soft fabric at the crotch of her trousers.
“ Not bad for a forty-two year old?”
“ Not bad for a lady of any age. Let's get out of here before they throw us out for public indecency though.”
She slips her arm around my waist, leaning into me as we leave the trendy bar that she chose, after having told me that she needed to have a quick chat with me after shift. The evening is mild, alive with a symphony of urban aromas around the Cornerhouse, Nottingham's hub of bars, restaurants and casinos. I can identify the alluring smells of grilling meat, infused with lemon grass and ginger, carried out of open glass doors on waves of heat and steam.
The short taxi ride home is a blur of wet mouths and searching tongues, punctuated by breathy promises and invitations.
“ I'm feeling very adventurous this evening, just tell me what you like and I'll do it.”
I doubt it.
Somehow we end up inside my flat, crossing the space from the door to the bedroom in a constantly evolving embrace; shedding clothing, ignoring the rip of fabric and the sound of buttons dancing across the floor. She knows the choreography well, the pouts and caresses almost a blueprint of seduction, the lines carrying the suggestion of rehearsal. I wonder how many times she has done this before, and how many times that she'll do it again before she accepts, as I have, that it won't change how she feels for more than a few moments at a time.
I slip out of the uncomfortable unwelcome feelings, and leave them lying on the floor amongst the wreckage of our clothing, dragging my attention back to the woman in front of my eyes. Her features are earnest, the mask of alpha female confidence missing, making her appear unexpectedly vulnerable and weary. Can she see me for what I am too? I remember now why, as a rule, I don't do this very often any more. She takes me deep into her warm slick mouth and closes her eyes. Perhaps I'm being too hasty.
In the darkness I can feel the rise and fall of her flushed chest, warm underneath my still hand. I had assumed that she would dress and leave immediately afterward, but she had cuddled in like a needy child, falling quickly into a quiet slumber in my arms as if frightened that I might send her away. I can smell the perfume of her skin on my own, the gently erotic intermingling of vanilla with the soft musk of her most intimate folds. Strands of her stray hair twitch with my rhythmic exhalations, tickling my bicep playfully.
Karen had done everything that a normal man might ask, inviting me to touch, taste and enter her as I pleased and responding with frenzied enthusiasm. I had gently bitten her shoulder and buttocks, enjoying her response, but longing to draw blood and taste the essence of her whilst knowing that I could not.
Carefully I lift up her head and slide out from under her, tenderly placing her back down on the bed and covering her with the sheets. I slip my trousers back on, pausing when loose change chimes a soft alarm before settling again in my pockets, but she remains motionless. I fix myself a drink in the kitchen and open up the French doors to get some air, the full moon is high in the night sky casting an ethereal glow on my bare-chested form. The moon will always be a haggard old face to me, with familiar hollows for eyes and a ghost of rough stubble on his sallow sunken cheeks, echoing the appearance of a father forever dying but never quite dead.
I swallow the warming liquid in the glass, feeling the burn and enjoying the sensation, but never needing it like he did, and glance back in the direction of the sleeping lady somewhere back in the darkness. Perhaps life doesn't have to be a series of empty fucks in darkened rooms.
Chapter 6
The monster sits motionless, pale and naked on a dirty mattress, in a room that is ripe with the meat and rust smells of old blood. A battered leather chair with legs of varying lengths is pushed underneath the overhang of a thick shelf that serves as
“ Not bad for a forty-two year old?”
“ Not bad for a lady of any age. Let's get out of here before they throw us out for public indecency though.”
She slips her arm around my waist, leaning into me as we leave the trendy bar that she chose, after having told me that she needed to have a quick chat with me after shift. The evening is mild, alive with a symphony of urban aromas around the Cornerhouse, Nottingham's hub of bars, restaurants and casinos. I can identify the alluring smells of grilling meat, infused with lemon grass and ginger, carried out of open glass doors on waves of heat and steam.
The short taxi ride home is a blur of wet mouths and searching tongues, punctuated by breathy promises and invitations.
“ I'm feeling very adventurous this evening, just tell me what you like and I'll do it.”
I doubt it.
Somehow we end up inside my flat, crossing the space from the door to the bedroom in a constantly evolving embrace; shedding clothing, ignoring the rip of fabric and the sound of buttons dancing across the floor. She knows the choreography well, the pouts and caresses almost a blueprint of seduction, the lines carrying the suggestion of rehearsal. I wonder how many times she has done this before, and how many times that she'll do it again before she accepts, as I have, that it won't change how she feels for more than a few moments at a time.
I slip out of the uncomfortable unwelcome feelings, and leave them lying on the floor amongst the wreckage of our clothing, dragging my attention back to the woman in front of my eyes. Her features are earnest, the mask of alpha female confidence missing, making her appear unexpectedly vulnerable and weary. Can she see me for what I am too? I remember now why, as a rule, I don't do this very often any more. She takes me deep into her warm slick mouth and closes her eyes. Perhaps I'm being too hasty.
In the darkness I can feel the rise and fall of her flushed chest, warm underneath my still hand. I had assumed that she would dress and leave immediately afterward, but she had cuddled in like a needy child, falling quickly into a quiet slumber in my arms as if frightened that I might send her away. I can smell the perfume of her skin on my own, the gently erotic intermingling of vanilla with the soft musk of her most intimate folds. Strands of her stray hair twitch with my rhythmic exhalations, tickling my bicep playfully.
Karen had done everything that a normal man might ask, inviting me to touch, taste and enter her as I pleased and responding with frenzied enthusiasm. I had gently bitten her shoulder and buttocks, enjoying her response, but longing to draw blood and taste the essence of her whilst knowing that I could not.
Carefully I lift up her head and slide out from under her, tenderly placing her back down on the bed and covering her with the sheets. I slip my trousers back on, pausing when loose change chimes a soft alarm before settling again in my pockets, but she remains motionless. I fix myself a drink in the kitchen and open up the French doors to get some air, the full moon is high in the night sky casting an ethereal glow on my bare-chested form. The moon will always be a haggard old face to me, with familiar hollows for eyes and a ghost of rough stubble on his sallow sunken cheeks, echoing the appearance of a father forever dying but never quite dead.
I swallow the warming liquid in the glass, feeling the burn and enjoying the sensation, but never needing it like he did, and glance back in the direction of the sleeping lady somewhere back in the darkness. Perhaps life doesn't have to be a series of empty fucks in darkened rooms.
Chapter 6
The monster sits motionless, pale and naked on a dirty mattress, in a room that is ripe with the meat and rust smells of old blood. A battered leather chair with legs of varying lengths is pushed underneath the overhang of a thick shelf that serves as
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