenly into view from around blind corners. The engine made light work of the little hills and slopes, but I wondered how Stevie had been managing this route on her bicycle and decided that she must have strong legs. The day was a little grey and cool compared to recently, but white, fluffy dandelion seeds were blowing from the fields and over the hedges, which made everything still look summery. I thought about Geoff and Sue, and not just about phoning them to say Christine couldn't make it, but also to say how I couldn't make it. Maybe Geoff and Sue could just wonder about both of us. They were Christine's friends after all and I had nothing in common with them. As I neared Grettonham I took a left and headed down a little cul-de-sac lined with some of the oldest and quaintest looking houses in the town, mostly little detached cottages with prettily carved wooden eaves. I found the one I was after, a particularly small and pretty one right at the end of the road, with its door, window frames and eves all painted white. A basket of fuchsias hung by the door. Then I drove off, satisfied that I had located the place. Maybe I was stalling for time, but I didn't feel ready.

 

I made for the train station and found, as usual, the florist selling his fresh flowers, his shout sounding more like, "Frash flars!"

 

I bought a bouquet of very fragrant, red roses and carried them back to my moped, my heart racing happily. The adrenaline drove away the anxiety I often felt when in the town centre, especially on a busy day like today. With the flowers between my knees I returned to the little house and parked on the wide pavement outside. I popped my helmet into one of the two compartments, grabbed the bouquet and stepped up to the door, my heart hammering even more with excitement. I pressed the doorbell helpfully marked 'Bell', which made me smile, and waited, knowing I had now passed a point of no return.

 

The neighborhood was so quiet. I stood there on the pavement in my jeans and my black leather jacket, looking around, and saw a man of about fifty with a belly hanging over his belt and a big St Bernard trotting beside him. As I anxiously waited for the door to be answered, the big man gaped at me as he passed, as did the dog with a huge, pendulous jaw from which copious jowls waggled with each pawstep. As I walked to the side of the house, wondering if I should try knocking on another door, I saw the man and his dog pass the cottage along a narrow alley down which I could see a stile, then a field. I found a door which looked like it opened into the kitchen, knocked on that, but the house remained quiescent. Deflated, decided to leave the bouquet beside the door with a note, then realised I had no notepad nor pen. I picked up the bouquet again and mooched back to my moped. I kick started it again and again, growing increasingly angry until finally, after having lost count of the amount of times I had depressed the lever, it stuttered into action.

 

"Your days are numbered, mate," I told it, and set off back up the little road.

 

On the way down I had passed the church, All Saints, but only now did I notice, as I passed it again, the crowd outside in smart, pale grey suits and posh dresses, and in the centre of the crowd, just at the church door, was a cloud of confetti. Everyone in the vicinity was beaming happily. I drew up next to a cream, vintage Rolls-Royce with white ribbons stretching from its spirit of ecstasy to the windscreen. I parked, removed my helmet and stood for a while, enjoying the atmosphere, watching the couple make their way slowly down the path to the lychgate. And from inside the church came the vast, cavernous boom of a pipe organ.

 

With everyone's attention on the bride and groom it was easy for me to pass through the crowd and enter the church. Only one or two people still lingered inside, talking to the vicar. They were elderly ladies with their backs to me, touching the vicar's hands fondly as they tried to speak over the music. The tall vicar saw me over their heads and then the ladies turned also to look me up and down. Why the hell had I come in here? A fish out of water could hardly have felt more out of place.

 

Then I saw her, her petite figure sat at four manuals, her white hands busily occupied with producing the rich sound, and also her shadowed feet, working the pedals. She was wearing the same I dress in which I had first seen her, yellow like the sun, but today her legs were in tights the color of dark chocolate. Beside her, on the stool, sat a broad-brimmed, soft, red hat, a red handbag and, below her on the stone slabs, a pair of black, strappy sandals. I wandered towards her and sat at the third pew from the front, hypnotised by the sight of this angel making such heavenly music. When she finished, leaving the glorious sound hanging in the air, she quietly drew her lacy gloves on, then crossed her legs and quickly buckled on her sandals. Then she grabbed her hat and stood, bowed to the altar and stepped down the three steps to the aisle that ran between the pews, the light tapping of her heels reverberating in the arched, high-ceilinged space.

Then she saw me and the bouquet, but did not smile, and I felt a sudden urge to turn and run. But then she came to me, squeezed my hand gently and sat beside me. She said nothing, but leaned forward, knelt on a cushion, rested her elbows on the back of the pew in front and clasped her gloved hands together. For five minutes she remained like this as the church bells above us began to chime. Then she sat back next me.

 

"It's good to see you," she said.

 

"I heard you playing from outside," as if that explained why I was there. "It sounded beautiful. What was it?"

 

"Widor's Toccata," she said. "Gives me a chance to show off." Looking around she added, "Not that there's anyone listening."

 

"I'm sorry I got angry yesterday."

 

She smiled and shook her head.

 

"That's OK, darling." She primly clasped her hands in her lap, then dropped her gaze to the flowers. I held them out and told her they were for her. She accepted them and lifted them to her nose. "They're lovely, thank you, but would you hold them for a moment?" And she handed them back to me. "I have to collect Bailey." She stood and walked to a door at the side, beckoned, and entered the room, leaving the door open for me.

 

It was a small room full of vestments, candles and assorted clutter, items one would expect to find in a church but which would normally be in some sort of order. And in the corner, in an old chair that leaked stuffing, sat a woman of perhaps ninety, a bowl of water by her feet and a lead in her hand at the other end of which was Bailey, happily wagging his tail at the sight of his mistress.

 

"Was he any trouble?" asked Stevie, taking the lead.

 

"Ooh, no trouble at all, dearie," said the woman, and I could see from her eyes and the way she did not focus that she was blind. "Was it all alright?" she asked in a tremulous voice.

 

"It went beautifully, Grandma," Stevie said and kissed the woman's forehead. "The bride and groom were lovely."

 

The old woman's fingers reached for her granddaughter's and clutched them.

 

"I hope you'll be doing that too soon," she said, and kissed Stevie's hand. "Find yourself a nice girl, Steven."

 

Stevie looked at me and rolled her eyes.

 

"OK, Grandma, I have a student to teach in a bit so I'll have to go now."

 

"What, dearie?"

 

"I said, I'll have to go, Granny!" and she kissed the woman again, this time on the cheek.

 

Granny leaned forward with a frown and asked, "Who's that with you?"

 

"My student," Stevie said and silently beckoned to me again as she pushed another door at the back. "See you, Granny."

 

I shuffled out silently, hoping Granny wouldn't accosted me, but the woman just raised her face in my direction until I had passed through the door and onto the church's car park. Stevie held my arm in both her hands and smiled up at me happily and we exchanged a little laugh.

"What you would like to do?" I asked her as we walked. "Would you like to come to the house? I have my moped and a second crash helmet." We stopped and looked at each other. "Christine's not there at the moment," though as I said this I wondered that Chris might have already returned.

 

Stevie studied me through her curled lashes, looked down, then said, "Let's go for a coffee, Linda."

 

In a hall to the side of the church the wedding reception was already in full swing with a band playing hits, mostly from the noughties. All the young people were dancing while older people sat and chatted at tables to the side, sampling food and drinks. Stevie waved and greeted people, she seemed to know everyone, though I noticed some people seemed to deliberately avoid her and no one approached us. I was still holding her bouquet so she grabbed two coffees and we sat down together at a table by ourselves. She took one red rose from the bouquet, removed a glove and, with a thumbnail, cut the stem short. She threaded it just behind her ear where some of her hair was bunched up by her hat. She looked so pretty with the big, red bloom beside her left eye. She tilted her head, smiled sweetly, then laughed at herself. Other dogs had been allowed inside too and Bailey was challenging a boxer, growling at him with bared teeth. So after a short while Stevie got up, waved to various people again, and we left. She took her bicycle from where she had left it propped against a wall in the car park and we walked around to the front where I unlocked the moped. With Bailey in the basket she set off.

 

After I'd failed to start the moped three times I shouted, "Wait!" and she stopped and looked over her shoulder at me. Eventually I started it and followed her slowly. I had no need to ask where we were headed. She turned off onto the cul-de-sac and we soon arrived back at her house.

 

Inside, the first thing that struck me was the sweet, musky smell. It smelled, though not overpoweringly so, of a seductive perfume. The walls were white and yellow, making everything in the living room bright, though there were lacy net curtains on the windows, making them completely opaque. She opened the windows and the lacy curtains fluttered in a cool breeze, ruffling like the feathers of doves. Although everything was neat and tidy I instantly felt relaxed. Everything in the room was feminine, with no evidence that a male had ever even been here. She took the bouquet into the kitchen, which I could see was just through a door to the left, and returned with the flowers sprouting from a glass vase which she placed on the window sill.

 

She excused herself for a second and I heard her feet on the stairs. I sat down and appraised the room. The furnishings were all modern but everything looked warm and comfortable. It was a living-dining room with a brown baby grand piano taking up much of the space at one end and a small dining table, suitable just for two, in the corner. The carpet was cream and thick, the chair and sofa were beige, positioned around a low, glass coffee table. There was nothing remarkable here, nothing out of place. On a little table I saw framed photos of a middle aged couple, unsmiling, probably parents, the mother a plump brunette, the father a slim gentleman with grey hair. Then there were pictures of two young women, similar to Stevie but older and, to my eye, not as attractive. One looked just slightly older than Stevie, but a little overweight. The other was perhaps in her mid-thirties. Both these women's eyes showed the same kindness I saw in Stevie's. These and a little photo of herself with Bailey completely the little collection, but on the wall above the couch was a small, black and white portrait, a professional photograph, perhaps taken by that girlfriend. Stevie was reclining full length in a summer dress and a broad-brimmed straw hat, barefoot on sand, looking like the most beautiful model I had ever seen. The picture was stunning and I was still staring at it when she came back down. I had not heard her as she had removed her sandals again and was padding around in her stockinged feet.

 

"Coffee or tea?" she asked, and I asked for coffee which she served a short while later in a dainty little cup and saucer.

 

I was only then that I noticed it, hanging from a nail on the wall beside the door, a watercolor of two young girls in green and blue dresses. The face of the younger girl was turned and her lips were lightly pressed to the cheek of the older girl whose eyes were turned to the viewer. I had not seen it for a month and had wondered if I'd ever see it again. My jaw dropped.

 

"Yes," she said, noticing me staring at it. "I bought it."

 

"You knew about my work?" Then I remembered Bernie giving me the money.

 

"Give me your jacket," she said with a little frown on her brow while placing her coffee on the table and unzipping the jacket for me. She removed it gently and went to the hall to hang it up.

 

"Did you know where I lived?" I asked her, feeling a little uncomfortable. The image suddenly came to my mind of her appearing that first day, flying across the distant hedgerow, then standing by the lake and seeming to scan around before seeing me and then striding decisively towards me.

 

She said nothing but drained her cup, then came over to me, bent down and removed my shoes which both slipped off easily. From where she knelt between my legs she looked up at me, then rose and came forward to straddle me in the chair. She took my face her in her hands and kissed my mouth, then all around my face as I felt the heat rising inside me. Then she took my hand and, without letting me go, led me from the room and up the carpeted stairs. We came to an open door, the door to her bedroom.

 

The single bed had a cushioned, pink headboard, the bedclothes were cream and a frilly valance hung all around it like the skirts of a Victorian dress. On one side was a small, soft, high-backed, pink chair. On the other, a bedside table, the top of which was home to a radio and a Sookie Stackhouse paperback. The wardrobe doors were mirrors and opposite that stood a dresser with a large mirror in a carved, wooden, cream painted frame that curled and swirled like wisps of clouds. On the wall hung a wickerwork heart and also a little, soft, stuffed figure, a Bo Peep complete with tiny crook. Miniature woolly sheep huddled together at the side of the dresser, smiling cutely. Stuck to the door was a poster of Anna Paquin.

 

Needing her reassurance I said, "Kiss me again, Stevie," looking up at her from where I had sat myself on the bed.

 

She bent down, I raised my face and our lips met, just so that our mouths softly brushed together. With her hands on her knees she remained like that, touching me with just her lips, rubbing them back and forth across mine sensually. I felt the breath from her nostrils warm my top lip and her eye lashes flutter against my cheeks like the wings of a butterfly. The rose petals next to her eyes stroked my hair. Then she pressed harder, opening my mouth wider and forcing my lips apart. She drew out my tongue and sucked its tip. I stuck it out further and she began to fellate it, drawing her lips down it, then up again. Then we paused while we drew in the air from each other's lungs and looked into each other's eyes.

 

Slowly she climbed onto the bed with me so that she straddled me again. Her movements steadily increased in speed as she grasped my stripey T-shirt at the sides and pulled it over my head. She caressed my hair, then took my head in both her hands and pressed her mouth to mine firmly, squirming her small body against me. My hands reached around her back and I pulled her to me tightly. I found the studs down the back of her dress and tugged on them until they popped open. I unhooked the bra and rubbed my hands all across the smooth skin of her back.

 

There was scratching at the door.

 

"Bailey!" she suddenly bellowed at the door with her surprisingly powerful voice. "Lie down!" And the scratching stopped, followed by a whine, then obedient silence.

 

Stevie turned back to me, we gazed into each others eyes, then she wrapped her arms around me and pressed me back until I was lying on the bed. I looked up adoringly as she undressed before me, stepping from her dress and the tights, then hesitating for a moment before removing her panties. Then she pulled those down along with the thong.

 

For a moment I couldn't see it as it was compressed tightly between her legs. Then she lifted a knee and rested it on the bed beside me. It already looked a little engorged. Of the scrotum there was no sign, save a gentle, inverted hill behind the base of the penis. Her body was entirely hairless and smooth, her complexion a uniformly pale creaminess. The penis was slender, tipped with the small cone-shaped helmet already protruding from the foreskin. As she moved onto the bed to stand over my reclining body, her limbs planted on either side of me, the penis swung gently like a pendulum.

 

Now she wore only the rose and her jewellery, the short pearl necklace, the cross pendant which, along with her penis, swung over me, and also her assorted bracelets and her pretty ankle chain. Then she gently sat herself down on my legs and plucked at the buttons of my jeans. Her fingers undid them deftly, and I thrilled at the little vibrations this action sent through the coarse material into my pussy. I arched my back as she tugged at both the jeans and panties, and allowed her to strip me completely naked. I was wearing, as I often did, a front closure bra. She unhooked it to free my breasts and they sagged to the sides. She placed her hands on them, kneaded them, pressed her palms into the nipples and squeezed tightly. The nipples protested a little and I let out a little cry of pain.

 

"Sorry, darling," she said. "They must be really sensitive."

 

I nodded and smiled. I placed my hands on hers and guided them over my boobs, showing her exactly how I liked it. When her hands came away the palms were moist with milk.

 

Looking down at them she said, surprised, "Do you often do that?"

 

Again I nodded and I caressed her hips and thighs, loving her silky smoothness, while she licked her hands, looking down at me provocatively. Her cock was pressed against my pubic hair, resting there like a bird in its nest. I looked down at it and saw how it was reddening, staring at me with its florid eye that, to me, looked intimidatingly angry. I was still struggling to reconcile this sight with the rest of her petite, feminine body. Then the light caught something wet at the tip and I realised that the penis was drooling, displaying its hunger for pleasure. I looked away from this, disturbed. Again unwanted memories of my uncle and other childhood recollections I had fought so hard to bury came rising up and my stomach lurched a little.

 

"What's wrong, darling?" she asked and bent to kiss me. "Am I going too fast?"

 

Then I felt the moisture trickling from my eyes, down both my temples and onto the pillow. She rubbed her nose ever so softly against the tip of mine, then kissed my eyes. I felt her suck gently on the lower lids, then draw the tip of her tongue across them, tasting my salt. And with this action, I felt my worries and bad memories leave me, so loving was she, so compassionate, so considerate. I felt the warmth of her tongue briefly touch the eye itself, but her lick was so light, like the stroke of a moistened silk scarf.

 

As I continued to glide my hands across her back and hips, she kissed her way down me, down the valley of my throat and down to my breasts. She tongued an already hard nipple, then delicately sucked on it. I could feel my milk flowing from it and being drawn upwards into her mouth. Then she did the same to the other nipple and swallowed the liquid.

 

"You taste so creamy," she said.

 

She closed her eyes and moaned while I rubbed my hands over her nipples, squeezing them between my fingers. I felt the cock swell and harden as I did so, but could not look down at it. Instead I gazed at her beautiful face, at the lower lip which she now bit the side of. She ground her hips against mine, riding me slowly, still massaging my breasts. She lifted my right leg and placed it so that my foot rested above her shoulder. Thus, opened wider, the pleasure for me was greater. It was like tribbing and I ground my hips back, loving the feel of her smooth genitals working their way back and forth over my lips and clitty. Then she raised her hips, pushed my legs apart with hers and bent down to give me a long, deep kiss.

 

"Are you sure you want this, darling?" she whispered and I felt the tip of her pressed against my wet, swollen lips.

"Uh-huh," was all I could manage, as I was almost delirious now with desire.

 

"I could wear protection," she said into my ear, "if it would help you feel safer."

 

I turned my head and looked into her green eyes.

 

"You know what I want, sweetheart," I said.

 

Then she raised her narrow shoulders, put her hands on the pillow on either side of my head and lowered her hips. The head of it pushed my lips apart, then I felt its throbbing warmth inside me. I tensed all over, squeezed my eyes shut and held my breath. She bent forward again, kissed me and asked me if I was alright. I had no wish to hurt her feelings, but I had to tell her.

 

"It feels a bit strange," I admitted, desperate not to offend her.

 

It felt completely different to a dildo and I wondered if it was something I could bring myself to bear, having something alive inside me. She lifted herself off me and I thought she was going to climb off the bed altogether, but she sat back on her heels, placed her hands on her knees and looked down at me for a moment. Then she started massaging my belly, her hands easily gliding over my sweaty skin. I marked the stark contrast between her complexion and mine. As her hands worked their way, circling deliciously around my pussy, then diving down the valley between my legs, it looked like rivers of cream pouring between hills of chocolate. Her middle finger parted my lips, then she bent to touch between them with her tongue. The tip landed just against my hole and licked all around it. She entered me with it and the feeling sent shock waves through me, making me squirm. Then she dragged her tongue up and down between my lips while her hair dragged across my groin. I opened my legs wider and wider as she began to dart her tongue in and out of me. Her finger found my clitty and began to flick that in concert with the darts of her tongue. I ran my fingers through her thick hair and closed my eyes in ecstasy while she vigorously stimulated me. It wasn't long before I came, wailing and crying with joy, leaking juices from both my pussy and my nipples. I squeezed my tits and smeared the milk all around them. When she finally rose off me her mouth, chin and cheeks were shining with my cum. She crawled up to me and planted her dripping face on mine, letting my love juice ooze from her lips and tongue into my mouth. I relished the sweet taste and sucked on her tongue, just as she had sucked on mine.

 

She then took my boobs, pushed her face into my chest and smeared the remaining moisture into them. She squeezed them around her face, pressing them to her cheeks. I laughed at this, I had become so much more relaxed, and when she brought her hips up to my chest and placed her throbbing, leaking cock between my tits, I gazed up at her lovingly. I took my tits and pressed them around her as she began a shuttling movement, thrusting her hips back and forth. I did not look down but up into her beautiful face as I saw the pleasure in her build and build. She flung back her head and opened her mouth wide in a silent outcry of ecstatic pleasure as she throbbed harder and harder in my chest until the feeling of her pistoning backwards and forwards was joined by a hot, stickiness, allowing her to move against me with greater speed. A fire built between my tits as the hot liquid squirted and squirted explosively and she moved faster and faster over me. Each ejaculation was like a hard slap to my chest. Then her whole body convulsed while her throbs between my boobs slowed and weakened. The rose fell from beside her ear, jogged by her vigorous movement, and landed softly on my chest. It rolled off me leaving several petals stuck in the semen on my breasts.

 

The smell was unpleasantly familiar to me, but my happiness and pleasure, combined with the scent of the rose, managed to eclipse the old associations. Stevie fell on the bed beside me and we hugged, exchanging the sticky juices on our bodies and gently massaging them into each other, letting our hands and legs slide over each other easily while we kissed and nuzzled. I realised how my pulse had been racing and it seemed an age before my breathing steadied. She reached across me to the bedside table and pulled out a tin, some rolling papers and some dry, green, leafy stuff. She proceeded to roll it into a cigarette and, after licking along its length, she handed it to me, then made one for herself. Then she reached across me again for a cheap lighter at the side, popped my roll up between my lips and lit mine, then hers.

"I don't smoke," I said lamely, watching her take a long drag, then cough slightly. The smoke drew coughing from me also, but mine set my entire body convulsing. "I've not smoked this stuff since art college," I told her, spluttering, then I saw her lips curl into a cheeky smile. She rolled onto her back and sucked hard on the little stick, looking up and down me as I sat back on my heels. The smell was overpowering to me but not unpleasant. I liked the sweetness of it.

 

"Relax, darling," she told me, and stroked my thighs.

 

I puffed away gingerly, inhaling lightly. I eased my legs out from under me and sat beside her, stroking her belly while she glided her hands up to my breasts. I massaged around her hips and groin, across the tattoo. The little birds rose from the valley between the top of her left leg and her genitals and soared above the penis into her lower belly. A faint childhood memory, this time pleasant, came to haunt me briefly before being erased by the sight of her increasing arousal. I watched her become more and more engorged until it was standing firm like the thick bole of a branchless tree.

 

She smiled kindly at my nervousness, then took my hand and guided it until it rested against the penis. I held it gently and watched her for a reaction. She merely raised her faint eyebrows, studying me in turn while taking puffs on her spliff. My hand and her penis were still slick with semen and sweat and it was easy to glide my hand up and down quickly.

 

"You can grip harder, you know," she said, so I closed my fingers around it and squeezed it a little.

 

She seemed to enjoy this, wiggling her hips a little, so I squeezed harder and moved up and down on her faster until I felt a thumping in my palm. She was moaning and gasping as warm, white jets shot out and dribbled over my fingers, making me yelp in surprise. She was bucking and groaning and I felt like I had her completely under my spell. Then again came the smell, kind of clinical, reminiscent not only of hot, sweaty, hairy, repulsive male bodies, but also of school swimming baths, another unpleasant association.

 

"You've got some in your hair," she said, after having recovered.

 

She sat up and touched me at the side of my face, wiping the hair a little while we both smoked some more. By now I was feeling incredibly relaxed. Then she kissed me and snaked her hand around my back and the other down between my legs. I was so wet that her two fingers easily slid into me and she pushed them in hard, drawing me like this close to her, making me open my legs to her. Then she scooted around behind me and gently pushed me forward until my face was pressed into the pillows. She bent forward too and reached around to squeeze my boobs. I loved the feeling of her smooth, sticky body pressed to my back, her kisses to my nape and the grazing of her cock against my pubic hair.

 

Then she eased it into me ever so slowly, just the helmet like before, then, massaging my boobs softly all the while, whispering, "Oh, Linda," into my ear, she entered me deeply.

 

I gasped and pushed back against her, now feeling a little more at ease with this new sensation. She throbbed ardently against my pussy walls which involuntarily gripped the length of her. She just stayed like that for a while, kissing my back, stroking me, loving me. Then she started the delicious movement, a slow rhythm inside me, and I closed my eyes, concentrating, savoring everything. I forced myself back into her harder as she moved more quickly, then I ground myself onto her, moving my hips from side to side. Liquids trickled down the inside of my leg. Then my contractions started and I came powerfully, crying out with every beautiful pulse that spread out from my hips like ripples from a stone dropped in water. I fell onto my front and she slipped out of me, but she was still hard and ready for more. She rolled me onto my back, pushed my legs wide apart and laid herself across me, kissing me on the lips, pressing her nipples to mine and entering me again.

Then she sat back on her heels while still inside me and began screwing me quickly with a comfortable ease. I loved seeing the little frown of concentration on her face as she worked away at me, pumping me. With one hand she caressed my belly while she rubbed my clitty with the other. We had both abandoned our smokes in the ashtray but they continued to smoulder away together. I was getting increasingly high just from the fumes. I even giggled a little.

 

"What?" she asked, smiling, a little surprised. I shook my head and giggled again, making her join in. "I love the way your boobs wobble about," she added and that set me off again. It was a wonder she managed to continue, laughing so much. Then the pleasure began to build again and I felt my heart opening wider and wider. I loved the beauty of her flushed, moistened cheeks, her glistening, sweat slicked chest, her bright, hard nipples. Everything about her was perfect in this moment and I realised I loved her more than I had ever loved anyone. We looked deep into each other's eyes. I wanted at that moment to be hugged and I sat up. We embraced while we continued fucking, squirming against each other, pushing our bodies into each other so tight it was like we were trying to make our bodies into one. The thumping in her penis began, she threw her head back and yelled out in ecstasy and I felt the release of her semen deep within me, exploding into my uterus and setting me off again, spasming all around her and screaming with each pounding pulse of her ejaculations and each time my muscles contracted with orgasmic joy. The hot spunk filled me up and she kept herself there, preventing it all from leaking out of me. We planted passionate kisses all over each other's faces and necks while we fondled each other's chests.

 

With her still inside me, softening just a little, I said, "I love you so much, Stevie," and more tears welled in my eyes.

 

She kissed me softly and stroked my hair. Bound up so tightly in each other, our bodies melted into one by the heat of our passion, neither of us moved for an age until I heard the gentle chime downstairs of a clock. Her body tightened and then jumped off me.

 

"Look at the time!" she panicked, running from the room.

 

The bedside clock said a quarter to two, but the significance of this escaped me. I could not believe it was only that time. It seemed like a lifetime I had spent in her arms. I heard the shower running and followed her through into the small, pink-tiled bathroom where I found her standing, lathering herself down in the bath. She poked her dripping face around the shower curtain and continued washing as she looked at me.

 

"I have a student at two!"

 

Disregarding this I went over and stepped into the bath with her. She yelped playfully as I made a grab for her bum. I slipped my hands around her slender waist and loved the feeling of the cleansing water on my sticky body, much as I had also loved the stickiness.

 

"Mm, I have to get ready!" she sang, turned and kissed me before stepping out and grabbing a towel. I noticed that the scrotum, which had earlier been almost invisible, was now hanging visibly behind the penis, though it was still very small. As I watched her dry herself I noticed how, even divested of her clothes and make-up, she was still entirely feminine. It was the warmth of her broad smile, the softness of her body, the gentleness of her. "It'll only be half an hour," she told me, kissed me again and went back to the bedroom to dress. I watched her step into a blue dress and smart, brown high heels. She brushed her hair, tied it back with a ribbon, gave me another kiss, blown this time, and left looking every inch the respectable piano teacher. I got back into my clothes and laid on the bed, not feeling tired but blissed out, like I was floating.

 

Soon the doorbell rang and I heard the high, bright tones of a child's voice in the hall saying, "Good afternoon, Miss Bell," and then the rapid scales began.

 

The child ran both hands up and down the keyboard without a single wrong note. Then came the arpeggios, also executed skilfully, interrupted occasionally by instructions from Stevie. Then I heard tunes, mostly quite simple, that would sometimes stop and be resumed from the beginning. For the whole lesson I listened, still feeling Stevie around me, inside me, still smelling and tasting her, while I heard her sometimes take over from the child and demonstrate, playing confidently to show how the piece should be played.

 

I relit the joint and smoked the rest of it, then the rest of hers. When I heard the playing stop I tiptoed to the landing and looked down the stairs to watch her usher a little boy of perhaps eight through the hall with her hand gently resting on his head. She was complimenting him on his playing, her voice quiet and kind, like the voice of an indulgent mother. When the door closed Stevie turned and leaned against it, looking up at me through her lashes and smiling cheekily.

 

"Well, Miss Piano Teacher?" I said and she rushed up the stair at me to grab me around the waist and pull me back into the bedroom.

 

This time we tore at each other's clothes in between pressing our mouths roughly to each other's faces. We were still half dressed as she took me from behind again, thrusting my panties aside, then her cock deep into me. My legs were tight together as my jeans were only halfway down my legs, but she still penetrated me easily, so hard and so deep. When she lifted a leg and placed her foot beside me, she draped her skirt over my back. She grunted sexily with each thrust while I matched them with little yelps. I came quickly, I was so turned on by the urgency and suddenness of her love making. My knees trembled and my feet turned to jelly, making me collapse onto the bed.

 

We then undressed and locked our arms and legs around each other, loving the sensation of bare skin on bare skin. Without warning she entered me again and we fucked while lying on our sides, our faces so close, my boobs pushed against her, her nipples grazing me softly, our legs entwined around each other, my pussy walls locked around her cock. We moved against each other slowly, sensuously, clutching each other tightly.

 

Then with me on my back she rode me hard, battering her hips against mine, urgently drawing my orgasm from me and from within herself. I squeezed my tits, pinching on the nipples, enjoying the twinges of pain which complimented the growing pleasure in my pussy. We came together, wailing, our bodies tightening around each other, with her erupting inside me and me squirting my milk into her face. I sent jets of it into the 'O' of her wide open mouth. Much of it missed and I ended up coating her face in my white liquid while she continued to fire more of hers into my womb. The streams of milk dripped from her face back onto my tits, sending little, thrilling shock waves of pleasure to join the titanic waves coursing through me.

 

"Oh, Linda," she sighed, then laughed, "that was really awesome!" and I laughed too as we lay for a while, hugging and stroking.

 

I licked the milk from her face, lapped it from her soft cheeks, then expressed some it back into her mouth with my saliva. I sucked on her tongue, then ran the tip of mine all around the inside of her mouth, savoring the milky sweetness of our mingled liquids. After smoking a little more we made love again, then again, then again, and I felt like my heart would burst, overcome as I was with love for her.

 

"Let's go out tonight," she said presently as we lay panting. "Let's go dancing!"

 

I gazed into her face, loving everything about it, but then looked down.

 

"I can't," I whispered. "Christine and I always go out on Saturdays," and I began to feel sad.

 

"I'll see you tomorrow?" she asked, hopefully.

 

"Yes, sweetheart," I whispered between kisses, "but don't come to the house. I'll come here." It might be hard to get away from Christine. "Will you be," I coughed, "playing your organ tomorrow?"

 

She gave me a wink.

 

"Yes, darling, but I'll be here at midday. Oh, shit."

 

It was the first time I had heard her swear and I burst out laughing.

"Mum and Dad want me for Sunday lunch. But you can come too, if you'd like."

 

"Thanks," I said. "That'd be lovely."

 

She raised an eyebrow and said, "I'm not sure about that."

 

At length we dressed, not bothering to shower again. At the door we kissed and caressed each other's faces.

 

"I already want you again," I whispered into her ear.

 

"Me too," she whispered back and then I was outside, alone, feeling the absence of her profoundly, as if the shutting of the door had driven thousands of miles between us. Although light-headed from love and grass, the adrenaline I felt from my joy sharpened my mind enough for the ride home. Christine had already returned it was only then I realised it was early evening.

 

"How were they?" she asked me, looking up from the TV in front of which she was slouched with a glass of wine in her hand.

 

I managed to bite my tongue before blurting out, "Who?" "Oh, Geoff and Sue?" I asked innocently. "Yeah, they're fine." I stood watching the TV with her for a minute, wondering if she'd be able to smell anything on me, then asked, "Should I change?"

 

"Yes, honey," she said, absently-mindedly, with her eyes back on the TV and as she raised her glass to her mouth I caught an odd smirk on her lips.

 

At the restaurant at which we usually ate on Saturdays we discussed our week, or she discussed hers while I gave her a censored version of mine. She did most of the talking, telling me about the increasing pressures of work, the lack of cooperation from her colleagues, the trivial nature of some the patients' requests or demands. I listened, nodded and took in the general nature of what she was saying, but my mind was elsewhere.

 

"You OK, honey?" she asked after a while. "You've been smiling and giggling at everything I've been saying. I didn't know my problems at work were that funny to you." But her tone was kind and I was familiar with this kind of teasing from her.

 

I tried to be as honest with her as I could and told her that I was feeling good about the paintings I'd produced that week. She nodded and accepted this with more ease that I had expected. I knew of her problems at work, but how could I take them seriously now? At odd moments during the meal, when she had gone to the toilet or had spoken to the waiter, I took these opportunities to touch myself under the tablecloth, just little squeezes with my fist between my legs, little echoes of that afternoon's pleasure. We had not taken the car which was fortunate considering how much we both drank.

 

Back home we collapsed into bed without even a kiss.

 

Copyright © Irma Cerrutti 2015