by Muffy Wilson
The intimate crowd around them clapped and whistled, jeering them into an intentional cover of mock embarrassment where they shied, blushed, and deflated back onto their seats.
They spent the next few hours locked in interesting conversation over more cocktails. He talked about his life as a Navy Seal and doctor; she about her life, her family, and her career. There was no doubt to anyone that they were attracted to one another. The touching got more intense, the drinks more frequent, the laughter louder, and the craving stronger—the kisses more numerous.
Sitting at the piano bar drinking and talking with Dylan was an unexpected turn to the evening, but fun. And, Sailie kept an eye on the pianist, a tall, blond torch singer that she had met just the night before…and was the irresistible reason she came to Blu’s again tonight. But Sailie told herself she was here because she was so angry with her boyfriend and didn’t know where else to go to burn off steam—but she didn’t really want to go anywhere else. That was the truth. She came because she remembered how the long blond tasted, felt, and how she quivered beneath her touch. She remembered how she shuddered under this tiny woman’s fingertips, which were as soft and deft as a silent sigh. She remembered every detail of the first moment in time that she had ever been with a woman—and she never wanted to forget a breath, not a fevered kiss, not a second, not a fragrant whisper.
The thought of her sitting so close, the fury she felt with her boyfriend and the reality of Dylan at her hip ignited a flurry of emotions and an atmosphere of electric desire when mixed with the Martinis that Sailie could not deny. She no longer felt in control of her passion and she was not sure she even wanted to be.
Sailie locked eyes with the torch singer, Dylan’s hand on her knee, and the deep V where her thighs met burned and wept in eager anticipation. She inhaled her memory. Dylan’s fingertips threaded a fuse of desire up the inside tender flesh of her thigh.
Sailie put her hand over Dylan’s. Her chest was heaving in the shadowed light against the tight silk of her red shirt. She turned her attention to Dylan, and he to her, as she stopped the advancement of his insistent hand. He looked slightly bewildered to her, as though he couldn’t understand why she stopped him when they were having such a great time. She didn’t know why she stopped him and so returned his curious look with one that was blank, almost questioning. But Dylan did not have the answers, Sailie did. Only, confusion blocked her desire.
“What? What’s wrong, Sailie? Did I do something? I’m sorry,” the Navy Seal pleaded tenderly, withdrawing his hand.
“No, no, it isn’t you, Dylan. It’s me. I…I…I’m sorry. I guess I’m a bit gefletched!”
“Gefletched?”
“I used to date a Jewish attorney. Sorry. I’m a bit confused, I guess, and a little drunk. Not to mention a lot horny because of you …and…and…”
“And what? What? What’s going on? What’s wrong, Sailie? You’re making me crazy here.”
Just then, the lead in to ‘My Funny Valentine’ escaped in soft waves from the piano and Sailie turned to the torch singer who had witnessed every detail of Sailie’s evening with Dylan. The melody began, and began again, then began and stopped with simple notes repeating a waiting delay until Sailie raised manicured fingertips to her breasts clustered below the throbbing pulse in her throat, took a deep breath and began to sing….low, slow, and soulful.
Dylan did not take his eyes off of her. The notes she reached, both high and low, hung in the air like doves.
Sailie sang so low and slow, building and ebbing. The room grew quiet, every face turned to watch her sing this song, so appropriate for the day. But it was a song from the heart, from Sailie’s heart and the notes danced across the register of her emotions. Her voice, the melody she sang, was high and piercing like a dagger to the soul and then comforting and consoling like a lover’s embrace—deeply low and resonating as a heartbeat. Everyone hung on her each note while they watched her face as she sang. Sailie lived every word, every note, and every beat. She wore the emotion on her face, eyes closed, mouth poised for every word, anticipating each note in the melody so deeply rooted in her heart.
And then the finale, the lows to the highest note held for what seemed like an eternity. And then it was over. A dark blanket of silence fell across the room and everyone was frozen in time, if only for a moment, until the first clap broke the trance and the room erupted into applause. Sailie lowered her head and blushed in her reverie as she returned to reality, the moment so surreal.
“Wow, Sailie that was amazing. I have never seen anyone paralyze an entire room with their voice like that before.”
“Thank you. You make me feel self-conscious. I lose myself in that song, particularly. That became my mother’s favorite song, after she heard me sing it here a few years ago,” she told Dylan nervously.
“Really?” Dylan said. “She never heard you sing before?”
“Kinda. She heard me sing before at home and in the shower, of course. But, we don’t really listen to that sort of stuff from our family at home, do we? I think that was the first song she ever heard me sing in public and she was kinda dumbstruck when I finished. She never stopped talking about it. I loved it! I was thirty-three years old. She died a few years later and always talked about that particular night we had out together. I think she was amazed at what she heard, not that it sounded that good to anyone but her. After all, I was still her little girl. Her reaction meant a lot to me, especially now. I surprised her then and that was a gift—to us both.”
“Parents are like that. They always seem to be amazed at the talents their children developed when they weren’t watching. Without fail, it happens to every kid, I think. Don’t get me wrong, the moment is just as special and intimate but I think it’s quite a common occurrence—perhaps the moment our parents realize they have children whom they have loved and raised into, surprisingly, independent people that they don’t really know…and would like to get to know, actually—voluntarily!”
They shared their reflective laughter.
“Did you have a similar experience, Dylan?”
“Yes, in a way. I didn’t have so many people gum-smacked, like you; just my dad. My mom died when I was in high school. My dad was the only one at my graduation, then when I graduated from college. He was proud, of course, but I was going on to med school so it really didn’t count. Of all my graduations, even med school, it wasn’t until I received the coveted Navy Seal Trident after two years of intense training that my father looked at me with that same look of amazement and surprise, even though it certainly wasn’t unexpected. I knew I was finally a man in his eyes—a son still, but a man. My own man. I will never forget it. His pride was almost palpable. I can still feel his tears on my cheek as he hugged me.”
Sailie smiled and almost came in her thong listening to this beautiful accomplished man talk about one of the most poignant events in his life. And then she thought of the piano player sitting so close, the night they spent together and quivered at the nearness of both as a thought blossomed.
She decided to wait.
The tinkling from the piano began again in earnest and someone started singing ‘September Song’. It was hard not to join in for Sailie because she loved all the old standards from the 40’s and 50’s and listened to them for years as a youngster when she and her mom cleaned house on Saturdays. She learned to hate housework but love music. Her mom probably hated housework, too, but she loved Frank Sinatra and any kind of music. She hummed along to the tune now as she listened and silently thanked her mother for teaching her discipline. She snickered at the thought but was glad her home was tidy tonight…and the bed made!
She had her sights set and the Martinis helped mold the plan.
They spent the next four hours until closing in rapt conversation with each other: laughing, touching, exchanging life stories and drinking. Dylan lit a cigar and Sailie thought she would like to die in his arms from the mere honeyed scent of the burning leaves. The aroma reminded her
of her sojourn in the ladies’ room earlier. The Martinis loosened her reserve so she told him how it made her feel.
“Dylan, I have to tell you something and I’ve had just enough to drink that I think I can do this now.”
“Okay,” he answered quietly—seriously—leveling a sober look into her eyes.
She told him what she had done to herself in the ladies’ room, the slight smell of vodka and lemons on her breath escaping from full, ruby lips as he watched them move with each word and syllable. He was getting hard again; she could see the bulge in his pants. She described in detail exactly what she had done, how she felt and how it had made her feel when she emerged from the ladies’ room: strong, powerful, in control—hot. She leaned in closer and whispered into his ear.
“I am so tempted to guide your hand up to the wet desire you caused between my thighs.”
His bulge was quite obviously rock hard, as he no doubt remembered when she’d returned from the ladies’ room but in earnest at her seductive suggestion…
“I would be less than an officer and a gentleman if I didn’t oblige. I must confess,” Dylan said, “I thought I smelled the fragrance of sex on you, and you made me hard as steel—Navy steel hard…Jesus, Sailie…” Ordinarily, a comment like that would have brought some chuckles but the two of them were dead serious, staring into one another’s hungry eyes.
“Last call for alcohol. You don’t hafta go home; you just gotta go. You can’t stay here,” the bartender hollered interrupting their locked gaze.
People started to shuffle around them gathering their things, collecting their coats and umbrellas, leaving. Sailie and Dylan had just gotten fresh drinks, so they had a few minutes to whisper and touch before they would have to join the others and leave. Shortly, the bartender started turning on lights and flashing them dim to high. That was the universal message that before too long, they would stay on. Sailie and Dylan were unconcerned. They had nothing but one another in their shared look. And Sailie thought of the torch singer.
The piano player stood, looked at Sailie and blew out the candle on her piano. In the flicker of the burning light, Sailie saw the invitation.
Dylan broke his gaze, stood and took Sailie’s elbow. “We’d better leave before they have us arrested,” he said. And they smiled, knowingly, at one another. Sailie was hoping there would be better reasons ahead to get them both arrested.
“Wait. Do you mind if I give my friend, Meesa, a ride home?”
“Meesa?” Disappointment hung on his voice.
“The piano player.”
“Oh…no, of course not. But, I have a small car.”
“No problem. I mean, would you like to have a nightcap at my house? I’ll ride with you and Meesa can bring my car when she is finished here. She doesn’t have one. You don’t mind, do you?” What could he say sporting that hard-on?
“No, I mean yes! I would love to come have a drink at your house and no, I don’t mind if she brings your car. I didn’t realize you were friends.”
“Well, yes, we’ve been friends for a little while. I’ll explain later. Let me give her the keys.”
As they rose to go, Sailie broke away from the man who had held her attention the entire night to the woman that held it now. She bent to the young woman’s ear as she slipped a twenty into the bountiful brandy snifter and inhaled the lavender fragrance she remembered so swell. Her aroma sent an electric bolt to the moist center of Sailie’s desire.
“Come to my house when you are finished, won’t you?”
“Yes, of course, I will. I’ve been watching you all night, both of you, but then you knew that,” the long-legged blond with the soft fingertips answered matter-of-factly.
“Here are my keys. We’ll have a drink. You will come, promise? Do you remember how to get there?”
“Of course, I said I will, Sailie. I’ll be here awhile cleaning up, but I should be there in about an hour. And yes, I remember how to get there. It hasn’t been that long—just last night.”
“You don’t mind him, too, do you?”
“Mind? Oh, lord Sailie, no. Are you fucking kidding? He’s gorgeous. And you look absolutely radiant. Is that an iridescent blush on your cheeks? You look beautiful.”
“Thank you, sugar. No, it’s not blush but excitement and a little bit of cum. See ya at my house.”
Sailie kissed her ear, the twenty safely tucked in the snifter, sucked her earlobe into her mouth with a little flick of her tongue and turned to the man that had her mojo melting.
“Come on, Dylan. Are you ready to go? I’ll ride with you to my house.”
“Ah, sure, Sailie. You, ah…you, ah, you kissed her…?”
“Yes,” Sailie turned and wiggled a wave to Meesa. “We’re close.”
“Oh, well, then…”
“Yes, then…” she said and led the way to the door still with the added bump to her saucy grind knowing Dylan was bringing up her rear. She loved it! And she knew she had his mind cranking and his cock twitching with the kiss she gave Meesa.
It was still a torrent out; the rain forming a deluge from the roof-line spouts and pouring over the gutters that hung along the edge of the building. They dodged the cascade of water and headed for Dylan’s car, which was a charming vintage Porsche 911. It was parked in the back of the building. He must’ve been one of the last to arrive at happy hour just before Sailie and the lot was packed. Turns out, that was a lucky twist of fate.
“Yours?”
A proud smile and a nod were his only response. Sailie was quickly soaked again and her long auburn locks were matted; the wet curls framed her face in a way that appeared almost intentional and only accentuated the beauty of her hazel eyes even more.
She looked impossibly beautiful in the soft colorful glow of the building lights that refracted and glistened like thousands of rich, multi-hued jewels suspended in the rain. The brim of Dylan’s dress hat protected his eyes from the shower and he stared at Sailie for a long moment as they stood in the rainfall. He opened her trench coat, and his, as he slowly put his arms around her and pulled her as close to him as he could manage. He pressed their bodies intimately together as he kissed her deeply.
Sailie felt his cock push against her; she wanted it…she really wanted him.
She knew she wanted him right now, right this minute, as her desire spread like a fuse across her body. She could tell he wanted her, too; he was clearly ready for her in the best of ways. She dropped her hand inside his trench coat and felt for his fly. She unzipped his trousers and her hand met little resistance. Dylan’s eager cock cooperated, fully engorged. As she rubbed his hard cock, he ran both hands slowly down the long, lean curves of her body to her slim-line suit skirt. He started to tug at her skirt, raising it slowly, inch by inch. His thumbs caught the hemline and Sailie wiggled in cooperative delight and eagerness, kissing him all the while. She felt weak as she rubbed his stiff shaft and felt his full, hardening ball sack. It was heaven.
“Oh, good God, Dylan…” Sailie shuddered and a rippling tremble coursed over her body.
His hands continued up her thighs, the hem of her skirt hooked in his thumbs, as he slid his hands over her garter belt, nylons and her exposed thighs. Cold rainwater ran onto her thighs and trickled down her legs, the coldness sent delightful shivers through her and her clit sparked in anticipation. Their trench coats were both open but provided some privacy for the lovers as did the darkness and the late hour. Dylan lowered his mouth to her neck, sucked, nipped, bit, and licked his way to the small of her neck where the fragrance of her perfume was the most exotic. Sailie felt a jolt pulse through his cock. He moaned as he clearly struggled to control himself. Sailie had been starved of passion, even with a boyfriend, and was intoxicated to be with this man. His hands made it to her bare ass and she was shaken again by the pure sensuality of this beastly creature.
He grabbed the thin film of silk fabric of her thong and pulled it to the side as he lifted her up to his waist. He slid her down slowly onto h
im where she settled herself easily over his engorged and eager cock. She felt him twitch, nearly exploding, but she stopped and gripped him tightly with her pussy as she controlled herself, too. Her head fell back as the weight of her body was suspended in the air. The rain kissed her face and cut each drop gently washed the tousled locks from her face. Her hair hung straight from her head, free down her back. She moved one hand to the back of his neck where she dug her ruby nails into the collar of his uniform and trench coat. She envisioned the two of them from afar and the image was at once so erotic, she almost came at the vision. He released a murmur into her earlobe at her neck. Her other hand cupped his testicles as she deftly squeezed and massaged them to encourage their bounty.
Dylan gently laid her onto the Porsche’s hood as her legs remained clasped around his waist. He released her legs and brought them up to his shoulders. The position gave Sailie the freedom and control to move her hips to the will of her passion. She gyrated her hips and clasped him tightly from within. She could feel him deeply, so deeply inside of her that his cock pounded against her inside wall while his balls slammed against her hungry folds. She felt him grow with each thrust until she thought she could not stand another moment; then he stopped. She begged, in a quiet whisper, for him to continue.
“Oh, God, Sailie! You’re so beautiful…” He spoke softly into her hair, as he fell upon her.
“Don’t stop, please, Dylan. Fuck me…!”
Then, with a sudden fierceness, he moved, and pumped, moved and pumped more. Both of her hands now clenched his trench coat; her red nails dug into the damp fabric. He pulled her by her shoulders rhythmically as he drove himself into her deeper and deeper. She was lost in wild abandon, cold rain falling onto her face and legs, no longer in control of her own body. She quivered, contracted, pushed and grasped his hard shaft with all her internal strength. As she began to come, she opened her eyes to watch Dylan. She released her hard grasp on his trench coat and caressed his back; firmly but gently, through the material, as though they were seasoned lovers.