His American Fling

by Brogan, Kim

“Henry, this isn’t the most comfortable place.”

  He backed off and looked around, “Oh! Righto! Let’s get you to bed.”

  “Now that sounds more comfy.”

  We kissed occasionally as we went up the steps. I managed to get his leather coat off along with his shirt before we spilled into the living room. I lost my shoes and he deftly turned and unzipped me. The dress slid off and I was left standing in my panties and bra. Luckily, I had managed to put on a rather presentable set of naughty looking underwear. Henry seemed to appreciate it because all he did was look at my breasts.

  Suddenly, my feet left the floor and I was over his shoulder. In a deep voice he yelled, “Me man, you woman...me ravish you.”

  He threw me on his bed and then jumped on, bouncing next to me when he landed. I let out a girly giggle. One quick reach around and my bra was undone and his hand was pulling it off by the straps.

  He took one look at my breasts and blurted out, “Blow me!”

  I was a little shocked. “Really? Now?” I shrugged, “Take your pants off.”

  He took his pants off and I saw a pleasant erection. I started to bend over when he stopped me. “Oh, maybe you can do that later, I think I’d rather have the real thing this time.”

  “I’m confused. You asked me to blow you?”

  He started laughing. “Blow me....as in, blow me down, knock me over with a feather. Not the American “blow me.” Although, it’s a lovely thought and will certainly be entertained later.”

  I began to laugh with him. The differences in our language became very apparent. We laughed until he finally noticed my breasts bouncing up and down and focused on them.

  After heavy foreplay, he was ready to penetrate me, gave me a warning, “Mags, I’m afraid I’ve probably been thinking too much about this all day. I don’t think I’m going to be long this first go.”

  I kissed his smooth lips. “I don’t care Henry, there’s plenty of time ahead.”

  “Great, because if you don’t mind, I’d like permission to come aboard.”

  I was a little shocked that he meant that soon, but I was also flattered. “Sure.”

  “Do we need to take precautions?”

  “Do you have a rubber?”

  He looked at me suspiciously. “I think you mean French letters, over here a rubber is an eraser.”

  I chortled. “My God, do we even speak the same language?”

  “Judging from your lovely nipples and my willy, I think we share enough of the same vocabulary to get the job done.” He reached over, opened a drawer and pulled out a condom. Tearing it open with his mouth, with one hand he dressed himself.

  After entering me, we began humping like bunnies. Little grunts would escape his mouth until he finally let out a sharp cry and thrust three more times. Henry chuckled and then slipped out of me and onto his side.

  “Damn Maggie, that was great, but I’m sorry it was so blasted short. I just can’t help it. You’ve got a stunner of a body and well, I’ve wanted this from the minute I saw you with your broken arm in the hospital.”

  “I’m not worried. The great thing about sex is that it usually gets better.”

  He kept playing and touching my breasts while we lay in each other’s arms. He smelled like aftershave, something like Herrera. Our eyes met and he slipped his hand between my legs again and rubbed until I felt the waves build up. There was a tightening of all my muscles as the spidery orgasm shot through my body into my breasts and shoulders. I fell back and clamped my thighs over his hand to stop as the discomfort took the place of the pleasure. He stopped, kissing my neck and ear as I tried to catch my breath. I giggled from the tickling I felt from his kisses. He grabbed and turned my chin so he could kiss my lips.

  His voice was soft, “Maggie.” He said it as a complete sentence; as if it encompassed everything he had just felt.

  “Henry.” I whispered back. Then we kissed again.

  Eventually we climbed under the covers and fell asleep holding each other. The morning sex was even better. Henry was just as eager to make love, but more in control. He lasted considerably longer and we enjoyed a rather aerobic workout under the sheets.

  I don’t understand men sometimes. Sex brings out the strangest things in them. Some like to turn over and go to sleep; some like to cuddle; others like to do a post mortem, going over the sex blow by blow like a sportscaster at the end of a game. Henry was different. He liked to eat after sex, the faster he could cram something down his gullet, the better. He jumped up and ran down the hall to the kitchen minutes after we were finished.

  I heard him yell, “Hey Mags! Want some crisps?”

  “No, I think I’d like to start out with some tea if you don’t mind.”

  “I’m putting the kettle on as we speak.”

  I already knew he was starting the tea. Most of the Brits couldn’t go five minutes in the morning without their tea or coffee. I knew Henry was a tea drinker just from the fact that there was a kettle on the counter, but no coffee maker.

  Henry brought me tea and some rather pathetic excuse for an English muffin. We sat in bed, drank our tea, and read the Sunday Times and Independent. He cleaned up our mess and then invited me into the shower where he leaned me back on his chest so that he could wash my body with lavender body gel. The shower and gel felt soothing and fresh. His touch was so soft and sensual that I turned around and let him take me again in the shower. After we were done in the bathroom, he fell back on the bed.

  “Crickey, how in the hell am I going to get through the day? You’ve totally worn me out. I’m knackered!” He put his hands over his heart, but the lament was rather half-hearted.

  “We could just stay here, not do anything.”

  He laughed at me. “I’m afraid I have to go today. After the procession, we always give a party. You see, I’m the host.”

  “Party? Another party? Where?”

  “At our townhouse.”

  “Here?”

  “No, the family townhouse. So get that luscious body of yours ready, we’re going to have to get going. The Lord Mayor’s Show begins at 10:30 a.m. and I’m supposed to be at our position along the route by 10:00 a.m.”

  “Position along the route?” My heart was beating fast again and I was starting to stress out.

  “My family holds a position near St. Paul’s. We sit there every year.”

  “I’m shuddering at the thought of it all. I thought we were just going to be two people standing on the side of the road watching the parade. What are you wearing?”

  Without batting an eye he said, “I’ll be in my Earl’s cape with the ermine trim.”

  My heart started pounding; I could feel it in my head. I was trying to say something and I could see an immediate change in his demeanor. He looked frightened, worried.

  “Mags! You’ve gone absolutely white! I was just joking. I don’t own a cape with ermine. Here, sit down, have some water.” He grabbed an opened bottle of water from the night stand, handing it to me as I sat down. “Darling, poor Mags, I didn’t mean to wind you up that far! I really have plonked you down in the thick of it, haven’t I?”

  I nodded weakly. “I’m a little overwhelmed.”

  His voice was soft, soothing, “I can see that. Let me reassure you that I am going to wear slacks, shirt, sweater and a sports jacket. Nothing fancy.”

  My brow furrowed with anxiety. “But, I brought Levis!” My voice cracked, “I thought we’d be wearing Levis!”

  “You can wear Levis. I have to wear slacks and a sports coat since they’ll take my picture with the Lord Mayor for various magazines.”

  I could feel the tears brimming. I felt so stupid and incompetent. “I can’t wear Levis while you’re dressed in nice casual clothes!”

  He hugged me. “Then I’ll dress in Levis too.”

  It was then that I realized how pitiful I was. I snapped out of it and smiled, “No, I’m being stupid. I’ll wear Levis and one of your nice sweaters. It will be big, but it will
be better than the sweater I brought.”

  “You know...I think we can sneak back over to Fiona’s treasures for something. She really doesn’t mind. These are her second string clothes anyway. They’re just back up for what she usually brings with her. She won’t mind.”

  “I suppose she’ll be there?”

  He winced and nodded.

  “Can I call her first?”

  Henry dialed the phone, made a few sheepish apologies, and told Fiona, “I didn’t think.” Then he handed the phone to me.

  Fiona found it amusing, “What was that twit thinking? Not telling you about the unwritten dress code of the upper ‘asses.’ That was unforgivable. By all means Mags, wear anything you like from the closet. Make him give you my cell phone number and from now on when the prat asks to take you somewhere you can ring me and I’ll give you the fashion report.”

  By making Henry the object of her anger and cause of my anxiety, Fiona had given me a real boost. I now didn’t have to blame myself for being so naive; it was all Henry’s fault! Still, I didn’t chastise him because I now felt sorry for him. Fiona had already cuffed his ears. He looked truly contrite as I rummaged through her closet. My change in attitude had been noted because Henry seemed to tip-toe around me.

  He finally put his arms around my waist and gave me a kiss. “Mags? You do forgive me don’t you? I really didn’t stop to think.”

  I had been thinking about it too. “Henry, if you had told me about the parties and what was going to happen, I would have declined. I don’t have clothes the caliber of these. I’m really no match for you and your friends.”

  He looked crushed. “You’re a higher caliber than most of the women I’ve met—they just have better clothes. Believe me, I would rather spend time in your company any day. Clothes can be bought. You can’t buy what makes you Maggie.”

  Okay, I’m a sucker for sweet talk. He blew me out of my funk. We kissed and I pulled a blouse and sweater off of the shelf. I also grabbed some slacks but they were several inches too long for me. I picked out a brown wool skirt that probably came just below Fiona’s knees. On me it cut my leg at the calf. After putting it on along with the Cole Hahn loafers, I looked like what you would expect a Vassar graduate to look like—“tweedy.” Henry gave me an appreciative pat on the butt and we took off.

  His family’s grandstand position on the route was perfect. We could see the entire procession which consisted of thousands of participants, bands and floats. It was quite a spectacle. Henry had his arm around me and we were watching a rather sassy band from Newcastle swing by when I heard a familiar voice yelling over the brass.

  “Sorry I’m late, bloody traffic was horrid. What have I missed?” I looked around Henry and saw Campbell sit next to Fiona who was on the opposite side of Henry.

  “Only Arsenal. They marched by about five minutes ago. You didn’t miss the English Cricket Team. They haven’t been by yet.”

  Campbell locked eyes with me and gave me a curt nod. “Hello Maggie.”

  I gave a curt nod back. “Hello Campbell.”

  We both sat up and continued to watch the procession. Henry and Campbell teased each other constantly about their drinking habits, feigned sexual proclivities, sports abilities; just about everything was fair game. Fiona, however, always seemed to get in the best jab, shutting the two men up abruptly. I had a feeling that Fiona had always been the one to keep the men in line.

  After one heated discussion about the Scottish vs. British soccer teams, Fiona finally raised both hands. “Don’t they ever shut up on your planets?” She looked at me, “You know Maggie, not all men are arses, some are dead. And these two are going to be dead very soon.”

  Campbell remained defensive. “Fiona, he knows I’m right, they should have been penalized when his hand touched the ball.”

  “Oh for God’s sakes Campbell, why don't you try practicing random acts of intelligence and senseless acts of self-control? You’re not going to convince him. Just let it be. Which, speaking of lack of self-control, where is my brother?”

  We all looked around, but he wasn’t around. “Does Nigel usually come?” I asked.

  “Almost always, except for the time he had that wonky knee. He was on crutches and mother didn’t want him to get knocked about by the crowd.” Fiona continued to look around.

  Several minutes passed by and I saw Nigel with a young woman rushing up the street towards us. “Fiona, there he is.”

  A sneer flashed across her face, “Oh great, he has Philippa with him.”

  Campbell put a hand up to cover the sunlight from his eyes to look for Nigel. “Now, now, she’s not too bad. You just have to stick to three subjects, horses, hunts and dogs.”

  Fiona gave Nigel a curled lip that said it all. She was not pleased with her brother’s choice.

  Nigel waved airily at us. “Maggie! So good to see you. Are you here with Campbell or Henry?”

  Campbell immediately volunteered, “Henry!”

  I looked at Campbell who seemed a little too anxious to set the record straight. I quipped, “He’s right, I wasn’t Campbell’s type—I’m not inflatable... and I know how to count to ten.”

  There was an uproar on the bench from everyone in ear shot. I felt somewhat ashamed for slamming him. He gave me a haughty glare. “You don’t have to be a bitch.”

  Fiona jumped in, “Campbell, you say bitch as if it’s a bad thing. Mags got you fair and square. Don’t be a sore loser.”

  The procession ended around 2:00 p.m., but we had to stay an extra hour for all the photographs. I watched as Fiona, Campbell, Henry, and Nigel all take turns standing with the Lord Mayor and other dignitaries to be photographed. After a while, they all looked alike—polished and bored. We made our way back to Henry’s flat to get ready for the party.

  “If you’re the host, why aren’t you at your family’s townhouse getting the place ready for the party?” I asked.

  “I employ a staff of six. Surely they can put a party together for me.”

  “Six? For a townhouse?”

  “We have three housekeepers that rotate, one valet, one driver and one cook. My valet also serves as the butler.”

  “Oh dear, I have a feeling that I need another change of clothes.”

  He lowered his head. “I’m afraid so. You’ll probably want a dress of sorts.”

  “God, I just pray that Fiona has something in her closet that will do.”

  I went to the guest bedroom as Henry got ready. I started rummaging, but the only evening outfit I could piece together that fit was a lacy top and black slacks. There was a knock on the front door and Henry went to open it.

  “Robert, what are you doing here?” I heard Henry ask.

  “Miss Fiona Raleigh asked me to deliver this to your flat sir. She said I was to give it to Miss McGee.”

  I heard my name and walked out to find a man, in a tailored pinstripe suit, standing with a garment bag. Henry took it from him and handed it to me. I was stunned; I didn’t have a clue whether or not I should take it.

  Robert cleared up the confusion, “Miss Raleigh asked me to let you know that you will not find anything in the closet adequate for tonight. She sent this over for you to wear.”

  I opened the garment bag and there was a gorgeous dress. Not quite a cocktail dress, but more formal than business. It was a red, knee-length, long-sleeved, clingy, acetate dress that I knew would drape well when I put it on. The Stuart Weitzman shoes would go perfect with it.

  “Oh, it’s lovely! Perfect.” I showed it to Henry.

  “Well done, Fiona.”

  Robert cleared his throat, “Is there anything else I can do for you ma’ am?

  I looked around and saw my purse on the floor. I grabbed it to retrieve some money for a tip. Henry and Robert both looked perplexed.

  “Maggie, what are you doing?”

  I whispered, but I know Robert heard, “Trying to find money for a tip.”

  Robert gasped and turned red. Henry laughed. �
�Robert’s my valet. This is what I employ him to do. There’s no need for a tip.” Henry turned back to Robert and said, “We’ll be over in a couple of hours. Have you heard from my mother?”

  “She’s still in the Maldives I believe. She sends her best. Your sister has asked that you try to make it before six o’clock so she can go over the seating arrangements.”

  “Oh, bloody hell. I could care less where everyone sits.”

  Robert nodded. “Right. Well, sir, if there’s nothing more, I have things to do back at Sloane.”

  “Yes, of course. Thank you, Robert.”

  Robert was gone. I ran into the bedroom to try on the dress. It hung perfectly on my body, although it was a lower cut than I usually wear. I juggled my breasts into place so that my bra didn’t show and slipped on the Stuart Weitzman’s. Pulling my shoulders back, I walked out to the living room.

  “Cor...Fiona is a bloody saint. You look lovely.” He stopped. “You know, we don’t have to be there right away.” He started to pull me into him, his mouth covering mine.

  I chuckled. “What happened to being knackered?”

  He winced and pulled back. “Maybe you’re right. I need to be on my game tonight. Let’s go.”

  I was a little shocked and hurt by the 180 turn. We got to the door and he pulled my arm back and laughed like a madman while throwing me over his shoulders and carrying me into his bedroom. I thought he might tear the dress, but he walked that fine line between urgency and delicacy. We had sweaty sex that left us both gasping for air and laughing. I could have wrapped myself up in his arms and gone to sleep at that point, instead we found ourselves rushing into the shower and making a mad effort to get ready all over again.

  My idea of a townhouse is a row house in Philadelphia or the phony Mediterranean boxes in California. We drove up to Sloane House, in Chelsea, about half a mile from Buckingham Palace and my jaw dropped to the floor. We entered and we might as well have been in the mansion we were in last night, without the massive gardens.