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Authors: Maxim Jakubowski
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curry cookery book in a central London art gallery. Her voice, the way the thin material of her blue dress hung over her shoulders, her dark eyes peering inside me as we spoke inconsequential gossip, it all made the longing reach unthought-of agony.
Within two weeks, we were in bed together.
I had crossed the line.
Cookie, my old mentor, had always warned me never to mix business with pleasure, get personally involved in a case. But all the wise precepts were quickly forgotten as her lips engulfed my vile meat in a kiss of fire, unabashed by the fact I had just retreated momentarily from the wet furnace of her innards and was still dripping with her juices.
On the first hotel bed, it was lust. Extraordinary. Venting frustrations of our respective lives. Reinventing the lovemaking intensity as before. Drinking at the tap of life all over again. Reminding ourselves that our bodies still held untold beauty that was elsewhere being taken for granted or perused for growing imperfections.
Oh, my Callie.
Crossing the thin line. She had never been unfaithful before. Accidents hadnât happened. I had. Opportunities. Not very often. One-night stands. The job made it easy. But none of the affairs had lasted long; enjoyable distractions on the journey to middle-age. She was younger, the thought had sometimes occurred, there had been other men making passes, she was pretty in her unconventional way, but it had never been the right time or place, she supposed.
But when I asked for details of her nearly past adventures, she was always reticent and invariably changed the subject quickly. And I had more immediate priorities. Mapping the pale colour of her skin until the morning came when we would have to go our own way. Using her shocking pink lipstick to enhance the blood-engorged colour of her private parts before I licked them clean. Manoeuvring her body into impossible contortions and positions to make my thrusts ever deeper until she screamed loudly, scaring me, âNo, itâs OK, itâs pleasure, not pain. More, more!â Tracing the bumpy texture of her cunt walls with the probing tip of my tongue. Inserting my fingers past the resistance of the invisible muscles protecting the heart of her moon-shaped arse.
Think of hardcore pornography and add unthought-of perverse trimmings and we did it.
She brought out the worst and the best in me.
And vice versa.
âDo you know? Iâve never done it that way ...â
âWe can try it, I suppose.â
âIâm not sure itâs even possible.â
âNo harm in trying.â
âIâll be careful.â
âI know you will.â
And as we sunk in free fall to the very depths of uncontrollable lust, my heart broke. Just like that. One moment we were fucking without abandon, our wetness mingling, our bodies intimately joined in at least three different areas, blissfully unaware of the world outside the pulled calico curtains (we were in her bed; Mark had gone to Oxford for the day: âRemind me to put the sheets in the washing machine as you leave;â I had parked a few streets away by the Park). I could feel the sweat bucketing down my forehead onto her cheeks, my tongue embedded inside her mouth, my cock growing harder with every forward movement and her insides melting as she âJesus-edâ away while the pleasure grew within. Just then, I opened my eyes. And looked into hers.
And I walked with the angels as I realised right there and then, that she was the one, the one I had always been looking for without knowing if she even existed. It was love at secondhand sight, no longer lust. I knew, as I fucked her with untold rage, that I had to have her. Not like this, mere copulation, sweat and secretions, but for ever. She could belong to Mark no more. I wanted all of her. Sharing was no longer in question, or a mere affair of the flesh.
By now, I knew she wasnât involved in the leak of information from the utilities
Within two weeks, we were in bed together.
I had crossed the line.
Cookie, my old mentor, had always warned me never to mix business with pleasure, get personally involved in a case. But all the wise precepts were quickly forgotten as her lips engulfed my vile meat in a kiss of fire, unabashed by the fact I had just retreated momentarily from the wet furnace of her innards and was still dripping with her juices.
On the first hotel bed, it was lust. Extraordinary. Venting frustrations of our respective lives. Reinventing the lovemaking intensity as before. Drinking at the tap of life all over again. Reminding ourselves that our bodies still held untold beauty that was elsewhere being taken for granted or perused for growing imperfections.
Oh, my Callie.
Crossing the thin line. She had never been unfaithful before. Accidents hadnât happened. I had. Opportunities. Not very often. One-night stands. The job made it easy. But none of the affairs had lasted long; enjoyable distractions on the journey to middle-age. She was younger, the thought had sometimes occurred, there had been other men making passes, she was pretty in her unconventional way, but it had never been the right time or place, she supposed.
But when I asked for details of her nearly past adventures, she was always reticent and invariably changed the subject quickly. And I had more immediate priorities. Mapping the pale colour of her skin until the morning came when we would have to go our own way. Using her shocking pink lipstick to enhance the blood-engorged colour of her private parts before I licked them clean. Manoeuvring her body into impossible contortions and positions to make my thrusts ever deeper until she screamed loudly, scaring me, âNo, itâs OK, itâs pleasure, not pain. More, more!â Tracing the bumpy texture of her cunt walls with the probing tip of my tongue. Inserting my fingers past the resistance of the invisible muscles protecting the heart of her moon-shaped arse.
Think of hardcore pornography and add unthought-of perverse trimmings and we did it.
She brought out the worst and the best in me.
And vice versa.
âDo you know? Iâve never done it that way ...â
âWe can try it, I suppose.â
âIâm not sure itâs even possible.â
âNo harm in trying.â
âIâll be careful.â
âI know you will.â
And as we sunk in free fall to the very depths of uncontrollable lust, my heart broke. Just like that. One moment we were fucking without abandon, our wetness mingling, our bodies intimately joined in at least three different areas, blissfully unaware of the world outside the pulled calico curtains (we were in her bed; Mark had gone to Oxford for the day: âRemind me to put the sheets in the washing machine as you leave;â I had parked a few streets away by the Park). I could feel the sweat bucketing down my forehead onto her cheeks, my tongue embedded inside her mouth, my cock growing harder with every forward movement and her insides melting as she âJesus-edâ away while the pleasure grew within. Just then, I opened my eyes. And looked into hers.
And I walked with the angels as I realised right there and then, that she was the one, the one I had always been looking for without knowing if she even existed. It was love at secondhand sight, no longer lust. I knew, as I fucked her with untold rage, that I had to have her. Not like this, mere copulation, sweat and secretions, but for ever. She could belong to Mark no more. I wanted all of her. Sharing was no longer in question, or a mere affair of the flesh.
By now, I knew she wasnât involved in the leak of information from the utilities
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