Letters Around Midnight

by Carla Croft

  He startled a

  “Hi Babe,” or something and pretended to stretch and removed his hand from his boxers, supposedly, so he thought, without me noticing.

  I asked him what he was doing, feigning ignorance and enjoying playing innocent. I purposely kept my eyes off his hard-on and took off my top and stepped out of my skirt and heels, standing in front of him in my thong and bra.

  “Oh, just surfing,” he said. Yeah right, I thought. He took his eyes off the screen to look me up and down as I undressed, which pleased me. I looked at his crotch. He hadn’t gone soft from being disturbed, which pleased me more. I slipped over to him and spun the laptop around.

  “You enjoying yourself?” I asked, patting his bulge, claiming it back for me, feeling him twitch under my hand.

  “You got to watch this, K,” he said so I laid down on the bed with my knees on the pillow and my body lying snug against his. I could smell his arousal. He hugged me closer to him.

  “This girl is great” he said

  “You gotta watch.” He pressed play.

  “Better than me?” I asked, teasing him. He smacked my bum. I pushed myself up to kneel next him, my thigh still in contact with his body. He put the laptop on the other side of him so we could both watch, giving me more access to his crotch.

  Some hot redhead was giving this guy a blow job. I have to admit she was damn good. The video was quality, much better than anything he had watched before. I doodled lightly with my fingers along the inside of his thighs as we watched, brushing the hairs. His boxers were straining under his growing pressure. I decided he had waited long enough. This was as much for me as him. Well, to be honest, it was more for me.

  I peeled down his boxers to let him out. The heat and aroma of him was beautifully strong. It was like walking into a sexual spice shop. He leant back against the bedhead but kept watching the screen, stroking my back and slipping his fingers inside the back of my thong. He does that when I go down on him. I love it, it makes me feel real sexy.

  I have always found oral so much more intimate than full sex. I couldn’t wait to get him in my mouth and leant forward and slowly ran the tip of my tongue along his length. Then an idea struck me, instead of doing my normal thing I matched my “moves” to the girl on the screen. It didn’t take long for Nick to realise what was going on and he gave a long deep sigh as I pulled on him with my mouth. The girl was doing all sorts of things I had never thought of. Pulling, twisting, one hand, two hands, no hands; hell, it was an education!

  I don’t want to say too much, but well, Nick isn’t so “big”. But, as we enjoy oral more than full sex, I am not too bothered. The great thing is, I can press my face tight up against his body and have all of his beautiful, hard, heat in my mouth before I gag. He has a great flat stomach with light hair and he is always clean but he still has a great musky smell at the end of the day; especially when he has been teasing himself. It’s all such a turn-on for me and as he was playing with me at the same time, we both got really hot, really quick.

  I soon tasted little drops of cum oozing from his tip and I knew he was close, so I used my mouth on him without my hands as the girl was doing. I feel like a cheat using my hands too much whilst giving a blow job. It’s only a hand job then, with the tip of him in your mouth. I feel I am short-changing him. I love to get as much of him as I can in my mouth and work the whole length of him with my lips, mouth, tongue and throat. The girl on the video was doing the same and I matched my speed and movement to her. I was learning some neat moves. I had thought I was good at giving head until then. Nick’s head swelled, a sure sign he was going to cum. So I went right down on him burying him in my mouth and felt his piquant flood gushing up into my throat as he pushed his hips up to meet me. I had his full length inside my mouth and I swept my face from side to side across the hair and skin on his stomach. He shuddered once, twice and a final time. I didn’t let him off though. I kept him in my mouth savouring the taste and heat of him and the taut bulb of him against my tongue. He gave a final shudder so I released him, letting him slide out of my mouth.

  I found it such a turn-on. I am sure he was imagining the redhead going down on him, and to be honest I was fantasising about the guy in the video. He was a touch larger than Nick and I couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to have something bigger in my mouth.

  Karen was smiling and sat back in the booth, her story over. She involuntarily used her finger and thumb to pinch moisture from the sides of her mouth as if she had only this moment finished on Nick. Her other hand, I noticed, was firmly between her thighs. She was smiling wistfully off into the distance. I let her daydream for a while, letting her come down from her story as Nick was probably still coming down in her mind’s eye.

  ***

  “I hope he reciprocated”, I asked eventually.

  “Oh God no, he was out for the count, poor guy,” we laughed.

  “I had to bring myself off, so I watched the video again and bookmarked it. I got him a subscription to the site for his birthday and we often play the game of me dressing up the same way as the girl and using my mouth on him in the same way as she does. It’s exciting stuff. I am so much better at oral than I was. Nick appreciates it so much he has started to experiment with different moves on me. It’s a win, win!”

  “It sounds like it” I said,

  “Thanks for sharing.”

  Paula - The Jazz Hotel

  Paula loves jazz. She spends most of her spare time in various jazz clubs around the capital. She often calls me up late and badgers me to go with her to out-of-the way clubs because someone or other, from some place or other, is in the city playing a set. Although I’m not such a great fan, I enjoy the evenings. It’s something different, and gets me out of the house. The jazz fans who Paula mixes with take their music seriously. Whereas you may go out on a regular night with the girls and it’s all talk, talk, talk, you can get shushed at if you dare whisper at a jazz club. I can therefore indulge my passions of writing and people watching. It’s odd; when I write, I prefer to have complete silence, but when the jazz is in free flow, it sharpens my literary observation and the audience gives me an endless variety of characters to draw on. So as a writer, I get two benefits for the price of one entry ticket. When it comes down to it, I suppose I love jazz as well.

  I once asked Paula why she loved jazz so much.

  “Easy,” she said as if it was a dumb question,

  “It’s been with me all my life. My parents loved jazz. My mum went to jazz clubs when she was pregnant with me, so I’ve always been surrounded by it. It relaxes and energises me at the same time; it resonates with my soul. If there was a lift up to heaven, the background music would be jazz.” It may have been a dumb question, but it was a great answer and his given me enough literary material to compose a number of stories.

  It was one of those weird coincidences. I was in the office one day thinking why Paula hadn’t called in a while and the next minute Paula called me on my private line.

  “Okay, who, when and where is it this time?” I wedged my phone into the crook of my neck reaching over for my mobile to set up a date on my calendar. It had been a hard week and I decided that some jazz in my soul was the best remedy.

  “It’s not a who this time, it’s me” she replied cryptically.

  “You’re the who? You’re the who, who’s going to do what?” My grammar was as fuddled as my brain.

  “I took part.”

  “You took part in a what? A jazz session?” I asked shaking my head to try to get it straight.

  “Better than that,” she replied going all cryptic again. For Paula to say something was better than jazz meant it had to be Good, with a capital “G”. The penny dropped

  “You mean you...”

  “Yes,”

  “Oh: and you want to...”

  “Absolutely.”

  �
�When and where?” I grabbed my things, this was better than jazz. This was a story.

  “Last week, my local hotel,”

  “No silly, when and where do you want to meet? I say now,”

  “Err, okay” I didn’t let her hesitation put me off. I was out of my chair, grabbing my coat, leaning forwards over the desk, the telephone cord at full stretch.

  “I need to know everything,” I warned her.

  “You’d better make it a long lunch then,” she sniggered.

  We made plans and I hung up. The tube couldn’t go fast enough for me as I fought my way through the lunchtime crowds to Tower Bridge. I practically ran to her usual lunchtime haunt at St Katherine’s Docks. Paula leaned forward across the table, picking at her napkin as I sat down.

  “I’m still so excited.” She trilled off her story at top speed; it was difficult to get her to slow down enough for me to pick up what she was saying.

  “Calm down, girl,” I said. She took a deep breath.

  “Okay.” She made a show of calming herself down by placing both hands firmly and slowly down on the table in front of her. She began again. I was all ears.

  ***

  I went in to my local hotel last week. It had a jazz weekend on. You were working and I couldn’t find anyone else to go with, so I went by myself. On the Friday night, there was an open mike session in the hotel bar to get the weekend started. All the bands were there to do short gigs, to give people a flavour of what was to come.

  You know me, I adore getting dressed up so I wore a black knee-length dress and shoes; made myself look respectable. I grabbed a seat by the bar. The bartender knows me as I go in often so he put out some bar snacks for me. The place was filling up quick. I was glad I had got there early. All the regulars were there and a few people I didn’t recognise, presumably from out of town. The management turned down the lights to enhance the atmosphere. You can’t have it too bright or it spoils the mood.

  This couple came in. Thirties, maybe older. They looked respectable, professional looking. The woman sat on a sofa opposite the band and the man came to the bar to get drinks. He was handsome, grey hair at the temples, slim, polite. He asked if he could squeeze to the bar so I spun round on my bar seat to let him through. He got two drinks and went off to join his companion.

  He came over a few more times in between bands and would apologise for disturbing me. The next time he came across, he was more talkative.

  “Hi, sorry it’s me again. My wife tells me I have to introduce myself this time, as I have disturbed you so often. My name’s Jack.”

  “Pleased to meet you Jack” I said. We shook hands and chatted as he waited to be served. I looked across at his wife. She raised her glass to me and I raised mine back. She smiled. It was a warm smile. A genuine one, not a mouth smile which says I’m only smiling because I have to, but a whole face smile; eyes and all.

  “Ann and I couldn’t help but notice you’re by yourself.” Jack said.

  “I come in for the jazz at weekends.” I explained, prattling on as the barman got their drinks together. They were in London for the festival and Jack asked if I knew of any other good places to listen to jazz whilst they were in the city. I gave him the names and addresses of the various clubs I usually go to.

  “Look,” Jack said pausing as he turned to go back to Ann,

  “If you’re by yourself and need some company, why don’t you come and join us?”

  I usually wouldn’t, but I thought, what the hell. I was feeling lonely and it’s always awkward being a woman by yourself at a bar. You always look, well, desperate, or worse, available. I said I’d be glad to and took my drink over. He introduced me to Ann. She was dressed smartly in a black and white suit, pearls and patent black shoes. Elegant through and through.

  “Great jazz outfit” I offered.

  “Why, thank you honey.” She had an East Coast twang.

  “You American?”

  “Boston, but we’ve settled in London. Jack couldn’t leave the rain.”

  She rolled her eyes and laughed. She had a great knack of making you feel at ease.

  “You’re up here for the jazz” I said.

  “Oh sure. Big fans.” She used her hands a lot to add expression. I was mesmerised by her. We talked as Jack excused himself for a while. He wanted to talk to the band who were packing away their instruments.

  Ann and I hit it off straight away. We talked jazz and about the festival and where they had been and where they wanted to go; about Boston and New York, where they had an apartment as well as their house in England. She had met Jack when he had been over in New York on business and they had got married over there. Now they split their time between New York and London. She knew all the jazz clubs over there and was especially fond of the Cafe Carlyle on East 76th and Madison where Woody Allen plays.

  “We’re regulars there; it’s only a short cab ride from our apartment over- looking Central Park.” I was fascinated by Ann, by her stories, her accent, and her hands. It was an occasion where you strike a chord with somebody immediately. You can’t say why, you can’t describe it, you get a connection. It happened with her.

  “Wow, great life.” I found myself nodding as she spoke. I was jealous. I love New York. I’ve only been a few times and Ann’s description of their life there made me want to go again. Jack came back over. I moved from the stool to sit next to Ann. The sofa was, shall we say, intimate, and we were squashed up together, but I didn’t mind. She certainly didn’t move away to make room for me as I nestled in beside her.

  As we listened to the next band, I became keenly aware of Ann. I was looking past her. Ivory skin, dark hair, pretty face. I could feel my thigh pressed up against hers. She shifted occasionally to stay comfortable, swinging her leg to the beat. I could feel the gentle rasp of her stockings against my knee. She shifted once and I caught sight of the telltale lump of a suspender through her tight dress. I’ve had a few experiences with women. Mostly drunken fooling around at University, nothing serious, but our proximity and the jazz got me to wandering what she was wearing under her dress. I started to get turned on as the jazz worked its magic on me. When the band finished, Jack went up to speak to them and buy them drinks.

  “Jack loves talking to the bands” I said,

  “Yeah he was a good player when he was younger, but he broke his lip trying a new mouthpiece after a long jazz session. He couldn’t keep the high notes bright anymore. So he gave up rather than play below his best.”

  “Oh that’s a shame.” I had heard of the injury which can affect all brass players and can cripple a promising career.

  “Yeah, he misses playing,” Ann took another mouthful of wine. We were both tipsy by this time. I had brought a bottle over with me and we had gone through it between us. She had ordered another.

  “Still a good kisser though.” She smiled.

  “Good lips; deep lungs,” she rested a hand on my knee as she said it.

  “My kind of man.” I said innocently taking a swig of wine. We looked at each other and both burst out laughing. Her hand lingered on my knee a moment and she gave it a gentle squeeze. It sent an electric tingle all the way to my sex and I let my lower leg brush against hers. She looked around the bar. Everyone else was engrossed in their own conversations. No one was paying us any attention. She looked back at me, and gave me a slow wink. It was obvious we were attracted to each other. She put her hand back on my thigh and left it there. In the dark, we looked for all the world like two friends sitting together chatting and sharing a bottle of wine.

  We talked more and I moved closer so our legs were more in contact. She pressed her thigh back against me. I had my elbow on the back of the sofa cradling my head in my hand and let my breast push against her upper arm. My nipples stiffened. I couldn’t believe what I was doing. Jack came back and I sat forward, feeling guilty. Ann didn’t take her
hand off my thigh. If Jack noticed, he didn’t say anything. I began to wonder whether he knew his wife was making a pass at me. The music started up again. As everyone looked at the band. I took my elbow off the back of the sofa and slipped my hand down under Ann’s bum. She lifted herself up enough so I could get my hand under her. I felt her suspenders and the line of her knickers. I pushed my fingers as far under as I could to where the bulge of her pussy began. I caressed it gently with the tip of my finger. Ann shifted towards me. She was obviously as up for it as I was.

  At the end of the set, Jack said he was going to speak to the band. Ann suddenly spoke up

  “You know honey” she said,

  “I’m feeling tired and it’s kinda crowded in here. Do you mind if I go back up to the room for a while?” He was all, yeah, sure you go for it, then she added,

  “Paula do you want to come up? We can talk some more, it’s less noisy up there; but only if you want to.” I could see Jack was itching to go spend time with the band and I was itching to get my hands on his wife.

  If I want to? I thought. Try and stop me. As calmly as I could, I managed to say,

  “Yeah sure, why not?” I tried to keep the excitement out of my voice, but my heart was booming out of my chest. I managed to throw in,

  “You know, I’ve been in here all these years and never seen the rooms.”

  “That’s settled, then,” said Ann, taking my hand as she rose from the sofa.

  The walk through the foyer to the lift was interminable. I followed behind Ann drawn along in the slipstream of her perfume. She had a great figure and the way she walked in her heels accentuated the sway of her hips. God, I wanted to have my hands on her.

  We got to the lifts and stood in silence, waiting for one to arrive. The lights above the door counted down one by one. The doors pinged opened and a group spilled out past us, we pressed together face to face to let them pass our breasts interlocking. Ann held me gently to her with one hand. It was all I could do not to kiss her right there and then. The mirrors at the back of the lift reflected us as we walked in. Jazz played softly through the intercom. The two of us looked good together I thought. Ann preened herself in the mirror and turned to me. She moistened her lips with her tongue. Tingles shot through my pussy as she looked straight into my eyes. She had started to lean in to kiss me but as the doors slid shut, this guy just squeezed in. We moved apart. He stood in front of us and pressed the button for the floor above ours.