Story of Us trilogy 01: TouchStone for Play

by Sydney Jamesson

  He glances over at his cork notice board and the faded photos, contemplating his next move. “Maybe we should tidy up a little Honey. Make this a palace fit for a princess. What do you think?”

  Taking no notice of his address and having eaten the food, Honey saunters over to the cat flap and makes her escape. She’s had what she came for and wants nothing more from him, which is just as well as he has nothing to give. He only has room in his heart for one female and, once he catches up with her, she’ll need more than a small hole in a door to make her escape.

  The TV lights up the dusty room, but it’s still unwelcoming and oppressive; the net curtains are held together by dust and cobwebs, even the coffee table wobbles and is sticky to the touch. This is not a home, it’s a store room. An overcrowded storage depot inhabited by memories and endless nights searching, longing for sexual gratification at the hands of a helpless, blond haired woman.

  Feeling somewhat sedated by the lager in his bloodstream, Dan drops off to sleep. The newspaper on his lap slides down his thighs, over his knees and lands on the floor. It lies open, four pages in. There is a picture of two businessmen; one is wearing a grey, pinstriped three piece suit. The other is tall, wearing a well-tailored designer suit in midnight blue and smiling. They are shaking hands and the headline reads: Big Apple Agreement for Stadler & Stone.

  The sound of his snoring drowns out the TV and echoes around the shadow-filled room. There’s no-one to nudge him into wakefulness and he sleeps until dawn.

  When he stirs, it’s with a burgeoning sense of arousal. He breathes deeply, letting his senses resurface. Before his shower, he strolls over to his favourite place. A lewd sneer slithers across his face. “Not long now princess, not long now …”

  5

  Friday morning sunlight drizzles through the curtains and makes its way across my bedroom, bringing light to every gloomy corner and crevice. I rise from my bed a good half hour before my alarm goes off, still tingling from the after effects of my fingers, his words and his gift: what a wicked combination.

  After a morning’s teaching, I spend my lunch nibbling a sandwich and typing up stickers for seats in alphabetical order. I have to help with the planning of a presentation evening that’s three days away. All the students who have completed exams are returning to collect their certificates. It’s a night of celebration. By the time the bell rings for afternoon lessons, they are done and ready to go.

  Making the most of a free period at the end of the day, I’ve headed into town. I’m enjoying the sunlight on my face and the bustling crowds remind me of just how I’ve been hiding myself away for too long. Like a character from a fairy tale, my self-imposed exile has kept me safe from harm: insulated but alone. Not anymore.

  I head in the direction of the local Ann Summers shop in search of something suited to the role of a Dominant, what exactly, I have absolutely no idea. Something will come to me. I’m starting to take my role seriously and finding shopping for such a man a real eye-opener. Who knew these kind of toys existed on the high street, tucked away behind dare-devil lingerie and dildos.

  I buy all the basic provisions: Danish pastries and orange juice for breakfast, on the off chance he stays the night. I’m secretly hoping he’ll be overcome with Jet lag and collapses in my arms, but he travels first class and I shouldn’t rest my hopes on sleep deprivation.

  When I arrive home with my selection of goodies, I struggle to place the bags down, hearing my phone ringing in my bag.

  “Hello.”

  “Hello to you too.” It’s Charlie. “I’m on my way over, should I bring anything: wine, ice-cream, tissues.”

  “No, just yourself.”

  “See ya, in five.”

  Her call triggers my dilemma. Do I reveal who my secret lover is or not? I decide to tell her, she will be the one to catch me if and when I fall. She’ll be my shoulder to cry on, as she has been for the past nine years.

  ***

  “It’s 6.30, it’s Friday night, and it’s wine time!” Charlie announces. She is in the mood to party and has better things to do that listen to me fawning over my beau, but I sense another inquisition.

  “So are you ready to tell me yet? I’m losing sleep wondering who the hell he is.”

  “Ok, it’s Ayden Stone.”

  “Who?” I hand her the print outs and the info. She reads through his biography, captivated by both words and pictures, stopping only to herself with his photographs. “He’s friggin’ gorgeous. Where did you meet him? It must have been at school or at the supermarket because you never go out?”

  She’s stunned and I’m not sure I should tell her any more but, what the hell. “He was a guest speaker at school and we, kind of hit it off.” That’s not entirely true but it’s close enough.

  “And he asked you out, just like that?”

  “No he sent me flowers and a poem.” The memory of the poem brings a smile to my face. ‘Desire is love’s pure flame …”

  “A poem? What is he, bi?” She tucks a flaming strand of hair behind her ear.

  “No, he’s not bisexual, he’s straight,” I retort, coming to his defence much too readily.

  She takes a closer look at the photographs. “He looks too …” I wait for the rest of it. “… Too well groomed to be straight.”

  I start to laugh. “Charlie, I can confirm he is definitely a hot blooded, heterosexual male.”

  “You’ve been laid!” She calls out clapping her hand together. “My God, I take my hat off to you Beth, you’ve been holding out for someone special and here he is.” She lifts up one of his photos and plants a noisy kiss on his face. “You’re a very lucky guy Mr. P.”

  She passes me my glass of wine. “Let’s toast to you getting laid and me finding my Mr. Right tonight.” Our glasses clink and we revel in my good fortune.

  I haven’t the heart to tell her our relationship has yet to be consummated, why ruin my fun.

  By 7.30, she’s out the door and on her phone to someone securing VIP tickets to a fashionable club. She leaves in a flurry and it’s like waving off a whirlwind. I love her like a sister but sometimes watching her leave is the best part of a catch-up. I’m soon in familiar territory and have three hours to clean, cook and calm down. It’s only 7 o’clock but I want everything to be perfect.

  I scroll down my iPod nestling comfortably in the kitchen dock and select Kate Walsh, I need a remedy for my anxiety and her soothing tones are like valium to the senses. Animals on Fire is a fair assessment of the state of play. The gentle distraction is momentary. It occurs to me, I know so little about the man I’m so eager to have in my life. I’ve read his biography, but that can only tell me so much. He was my best kept secret until an hour ago and I wonder how many of my secrets I’ll be able to keep to myself after tonight.

  I make a mental list of the things I know and I smile when I admit to myself, it’s purely physical: his breath on my throat, his hands on my skin, his mouth on my mouth. With every recollection of him comes a breathless sigh and a flicker of desire that cannot be extinguished. I want to touch myself and to have his hands touch me, to fulfil a yearning I have repressed for so long. But thoughts of the flesh must be shelved for now: coq au vin won’t make itself.

  Next on my ‘to do list’ is my bedroom. With reluctance, I strip off the sheets, clutching them to my chest like a sail from an ailing yacht. I catch his scent and I’m all at sea. The wicked combination of feral masculinity and sex reignites the embers and my head spins. I quickly bundle the linen into the washing machine with his boxers and start a hot wash. Every trace of him is locked away behind tempered glass and soap suds, for now at least.

  With a visitor’s eye, I carefully scan the whole apartment, it’s so small and compact and doesn’t take more than five minutes. It isn’t much, but it’s mine, my world and his welcome invasion is fast approaching.

  ***

  By 9.50, I’m ready and waiting, showered and shaved. I sit on my sofa with my hands on my lap but my thumb na
il keeps finding its way to my mouth. I stand, then sit and stand again. Why am I so friggin’ nervous? The external buzzer sounds at 10.10pm and I stumble to answer it. “Hello?”

  “Hi Beth. It’s me,” he declares, sounding unsettled.

  “Who is it?” I ask, for my own sadistic pleasure.

  “Just open the door!” An invisible smile finds its way to his voice.

  “OK, push.” I press the release button and move to open my front door. When I see him standing there, he takes my breath away. He’s come straight from the airport, suited and booted with a tie roughly pulled from his collar. How could I have forgotten the colour of his eyes and the shape of his mouth. He’s exquisite. For a split second I cannot move, I cannot speak.

  “I can’t come in if you don’t invite me,” he says with a devilish grin.

  I tip my head to one side and find my voice. “I thought that only applied to blood sucking, over-sexed, stunningly attractive vampires?” I can’t hold back a smile.

  “Darling I’m home.” He throws down his overnight bag and walks me backwards to the wall, a picture wobbles against my back and the door slams shut, courtesy of his fancy footwork. Without so much as a ‘Hello’, his hands are on me; hot palms move upwards from my neck into my hair, finding their resting place on my warm cheeks.

  “That has got to be the longest flight in history. Ten hours with a fucking hard on!” Each word is spoken between hurried kisses.

  I become aware of his physical longing and pull his body into mine. “You smell delicious.” I lift my hands to his fragrant hair and inhale his luxurious cologne.

  “I showered on the plane.” His passionate kissing hitches up a notch, and his tongue wraps itself around mine.

  “They let you do that?” I ask, still unconvinced about actually being able to shower on a plane.

  “First class Beth. First Class. Forget the shower, focus!”

  In need of no further prompting, I melt into him and nibble his bottom lip. He groans and, the reverberation from that groan, arrows its way to my core and beyond. The sounds this man makes do something to me.

  How can this be happening? We’ve only had one date and we’re acting as if we’ve been doing this for months, forever. I give myself to the moment and feel my breathing starting to quicken. I become aware of urgent hands descending to my bottom, grabbing, lifting me so his straining fly is pressing against my moist panties.

  Oh Christ!

  He leans back and is about to speak. “I know I said I wanted you to take the lead but right now all I want to do is get down and dirty with you.”

  He sounds so desperate, I want to say, “Me too!” but something I cannot fathom is stopping me. He continues to press his rigid mass into my crutch and the folds of his trousers find my clitoris. It would be so easy for any woman to say ‘yes,’ but I’m not any woman. I have issues and fucking me now, really is not an option.

  “Undo me,” he urges, still taking my weight on his muscular arms.

  I can’t

  “Undo me Beth.”

  I can’t. I’m suddenly breathless, not out of desire but with blind panic. My heart’s racing, muscles are becoming rigid and knotted: I’m afraid.

  Sensing my shift in focus Ayden lowers me to the floor, but is so wrapped up in the moment, he forges on at an unstoppable pace.

  Shit!

  He’s undoing his zip. He’s pushing down his trousers. He’s devouring my mouth with his ravenous tongue. I want to say stop, but he’s sucking every breathless word from my lips. Only when I feel him hitching my skirt do I find the strength to say his name.

  “Ayden!”

  I feel the tip of a rigid mass against my flimsy underwear and I want to push him off. My fingernails press into his flexing shoulders through his jacket. I start to push harder, but I’ve tried this before: he is made of granite. I look at him. All I can see are eyelashes and a man driven by a savage urge to penetrate me. I tell myself, ‘I want you’ but my silent assurance is no match for my darkest fears.

  Misreading my frenzied embrace, he takes my hands, bends my arms at the elbows, and slams them left and right, either side of my head. It’s all I can do to stop myself from screaming. Instead, I fight him with all I have. I call out his name and so wild is my cry it stops him dead.

  “Ayden. No!” Panting and frantic our eyes lock. He sees horror and I see disbelief.

  “No?” Never has a man been so stunned by a single word.

  “I can’t. I’m sorry.” With a heaving chest, I look away. I feel such a fraud.

  It takes several seconds for things to register. He pulls down my skirt and the noise of his zip fastening is a sobering sound. He cannot take his eyes off me.

  “No?” The word has a fierce inflection. This is not a man who ever hears the word ‘no’ from anyone, especially not from women. His face is expressionless.

  I shake my head, struggling to come to terms with my own behaviour. “I thought I could, but I can’t.” I take his serious face in my hands, hoping he can hear the sincerity in my words and take pity on my plight.

  “There’s a word for women who play this kind of game,” he points out, lowering my hands from his face and straightening his jacket. “And it isn’t very complimentary.”

  My body sags at the thought. “I’m not a prick tease, if that’s what you’re suggesting, and this is not a game.”

  “No?”

  “No.” I’m having to choose my words very wisely. He’s come here straight from the airport after a long flight, expecting ‘entertainment.’ What a terrible disappointment I must be: me with my issues. Before he comes to his own conclusions, I swallow hard and try to explain myself. “I don’t want you to simply fuck me Ayden, not like this. I’m better than that, for Christ’s sake you’re better than that.”

  He looks lost, disbelieving my assertion, unconvinced. Risking rejection, I nervously raise my hands to his face. “You’re very special Ayden, there’s so much goodness in you. It’s all I see.”

  He manufactures a half smile. “Then maybe you’re not looking hard enough. It’s all smoke and mirrors.”

  What a strange thing to say …

  “There’s no smoke and mirrors here, just us.” I hold him so close to me I can feel his heart still fluttering against my shoulder. With his desire contained and affection returning to his eyes, he smiles and brushes a strand of hair away from my face.

  “Something smells good, I’m starving.” A chase kiss, and he takes my hand. “Let’s eat.”

  I pull him back.

  “What?” He looks anxious, unprepared for another surprise.

  “They have showers in first class, but they don’t feed you?”

  His crooked smile lingers for a second. “I was too excited to eat.” He pulls my knuckles to his mouth and brushes them with his lips. “But I think I’ve found my appetite now.”

  Out of relief, my hand finds his cheek and my face cracks into a grin: he’s back.

  ***

  We eat coq au vin with French bread and enjoy each other’s company, later nibbling on cheese and crackers. Ayden opens a bottle of Chateau Mont Redon and the zesty white wine goes down easily. Feeling more relaxed, I decide to test his humour.

  I relate Charlie’s observations about him being too attractive to be straight, and all I get is a raised brow. I let him down easy and explain how I came to his defence, but there’s still a discernible awkwardness about him and I suspect he’s wondering where this night is going. Will I ask him to stay? I come to his aid.

  “Ayden, about before ...”

  He won’t let me finish. “I’m sorry Beth, I’m used to taking what I want and I wanted you. Can you forgive me?” He wraps his hand over mine and caresses my heart with his words.

  “I can forgive you anything Ayden, what I can’t forgive is myself.” He tries to interject but my fingers on his soft lips quieten him. “Something unpleasant happened to me in my final year at Uni. Some guy grabbed me in a carpark one nigh
t and attacked me.” I try to make light of it but he is so attentive and I’m searching for the right words.

  “Christ, Beth.”

  I palm his face, accepting his compassion. I feel the need to explain myself, and perhaps purge myself of my demon in the process. “I can remember him pinning my hands above my head and gripping my wrists really tight. Thank God some guy came out of one of the apartments opposite to walk his dog. When the security light came on, the bastard got scared and let me go.”

  “Thank God!” He seems visibly relieved and sighs. “Did you call the police, did they arrest him?”

  “No I went home and I thought I’d be able to laugh it off, but it took a while.”

  “I bet.” His grip tightens.

  “A few months actually. Charlie was a rock. She got me through it ... I think it brought us closer together.” I squeeze his hand gently. “You should meet her, she’s nothing like me. All fire and sparkle.”

  He aims a knowing look in my direction. “Oh, I don’t know? I’ve seen you all fired up.” A seductive smile kisses his lips and I wish it would kiss mine.

  “Please Ayden, you’re making me blush.” I look away with images of our nocturnal antics after the theatre and the phone sex replaying in my visual cortex … and the gift!

  Don’t even go there…

  From the look on his face, he has a recollection too. “I seem to recall someone who was rather hot and wet, on the other end of a phone last night!”

  When he gives me that look I am lost; come to bed eyes are the least of it. It’s his sensuous mouth, to kiss it isn’t enough. I want it on me, tasting me, claiming every inch. And … those distracting hands, powerfully masculine with almond shaped nails, just a touch too short but perfect for exploring and probing. Everything about him is a feast for the senses. He holds me, spellbound.

  “Or were you just playing games Miss Parker?” He gives me such a knowing look, I’m defenceless.

  “I don’t know what you mean?” I smile so sweetly and put my thumb nail to my mouth feigning school girl innocence.