At the Party, Finally
One day you just have to tell her…
She’s here. I had hoped both that she would be and that she wouldn’t. I had hoped that I might be able to go to this party and just enjoy it for itself, for the people and the music and the house and the gardens. And at the same time I’d hoped that I would see her and find the time, the moment, the place to tell her. And here she is and the pit is back in my gut; the gnawing anxiousness, the elevator plunge, the rollercoaster.
Her long black dress falls in perfect folds, gripping her beneath spaghetti straps, poured down her ethereal frame, cupping her breasts, clinging to her torso before sweeping to the floor, the polished points of sharp shoes just visible with every measured step. She walks into the house’s marble, pillared entry, hands her wrap to the waiting attendant and is greeted with lavish hugs and kisses by our hosts. Everyone stares. Everyone.
The grounds are a marvel. Originally planned by the Third Earl to complement what was then his shooting lodge, they’ve been expanded across the years to become one of the greatest gardens in all Scotland. And on this late July evening, the roses, lavender, honeysuckle, and myriad other blooms pour forth their luxurious scents into the warm still air. The summer garden party here is famous and I knew she would be here; she knows the current Earl, the eighth, better than I do, so of course she was going to be here.
Once upon a time we were at university together, though we moved in different worlds: hers the easy glamour of the international elite, mine the humdrum everyday of someone who had to work their way through; smart but poor. But John, as he introduced himself to me at our first meeting, John, the eighth Earl, was a mutual friend, and so we met at occasional house parties and other events even though she was so out of my league that all I could ever do was look; admire from afar. Acquaintances more than friends. It has been this way for years, now. I told him how I felt about her once, John, after I’d had a drink at one of his parties, but by then she was dating some Polo player, an Argentinian, and he suggested that I drop it, told me not to dwell on her because the reality could only disappoint. Maybe, across all the occasions we’ve met, maybe there was a moment, but if there was, I blinked and it was gone.
We say hello as she leaves John and his wife, and I can’t help but jump at the way her face brightens as she sees me, asks how I am. I’m well, I tell her, still single, was working at the bank but now I’ve stopped, started my own thing, a small fund. I ask how she is and she tells me she is better than she has been in a long time, newly divorced and happy for it; and I thrill at the news. I ask if she’d like to accompany me into the gardens and she says yes and smiles brilliantly, hugely, her mouth exquisite, blue eyes shining. We head for the grounds, taking flutes of champagne from proffered silver trays, meandering our way past lazy fountains, beneath arbors heaving under the weight of wild summer roses, down pathways edged with age-worn stone balustrades. The gold of the evening sun, still high above us, shines through her blonde hair, caresses her face and the skin of her shoulders. I find it impossible to not stare. At some point we begin the loop that will take us inexorably back to the house and the party and all the people. I may never have another, better chance.
“I remember the first day we met,” I say. “It was at John’s, of course, a party, and you’d just been riding and hadn’t had the time to change.”
She laughs: “I smelled like a horse.”
“I didn’t get close enough to find out.”
We are walking side by side, our hands almost touching, and it is as though I am possessed by some aspect of her that is not physical, yet is more physical than anything. Perhaps she feels it too.
“No,” she says, “you never did.” Her voice is strangely, suddenly melancholic; regretful.
“I just wasn’t… we had different friends… did different things. I only saw you now and again… and when I did… you were always with someone… someone else.”
“I’m only human,” she replies. “And lots of men did ask me out… But not you. I did wonder why.”
She gives me the strangest look as she says that. As though she had been waiting for it but it never came.
“I was a coward,” I say, after a long pause. “I was terrified of you; of what you might say.”
“And now?”
“Now?”
“Are you still a coward?”
“No,” I say. “Not anymore.”
“I suppose the army knocks that right out of you.” She laughs.
“Yes,” I say. “That and life moving on; passing by too quickly.”
“Come on,” she says, “we’re not old. Thirty isn’t old.”
“You’re right. It isn’t. It’s funny, actually. After leaving uni and four years in the army and four years at the bank, it feels like I’m just starting out. Right now everything is new, exciting.”
She walks in silence. I’ve dodged it for too long.
“Hannah,” I say, and take her by the hand, pulling her to a stop. “I… I remember the first time I met you because I remember every time I’ve met you. And ever since that first time, I’ve been in love with you and I can’t help it. I don’t want to help it. So now you know. I’m sorry.” And I begin to move away from her but she doesn’t let go of my hand, grips it hard.
And all she says is, “Let’s head back to the house.”
It’s a big house, lots of rooms, and both of us are staying overnight. Her’s is in one of the wings overlooking the stables and we head to it, her hand never once leaving mine, a purposefulness to her movements, her heels clipping across marble floors. She closes the door behind us and we are alone for the very first time.
We kiss. For the first time, we kiss, and I am drowning in her; the softness of her lips, her tongue as it seeks mine, her perfume, decadent, erotic; my hand at her cheek, skin so smooth it feels polished; her building intensity, a hand on my chest, over my heart, a hand that feels like my heart beats at its will. I pull her towards me, my palm at the small of her back: I want her to feel how hard I am for her, I want her feel my cock beating for her. And as her body is pulled to me, so she moves against it, grinding herself into me, her tongue now thrusting ever more insistently into my mouth as her hand slides from my chest, forcing its way between us, gripping my cock in bulging outline through my trousers.
She breaks away, steps backwards, both of us now breathing hard, and I shrug off my jacket and pull at my bowtie, my shirt studs, shirt now half open, black bowtie hanging around my neck.
She reaches behind her, fingers moving unseen at whatever knot or fastening holds her dress, a look on her face of momentary concentration, eyes turned inwards, before she is done; slender arms fall to her sides and the dress slides down her body, breasts, sternum, stomach, hips, thighs, a pool of jet black that she steps from, naked save high heels. She smiles and shrugs, I don’t always wear underwear, her eyes say. My heart is beating loud enough to hear as I look at her, taking her all in in a glance before my eyes begin to rove up and down her perfect form: her breasts, small, pert, perfect, pink nipples hard; her body is lean, slim hips and long legs, skin like cream, a triangle of short blonde hair above her pussy. I take the step towards her, my lips on her lips, my hands at her breasts, her flanks, her ass, feeling her move beneath my touch, pushing into me, holding my head in strong hands, kissing me with such force and I can feel her smiling as she does.
She breaks off once more to lean back and stare at me, those huge blue eyes searching across my face, her head tilted to one side. “If I’d only known,” she says, and moves in to kiss me again. I am a man who has been starving given food and I kiss her back, ravenous, kissing across her face, her neck, down her body, and all I want to do now is taste her and I kneel at her feet, running my hands slowly from her shoes, up her legs, around to her ass, while my face is at her pussy, inhaling her, feeling the heat coming from her before I begin to kiss delicately at her, kissing around her pussy before an exploratory lick, just the tip of my tongue running between her labia, feeling her tremble and hearing her moan.
She pushes her hips forwards, and with both hands pulls at the skin above her pussy, stretching the flesh around her clit, and I lick and suck and pull on it, my hands still on her ass, feeling her muscles contract and twitch under my palms, her skin beginning to dew with sweat, her breathing becoming more and more shallow, panting, gasping, moaning, sighing, and I take my right hand from her ass and slide it between her legs and push a single finger into her pussy. She gasps at that, her pussy contracting around my finger, sliding deeper and deeper into her, hooking up inside her, rubbing against her flesh while my lips and tongue are relentless. I ease a second finger into her, in and out, playing between slippery, now swollen lips, and her hands are claws in my hair, gripping me to her as she eventually cums, climaxing with legs trembling, abdomen tight and contracting, sugar walls pulsating around my fingers. I ease them from her as her orgasm subsides, standing to kiss her, my hands playing up and down her glowing body as our mouths close together.
I am so hard, my cock leaking against my briefs, and now it’s time for me to undress; cummerbund, suspenders, shirt, while her hands pull at my zipper, pulling my trousers down my legs, laughing at the suspenders holding up silk socks, easing them and my loafers off me. Her hands go to my briefs, nails hooking beneath the waistband, rolling them off me, a quick kiss lingering at the tip of my cock, and we’re standing facing one another, arms wrapped around each other, my hard cock squeezed between us. Still kissing as though only that can keep us alive, I back her towards the bed and she sinks down onto the sheets as I press heavily on top of her and begin to guide my dick towards her waiting pussy, feeling the head nudge her lips aside, the heat and wetness, the unbearable softness of her as I push inside. A sharp intake of breath as my cock eases up between her velvet walls and she grips me with her pussy, all slippery friction and tight contracting muscles.
She moans as I begin to pull out, push in, pull out, slowly and surely building into an unhurried rhythm, while her fingers and nails play across my shoulders and back and her legs wrap around me. I ease myself to kneeling on the edge of the bed and sit up so I can see my cock, shining with her juices, sliding in and out of her, placing my palm flat above her pussy and beginning to circle my thumb round and round, back and forth across the pearl of her clit, watching her eyes widen as she builds to climax again. She couldn’t look more beautiful lying there staring up at me, her face a mask of ecstasy, blonde hair a halo about her head and as she cums again, her pussy squeezing hard around my dick, I can feel myself beginning to tighten up, my cock not able to contain itself for much longer. She pants and moans in front of me; gasps and fluttering sighs as I keep up the pressure on her clit and continue to glide in and out of her, her juices slick around my cock, and suddenly my dick swells and my balls are contracting and I sink into her, as far as I can push, my pubic bone flat against hers, kissing and kissing each other, while my dick spurts and spasms inside her.
We lie like that for a while, mouths pressed together, her tongue playing gently with mine, her fingers in my hair, my arms around her body, sweat cooling on us as my dick softens and slides from her.
“We should do that again,” she says, breath still rapid and shallow.
“Yes,” I say, and laugh with utter joy. “When did you have in mind?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she says, rolling me off her. “Are you busy right now?”
She sits up and leans over to my cock and begins to stroke it, gripping the shaft, still slick with cum, sliding up and down it while I lie on the bed. I pull her face to mine, kissing her again, kissing her like we’re eighteen again until she draws away, kissing down my torso, across my chest, my abs, until her mouth is on my now hard cock, sliding me into her, sucking hard on the head while her hands continue to play along the length of my dick. I can just reach between her kneeling legs to her pussy and begin to slide up and down and in and out of her, squeezing her pussy lips, rolling across her clit, hooking up inside to her G-spot, and all the while she’s sucking and slurping at my cock, pulling on my balls, squeezing the shaft, tongue flickering around the underside of the head, taking me deep into her throat. Her pussy clenches around my fingers and I feel her thighs tighten and her stomach trembling and know she’s cumming again, moaning with my cock in her mouth, the vibrations adding a new element of stimulation, making me groan and writhe under her touch.
She moves down the bed, turning to face me, straddling my cock and sliding me into her, bobbing up and down, faster and faster, arms back behind her, fingers gripping my thighs. She cries out as she cums again, her clit and pubic bone banging hard against me, and she is spectacular, lost in the moment, our moment, as am I, and I grab her slim waist and push my hips up into her as she slams down and it doesn’t last long before we are both cumming again, me groaning and shaking as my dick lets go, while her pussy squeezes me with wave upon wave of shattering orgasm.
She stays on top of me, occasionally squeezing her pussy to keep me inside, to watch my face as she does, running a finger across my chest, lingering over the scars, waiting to ask how I got them; and I’ll tell her, one day, but now there’s no hurry because I know that finally the universe has fallen into place, and finally we are together.
