The Mouth

by Rebecca Milton

  After a few more drinks and a handful of forgettable conversations, I realized that I had not seen Molly in some time. I assumed that she had grown as tired of the faculty dreariness as I had and made a clean getaway, my comment being enough for her to deem me unworthy of a good-bye. I tossed back one more for the road, gathered my coat, bid my host farewell, and stepped into the crisp and clear night air.

  I made my way a few blocks down the street, eyeing a taxi stand. Although I didn’t live that far away, I didn’t feel the strength to walk and listen to my head bash me about the stupid way I dealt with Molly. No sooner had her name crossed the screen in my mind when there she was, walking beside me, her coat open, her hands in motion and her luminous mouth talking. Always talking.

  “I suppose we could share a cab, not much point in both of using all that horrible petrol polluting the environment and all that—”

  We reached the taxi stand and stopped, but she continued to babble on about nothing at all as far as I could tell. My mind was racing. Images of her mouth and her body were slamming off my mental screen. I wanted her to stop. Stop talking, stop moving, stop rambling and talk to me. Speak to me. She had her back to me, searching down the street for a sign of a cab. I wanted her to—

  I am not, by nature, an impulsive man. I am a planner. A plotter. Someone who looks at all the angles, figures out all the steps and, after careful consideration, acts. That man had somehow been pressed aside. Somehow—amidst the intoxication of alcohol, her body, her scent, her closeness, her maddening, compelling rambling—the man that I was stepped aside, doffed his hat, and in stepped someone quite unfamiliar to me. A man of action. A man of impulse. A man free to act as his heart and his growing desire prompted him to.

  I placed my hand on Molly’s shoulder, turned her rather abruptly to face me, placed my other hand on the back of her head and pulled her tight to me. I then stopped her mouth with a kiss. It took only an instant before I felt her lips give way, her teeth part and her tongue slip slowly into my mouth, filling it with a warm, thick, pleasurable wetness. My mind slowed to a crawl, and I fell deeply into this kiss with her.

  Sadly, with a fearsome suddenness, my old self returned, and I began to panic. What had I done? What will she think of me? I began to retire gracefully away from the kiss, my thoughts a jangle of excuses and apologies. When our mouths had parted, I was just about to set forth one of these impromptu excuses when I looked at her face. Her eyelids had dropped to half mast, and she sighed out slowly and deeply.

  “Oh, thank heavens,” she moaned softly. Then we were in a cab. After she had given the driver instructions on how to get to her flat, she returned to her usual self. Hands moving, head turning, words pouring out.

  “So, I’ve wanted you to do that since, what, day one. Never thought it would happen though you seem so—”

  On she went with her strangely compelling rambling. I found myself in a double state of emotion. On one hand, I was incredibly turned on by the kiss. So much so that I was finding myself shifting a great deal to accommodate a certain amount of swelling in my lower region. On the other side of the coin were deep disappointment and near anger. I was grieved that the stillness of that moment was truly just that – a stillness of the moment and that moment was now, it seemed, past and gone maybe never to be seen again.

  She rambled on all the way to her flat, out of the cab, up the stairs, into the hall and in her door. She continued this unbroken stream moving nimbly from topic to topic without changing tone or appearing to breath. Once in the door the litany changed from school work smoothly into–

  “—and yes, this is a mess, but I really haven’t fully settled, and I know I should have because I’ve been here long enough but—”

  On she went, and I decided to console myself that I at least had experienced that one glorious kiss when, once again, Molly had another surprise.

  Stopping in the middle of the room with her back to me, she flung her coat off to the right where it grazed the arm of a stuffed chair and then crumpled to the ground. She tossed her keys to the left where they landed expertly in a small pottery bowl that held change, matches and another set of keys. Then her arms dropped to her sides, and she pivoted slowly on the balls of her feet until she was facing me. Her legs shoulder width apart, her gaze holding my face. Once more time and space bowed to her.

  Only this time, instead of stepping back, moving out of the way and allowing her freedom, the cosmos were suddenly her willing subordinates. She stood stock-still for a good long time and then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, her right hand began to move up the contours of her body toward her face. The hand slid gently up her hip, over her breast, around her neck and disappeared into the flows of her tawny hair.

  My eyes followed the hand, and when it vanished, I noticed her left hand was repeating the performance on the other side. Hip, breast and neck were gently traversed, and the left hand joined the right behind the graceful neck. She never took her eyes off me. Never moved more than was necessary. The hands unclasped the dress behind her neck and slowly began to peel it off her skin.

  With each passing second, she exposed a new area of flesh—shoulders, top of round, smooth breasts, black lace bra, taut, smooth tummy, top of matching black lace knickers, hips, thighs—until the dress had reach the limits of her reach and she released it. Time, working at her disposal, took hold of the dress, and it dropped to the floor slowly, slowly, slowly. Then, right knee bending slightly, stepped out of the dress. Left knee followed, bending slightly, stepping out of the dress.

  There she stood before me, alabaster flesh offset by black lingerie. She came toward me. She moved so slowly that I kept blinking, trying to adjust to the timeframe. Her hands were on the back of my head, pulling my face to hers. Again, her mouth was on mine, and her tongue was in me, deliciously filling my mouth. Her slow hands had begun to remove my shirt and then discarded it with a flick to the floor. Her hands worked independently of the rest of her.

  She held my lips with hers. Her tongue in my mouth, kissing me with that sweet passion I had felt at the taxi stand. Her hands were now removing my trousers. Never once did she break the slow, deep, warm kiss. Then I was naked, her sweet flesh pressed against mine. She broke the kiss and moved slowly down from my lips. Kissing as she descended, holding her lips at each spot for a long moment as if trying to memorize the landscape.

  She brushed a cool cheek along the length of me, and I twitched. She locked onto my eyes and held them. Never taking her eyes off mine she moved her face forward in tiny increments, moving slowly forward.

  Then she stopped. There was an instant of stillness and then she moved again and the sensation was amazing. My knees gave way, my head dropped back and I hit a plateau of excitement and relaxation that took me off my guard and almost made me collapse.

  Molly must have sensed this because, before I could fall over, she dug her nails into my back, sending a surge of energy through my body that snapped me awake. She held me there, in the stillness, the only movement being her tongue’s gentle journey.

  After some glorious minutes or hours—I couldn’t tell, time had lost all meaning to me—she made eye contact and I reached down and lifted her from her knees.

  I kissed her deeply, my hands flying over her body. Fingers feasting on her cool, soft skin, I picked her up and tossed her onto the bed. She let out a giggling laugh as she flew through the air. She fell back with a smile and propped herself up on her elbows. I dropped to my knees, but she grabbed me by the hair and pulled my face up, looking me directly in the eyes.

  “What?’ I gasped, not wanting to stop.

  “What’s your hurry?” she purred at me. Then, she released my hair, and I took my time. My right hand smoothed its way up her body. My left hand slipped behind her, wanting to explore more of her.

  Her breathing became slower, deeper. She opened to me and again, her breath deepened and warmed. I was hypnotized, lost in the deep rise and fall of her belly, the contraction of her muscle
s. All of it happening slowly, slowly, slowly. Then she arched her back and flipped me onto my back. She then moved down my body, dragging her lips over my chin, chest, and stomach. As her face moved by me, she whispered gently in my ear.

  “I’m so close,” she sighed.

  Then she was straddling me. Repeating her earlier performance, she moved slowly, and never breaking her gaze, lowered herself onto me. Again I gasped and was taken off my guard. I felt as if I would fade away but, dear Molly, she dug her fingers into my thighs, shocking me back to the present moment. Then her hands gripped the sheets beside her, and her fingers inched toward their palms, grasping sheets and curling into fists.

  Her head dropped back, that amazing mouth fell open, and she gasped, “Now, please.” With these two monosyllables, her body began to shudder. I too began a long, slow climb. As we met in the middle, she released her breath with the familiar sentiment, oh thank heaven. This softly spoken passion sent me off further into pleasure, and our mutual pleasure ride seemed to last for an hour.

  When finally her shudders stopped, and my body relaxed, she stayed looking down at me. Her face soft and warm, her eyes bright and smiling. Truly, in this stillness, I could see that she was an amazingly beautiful woman. She placed her hands on my chest and sunk her face down close to mine. She kissed me on my lips, she tasted salty with sweat and then she nestled her head on my shoulder and wrapped her arms and legs around me.

  ***

  I woke to the sound of a kettle’s whistle and then, there she was in a deep blue bathrobe, holding two mugs of tea and—

  Talking. It seemed as if the woman who had fallen gently asleep on my chest never existed for here was her double babbling on. She handed me a mug of tea and sat on the edge of the bed, the rambling still going on. I stared at her in wide wonder for a moment and then she said.

  “Yes, I know I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

  “Yes,” I said, “but, then again, you always do.”

  “True,” she admitted. “It’s a defense mechanism. I’m a talker.”

  “Yes, you are,” I agreed, somewhat sorry that this person was back, and the quiet, gentle, slow moving goddess of last night was gone. She put her tea on the nightstand and knelt on the bed in front of me. She then opened her robe showing me the glories of her body. She smiled and said, “Well, the good news is, at least now, you know how to stop me.”

  She kissed me deep and slow, her hand moving lower and lower down my body.

  As usual, she caught me completely off guard.

  ***