Alphabetical Orders (7 page)

Ravi took off his heavy overcoat and made me put it on. It was cosy in there and smelt ever so slightly of cardamom. I cuddled into it, took Ravi’s hand and led him over to the wall.

I wasn’t sure how far I was going to go, but my desire to get close to him was intense. I needed his lips on mine as much as I needed oxygen.

Our lips met hungrily. Our tongues twisted and played together like children allowed on a funfair ride after being cooped up for months with nothing but TV for entertainment. The sensation of pleasure on my tongue spread through my body, right town into my toes.

He opened the coat I’d just put on and his hands went to my breasts in the way I remember him always doing. He was always a chest man. His fingers slipped inside my bra and rolled my nipples. The pain was pure pleasure.

It was as if we’d never been apart.

His right hand dropped and slipped inside my jeans. He must have felt the wet heat I was producing. I gasped as he touched my clit and then put two fingers inside me and spread them wide.

I went straight for his belt. I pulled hard at the end and forced open the buckle.

We fumbled with each other’s trousers until they were open.

His cock fell out and stood proud. I gave it a quick rub and then tugged my jeans down in short bursts, just far enough to allow him access.

I pushed myself towards him.

It wasn’t easy. I stood on my tiptoes and he lifted my buttocks until he found his entry.

The snow fell around us as we thrust towards each other. We stood and stared into each other’s eyes and both laughed at the same time.

We fucked with the urgency of a couple outside in the cold that shouldn’t have been together in the first place.

I heard a cough from around the corner. I stopped moving and held the flaps of my coat around Ravi to cover our blushes.

An old man walking a tiny dog appeared on the street. He looked our way and then went on about his business as if we weren’t even there.

Maybe we both realised out time was short. Ravi and I pumped at each other hard. We came at the same moment, the waves of joy and pleasure gripping my midriff as I gave myself to him.

We zipped ourselves back up immediately and walked quietly for a while, only the muffled crunches of our feet making any noise. I looked down and saw Ravi’s sandals. I don’t know why, but it was seeing his feet that made me decide we weren’t going to try again.

We chatted about everything and nothing. I put out my arm and hailed a taxi. When it pulled over, I took off my coat and gave it back to Ravi. We hugged tightly and kissed like friends. There were some kind words about how lovely we both were and how good it had been to see each other and I got into the cab and was driven away.

I looked back through the rear window. Ravi waved. He blew me a kiss, turned and walked up the hill and out of my life forever.

M
y favourite tattoo is a tiny love heart on Ravi’s buttocks. He told me he’d done it in my honour. That he’d never forgotten. I think of it bobbing up and down between my thighs and watching my nails scratch away at its outline.

U
lrika moved in to the house next door last week.

She’s Icelandic, blonde, tall and slender.

Her eyes are as blue as rock pools.

Every night she takes a shower. I know because I watch her silhouette behind the frosted glass of her upstairs bathroom.

I watch her slowly towel herself down. I admire the curves of her breasts and her hips. I see her check herself out in the mirror and I’ve seen her shave herself down below, taking all the time of an artist working on a canvas.

I imagine drying her back and brushing her hair like I’m her personal maid. I picture myself doing the shaving.

I hope we never get to meet. If I were to get to know her, I’m not sure I could spy on her like this anymore. 

S
imon and I went to Paris for our honeymoon.

It was everything I’d hoped the city would be and more. It’s such an amazing place.

It was the Louvre that I think of while I’m making love. In particular, I think of the Venus de Milo. Aphrodite of Milos. Even in the sultry summer heat, she looked cool and collected.

Even without her arms she looks complete as a woman.

The marble that she’s carved of is so smooth and clean it made me want to stroke her all over. To run my fingers along her neck, over her ripe breasts and those perfectly erect nipples and down across her belly button.

Her eyes seem to notice everything. It’s as if she can see into every woman’s heart and into their wildest fantasies.

I wanted to run my hands under the cloth that’s draped around her hips as if it’s ready to fall to the floor. I imagine finding her beneath those clothes and stroking her there until her face cracks into a divine smile.

I
was a bridesmaid once. Apart from my own wedding, it was my favourite of all those I’ve attended.

I remember the buzz of the morning, the bride and the three maids having our hair done together. We had a glass of champagne to help to add bubbles to the experience as the hairdresser curled and tied, trimmed and toiled. I had extensions that day. They were so carefully clipped in that they looked like the real thing.

When she was done, we went upstairs to get dressed.

The champagne must have gone to my head because I couldn’t take my eyes off the other girls.

We dressed in layers.

First we put on lilac knickers that shone in the sunlight. Against our tanned bodies, they looked exotic and hot.

Next we put on our suspender belts. They were tight and black and hugged our flesh.

The stockings were dark and sleek and made our legs look longer than they really were. The bride looked gorgeous as she basked in her centre stage role. Even though she’d had a neat Brazilian that morning, her mound stood proud. I wanted to touch her so badly that I went over to help her with her garter. I slipped it over her calf, past her knee and onto her thigh. When I arrived at the top, I rubbed my shoulder against her quim. I’m sure it gave me an electric shock. She smiled down at me and stared. For an instant I saw a come-on look in her eyes and then I watched it vanish into the serious face of preparation.

Our bras were strapless. They pushed up our breasts so that our cleavages were tight and deep. Even Marianne, whose tits were the size of plums, found some shape.

Each of us had to step into a crinoline petticoat. The bride’s was the biggest, of course. I think the idea was that we’d look Victorian. Maybe we did.

We stepped into our lilac dresses and were laced up tightly at the back by the various relatives who were helping out.

To finish off the look, beautiful daisies were put into our hair.

The bride’s veil was poured over her and we were ready.

We went to the church in a horse-drawn carriage. Every time I’ve smelled horse dung since then, I’ve thought of that day. Often, while I’m having sex, I imagine the face of the groom’s best man.

The groom and best man were dressed in top hat and tails.

When the best man looked at me as we walked down the aisle, I’m sure I blushed the colour of peaches.

He was gorgeous.

I’d never met him before on account of him having flown in especially for the day from a diplomatic posting in Texas.

He had a square jaw and cute eyes. His face had a perfect symmetry and his eyes looked intelligent and warm at the same time. Even though the groom was tall, his best man looked down on him by a good few inches.

I forgot to pay attention for the whole service. All I could think about was the gorgeous man who was holding the ring.

*

C
ornelius was his name. Con for short.

We were introduced when we arrived.

As soon as I knew who he was, I checked out the dinner table. It was a pretty weird set up for a reception and the bride and groom were sitting at a table by themselves up front. It had to do with keeping some of the relatives apart because there was some kind of bad blood or other. Anyway, it worked in my favour.

The names on the table cards had been beautifully hand-written in blue ink. I noticed that Con was supposed to be sitting between Marianne and her brother. When I was sure that nobody was looking, I did a little switching around.

When we sat down to eat, it was me who got to sit next to Con. Imagine.

I knew I’d done the right thing.

He made it clear as the consommé that we were served that he was interested.

While the father of the bride gave his speech, I felt Con’s hand on my thigh. I tried to pay attention to the talk, but I was so flustered I could barely sit still.

I felt my skirt being gathered up until it was just over my knees and then Con’s fingers slipped in-between my thighs.

He had the touch of pianist. If felt like he was wearing velvet gloves.

His movements were subtle and he slid his fingers up towards the prize I was all too willing to present to him if he had the courage to make an attempt on the summit.

My legs shook with pleasure and the fire between my legs burned wonderfully brightly.

Unfortunately for me, as soon as he brushed my mound, the father’s speech was over and we had to stand for a toast.

There was definitely a wobble on my side of the table.

Con’s speech was tremendous. He used a Powerpoint presentation that was full of old photos and his one-liners had us all in stitches.

The best part was the way he kept looking in my direction, as if he was telling the story to me and to me alone.

It was during the first dance that Con made his next move.

He came over, took me by the hand and pulled me from the dance-floor and into the room where the wedding presents had been displayed. The door was supposed to be open so that guests could parade by and see the tokens of their wealth during the evening.

As soon as we were in there, Con gave the old wooden door a push and slammed it shut.

He leant me back into the carved oak panels and pulled my skirt and crinoline up to my waist.

I went to help him and reached down to undo my suspenders.

“No,” he said with the dark-treacly voice of his. I melted and let him do everything he wanted.

What he wanted was to lick my tongue and to screw me senseless. He managed on both counts.

He thrust hard into me with the urgency of a man who knew his moment could be over at any second.

I was at the height of pleasure, and I think he was too, when someone at the other side pushed the old metal handle down and tried to open the door.

“Wait a minute, I’m just coming,” Con called. I heard the catch in his voice as he pumped harder and faster and then exploded inside me without him making a single noise.

He had a tight hold of my buttocks and dug in his nails as he came. The pain was a delight and my own orgasm flowed through my body like the Niagara Falls the newly-wedded couple would be visiting on their honeymoon.

O
h my word. Simon’s got it just right. My inner thighs are trembling like an earthquake. The heat is rising within me. I’m close. I’m very, very close.

Y
ou beautiful, wonderful man. You stud. You brilliant, sexy beast.

Z
ut Alors. Take me now. Fill me with your seed. Let my mind start over on the stories I’ve remembered from the places I have been.

The story contained here is a work of fiction. All names of characters, places or incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to people, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental.

Cover design by YOCLA

Alphabetical Orders

ISBN:
9781310385995

an e-ROTICA publication

© 2014