The rain is pouring down as I nose the car gently through the mass ranks of vehicles packed into the little cul-de-sac. Thankfully, despite the rain it was easy enough to figure out which house I was supposed to be going to as it was the only one packed with people and a mix of rock and dance music pounding out at volumes guaranteed to annoy the local constabulary, Slipping the BMW to the very back of the impromptu car park I take a look at the short distance to the front door, slip my jacket off onto the passenger seat and make a quick dash for cover under the porch.
The door’s half open and, figuring that the chances of anyone hearing me knocking are practically zero I just step into the house. The sight that greats me should lift my spirits from their current depths; dozens of people, most of whom I know, milling around, chatting, laughing, dancing and in more than one case, making out. The alcohol’s flowing freely, the music’s loud and it’s clear everyone’s up for a pretty mad night. Yes, if ever there was a sight to pull someone up by the bootstraps this is most definitely it.
Only it doesn’t, and deep down I know exactly why it doesn’t. From the moment I walked through the door my eyes have been flicking around, looking for her. I know she’s meant to be here tonight, frankly it’s the only real reason I’ve come. With only a few weeks left of this, our final year at university, I know time’s running out, I’ve got to tell her how I feel now, or I might loose the chance for ever. That thought, not of rejection but of the unknown, of moving through life always wondering what might have been, scares me enough to steal my breath for a moment, and I walk through the throng, nodding, smiling, talking, joking but always, always searching for her.
I make it round the outside of the impromptu dance floor, one complete circuit, but I can’t see her. I know it’s possible she’s not here yet, that she might not be coming after all, yet I don’t believe it. Something deep down, in the very depths of my soul, is telling me otherwise, a sixth sense that is even now screaming at me that she’s close by, even if I can’t find her. Suddenly the music changes, the first few bars of a Darkness number mercifully cut short, replaced by Guns ‘N’ Roses’ Don’t Cry. The mass of humanity on the dance floor slows, confused at the sudden change as half of them drift away. A pair of hands push me from behind and I stumble forward, turning to face my attacker, only for her to flow into my arms, moulding her body to mine, her scent reaching me, teasing me as she curls her head into my shoulder. Instinctively I match her, my arms folding around her perfect body, holding her tight, swaying to the slow beat as we glide around the room, all thoughts of anyone else within a hundred miles forgotten now. It should be heaven, should be perfection as this vision, this angel relaxes in my embrace, her attitude hinting at far more than the friendship we’ve shared for the last four years. And yet, somehow, in the midst of what should be the divine, I feel an old fear rise, cold, clawed fingers digging in and holding on, and it is all I can do now to stay with her, the temptation to run and hide almost overwhelming.
Simply, I’m scared. This isn’t the first time we’ve been in such a similar situation, though never before have I felt such pure, animalistic desire pouring off every movement and motion of her body, barely restrained out of respect for what she knows to be my failing. As before my mind races, and I feel my own sense of self start to fade as her soul calls to me, my only desire to become hers, now and forever. For a moment I almost slip beneath that tempting vision, almost surrender to it, then something in me rebels; pulling back and despite my best intentions I feel my body stiffen. She feels it too, how could she not when she’s this close, but unlike times past she doesn’t back off. Instead she leans forward, coming up on tiptoes to kiss me, her hands wrapped around my neck as we stand still in the middle of the dancing couples, locked in the moment.
The taste of her surprises me; in my naivety I’d never guessed that a kiss could be so exotic. What that taste is I can’t describe, couldn’t even guess, and nor would I want to for fear of diminishing its power. The warmth of that kiss melts my fears, replacing them now with a passion, a desire and outright lust that had been held in check far too long, in truth from the first moment I’d seen her I’d wanted nothing more than to feel those lips touch mine, yet know I knew that wanting only that was futile. Like a man dying of thirst in the desert, a single sip would never be enough.
She seems to sense my intentions and wrapps her hand around mine, pulling me though the crowd towards the stairs. Up, up, up we dash, oblivious to the knowing glances around us, and the genuine smiles on the faces of friends. She leads me down the corridor and pulls a key from around her neck, the chain it hangs from so slender I hadn’t even noticed it. With a soft click the door pops open and she pushes through, pulling me after her as the door shuts behind us, leaving us cocooned in a world of silence and darkness, the noise of the party banished by the heavy wood panelling of the room.
Her fingers slip from mine, and for a moment I have chance to think, a mistake as the familiar cold starts to overtake me once more. Yet, before it has a chance to claim me there is a soft, silken rasp and the room is suddenly bathed in moonlight. The rain has passed and its wake is a clear sky, unburdened by man-made as the window faces out across the vast dark mass of the ocean. She stands in front of the window, backlit by the rising moon, her arms outstretched as she finishes pushing the curtains aside. Slowly she turns to face me, her expression hidden in the darkness, her body perfection as her hands drop to her neck. Fabric shifts and rustles as she peels away first her shirt, then the denim of her jeans. She walks forward towards me, putting on a show, seducing me in a heartbeat yet wanting to prolong the moment as long as she can.
She takes my hand once more and leads me over to the bed, keeping me at arms length. Her thighs touch the mattress and she sinks to all fours, crawling up on the silk sheets until she knows I can resist no more. She stops, looks back towards me, here eyes sparkle in the moonlight as she slowly, oh god so slowly, slides her hands forward, pushing her arms slowly above her head until fingers meet the metal hoops of the headboard, her hips still high in the air as her cheek touches the sheets below. She slides her legs down, grace personified as her fingers wrap around the metal work.
And then I know what she wants, a conversation we’d had one very drunken night almost two years ago, a secret she made me swear to take to the grave, what she called her “ultimate fantasy”. For a moment I freeze, stunned at what she is offering, the trust I know she is putting in me to not only fulfil this dream for her, but to respect the limits that I know terrify her much as my thoughts of her do to me.
The world seems to have become liquid around me as I walk forward, knelling above her thighs, hands trailing up her legs and ass, curious but not surprised that no line of cotton, silk or any other material meets my fingers as she must have been nude under the outer layer of her outfit tonight. Settling back to hold her down, my fingers glide up her sides, teasing and tantalising her ribs, the first giggles escaping her lips are like the opening bars of the sweetest symphony to my ears.
Gradually, subtly, I pick up my pace, but for every increase in speed and ferocity I move my questing fingers further away from her more ticklish spots. From the first gentle, teasing touches on her ribs, to ever so slightly faster ones on the smooth, soft skin of her armpits, to a pit-pat of nails on her shoulders, neck and collarbone. Faster and faster I move, but always trying to balance speed with vulnerability, teasing her senses with the sure and certain knowledge of what’s to come but never quite granting her that experience. Not yet, not until I feel she’s ready for it.
My touch centres on her spine, working my way down from the nape of her neck with a combined ticklish massage that has her groaning and giggling in equal measure, squirming at the touch while luxuriating in the deeper motions that work any tension, any stress from her muscles. As I reach the small of her back I slow both my descent and my teasing, one by one my fingers becoming still against her flesh, the heat of her body almost burning me with her passion, her desire. As the last fingertip ceases its movement she lets out a frustrated groan, her hips bucking up under me, intentions clear.
Not wanting to disappoint I flick my hands to her sides, digging into her ribs as I grip tighter with my thighs. It is the last that prevents me from being thrown clear as she tries to levitate off the bed, head thrown back in reckless abandon, laughter pouring from her lips, a never-ending torrent of hysteria, yet beneath the surface I can just make out the faint undercurrents of pleasure teasing her senses.
Up and over I travel, not holding back now, not teasing her but tormenting her as I grave her underarms, then dive in to feast. Her laughter becomes muffled as she buries her face in the pillows, hands twisting and tugging at the metal they cling to, her own willpower being tested now as much as her physical limitations. I slide down, resting my body atop hers, inhaling her scent, my lips touching her skin just below her neck. As my hands twist and turn in those sensitive hollows, my mouth traces ticklish trails over her neck and shoulders, the close cut hair of my beard tingling against her flesh.
I loose track of time, of borders and of boundaries as I focus on my task, delighting in her responses, in her laughter, in her very presence. The sheer beauty of her presence like this reaches out and ensnares me, but it is that sweet laughter, even muted by the pillow as it is, that keeps me here, willingly surrendering to her pleasure, her desire. Over and over I travel her body, working now by instinct rather than logic, reading her body as easily as I would a novel as it twists and turns, first for escape, then for attention. I’ve never felt such a thing, such a feeling of exaltation, of power and pleasure as this, and I can only think one thought now: More. More, more, more, more, more!
Then it happens, through her muffled laughter I hear a single sob escape and it is as if I’ve touched a lightning bolt. My hands fly away from her body, all thoughts of continuing instantly silenced as I realise what I’ve done. I can’t breathe, my eyes can’t focus as the first tears fall, all I can do is escape, too ashamed of my failing, my betrayal to even face her. Any grace I once possessed has fled though and I move slowly, awkwardly. As I do I feel her shift under me, twisting over onto her back, her eyes seeking mine as I twist away, hiding my face from her.
A hand touches my shoulder, traces up my neck and around the back of my head, pulling me gently but inexorably round to face her. For a long moment I refuse to open my eyes, the thought of what I might see in hers terrifying me to the core. She says nothing, waiting for me to at least grant her this one simple moment. Slowly, reluctantly I open my eyes, and stare into hers.
And what I see there stuns me, destroys my assumptions like the sun on morning mist. Instead of rebuke, there is thanks. No pain or suffering, only joy. And most astonishing of all, where I had expected hate I see only love. For a moment I’m lost, unable to begin to understand what this mirror of my expectations means, then the confusion and doubt fly away, cleansed from my soul as her lips find mine. Like a cool mountain lake her kiss washes over me, pulling me under its surface and now, now I accept it, the fear that has plagued me every time I even dreamt of a future with anyone, let alone the goddess that graces me with her presence now, is gone, replaced with hope, expectation and longing. I feel myself drown, gladly surrendering as fifteen years of pain, of doubt and hate are swept from my soul.
After what feels like an eternity we break apart and I draw what feels like my first breath, reborn from something, from someone, greater than any I’d imagined existed outside of a fairytale. I stare in wonder at the vision beneath me as she seems to glow in the moonlight, her hand still holding me in place. Her leg slides up my side hooking around my hips, both acceptance and possession in one simple gesture. Slowly, sensually, she raises her free arm above her head, the hand that holds me releasing to join its twin, her fingers intertwining through the loops of the headboard. Her eyes flick downward and with the softest of smiles she guides me into position, my left hand supporting my weight, my right resting on her exposed underarm. I hesitate for a moment, the fear rushing back as I imagine what I may do, that I could still loose her as I thought I had once tonight already. She sees my mind, reads my thoughts, and makes the decision for me as she bucks upwards with her hips. My mind dissolves into pleasure and instinct, passion and love as my hand resumes teasing her ticklish flesh, our bodies moving together, a perfect rhythm as we surrender to the inevitable.
Gently, oh so gently, I swirl my fingertips across her wriggling form, yet despite her seemingly helpless position there is no doubt about who is controlling whom. It is her needs that drive us both now, her desire for the sweet tortures being visited upon her warring with her need for release, for that one moment of exquisite pleasure that she’s now holding at bay through her will alone. Her passion drives us both and I feel myself match her, moment by moment, both cresting that wave of pleasure, need and love together. Finally we can resist no longer and plunge over the edge together, wrapped in each others arms, her cries tearing through me, branding my soul as she claims me, now and forever.
The door’s half open and, figuring that the chances of anyone hearing me knocking are practically zero I just step into the house. The sight that greats me should lift my spirits from their current depths; dozens of people, most of whom I know, milling around, chatting, laughing, dancing and in more than one case, making out. The alcohol’s flowing freely, the music’s loud and it’s clear everyone’s up for a pretty mad night. Yes, if ever there was a sight to pull someone up by the bootstraps this is most definitely it.
Only it doesn’t, and deep down I know exactly why it doesn’t. From the moment I walked through the door my eyes have been flicking around, looking for her. I know she’s meant to be here tonight, frankly it’s the only real reason I’ve come. With only a few weeks left of this, our final year at university, I know time’s running out, I’ve got to tell her how I feel now, or I might loose the chance for ever. That thought, not of rejection but of the unknown, of moving through life always wondering what might have been, scares me enough to steal my breath for a moment, and I walk through the throng, nodding, smiling, talking, joking but always, always searching for her.
I make it round the outside of the impromptu dance floor, one complete circuit, but I can’t see her. I know it’s possible she’s not here yet, that she might not be coming after all, yet I don’t believe it. Something deep down, in the very depths of my soul, is telling me otherwise, a sixth sense that is even now screaming at me that she’s close by, even if I can’t find her. Suddenly the music changes, the first few bars of a Darkness number mercifully cut short, replaced by Guns ‘N’ Roses’ Don’t Cry. The mass of humanity on the dance floor slows, confused at the sudden change as half of them drift away. A pair of hands push me from behind and I stumble forward, turning to face my attacker, only for her to flow into my arms, moulding her body to mine, her scent reaching me, teasing me as she curls her head into my shoulder. Instinctively I match her, my arms folding around her perfect body, holding her tight, swaying to the slow beat as we glide around the room, all thoughts of anyone else within a hundred miles forgotten now. It should be heaven, should be perfection as this vision, this angel relaxes in my embrace, her attitude hinting at far more than the friendship we’ve shared for the last four years. And yet, somehow, in the midst of what should be the divine, I feel an old fear rise, cold, clawed fingers digging in and holding on, and it is all I can do now to stay with her, the temptation to run and hide almost overwhelming.
Simply, I’m scared. This isn’t the first time we’ve been in such a similar situation, though never before have I felt such pure, animalistic desire pouring off every movement and motion of her body, barely restrained out of respect for what she knows to be my failing. As before my mind races, and I feel my own sense of self start to fade as her soul calls to me, my only desire to become hers, now and forever. For a moment I almost slip beneath that tempting vision, almost surrender to it, then something in me rebels; pulling back and despite my best intentions I feel my body stiffen. She feels it too, how could she not when she’s this close, but unlike times past she doesn’t back off. Instead she leans forward, coming up on tiptoes to kiss me, her hands wrapped around my neck as we stand still in the middle of the dancing couples, locked in the moment.
The taste of her surprises me; in my naivety I’d never guessed that a kiss could be so exotic. What that taste is I can’t describe, couldn’t even guess, and nor would I want to for fear of diminishing its power. The warmth of that kiss melts my fears, replacing them now with a passion, a desire and outright lust that had been held in check far too long, in truth from the first moment I’d seen her I’d wanted nothing more than to feel those lips touch mine, yet know I knew that wanting only that was futile. Like a man dying of thirst in the desert, a single sip would never be enough.
She seems to sense my intentions and wrapps her hand around mine, pulling me though the crowd towards the stairs. Up, up, up we dash, oblivious to the knowing glances around us, and the genuine smiles on the faces of friends. She leads me down the corridor and pulls a key from around her neck, the chain it hangs from so slender I hadn’t even noticed it. With a soft click the door pops open and she pushes through, pulling me after her as the door shuts behind us, leaving us cocooned in a world of silence and darkness, the noise of the party banished by the heavy wood panelling of the room.
Her fingers slip from mine, and for a moment I have chance to think, a mistake as the familiar cold starts to overtake me once more. Yet, before it has a chance to claim me there is a soft, silken rasp and the room is suddenly bathed in moonlight. The rain has passed and its wake is a clear sky, unburdened by man-made as the window faces out across the vast dark mass of the ocean. She stands in front of the window, backlit by the rising moon, her arms outstretched as she finishes pushing the curtains aside. Slowly she turns to face me, her expression hidden in the darkness, her body perfection as her hands drop to her neck. Fabric shifts and rustles as she peels away first her shirt, then the denim of her jeans. She walks forward towards me, putting on a show, seducing me in a heartbeat yet wanting to prolong the moment as long as she can.
She takes my hand once more and leads me over to the bed, keeping me at arms length. Her thighs touch the mattress and she sinks to all fours, crawling up on the silk sheets until she knows I can resist no more. She stops, looks back towards me, here eyes sparkle in the moonlight as she slowly, oh god so slowly, slides her hands forward, pushing her arms slowly above her head until fingers meet the metal hoops of the headboard, her hips still high in the air as her cheek touches the sheets below. She slides her legs down, grace personified as her fingers wrap around the metal work.
And then I know what she wants, a conversation we’d had one very drunken night almost two years ago, a secret she made me swear to take to the grave, what she called her “ultimate fantasy”. For a moment I freeze, stunned at what she is offering, the trust I know she is putting in me to not only fulfil this dream for her, but to respect the limits that I know terrify her much as my thoughts of her do to me.
The world seems to have become liquid around me as I walk forward, knelling above her thighs, hands trailing up her legs and ass, curious but not surprised that no line of cotton, silk or any other material meets my fingers as she must have been nude under the outer layer of her outfit tonight. Settling back to hold her down, my fingers glide up her sides, teasing and tantalising her ribs, the first giggles escaping her lips are like the opening bars of the sweetest symphony to my ears.
Gradually, subtly, I pick up my pace, but for every increase in speed and ferocity I move my questing fingers further away from her more ticklish spots. From the first gentle, teasing touches on her ribs, to ever so slightly faster ones on the smooth, soft skin of her armpits, to a pit-pat of nails on her shoulders, neck and collarbone. Faster and faster I move, but always trying to balance speed with vulnerability, teasing her senses with the sure and certain knowledge of what’s to come but never quite granting her that experience. Not yet, not until I feel she’s ready for it.
My touch centres on her spine, working my way down from the nape of her neck with a combined ticklish massage that has her groaning and giggling in equal measure, squirming at the touch while luxuriating in the deeper motions that work any tension, any stress from her muscles. As I reach the small of her back I slow both my descent and my teasing, one by one my fingers becoming still against her flesh, the heat of her body almost burning me with her passion, her desire. As the last fingertip ceases its movement she lets out a frustrated groan, her hips bucking up under me, intentions clear.
Not wanting to disappoint I flick my hands to her sides, digging into her ribs as I grip tighter with my thighs. It is the last that prevents me from being thrown clear as she tries to levitate off the bed, head thrown back in reckless abandon, laughter pouring from her lips, a never-ending torrent of hysteria, yet beneath the surface I can just make out the faint undercurrents of pleasure teasing her senses.
Up and over I travel, not holding back now, not teasing her but tormenting her as I grave her underarms, then dive in to feast. Her laughter becomes muffled as she buries her face in the pillows, hands twisting and tugging at the metal they cling to, her own willpower being tested now as much as her physical limitations. I slide down, resting my body atop hers, inhaling her scent, my lips touching her skin just below her neck. As my hands twist and turn in those sensitive hollows, my mouth traces ticklish trails over her neck and shoulders, the close cut hair of my beard tingling against her flesh.
I loose track of time, of borders and of boundaries as I focus on my task, delighting in her responses, in her laughter, in her very presence. The sheer beauty of her presence like this reaches out and ensnares me, but it is that sweet laughter, even muted by the pillow as it is, that keeps me here, willingly surrendering to her pleasure, her desire. Over and over I travel her body, working now by instinct rather than logic, reading her body as easily as I would a novel as it twists and turns, first for escape, then for attention. I’ve never felt such a thing, such a feeling of exaltation, of power and pleasure as this, and I can only think one thought now: More. More, more, more, more, more!
Then it happens, through her muffled laughter I hear a single sob escape and it is as if I’ve touched a lightning bolt. My hands fly away from her body, all thoughts of continuing instantly silenced as I realise what I’ve done. I can’t breathe, my eyes can’t focus as the first tears fall, all I can do is escape, too ashamed of my failing, my betrayal to even face her. Any grace I once possessed has fled though and I move slowly, awkwardly. As I do I feel her shift under me, twisting over onto her back, her eyes seeking mine as I twist away, hiding my face from her.
A hand touches my shoulder, traces up my neck and around the back of my head, pulling me gently but inexorably round to face her. For a long moment I refuse to open my eyes, the thought of what I might see in hers terrifying me to the core. She says nothing, waiting for me to at least grant her this one simple moment. Slowly, reluctantly I open my eyes, and stare into hers.
And what I see there stuns me, destroys my assumptions like the sun on morning mist. Instead of rebuke, there is thanks. No pain or suffering, only joy. And most astonishing of all, where I had expected hate I see only love. For a moment I’m lost, unable to begin to understand what this mirror of my expectations means, then the confusion and doubt fly away, cleansed from my soul as her lips find mine. Like a cool mountain lake her kiss washes over me, pulling me under its surface and now, now I accept it, the fear that has plagued me every time I even dreamt of a future with anyone, let alone the goddess that graces me with her presence now, is gone, replaced with hope, expectation and longing. I feel myself drown, gladly surrendering as fifteen years of pain, of doubt and hate are swept from my soul.
After what feels like an eternity we break apart and I draw what feels like my first breath, reborn from something, from someone, greater than any I’d imagined existed outside of a fairytale. I stare in wonder at the vision beneath me as she seems to glow in the moonlight, her hand still holding me in place. Her leg slides up my side hooking around my hips, both acceptance and possession in one simple gesture. Slowly, sensually, she raises her free arm above her head, the hand that holds me releasing to join its twin, her fingers intertwining through the loops of the headboard. Her eyes flick downward and with the softest of smiles she guides me into position, my left hand supporting my weight, my right resting on her exposed underarm. I hesitate for a moment, the fear rushing back as I imagine what I may do, that I could still loose her as I thought I had once tonight already. She sees my mind, reads my thoughts, and makes the decision for me as she bucks upwards with her hips. My mind dissolves into pleasure and instinct, passion and love as my hand resumes teasing her ticklish flesh, our bodies moving together, a perfect rhythm as we surrender to the inevitable.
Gently, oh so gently, I swirl my fingertips across her wriggling form, yet despite her seemingly helpless position there is no doubt about who is controlling whom. It is her needs that drive us both now, her desire for the sweet tortures being visited upon her warring with her need for release, for that one moment of exquisite pleasure that she’s now holding at bay through her will alone. Her passion drives us both and I feel myself match her, moment by moment, both cresting that wave of pleasure, need and love together. Finally we can resist no longer and plunge over the edge together, wrapped in each others arms, her cries tearing through me, branding my soul as she claims me, now and forever.
