I woke and did not know where I was. Nothing was familiar except my giddy head. I’d been drinking too heavily once more; I’d passed out; I was blank. No, wait, I was remembering. I had been visiting my old friend Jack. I sat up. I was on the couch at his house. Hot damn. I’d done it again. Why couldn’t I learn to drink in moderation? Something had woken me from my hazed slumber. I concentrated and heard a door click shut. It had been something like that, perhaps a door opening. No, it had been a cry. A baby. Jack’s baby. It made sense. I sat on the couch, awareness coming to me gradually. A light was switched on in the adjoining kitchen and now I saw enough to recognise my surroundings. Jack’s place. I’d passed out again. Hot damn. When would I learn?
I heard somebody moving around in the kitchen. Sighing, I stood up. Oops, unsteadily. An apology was necessary and the sooner the better. He was a great guy, Jack. I hadn’t seen him in three years and it was poor form to pass out on his couch. I ambled to the kitchen doorway.
Jack’s wife was at the sink, her back to me. She was a great girl, Fiona. I’d not met her before last night and she was lovely. They were a great couple. I coughed gently. She whirled around, surprised. She was wearing a pink/beige/apricot sort of nightdress which reached just below her knees. It had wide straps on the shoulders. Her definitive breasts hung obviously and her nipples hinted through the shiny smooth material. “Peter,” she said, relief in her voice. “You gave me a fright for a moment.”
“I woke up in a strange place,” I said. “Sorry. My manners are unforgivable.”
“You fell asleep,” she said. “It was late anyway and we went to bed.” She smiled suddenly. She was lovely. “It was no problem. Don’t worry about it.”
I stood and looked at her. She really was lovely in a top-heavy way. Barefoot in her nightgown, her dark hair falling softly to her shoulders. She had a glass of water in her hand. Water. I was thinking I should be wise and drink some water myself when I said something I hadn’t intended. “Did I tell you last night you were lovely?”
She smiled again, nervously. “Not that I recall.”
“Then I should have, because you are.”
I stood and looked at her. She stood, barefoot, nipples suggesting their presence, holding a glass of water, looking back at me. A silence started and lengthened. I should retreat, I was thinking. She’d left her bed to attend to her crying child. I should go back to the couch with my fuzzy head. But I didn’t. Instead I took an unpremeditated step towards her, reached out and pinched between two fingers the strap of the nightdress on her right shoulder. I slid the strap over her shoulder and let it fall down her arm.
The top of the gown slipped and settled on the upper slope of her breast. She stood still, looking up at me, her eyes wide. She dropped her eyes and looked down at her breast, and the movement caused the gown to slip further, exposing the curve of her breast and the cleft between it and its companion. She lifted her eyes and looked at me again. She looked stunned, uncertain, puzzled. I heard her breathing. I think the gown was hooked on her nipple, because suddenly it fell away and down to her waist. Her full rounded breast rose and fell gently with her breath. The nipple was prominent and reddish. As I watched it grew larger and thicker. Again she looked down at herself, then up at me. Her expression was bemused. She didn’t know what to do.
Fascinated by the sight of her and her indecision, I reached out and slid the left strap over her shoulder. The gravitational effects had altered and this time the gown slipped straight down, exposing completely both her breasts. She moved her free hand and clamped it against the material bunched at her stomach, preventing the gown from falling right down her body. She was breathing heavily. I could hear plainly. She had hunched with the movement of her hand. Now, as I watched, she straightened her back and her shoulders. Her breasts lifted, beautifully balanced and bobbing gently, and again she looked into my eyes.
“Let go,” I whispered. “Let it fall.”
She shook her head and her breasts swayed gently. “No.”
“Go on,” I urged. “Do it.”
I took the water from her hand, drank it and set the glass on the bench. Slowly and deliberately, I put my hand over her hand and drew it gently away from her stomach. She offered no resistance. Slowly the nightgown sagged against her hips and folded over. Then it fell straight down her legs. She stood in a puddle of material, naked. I stepped back a pace and looked at her body. Her stomach was slightly rounded, her pubic hair dark and tufted, and her thighs and legs were slim to the point of thin. Almost too thin. She would be pigeon-like when she was older, but this night I was not about to complain.
“God in heaven,” she said, looking into my eyes. “What am I doing?” It was a real question. She was asking me to explain her behaviour.
“You’re lovely,” I said. “Magnificent.”
She shivered visibly. “What do you want?”
“Whatever you will allow me.”
She closed her eyes. “I can’t seem to prevent you,” she said in a small voice.
Interesting. “So I can do anything to you. Anything I want.”
She stood with her eyes closed. She did not respond. “I’m waiting for an answer,” I said gently.
She opened her eyes. “I didn’t know it was a question.”
More interesting. No need to linger. As quickly as possible I shed my trousers and shorts. She looked down at my erect shaft, then back to me. Her eyes were large and her face expressionless. I closed on her and she lifted her arms and placed them loosely around my neck. Using my hand as a guide, I positioned against her entrance. She was slick, ready. I pushed in smoothly and easily, bending my knees for leverage. She murmured and put her head on my shoulder. I linked my hands under her buttocks, lifted her off the ground and buried myself deeply in her. She held on tight, her breasts crushed against my chest. “This is so bad,” she whispered.
I carried her out of the kitchen and back to the couch where I had been sleeping. Carefully I placed her down on her back and pressed firmly into her. “This is very bad,” she whispered. “And no condom.”
I pulled partly out of her but rammed back hard and she groaned softly. “It is definitely bad,” I said. “Your husband’s asleep, your baby’s asleep and you’re out here fucking a man you barely know. That is definitely bad.”
Her breath was coming in pants. “Yes,” she whispered.
“Jack could arrive any minute and find us.” Push.
“And no condom.” Push.
“And there won’t be a condom.” Push.
“You don’t want a condom.” Push.
“You might get pregnant.” Push.
“No. Yes. Maybe.”
“But you still want it hard and fast.” Push. She didn’t answer and I stopped. She gripped me by the shoulders.
“Yes,” she hissed at me.
It was hard and fast, noisy. Slam more than push. She clutched, wriggled and gurgled. She seemed quashed, exhausted. “God, what have I done,” she said.
“Don’t give me that line, Fiona. You know very well.”
“You do. Does Jack know about this danger-thrill streak in you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You know what I think?”
“Do I have to know?”
“I think I can turn up at your door any old time and do anything I like to you.”
“God, don’t say that.”
“I might even bring a friend.”
“I’ve got your number, girl. See? Already you’re excited again.”
“Bullshit. It’s true.”
It was hard and fast again, the way she wanted. In the morning I had breakfast with the happy family, apologising for my behaviour the night before. “Not a problem,” said my old friend Jack. “Come and stay any time you’re in town.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I tend to turn up out of the blue. I’ve got your number now. You never know what might happen.”
Fiona was at the sink. I saw her shoulders shiver.
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