, , , ,

leg-bumIt is 5:37 in the morning. I tossed and turned for an hour before sliding from under the warm duvet and pulling on a heavy dressing gown. There’s a chill in the room. The central heating isn’t due to click on for another hour.
I’m used to negotiating the old creaking staircase. Anyway it would take a small atom-bomb to wake the bear.
There’s no fire in the burner. Outside, fog has shrouded the view of the fences and the trees.
I’ve pulled the synthetic throw that looks like a huge bear skin over my lap and flipped open my lap-top. So here we are again; the unsleeping, seeking words to describe the unconscionable.


I lied. I’d lied. I’m a liar. But it was a plausible lie.

I sleep walked to the car; drove like someone in a dream, all the time hoping I’d forgotten the way, that I’d end up going round and round in circles, giving up, and turning toward home and safety.
But I hadn’t forgotten.

I sat in the car on the other side of the street, letting the evening close in around me, staring up at the upper windows, seeing the lights come on, as dusk turned to dark. I had a lump in my chest the size of my husband’s fist, a sick longing in my belly, the sound of my heart-beat pounding at my temples.
I had come like a lamb to my doom.

A half dozen times I turned the key, kicking the motor back into life, only to sit listening to the engine purring wastefully.
My stomach rumbled like a hollow drum; I couldn’t eat; I hadn’t eaten since the small sandwich at lunch. This wasn’t a dinner party. The condemned woman wasn’t going to be offered a last meal.

I lied. But it was a plausible enough lie.

I was at the door – my finger on the bell.
The door opened. The figure in the darkened hall stood to one side, allowing me room to slide in. Wide stairs led upward, deep inky blue carpet promising to keep the secret of who was ascending.


“You know where to find me,” the note had read, the handwriting classically calligraphic.

I’d screwed it up, tossing the ball into a corner, watching him walk away without a backward glance.
His arrogance and overbearing self assurance and his belief that I’d go to him, annoyed me. I was happily married, I kept telling myself. I was loved. I was sufficiently fucked.
The son-of-a-bitch had no right to expect obedience.

Yet, I am a liar.
I was outside his bedroom door, going where I’d promised myself I would never go, even if hell froze over and the skies fell.


The night of Christian’s celebration, I’d hidden in the ladies toilet, disturbed at the wet desire that had started to flare in my loins the instant I’d seen him standing across the room. The longer we talked the more my body memory recalled how he had handled it; how he had penetrated it; how he had used his tongue and his fingers and his cock to drive me to a screaming pitch; only to start again, as soon as I’d stopped screaming.


He didn’t say anything. The glass he handed me was heavy, the brown liquid inside turning to fire as it flowed over my tongue and past the back of my throat.
He took the glass with one hand and my hand with other – I followed where he led.
The room was warm, the only light coming from a lamp in a far wall. We stopped at the bottom of the bed; he turned to face me.
“Are you sure?” he asked.

I nodded. I was sure of nothing. My desire was in control of my thinking. Desire had drowned good sense. Desire had shouted down every argument I’d erected to stop me from going to him. I hated myself for my weakness.
He smiled. I could see the glint of victory flickering in his dark eyes. He’d won this round.

His hands cupped my face, his lips finding mine in a delicate kiss that cut the final threads of my resistance.


I was naked. Exposed….
His soft finger tips trailed delicately over my damp lips, my chin, into the hollow at my neck, down between my breasts; his thumbs stroking my nipples to hard aching hillocks.
I gasped as his mouth found first one and then the other breast, kissing and then suckling the crests. Fingers trailed into my sparse pubic hair, cupping my mound, finding me drenched in the valley beneath. Gently he pushed me back until my legs were against the bed. I sat….. laid back….a slight pressure on my knees opened my legs…….

The room swirled as his warm breath bathed my groin. He kissed the petals; I took my lower lip between my teeth. I heard myself lowing as his tongue skirted the rim of my vagina, the tip dipping into my wet well, then trailing up to strum my clitoris, making my knees jolt as the sensation burnt along my nerves.


The alarm clock has just sounded in the bedroom. It is 7 o’clock. The bear has rolled over and turned it off. He’ll be down for breakfast in thirty minutes.
I should be feeling shame, but I am wet, and my clitoris is in need of a big, rough, male hand. Any minute now there will be a naked man in the shower…………
Please feel free to imagine the rest.