by R J Butler
Yes. No. Can’t you stop that music?
It’s on a loop. Look, this is not helping much.
I never knew there were so many verses.
There it’s finished now. You say she’s married?
Certainly accounted for.
Damn.
But listen, Paul, go for it anyway. Chances are, they’re probably in the middle of a divorce. What’s the worst that can happen?
Quite a lot, actually.
That’s what I thought.
What?
Look at the time; we’d better get back.
Already?
Thanks, Paul, for lunch and everything. Very nice.
Yes, he says, well worth it.
2.30 p.m. Back in the office. Everyone’s sending each other festive emails and making merry. I feel pleased to have given Paul my advice and lived up to his ‘man-of-the-world’ label but why, I wonder, had I encouraged him in his endeavours vis-à-vis Dawn. Surely, it wasn’t in my interest. But of course I know perfectly well – I want to see him fail where I’ve succeeded. His failure, and a failure it would surely be, would only heighten my sense of achievement. Granted, a minor risk is involved, in that Dawn may welcome his advances but if she did I’d sit butt naked on top of the office Christmas tree.
4 p.m. Heather’s given us the nod to go home. Little work has been achieved in the last seven hours and bugger all will be in the remaining hour, so why prolong the agony? So everyone piles out in one big happy mass, either heading home or adjourning to the pub. Everyone, that is, except Heather and me. I couldn’t face sitting at the bar trying to make conversation whilst staring at the door, my heart jumping every time it opened in the hope it was Dawn. So I’m still here, writing up my diary, my thoughts turning, again, to having sex with Dawn. I still can’t imagine having sex with another woman after all these years. I’m so used to Emily, and her preferences and foibles, and the familiar and lovely contours of her body. I imagine myself all fingers and thumbs with another woman, having to endure comments like: No, not like that; or Not there; or Is that it? It’s too painful to contemplate. And I am beginning to regret my animalistic boast. What if I get first night nerves, and my lovemaking proves more guinea pig than lion? Well, Dawn, when I said animalistic… And what if I’d misread the signals. Do sentences like: What are you like in bed, and I so want to sit on your face mean she wants to sleep with me? Perhaps she’s merely flirtatious in the extreme and one move and I’d be hauled up in front of Heather for inappropriate conduct. How good would that look on my End-Of-Year Review?
5.30 p.m. Time to go; the Horse and Carrot awaits. Heather’s still in her office. I knock on her door and pop my head round the corner. I find her applying a fresh layer of lipstick, holding up a compact mirror. I’ll be off then.
OK, she says, her eyes still fixed on the reflection of her puckered lips.
Happy Christmas.
And festive greetings in return. Heather never uses the Christmas word if she can help it; she considers it too faith-specific.
And so, fearful of what the night might have in store for me, I head off, saying my goodbyes and Happy Christmases to various reception staff, security guards and porters. My route to the pub takes me along the canal path, busy with suited workers wobbling and giggling. December 5th already seems like a distant memory; that first kiss with Dawn feels like something that happened to someone else. Perhaps it was Paul. Now, as I approach the pub and see the festive crowd within and hear Wizard singing out from the jukebox, the steaks seem so much higher. And that much more serious.
The place is packed. I head straight for the bar, wanting to avoid the obligation of buying a huge round of drinks. It took a while to fight to the front, surrounded by loud boys and underdressed girls, all surely too young to be in here. I found myself besides Sean, holding a tray, trying to make himself seen from his wheelchair. He said something but what I don’t know.
What can I get you, mate? barked a barman.
I think my friend was here before me.
It took him a few seconds to realise who I was referring to. Sean looked awkward, craning his neck, the bar towering above him like a sheer cliff face. How we take things for granted, I thought.
I found the others, occupying several tables and much space: Ernie, Karen, Paul, Loretta and others. But no Dawn. It’s still early, I told myself. I made a beeline for Loretta and after some banal chitchat ask her nonchalantly whether she’d received a text from Dawn. Yes, she says, she was on her way.
Really? I could have kissed her, my mood transformed in an instant. Well, Loretta, what are you doing for Christmas?
An eternity later, having escaped Loretta’s history of Christmases past, Paul nudged up to me. Did I hear you ask about Dawn? he asks, his eyes round with anticipation.
Yeah, apparently she’s on her way.
Great. Thanks, mate, for finding that out.
Shit, I thought, I could without Paul muscling in.
She’s so hot, isn’t she, he says.
Yes but Paul –
I reckon I stand a good as chance as anyone, don’t you?
Well, perhaps, but listen, Paul –
Oh fuck, look, here she is.
Is she? Where?
We must have looked comical, or desperate; two eager men, heads turned, almost salivating as Dawn came in, ignoring the admiring glances around her. Every male pair of eyes followed her as she glided through the pub. If anything, my memory had diminished her beauty; seeing her again reminded me how stunning she was.
She came straight towards us, looking divine in a dark blue jacket, yellow blouse and tight jeans with a flower motif up the calf.
Hi, Paul, Hi, Rob.
Hi, Dawn, I said. Lovely to see you again.
And you, she said, tilting her head to one side, her teeth gleaming. Paul shot us puzzled glances, probably wondering what was going on; whether I was moving in on his gal.
You look… Paul put me off my stride and I trailed off with a feeble nice. Twenty seconds in and he was already cramping my style.
More than ‘nice’, he said, trumping me. You look wonderful.
Why, thank you, Paul.
Let me buy you a drink.
Thanks, Paul, that’s kind of you, a dry white wine, please.
Ha, I thought, tactical error number one – it now means you have to leave us together while you spend an eon at the bar.
He hesitated for a moment, realising his mistake. Right you are, dry white wine it is then. And you, Robin?
Just got one in. Thanks anyway, Paul.
So I see.
With Paul safely dispatched, Dawn waved at some of the others, then motioning with her eyes, took me to one side. Nice to see you again, honey.
And you, Dawn. I didn’t think you’d make it.
I nearly didn’t. I had such a relaxed week in Westminster, I didn’t want to leave.
But you did.
Yes. I wanted to see you.
I couldn’t help but grin. Wow, I’m touched.
So you should be! Did you miss me?
Heck…
Yes?
Maybe, a little.
She laughed. Me thinks you did!
You really look gorgeous.
Thought I’d make the effort – for you. Just now I only looked nice.
Well, you know, Paul was there. I think he’s got a soft spot for you.
Oh no, has he?
That was all I needed to hear. You won’t be finding me butt naked on top of the Christmas tree. Not that I ever had any doubts.
She edged closer to me. I’ve got an early Christmas present for you. Can you come back to mine later? Just for a while?
My stomach tightened. Sure, I croaked.
Good, that’s settled. Let’s try to escape in a couple of hours. Now we’d better go and mingle. After all, we don’t want to set any tongues wagging, now do we?
I wouldn’t care if we did, I muttered.
True to our intention, we
mingled and managed to leave about nine. I chatted to Ernie and sympathised with his tale of unrequited love (Marjorie in Accounts had told him to grow up when he presented himself with mistletoe held high); and Sean who regaled me with his parachuting exploits. Paul, I noticed, had joined Loretta and Dawn on the settee, laughed raucously every few moments and touched Dawn’s sleeve with annoying regularity. I felt the warm glow of smug satisfaction.
Come nine, Dawn gave me the nod, and we both reached for our coats, telling our neighbours we had to leave – tiring day, early start, etc.
I ought to be leaving too, said Paul. I’ll walk you to your car, if you like, Dawn.
No, that’s fine, thanks, Paul. I’m giving Robin a lift.
Are you? His voice came out harsh; he looked at me inquisitively. Right. Fair enough.
Yes, Paul, I thought, I’m winning the girl! Dawn and I said our farewells and kissed cheeks and, as we left, pushing our way through the throng, I could feel Paul’s eyes throwing daggers into my back. But I didn’t give a damn.
Walking outside along the canal, we looked at each other and laughed. The setting was still the same, as if, somehow, I’d expected it to change in the intervening fortnight – the railings, the rustling trees, the fresh smell, the yellow tinge from the street lamps, the pretty houses glowing from within with Christmas decorations. I took her hand. I still can’t believe you had the audacity, she said.
Ah, beautiful women don’t intimidate me, I lied spectacularly.
Two weeks ago already.
I know, it seems longer. A lot longer.
Come here…
We kissed at the same spot where it had all started. Naughty boy, she whispered, nibbling my ear. I missed you, you know, more than I thought. Come on, let’s go. I have a present for you. She planted a kiss on my lips, slow and wonderfully suggestive. I think you’ll like it.
Dawn drove us back to her’s, telling me about her week, her husband, his poorly father and his pregnant sister. I listened without enthusiasm, feeling too nervous about the idea of entering her flat, the one she had all to herself. She told me also of an impending two-week photographic assignment in Ipswich.
You’ll be away for two weeks?
Yes. New Year.
I’d barely known her a fortnight, discounting the months prior to our first kiss, and the thought of not seeing her for two whole weeks churned me up. Heck, I’ll miss you.
I know. I’ll miss you too.
The flat was spacious – two large bedrooms, living room, etc. Recently built, light colours, immaculately clean, and sparse. But, as I reckoned, this place would only account for half her stuff, possibly less, the rest being in Westminster. I turned down her offer of tea but accepted a small glass of port, which seemed to have the perfect effect for soothing my nerves. In her spare bedroom I stopped to look at various photos mounted on a pinboard, pictures chronicling her life.
This is Duncan, she said pointing to a snap of her husband, a rounder, paler version of me with a goatee and a finer cut in clothes. And that’s my mum and stepdad.
He’s in a wheelchair?
Yeah, that’s why I have the disabled badge in the car. Ah.
And that’s me in ninety-five, she said pointing to a fetching photo of her in a bikini. God, I was thin then.
You’re not actually overweight now.
She went through them all: Dawn on horseback, ski-ing, with an ex-boyfriend, on a motorbike, and in each she looked gorgeous. This woman was born beautiful.
Now then, she said, the tour completed, time for your Christmas present. She made me lie on the floor in her spare bedroom, on a shaggy, green-coloured rug. Her eyes locked onto mine with sharp intensity. She laid on top of me and kissed me hard. She sat up, and smiling the smile of a woman who knows she’s in control, slowly undid her top button. And then the next, and then the next. I felt my cock harden, squashed beneath her. Her skin seemed so dark compared to what I was used to, and perfectly flawless, her stomach flat, her arms so thin. My hands reached out for her breasts but she pushed them away, No, not yet, naughty boy. I spied her bra within her blouse, khaki, and groaned. Her buttons undone, she kissed me again whilst removing her top. I thought you might like the military theme.
Absolutely.
Finally, her hands went to her back, and undid her bra strap. She cupped her bra and whispering, Happy Christmas, hon, allowed it to fall away, exposing her perfectly shaped and wonderfully pert breasts, with their dark, dark nipples. Oh, my beating heart, what tits, not massive but certainly big enough and those nipples. She leant over me, allowing me to cup her breasts and suck. Oh God, I mumbled as I nibbled each nipple, Christmas had come.
Unbuckling my belt, she slipped her hand down my trousers and I felt her fingers grip the base of my cock. A jolt went through me as her finger slid ever so gently up and down the underside of my shaft. She pulled down my pants and watched as my cock sprung out from its confines. Whoa, what have we here? she purred, as she watched me stretch my foreskin back, exposing my shinny knob. That’s some cock you’ve got there, Robin Collingbourne. That’s a donger, for sure.
I know; it is quite big, I said, modestly.
Big? I’d say it’s big. I’m not sure I could get all that in my mouth. Would you like me to try?
If it’s not too much trouble.
Too much trouble! What are you like?
She leant down and with her tongue just briefly licked the end of my purple tip. She knew what she was doing – that little lick, lovely though it was, was not enough, I needed her to suck me properly and suck me hard but no, she wasn’t going to, she knew exactly how much to give to render me taut with lust and desperation.
She took my hand and guided it down her knickers. I shuddered with pleasure as I glided my finger up and down her cunt and felt her wetness. She groaned as gently I inserted a finger inside her. She bit her lip as I circled round inside, then eased in a second finger.
Do you like finger fucking me, Rob, eh? Is that nice? Feeling all my juices, yeah?
She kissed me as my fingers played within her cunt. I went to pull off her jeans. She stood up, and took them off, revealing her long, dark, slender legs, and her khaki knickers. She hooked a finger either side of her knickers and made to remove them. Instead, she danced round, a sexy, little jig. I spied a little patch damp from her arousal. She turned round and bent right over, touching her toes, and wriggled her arse at me. What a sight; what a turn-on. Turning round again, she removed her knickers, neatly stepping out of them. And so, there, standing above me, was this beautiful, olive-skinned woman, naked, showing me her cunt, her puffed-up lips, which, from my angle, beneath her, was a vision to behold.
You’re shaved.
Oh yes. I like being shaved. All the better to feel your tongue. Nothing to get in the way.
I clambered onto my knees and with Dawn still towering over me, began to lap greedily at her pussy. That’s good; that’s fucking good, she shrieked with surprising volume. She pulled her labia apart, allowing me easier access to her pink gash, her juices spilling into my mouth. My tongue circled over her clitoris, while, with a finger, I played with the entrance to her hole. Her hands suddenly gripped the sides of my head, pushing me harder into her cunt, her hot pool of stickiness. Very gently, I took her labia in my mouth and sucked, first one side, then the other. Dawn screamed, causing me to suck a little harder.