Putty In Her Hands (8 page)

Thought I’d make the effort –
for you. Just now I only looked nice.

Well, you know, Paul was there.
I think he’s got a soft spot for you.

Oh no, has he?

That was all I needed to hear.
You won’t be finding me butt naked on top of the Christmas tree.
Not that I ever had any doubts.

She edged closer
to me.
I’ve got an early Christmas present
for you. Can you come back to mine later? Just for a
while?

My stomach
tightened.
Sure,
I croaked.

Good, that’s settled. Let’s try
to escape in a couple of hours. Now we’d better go and mingle.
After all, we don’t want to set any tongues wagging, now do we?

I wouldn’t care
if we did,
I muttered.

True to our
intention, we mingled and managed to leave about nine. I chatted to
Ernie and sympathised with his tale of unrequited love (Marjorie in
Accounts had told him to grow up when he presented himself with
mistletoe held high); and Sean who regaled me with his parachuting
exploits. Paul, I noticed, had joined Loretta and Dawn on the
settee, laughed raucously every few moments and touched Dawn’s
sleeve with annoying regularity. I felt the warm glow of smug
satisfaction.

Come nine,
Dawn gave me the nod, and we both reached for our coats, telling
our neighbours we had to leave – tiring day, early start,
etc.

I ought to be
leaving too,
said Paul.
I’ll walk you to your car, if you like,
Dawn.

No, that’s fine, thanks, Paul.
I’m giving Robin a lift.

Are you?
His voice came out harsh; he looked at me
inquisitively.
Right. Fair
enough.

Yes, Paul, I
thought, I’m winning the girl! Dawn and I said our farewells and
kissed cheeks and, as we left, pushing our way through the throng,
I could feel Paul’s eyes throwing daggers into my back. But I
didn’t give a damn.

Walking outside along the
canal, we looked at each other and laughed. The setting was still
the same, as if, somehow, I’d expected it to change in the
intervening fortnight – the railings, the rustling trees, the fresh
smell, the yellow tinge from the street lamps, the pretty houses
glowing from within with Christmas decorations. I took her hand.
I still can’t believe you had the audacity,
she
said
.

Ah, beautiful women don’t
intimidate me,
I lied spectacularly.

Two weeks ago already.

I know, it seems longer. A lot
longer.

Come here…

We kissed at the same spot
where it had all started.
Naughty boy,
she whispered,
nibbling my ear.
I missed you, you know, more than I thought.
Come on, let’s go. I have a present for you.
She planted a kiss
on my lips, slow and wonderfully suggestive.
I think you’ll like
it.

Dawn drove us back to her’s,
telling me about her week, her husband, his poorly father and his
pregnant sister. I listened without enthusiasm, feeling too nervous
about the idea of entering her flat, the one she had all to
herself. She told me also of an impending two-week photographic
assignment in Ipswich.

You’ll be away for two
weeks?

Yes. New Year.

I’d barely known her a
fortnight, discounting the months prior to our first kiss, and the
thought of not seeing her for two whole weeks churned me up.
Heck, I’ll miss you.

I know. I’ll miss you too.

The flat was spacious – two
large bedrooms, living room, etc. Recently built, light colours,
immaculately clean, and sparse. But, as I reckoned, this place
would only account for half her stuff, possibly less, the rest
being in Westminster. I turned down her offer of tea but accepted a
small glass of port, which seemed to have the perfect effect for
soothing my nerves. In her spare bedroom I stopped to look at
various photos mounted on a pinboard, pictures chronicling her
life.

This is Duncan,
she said
pointing to a snap of her husband, a rounder, paler version of me
with a goatee and a finer cut in clothes.
And that’s my mum and
stepdad.

He’s in a
wheelchair?

Yeah, that’s why I have the
disabled badge in the car.
Ah.

And that’s me in
ninety-five,
she said pointing to a fetching photo of her in a
bikini.
God, I was thin then.

You’re not actually overweight
now.

She went through them all: Dawn
on horseback, ski-ing, with an ex-boyfriend, on a motorbike, and in
each she looked gorgeous. This woman was born beautiful.

Now then
, she said, the
tour completed,
time for your Christmas present
. She made me
lie on the floor in her spare bedroom, on a shaggy, green-coloured
rug. Her eyes locked onto mine with sharp intensity. She laid on
top of me and kissed me hard. She sat up, and smiling the smile of
a woman who knows she’s in control, slowly undid her top button.
And then the next, and then the next. I felt my cock harden,
squashed beneath her. Her skin seemed so dark compared to what I
was used to, and perfectly flawless, her stomach flat, her arms so
thin. My hands reached out for her breasts but she pushed them
away,
No, not yet, naughty boy.
I spied her bra within her
blouse, khaki, and groaned. Her buttons undone, she kissed me again
whilst removing her top.
I thought you might like the military
theme.

Absolutely.

Finally, her hands went to her
back, and undid her bra strap. She cupped her bra and whispering,
Happy Christmas, hon,
allowed it to fall away, exposing her
perfectly shaped and wonderfully pert breasts, with their dark,
dark nipples. Oh, my beating heart, what tits, not massive but
certainly big enough and those nipples. She leant over me, allowing
me to cup her breasts and suck.
Oh God
, I mumbled as I
nibbled each nipple, Christmas had come.

Unbuckling my belt, she slipped
her hand down my trousers and I felt her fingers grip the base of
my cock. A jolt went through me as her finger slid ever so gently
up and down the underside of my shaft. She pulled down my pants and
watched as my cock sprung out from its confines.
Whoa, what have
we here?
she purred, as she watched me stretch my foreskin
back, exposing my shinny knob.
That’s some cock you’ve got
there, Robin Collingbourne.
That’s a donger, for
sure.

I know; it is quite big,
I said, modestly.

Big? I’d say it’s big. I’m not
sure I could get all that in my mouth. Would you like me to
try?

If it’s not too much
trouble.

Too much trouble! What are you
like?

She leant down and with her
tongue just briefly licked the end of my purple tip. She knew what
she was doing – that little lick, lovely though it was, was not
enough, I needed her to suck me properly and suck me hard but no,
she wasn’t going to, she knew exactly how much to give to render me
taut with lust and desperation.

She took my hand and guided it
down her knickers. I shuddered with pleasure as I glided my finger
up and down her cunt and felt her wetness. She groaned as gently I
inserted a finger inside her. She bit her lip as I circled round
inside, then eased in a second finger.

Do you like finger fucking me,
Rob, eh? Is that nice? Feeling all my juices, yeah?

She kissed me as my fingers
played within her cunt. I went to pull off her jeans. She stood up,
and took them off, revealing her long, dark, slender legs, and her
khaki knickers. She hooked a finger either side of her knickers and
made to remove them. Instead, she danced round, a sexy, little jig.
I spied a little patch damp from her arousal. She turned round and
bent right over, touching her toes, and wriggled her arse at me.
What a sight; what a turn-on. Turning round again, she removed her
knickers, neatly stepping out of them. And so, there, standing
above me, was this beautiful, olive-skinned woman, naked, showing
me her cunt, her puffed-up lips, which, from my angle, beneath her,
was a vision to behold.

You’re shaved.

Oh yes. I like being shaved.
All the better to feel your tongue. Nothing to get in the way.

I clambered onto my knees and
with Dawn still towering over me, began to lap greedily at her
pussy.
That’s good; that’s fucking
good, she shrieked with
surprising volume. She pulled her labia apart, allowing me easier
access to her pink gash, her juices spilling into my mouth. My
tongue circled over her clitoris, while, with a finger, I played
with the entrance to her hole. Her hands suddenly gripped the sides
of my head, pushing me harder into her cunt, her hot pool of
stickiness. Very gently, I took her labia in my mouth and sucked,
first one side, then the other. Dawn screamed, causing me to suck a
little harder.

Do you like the taste of my
pussy, yeah? Do you like eating my pussy?

She fell to her knees and
kissed me while pulling on my shaft. After a while, she held her
hand up and admired the wetness on her palm.
That’s all you, you
naughty boy.
She licked it clean.
Tastes good.

She then stood up, found her
knickers and put them back on.
That’s enough for today.

What? I thought…

All good things come to those
who wait. Soon but not yet. One step at a time. Can you wait a
little longer?

No.

Poor Robbie. Well, it’ll give
you something to look to, won’t it?

I sighed.
Yes, Dawn.
I
like a woman in control, but not this controlled. Now, somehow, I
had to force my erection back into my boxers and trousers. And that
was no mean feat.

Still, I felt fantastic. What
amazed me was how natural it felt – no awkwardness or, dare I say
it, guilt. It felt as if our bodies belonged to one another.

An hour later, I caught a taxi
home. The driver chatted but what he said I have no idea; my mind
was still back in Dawn’s flat. We hadn’t had sex but that was fine;
I wouldn’t have wanted to, couldn’t have faced the enormity of such
an act. What we’d done was enough to leave me reeling, fighting for
breath.

I arrived home and found Emily
watching a documentary on wife swapping. How appropriate. She told
me about Lola’s latest adventure – another visit to another Father
Christmas, and issued instructions for the following day, something
about football shirts. Managing to escape, I stumbled up to bed and
collapsed. I fell asleep with a smile on my face. A very large
smile indeed.

PART
TWO

Wednesday,
2
^nd
January

The post-holiday blues have set
in; you can feel it hanging heavily over the office. Only Heather
appears content, happy that things are returning to normal. Ernie
is still morose after his failure with Marjorie in Accounts; Karen
is worried but another minute aspect of her wedding arrangements;
and Paul’s not speaking to me. I wish Sean was here to brighten
things up, but he’s away again, parachuting off the Gulf of Mexico
or somewhere. And most significantly, all is quiet on the Dawn
front. I think she’s forgotten about me. On Christmas Eve I
received a text that had my heart spinning, which said:
I cant
get you out of my head now
, and on Christmas Day I received a
couple texts thanking me for my presents, to which I responded in
kind, but since then, bugger all. I texted her twice on Boxing Day,
and twice again the following day, each one a little more
desperate, but nothing in return. Now pride prevents me from trying
again. And it’s so painful, this silence, this continual checking
of my phone; my yell into the wilderness:
Oh, Dawn, what have
you done to me?
To use her words – I couldn’t get her out of my
head.

Christmas Day was jolly enough.
Usual stuff: over-excitable children, too much to eat, drunken
haze, etc. Joshua was pleased with his football shirt with his
surname printed on the back. Not cheap, my word, £45 for the shirt
and £3 per letter; and with a name like Collingbourne, that mounts
up. I wanted to change our name to Li or Ho there and then. And
Lola, bless her, loved her pink dolls and her pink clothes and her
pink horse.

For New Year’s Eve we went to a
neighbour’s house. As Big Ben chimed in the New Year, and following
the usual round of Auld Lang Syne, with the first line repeated
throughout the many verses, we hugged and kissed our partners.
Happy New Year, darling,
said Emily.

And you, my love.
In my
mind I visualised Dawn and her husband in a similar embrace
somewhere in West London. And then we all danced, drank and smoked,
and tried not to think of our children waking us up in only a few
hours.

Thirty minutes later, my
evening’s contentment was made complete with the arrival of Dawn’s
text:
I’m having a glass of champagne and toasting us. Here's to
you my darling. x.