No Explanations

Six-thirty on a sunny weekday afternoon in a near-empty restaurant in Fulham, Carol sitting opposite me, freshly showered and bright-eyed after sex. Ordering. A salad for her, just some sparkling water for me.

Carol chatting away, hope you don’t mind if I grab a bite, R, I know it’s a bit early, just, my body clock’s been thrown, had to take a trip to Canada whilst I was in Ireland, still haven’t settled down. Turns out that my father’s estate is more complicated than I thought, I seem to have spent the last few months running around in circles.

Looking up at me, taking my hand across the table, oops, sorry, we’re supposed to be keeping this, you know, this thing between you and me, well, keeping it uncomplicated. So tell me R, does that mean you don’t want to know anything about me, if you do, well, I figure I’m like everyone else, basically, complicated.

Hey Carol, it’s fine, you eat your salad, I’ll do the talking. I’ve been thinking about it, keeping things uncomplicated, I figure it’s a part of being lovers, it’s how we break free of the quagmire of regular life, leave out everything else except just you and me.

Carol nodding, vehemently. Well, missus beautiful with the lovely shining eyes, we need to find our own way of staying uncomplicated. So here’s an idea. You can say what you like but I don’t have a right to require the information, you know, ask questions like, where were you?, who were you with?, what did you do?, that sort of thing.

Carol looking at me, chewing. Me continuing. Those type of questions, they’re not out of interest in the answers, they’re really about claiming territory. So when they’re asked, your freedom’s being restricted, you’re being squeezed into a box. Me, I want to be your lover, I want to take this the way it comes, I don’t want to reduce you to tidiness. Like the song, probably misquoting, I want you just the way you are. With just the information that you feel like providing, no more, no less.

Carol chewing her salad, watching me, swallowing, smiling, taking my hand again. R, you darling, you say just the right things, the men in my life, they've have always tried to fit me to their own prescription, being with you is like fresh air.

Fork in the air, as if being used as an artist’s paintbrush, shaping an argument. Okay, deal, it works both ways, telling’s fine, asking’s not. No explanations demanded. Just the joy of being together, when we’re together.

Both of us raising our glasses, clinking. A toast, here’s to that. No explanations.

You Must Think I’m Wanton

Lying next to Carol in the afternoon quiet. Thinking, there’s no sweeter thing than a lover’s unfeigned climax. Something about how a woman’s body’s made, it seems to happen only occasionally, when it does, the thrill’s more profound than if I’d climaxed myself.

Carol playing with the hairs on my chest. Hey baby, you must think I’m wanton, I’m not normally, just you do something to me. Kissing my shoulder. And I’ve got years and years to make up. Another kiss. And I’ve got my time of month coming up, it always makes me a bit batty, feel like a coiled spring, I guess you felt that. Smiling. I hope I wasn’t too strong down there, you know, my juices, the smells.

Turning to kiss her forehead, your smells were wonderful honey, I noticed they were strong, I love them any way, even better when they’re like that.

Carol propping her head on one arm, looking into my eyes. Okay, well it’s your turn now, you’re going to have to lie back while I get to know your smells too.

Moving down the bed, straight to my cock, holding it in her hand, stroking hardness back into it. Touching it with her tongue, taking it into her mouth.

My hand reaching down to her hip, pulling it round. Her body sensing my want, repositioning itself, kneeling up. My fingers stroking her bottom, touching her crack. Her body responding again, parting her cheeks, inviting my hand. My fingertips gently touching her sphincter. A soft agreeing murmur from her.

My cock hard in her mouth. Her tongue playing with its tip. My finger probing a millimeter into her centre, feeling the tightness, delicious combination of resistance and surrender. The afternoon sunlight slantwise though the window.

Speaking to her, my voice coming out hoarse, hey honey, if you carry on doing that you’re going to get something big in your mouth. Soft muffled response, mmmm. Her tongue and hand continuing their expert motions.

My turn to fall down the vortex. A sudden sense of inevitability, no stopping now, keep going honey. Final moment of silence, a catapult being drawn back. Then the spasm, my body arching, driving into her mouth. Tightened muscles, fluids voiding in a pulsing gush.

The storm abating. Falling back on the bed, exhausted. Carol’s mouth still round my cock, waiting to be sure I’ve finished, a true lover’s touch. Finally, pulling away, gulping, climbing back to my side, nestling against me again.

Her Moistures Stirring

Carol’s eyes closed in sleep for only a few minutes, then flickering, then suddenly wide open, looking around, taking things in, seeing me next to her, breaking into a smile. Oh god, R, did I fall asleep, how rude, I must be more tired than I thought, just stay there one minute, I need to go to the bathroom.

Getting up from the bed, covering a yawn with one hand, tousling her hair with the other, walking out the door. Returning a minute later with two glasses of lemon tea from the balcony. Clinking her glass against mine, hey baby, I feel so refreshed, so now, I do believe you were on the point of kissing me.

My hand stroking her upper arm. Reaching up to caress her neck. Kissing her lips. Cupping her breast through her teeshirt, feeling its soft shape. Carol taking my head in her hands, kissing my forehead, rising, starting to undress. Hey baby, I need all of you, no clothes, just naked.

Both of us stripping quickly, climbing onto the bed, holding each other close. Carol looking at me, smiling, her face posing a challenge, okay R, you and your tongue, here I am, see if you can do what you did last time, I’ve been fantasizing about it. Sure honey, so have I, my tongue can’t wait to taste you again.

Lying her back, kissing her nipples, stomach, hips. Enjoying but not tarrying. Sliding down the bed, my feet hanging over the end, pushing her legs apart, lifting her knees. Her pussy parting slightly, a rustling sound just audible, her moistures stirring. My lips touching the hollows on each side. Running my tongue between her lips. Delicious womanly juice with its gliding texture and metallic tang.

My tongue’s tip finding her clitoris, playing briefly. My hands separating her lips wider, her clitoris now more prominent. Licking it lightly, curving my tongue round its shape, releasing it, flicking it. A soft groan from Carol, almost a whimper. Don’t stop, baby, don’t stop, just keep doing that, please don’t stop.

My tongue finding a rhythm, pushing her clitoris from underneath, letting it escape, passing downwards to the side, pushing from underneath again. Occasional side to side variation, then up and down some more. Keep going baby, don’t stop, don’t stop.

Her body stilling, then stiffening. Her hips in a slow roll, pulling back from my tongue, then urgently pushing back for more. A final moment of quiet, then a soft quiver, like sudden release from long pressure. Silence from Carol bar the sound of breath escaping and a near-imperceptible groan. Her body stiffening in a final quiver, then softening, going limp.

Climbing up beside her, wiping her juices from my mouth with my forearm. Carol turning to nestle into me. Oh baby, oh baby, I needed that.

Secret Wordless Language

At last, the day arriving. Texting Carol, hi, I’m here, R x. The front door buzzing. Climbing the communal stairs, mind and body atremble. Excited at the thought of seeing her again, wary of reading too much into things, tingling with the thrill of new adventure.

Arriving at her floor, passing someone coming the other way, keeping going, don’t want residents to start taking an interest in who’s visiting. Waiting a few moments, turning round, walking back down, pressing her buzzer.

The door opening. Carol appearing, a cool smile on her face, hi handsome, mmmm, I’d just about forgotten what you looked like, and here you are in the flesh at last. Taking my hand, kissing my cheek. Hey beautiful, let me take a look at you, I’ve been dreaming about those lips, you’d better let me kiss them.

Both of us smiling, slipping into easy converse. Walking to the balcony, the day sunny and windless. My hand lifting of its own volition, seeking some gesture of affection, finding her shoulder, stroking it. Her face turning to me in unaffected smile. Taking my hand, kissing it lightly, leading me outside. Two chairs around a little table, some lemon tea in a round glass teapot and two glass beakers.

Sitting down. Carol pouring tea. Me repositioning my chair to be closer, stroking her forearm. The need to be physically close, too strong to resist. Each of us taking a sip of tea. My hand touching her knee, waxy smooth and delectable. Her whole body tremoring slightly. Her hand reaching across, pulling my face to hers, kissing me, tongue hot and lemony from the tea.

The two chairs becoming awkward. Standing up, leaving the tea, untouched except for two brief sips. Hugging. Barriers falling away. Our bodies still innocent but yet already in mutual knowledge, in secret wordless language, a thrilling code. Her eyes looking into mine, shining.

Taking my hand again, god, R, this is making me feel weak, if I stay standing I might just collapse, let’s lie down. Sure honey.

Lying on the bed side by side, still fully clothed, gazing into one another’s eyes. My fingers gently combing her wayward hair backward. The afternoon sun shining through the window. Silence bar the occasional squawk of seagull and muted trawler horn and distant London traffic. Communion and peace. Carol’s eyes shuttering, closing, her body twitching slightly. Steady breathing. Me with a deep inward smile, how wonderful, my presence relaxes her.

Little Walled Garden of Paradise

Stepping out the front door, heading off to the station, a meeting in Westminster, plenty of time to catch the train. Buying a ticket, standing on the platform, absorbing into languid mid-morning rhythms. Catching myself smiling, seeing other people look at me warily, as at a lunatic.

Turning off the smiles as best I can. Looking at the other people, thinking to myself, I have something you don’t, a lover. A little sun-filled patch of heaven in my mind, walled off from the world. Visited only seldom in the flesh, thereby preserved from overexposure’s deathly clasp. From that small sunny patch, my whole world suffused with an inward glow.

Arriving at Westminster, checking in with security, fifteen minutes early. Reading the newspapers in the foyer. A secretary coming to collect me. The meeting starting. Brisk, steady progress, difficult issues addressed, decisions made. An hour later, all done.

Coming home, making coffee, my good mood still bubbling. Only a couple more days, then I see Carol. Yet even without seeing her, my life improved, more balanced somehow.

My wife happy too, I wonder if in some way I’m putting less pressure on her, somehow making her feel less worried about sexlessness. You can imagine her in secret moments confessing, actually she’d prefer me to have a lover, have a burden lifted. Impossible to verify, she’d probably add the proviso, just as long as I don’t have my face rammed into the details. Maybe she thinks it but doesn’t articulate it. Whatever.

I wonder what I’d feel if she did have a lover. Fine, I think. For all I know she does. Maybe that’s why she’s looking good. Well, look after it sweetheart, it’s precious.

Sipping coffee, black fresh and strong. Thinking about Carol. Yes, that’s what I’m aiming for, that she thinks of me in the same way, her little walled garden of sun-filled paradise. Not the main part of her life, not even a place she visits often, just somewhere she knows she can go, be with someone who wants to be with her, someone with no other agenda but to spend occasional time together.

Well, that’ll take skill, creating that space. Even more skill, keeping it uncluttered. But while I can, I will.

A Slice Of Heaven

Some time gone now, and no contact from Carol. On the other hand, I haven’t contacted her either. Probably best for both of us to have had some space, but I’m missing her badly and it’s been quite a while.

Emailing her, hey there beautiful, I may not be emailing about where on your body my tongue plans to carry on with its adventures, doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about it. Mmmm, delicious, the very thought. Are you still in Ireland? Would you like to meet up again. Just coffee and a chat if you want, that would be good, even better if it’s something more intimate. Rxxx.

Within an hour, hey handsome, lovely to get your email, I wanted to email you but held off until I had some sort of date for returning, which actually now I do, I’m back Wednesday. Are you free Thursday afternoon, around two o’clock, I’m not sure how much you’re in control of your own time. If you can, same place, Chelsea? Just be warned, R, I’m desperate, we’d better go straight to the apartment, discuss things there, make sure your tongue’s as good with the doing as it is with the plans. Cxxx.

Emailing her back, great, that’s fantastic, yes, I can control my calendar, especially for priorities. See you then. Won’t write more now, I’m getting a bit tongue-twisted in excitement. Rxxx.

Only a few days to wait, life suddenly feels wonderful. No sense of apology on either side for the delay, just acceptance that our separate lives have different demands, if you’re going to be lovers you just have to fit in with that. Which means when you find yourselves together again it’s a slice of heaven, snatched from the chaos.

Thinking about Carol, my whole body tingling at the thought of our skins touching. The lovely directness in the email, what did she say?, R, I’m desperate. The sharing of such a state carrying its own erotic charge, casual inclusion in such a secret making me feel the luckiest man in London. Offered as a matter-of-fact statement, not something formulaic or contrived. No way on earth of eliciting that information by demand, it’s freely given or not at all. Lucky, lucky me, to be the one she’s telling.

Only a few days to go.

Sex Sort Of Slid Off The Agenda

A dinner party, just my wife and I and another couple, Peter and Bella, at their house. The door opened by Bella in disheveled state, eyes red from weeping. My wife hugging her, leading her to a sofa, sitting her down, sending me to get her a glass of water, stroking her hand.

The story emerging between sobs. Picked up Peter’s phone, looked at his recent calls, not sure why she did it. Saw a number, dialed it. A young girl with foreign accent answering, hello darling, hearing Bella’s voice, ending the call. Bella confronting Peter. A confession duly extracted, yes, just this once, he rang a number from an internet site, curiosity only, wouldn’t dream of going through with it. Bella unbelieving. Peter storming out, gone she knows not where.

My wife talking softly, reassuring, absorbing the hurt. Me, watching, admiring her skills, annoyed that she has to do this, she does it enough at work, there’s no energy to spare.

Bella’s misery drizzling on. How could Peter do it? The very thought of a prostitute, sordid and degrading. Grabbing a cushion, pulling it to her tummy, wailing. Me awarding myself points out of ten for putting up with it, also for curbing my irritation at her histrionics, thinking, she’s getting a sliver of enjoyment out of this, holding centre stage. The longer I stay cool, the more points I get.

Thinking, escorts, sordid and degrading, how would you know, Bella? Ask an expert, namely me. Some are, some definitely aren’t, maybe I should introduce you to Jenny, she isn’t, in fact, this scene with you now is far the more sordid and degrading.

Also thinking, I remember last time I was with you a remark you made, something about how after the first two years of marriage, sex sort of slid off the agenda, it’s the natural order of things. Well, maybe Peter had other ideas. Maybe Peter thought, if you think like that, maybe he should get his sexual needs met elsewhere, that’s also the natural order of things.

Also thinking, Peter, my friend, rookie mistake, what the hell were you doing leaving an escort’s number on your mobile phone, if you’re going to maintain separate selves you need to manage the boundaries. Now look what you’ve done, caused unnecessary pain, nobody had to know.

Pouring myself a beer. One hour down, five points out of ten. Another hour of this, I get ten out of ten and give myself permission to leave the women to it.

Don’t Be A Wimp

An email from Jane, hi R, sounds exciting to be in your summer, i remember how much i used to look forward to it, it’s winter here in sydney so it’s good to get your emails, my little blasts of sunshine. chilled frizzante, picnic rug, unhooked bra, you with your hard-on making me wet, yes i remember, makes me feel young thinking about it.

still looking for a lover here, come on R, come over to australia for a couple of weeks, we can grope again. my mr auditor turned out to be unbearable, we went out for dinner again, i went up to his hotel room, landed out semi-naked with me sucking him but i could tell he was all stuck inside his own head feeling guilty about his wife, eventually i told him, if you’re going to have an affair you have to immerse yourself in it, set some boundaries, don’t be a wimp, this was on my way out the door.

since then of course he wants to give it a second go, thinks he’s in love with me, but now i’ve fallen out of love with him, i think it was only an adventure in my own head, my idea of him, maybe just my need for a lover, rather than him as a person. so i guess i was guilty of doing what i accused him of, not being in the moment. oh well, you can’t fake the ache, i’m simply not interested in him now, nothing more to be said.

which leaves be back at square one, stuck in a loveless marriage. maybe not square one any more, actually, at least now i’ve accepted it, also reconciled myself to the thought that i don’t want to go through the upheaval of separation, put the children through it, i’d rather look for a lover. that’s another problem with mr auditor, i can just tell that if we became bedpartners he’d arrive one day saying he’d left his wife, can’t manage a dual life, what a baby. then he’d expect me to follow suit, turn nasty if i didn’t.

now the problem is finding a mr suitable. handsome, athletic, intelligent, interesting. hard to find. except on dating sites, of course, where all men claim to be all of those things. oh well, mustn’t grumble, think i’ll just lie back and think about frizzante and picnics and my darling R. email soon, you sexy thing. Jxxx.

Raw and Alive

At the gym, sitting on a rowing machine, pondering, not so long ago I was in this same room, Carol on the street below, waiting for rescue services for her car, just as well they were running so late, that’s how we got chatting. A tiny contingent event, and now a new world.

Pounding at the machine, the wheel whirring. Checking the dials, slowing down slightly, recalibrating effort to something more sustainable. Thinking about Carol. Excitingly different. There I was, telling Jane that all my sexual encounters felt like they had her at the heart of them, the intense ones anyway, and now here’s Carol, as unlike Jane as it’s possible to be, and just as intense. A sudden expansion of horizons, doesn’t happen often, thrilling when it does, raw and alive.

Pondering what makes her different. Attractive, electrically so for me, and getting more so, but not stunning, not in the way of men’s barroom conversation. Confident and forthright. The sense that you can go as far as you like, just so long as it happens to be exactly as far as she has in mind. And don’t force the pace.

The rowing machine getting tougher, before I had to slow down to my target pace, now I have to work harder.

Thinking about our conversations, our emails. How does she think of me? It feels as if I’m there to soak up all those repressed energies of hers, her locked-in ideas. Maybe that’s the thing that lies at the heart of sex. And I love it. So she offloads a complicated question, ponders as I try to answer, then another one. Then in bed she wants me do one thing, then another, like working through a carousel in her mind. Me, the willing, passive partner, absorbing her energies, letting her become whole.

Twenty minutes, hitting my target distance, just. Toweling off. Glugging water. And I remember doing the same with a woman once, loving her, but, unknown to me at the time, requiring of her just that she should be there, and follow my direction, unwind my overcompressed spring. And she could see my need, and she let me be. And the sex was wonderful, a dissolution of my tightly wound self. And I loved her. And still do.

If I hadn’t been so young and self-centred and stupid, I may have been able to hang on to her. If I saw her now, I doubt she’d recognize me. But here I am without her, and what I have is Carol. Lucky, lucky me.

So now it’s the other way round. I just have to try to ride this wave, her jangled energy, see what happens after.

You’re Making Me Tingle

An email from Carol, hey R, you’re torturing me, you can’t email about kissing my nipples, then just leave it there, I spent the night restless in my bed, fantasizing about what happens next. I’d just lead you straight to the bedroom, pull my clothes off, pull yours off you, demand more kisses. So now what do you do, mister big hard R? Cxxx

Emailing her, rolling you on your tummy, your hands folded above you, your head on the pillow, relaxing. Kissing between your shoulderblades. Pressing the muscles along your spine with my thumbs, working out the knots, skin’s friction and warmth building like static. Massaging your shoulders. Stroking your legs, kissing your spine’s base. My fingertips on your bottom’s cleft. Thinking, I wonder what she likes, I wonder how to make her body happy. Still thinking about it, I can’t seem to get my mind off the subject. Rxxx.

Carol emailing, dammit R, you’re making me tingle, I went to bed last night, lay on my tummy like you said, got so excited I almost helped things along, managed to stop myself, thought I’d save it for when we’re together. Love your fingertips in my cleft, you just briefly stroked me there while I was on top of you last time, loved it. Come on R, tell me more, also, make sure you let me kiss you too, I love that shape in my mouth. Cxxx.

Emailing her, gently pushing your legs wide, pulling your cheeks apart, exposing you, feeling your body’s unsureness, feeling it comply, feeling it loving it. Kissing your stretched sphincter with my lips. Touching the centre with my tongue. Backing off, not probing, time for that some other time. Rolling you on to your side, lying next to you, lifting your knee, stroking your pussy, feeling your hand reach out for my cock. Our body’s nestling together. Oneness with Carol, pure heaven. Rxxx.

Carol emailing, my whole body’s flushing, R, lying by your side, feeling your hardness, desperate to get it in my mouth, feel its texture, smell that sperm-filled smell, working you with my hand and tongue, see if I can make it explode, taste that taste, it’s been so long, can’t really remember what it’s like. Can’t wait to be together, do some doing. Don’t email any more kisses, R, I want the actuality now, not a story, let’s get together, I’ll be back in London soon. Cxxx.