Just One Last Dance

Just One Last Dance

We meet in the night in the Spanish café

I look in your eyes just don’t know what to say

It feels like I’m drowning in salty water

A few hours left ’til the sun’s gonna rise

tomorrow will come an it’s time to realize

our love has finished forever

Just One Last Dance, version sung by Yao Si Ting (Diana Yao>

* * * * * *

Does a story have a beginning and no end?

I used to think our story did. I used to think our story had a beginning, on that wet winter’s night when we first met. The first meeting, that first time we made love, that first night I slept in your arms, sure that I’d found love, with you. For me, that was the beginning of our story. The story of you and me, and I used to think our story would never end. That you loved me. That I loved you. That we’d be together, always. I used to think all of that, and that our story would never end.

Now?

I know I was wrong.

Now I know your story had a different beginning to my story. Your beginning, and my beginning, they’re completely different stories. Different plots. Different characters, even. I know how I saw you, and I know myself, but how do you see yourself? How do you see me? I thought I knew. Those weren’t even questions in my mind, because I was so sure, so certain, but now I know the reality is so different from those certainties that weren’t certain at all.

Everything I knew about you, everything I was certain about, it was a façade, an act, and I don’t know what to think anymore. But there is one certainty in my life. I know the story that I thought would never end is ending. That our story wasn’t a story at all, but only a chapter in each of our stories. That this chapter where we’re both characters is coming to an end. That we’re on the last page of that chapter. Our stories will continue, but they’ll continue in different books.

Perhaps they were always different books.

I know now that they were always different stories.

I can’t bear that thought, that knowledge, and I hate her. I hate her, I hate her, I hate her, but I love you. I love you, I love you. I should hate you, but I don’t, and I can’t bring myself to walk away from us, from you and I, but I must. I know I must, because when this started, I didn’t know about her.

It was just you and me.

You lied to me, and I believed you.

I thought there was you and me. Only you and me. I didn’t know about her, or I would never have let this happen. You didn’t tell me. You lied to me, from the very start, from that very first day, from our very beginning, and I know that now. Only now. I only found out about her last week. You don’t know I’ve found out about her. Not yet. You don’t know that we’ve talked today, she and I.

Your wife.

She didn’t believe me to start with. She was in denial, just like I was. She didn’t want to believe, just like I didn’t want to believe. Now, like me, she knows. She believes. We talked, and I know she’s pregnant. The baby’s due in another two months. Your baby. Yours and hers, and you’re leaving. Moving. Not just houses.

You’re going to a new job, in another city. In another country.

I already knew that, before I talked to your wife. I read the letter you’d written out for me. I read it on your google drive, and I know it’s for me. It has my name on it. It’s so formal, as if I’m an employee you’re terminating. As if I’m someone you barely know. I took a copy. I printed it out. I showed her, and she cried. She cried with me, she told me she was so sorry. She told me she loved you, and my heart was broken, for her, as well as for me.

I’m only nineteen, and you’re my first love. My only love. The only man I’ve ever loved.

I’m in my first year at University. I’ve seen friends who’ve been dumped by their boyfriends. Boyfriends that they loved. They cried, just like I’ve cried. Their hearts were broken, just like my heart is broken, but their hearts recovered. They found a new boyfriend, they found new love, and now they’re happy again, and they don’t know why they were so sad, so heartbroken.

“He was nothing special,” they say, smiling.

I hope I’ll be able to say that in six months’ time. I hope I’ll be able to smile like that, in six months’ time. That’s in six months though. Not now. Now? I cry, and she cries with me, and she’s not me. She’s twenty eight. She’s been married to you for five years. She’s having your baby, and I tell her I didn’t know. I didn’t know you were married. I didn’t know about her at all, and if I’d known, I’d never have let what happened, happen. She believes me. She asks me what I’m going to do, and I can see the pain and the fear written across her face.

Fear, that I’ll take you from her.

Pain, because she loves you.

She loves you, like I do.

I told her. I already knew what I was going to do. You lied to me, and if I’d known, this would never have happened. You’d have been just someone I met one evening, a chance encounter, a smile, a few words of thanks, and goodbye. I wish now that’s all it’d been, but it wasn’t, and now I’m sitting in that Spanish Café, waiting for you to arrive, knowing this is the last time we’ll meet.

Knowing that when we leave, I’ll be leaving by myself, without you, unlike that evening we met.

I told her what I was going to tell you. I told her that I was so sorry about what’d happened, and I cried on her shoulder. She held me, and she told me she loved you. She’d give you that chance. That second chance, and I hope you’ll take it, because she loves you so much. She loves you the way I would have loved you. She’s having your baby, and I’d dreamed of having our baby, but now I never will.

I told her I hoped it would work out, for her, and for you.

I don’t know if it will, but it’s for her sake that I hope that now, not yours.

I sit there in that Spanish Café, waiting for you to arrive, sipping on my coffee, and my thoughts are as bleak and grey as the winter’s rain, outside. Inside, it’s warm, warm and comfortable, the way it was in here, the night we met.

That first night, almost a year ago now.

For me, love. For you, an affair.

I didn’t know that, then.

I know that, now.

* * *

We first met late one afternoon, in this same Spanish café, and I remember as I sip my coffee, waiting for you to arrive. I was sitting at this same table, in the back corner, waiting for a friend, when…

“Hi, is that seat taken? Do you mind if I…”

I look up, my eyes meet yours, and it’s as if my breath has been taken from me. Your eyes widen, and I’m sure mine widen too. My body is jolted by an electric shock of… I don’t know, but it’s as if you’re someone I’ve always been waiting for, and I haven’t said a word. I’m not sure if I can speak. My heartbeat races. My breath catches, and you’re looking at me. Into my eyes, as if I’m everything to you, and you stopped speaking in mid-sentence.

I don’t giggle. I don’t anything, not for a long moment, my eyes mesmerized by yours. By that perfect sky-blue, as blue as a summer sky, and I could gaze into those eyes forever.

“Please,” I manage to say.

You sit down, place your coffee on the table, opposite mine, and still your eyes look into mine, and they seem to read my soul. I can’t believe I’m this attracted to someone I don’t know. A chance encounter, a stranger in the Spanish Café just down the street from the apartment building I live in, and we haven’t talked. I don’t know your name. You don’t know mine. Thirty seconds, and I know.

You’re someone I could fall in love with. Seriously. You are.

My friend never shows. You and I, we talk, and the more we talk, the more attracted to you I am. You draw me out, you coax my words from me, and I glow in your interest. You draw me out, and I find myself telling you about me, more than I’ve ever told anyone, ever. That I’m eighteen, studying here, at the university, away from home, and I tell you about my family, what I’m interested in, about myself. The realme, not the person everyone sees, but what’s inside me, in my head.

My hopes, my dreams, the things that interest and enthral me, and you, you tell me about you, you’re in sales, you travel for work, you’re thirty five, but it’s your interest in me that holds me. A cup of coffee with my friend, that’s the only reason I was here, but I stay because of you, and you tell me you’re in no hurry. You have nothing else to do, and that you enjoy talking to me.

I remember everything from that evening we met. Every second, every word, every gesture, every touch, as we talked, and we talked for hours. We even danced, because that Spanish Café had a small dance floor, and you picked the music. You picked, and we danced. A slow dance, holding me in your arms, and to be held in your arms was a blissful happiness that I’d never imagined.

That happiness, that interest you had in me, and I in you, led us to stay, longer than either of us had ever intended, on and on, and we talked, we drank coffee, we ate a little, and we danced again.

Four hours after we meet, we leave that Spanish Café together, and I find myself inviting you to my little apartment for coffee, not wanting to part from you. Wanting to draw the evening out, and my apartment’s only ten minutes’ walk. It’s not far at all, and you accept. I asked you in all innocence, wanting only to keep talking with you, flattered by our interest. Intrigued by you, the older man, ruggedly handsome, completely unlike any of the guys my own age whom I know.

Mesmerizing.

I was mesmerized by you, by your attention, so unlike the interest guys I’d met at University, guys my own age or near, had in me. Those guys, they were so gauche, blatantly interested in me for what they could get, and I knew what they saw. A slender Chinese girl, smooth-skinned, silky-haired, a smiling innocent sensuality that then, I had been unaware of.

You weren’t. You were very aware of that, and then, I’d been aware of your interest, but you weren’t gauche. You weren’t blatant. Your interest didn’t scare me or threaten me, because it was me you were interested in. Not my looks, not my body. Me, and I responded to that interest. I asked you to come to my apartment for coffee, and I was so happy when you said yes.

Almost ecstatic, almost skipping down the road, down that tree-lined boulevard that led to my apartment building, turning to talk to you, and it seemed only natural that your hand found mine. It was as if my hand was already yours to hold, and you were still holding my hand when I opened my apartment door, and led you inside, took your coat and hung it beside mine, made us both coffee, sat on the couch, beside you.

My apartment’s small. The entrance, a galley kitchen to the right, a small den to the left with my desk, and my bookcases. A single room with a small table near the kitchen, and a single couch against one wall, and my bed. It’s that couch that we sat on, together, and as I sat, you drew me close to you, your arm around me, and you nuzzled the back of my neck lightly.

I remember that I giggled, and I shook my head, but I didn’t move away. I moved closer, into your arms, half-knowing what you intended, half-anticipating, half-turning towards you, and then, out of nowhere, we were kissing. Your lips on mine, gentle, but demanding, and I gave up all control in the eternity of that first, wide-eyed parting of my lips, that heart-stopping surrender of my mouth to yours as you turned further, taking me into your arms.

By then, by the time your tongue had slipped so delicately into my mouth, I wanted you to take me in your arms, and I turned towards you, moved with you as you guided me around, and back, until I was lying on my couch and you were lying beside me, close to me. So close, looking down at me, one arm under my neck, your hand on my shoulder, your other hand on my hip, your lips sealed to mine, and by then, your tongue was exploring my mouth, teasing my tongue, dancing with my tongue as I tentatively explored, my tongue following yours, and I could hear myself.

Soft, excited little noises as you kissed me.

There was no sudden attempt to take what you were doing any further. Only your mouth on mine, eyes half closed as you tasted me, sipped at me, explored with your tongue, a delicate dance where your tongue slid into my mouth, danced with my tongue, tasted me, teased me, drew my tongue into your mouth, and I’d kissed before. I’d been kissed, but never like this. Never with such exquisite skill, never so gently, and my excitement, my arousal, my desire, grew slowly as you continued to caress my lips with yours, on and on and on.

Without thought, my body responded as a woman’s body responds, and that response was new to me. It crept up on me, through me, silently, unknowingly, and I didn’t realize what was happening to me. Only that your kisses weren’t enough, that I needed more. More of you, and my eyes looked into yours as you kissed me, my fingers brushed your face as yours brushed mine. Brushed mine, brushed my hair away, and when at least you broke that kiss, my lips blindly sought yours.

“You’re beautiful, Estelle,” you breathed, and then your lips met mine once more, and that brief absence left me craving more. Those three words from you, they were sunlight on a flower, and my heart opened to you, as the petals of a flower open to the sun, welcoming

Back then, on that first evening, those first kisses, I’d had no idea of the pleasure my own body could give me. I truly was innocent, wrinkly my nose at those girls I knew who had crushes, who talked about their boyfriends with such excitement. Such desire. I’d had no idea that I, too, could experience such desire, and even then, there was no real awareness. Only urging of my body, an urging that I succumbed to without resistance, wanting only your renewed kisses.

Your body against mine, and your body was close to mine as we lay together on my couch, you pressed against me as you held me in your arms, not crushing me, but holding me close, and never before had I wanted to be held like this, a man pressing yourself against me so closely, so tightly. In the growing passion of that kiss, I turned a little more towards you, wanting that closeness, wanting you to hold me tight, wanting my breasts crushed against your chest as you held me, wanting your hands on me, so strong and assured.

I was aware of every nuance of your body against mine, of mine against yours. How soft I was, how giving, how I revelled in being held so tightly, how I welcomed that crushing of my body against yours, my breasts now crushed against your chest, and I’d never been so aware of my breasts before. How good it felt, how swollen and engorged my nipples were. How they ached, and that aching only grew as my arms vined around your neck, as your mouth sipped at mine, as a bee sips at the nectar of a flower it has taken for its own.

Half-turned towards you, my skirt rode up as in that desire to be closer to you, one of my legs lifted, to rest on yours, and yours slide between mine, the soft linen of your trousers rough against the skin of my thighs. Your hand, the hand that wasn’t beneath me, rain over my waist, my hips, my arm, sliding upwards to brush my hair back from my face as we kissed, on and on and on, and whenever your lips lifted from mine, mine sought yours again, blindly following as a flower follows the sun.

“Estelle,” you murmured, and your hand eased my away a little, a distancing that I half-resisted until you hand gently cupped one breast through the thin material of my top, and my camisole, resting there, sending a sudden rush of unexpected sensations surging through me. I hadn’t worn a bra that day. I didn’t really need a bra, and today was one of those days where I’d enjoyed not wearing one.

Now, I found another reason to enjoy not wearing one.

Your hand on my breast, cupping me, gentle and firm, all at one and the same time. A masculine possession of me that was as welcome on my body as his lips were on mine, and your hand on me left me limp, limp and wanting more. Your lips lifted from mine, and now I watched you. Watching you looking at my breasts, and I was breathing hard, wanting more, but not knowing what it was I wanted, because I’d never felt like this before.

My swollen nipples suddenly and unbelievably seemed to swell even more, almost in an instant becoming painfully large and rubbery hard, the mere cupping of your hand on me no longer enough. Your hand began, very gently, to explore my breast, your fingers running over me, tracing the contours, sending ripples and shivers of pleasure and renewed excitement surging through me. I could feel my nipples swelling even more, so swollen and rubbery hard the aching sensation was actually painful.

It was a weirdly exciting sensation, to feel my body reacting like that, out of my control, responding to you. I could hear myself involuntarily making quiet little breathy noises as your fingers continued to stroke me there, very gently, very slowly. Nobody except me had ever touched my breasts, and I lay there focusing on the sensations created by your fingers running across and around my breast and over my nipple, and I had no strength, nor the willpower to stop you, even if I’d wanted to.
I didn’t want to.

Somehow, under your fingertips, my breasts seemed larger, firmer, swollen in size, achingly full, unbelievably sensitive, with my nipples even larger and more swollen than they had been. Even more sensitive, if that was possible. Looking down at your hand on my, I could see my nipples pushing outwards against the thin material of my camisole and the top I was wearing, and I’d never seen my nipples like this before. Never felt them like this, and it excited me to look at myself.

I wondered if it excited you.

That thought brought another, seamlessly. That hardness that was pressed against me, and I knew what that was. Your arousal, and my body shivered hotly, my legs suddenly weak, all of me weak, and hot, and sensitive. Your fingers brushed across my nipple, lightly, as I watched and a surging sensation of excitement and pleasure emanated from the light touch, rippling through my body, bringing an involuntary gasp from me.

Your mouth nuzzled at my neck, across my cheek, finding my lips again, and my mouth opened blindly to yours once more. Your hand moved on me. Your fingers found my swollen nipple, stroked it lightly. You took it between your thumb and finger and, very lightly, you squeezed, then tugged at it through the thin material that covered me.

“Ohhhhhh.” A sudden involuntary reaction as a surging rush of pleasure overwhelmed my senses, my moan absorbed by your mouth as my back half-arched, pressing my breast against your hand, welcoming your hand having its way with me, as it explored and caressed and squeezed and tugged at my nipple again and again. It was so easy to let you do what he wanted. I didn’t need to do anything. All I needed to do was lie there, and accept the pleasure that your caresses were bringing me, and that pleasure held me enthralled.

“Estelle,” you murmured, between kisses. “Estelle,” and your lips breathing my name were a magical incantation before which any thought of stopping what we were doing, what you were doing, melted away, ice melting under the sun, and there was no resistance in me, none whatsoever.

“Estelle,” you breathed, and your hand on me, your squeezes and tugs and brushing caresses, seemed to feed and assuage that ache at one and the same time, every caress giving me pleasure, sending ripples of excitement that were ever more exquisite through me, feeding that desire for more that grew within me.

“Ohhhhh,” I moaned, between kisses. “Ohhhhh.”

Vaguely, I wondered how I could let someone touch me like this, so intimately, handling my body so freely, but that thought merely added to the rising tide of excitement I was feeling as your hand continued to roam freely over my breast, periodically squeezing and lightly tugging at my nipples, and every tug or squeeze brought a gasp or a moan from me. What would it be like to actually feel your hands touch my breasts, touch my naked skin, caress me even more intimately, and my cheeks flushed with a mix of excitement and shame at my own willingness to contemplate that particular thought.

Shame, yes, but when your hand lifted from my breast and began to unbutton my top, slowly, button by button, working downward, I didn’t stop you. I lay there, watching your face, knowing what your fingers were doing, and there wasn’t any shame. There was fear and excitement, combined with a brand new mix of anticipation and trepidation, my body overwhelmed with a helpless liquid heat that seemed to permeate outwards from my center, leaving me physically unable to move.

“Ohhhhh.” I gasped as you drew my top open, exposing the thin near-transparent black lace of my camisole, looking down and seeing my own clearly visible and painfully swollen nipples pushing the thin material outwards.

Your hand returned to my breasts, both my breasts now, because I was on my back, limp and hot and helpless as your hand ran over her them gently, cupped them through the lace camisole and then, slowly, very gently, your eyes holding mine, you worked the camisole upwards, and I knew what you were doing.

“Ohhhhh.” That shuddering little gasp emerged involuntarily as you guided the thin lace upwards, exposing my breasts to your eyes, the first time a man had seen them. I knew this would be the first time a man would touch them, because why would you expose them if you didn’t want to caress them, to do with them what a man does, and I lay there, before you, knowing I wouldn’t stop you.

Knowing I wasn’t even thinking of stopping you.

Your hand moved to cup and hold one breast, your palm and your fingers warm on my naked skin, touching my naked and exposed nipples, strange and exciting, sending another hot wave of excitement washing through me, delicious weakness as you hand slid over my skin, teasing my achingly swollen nipple again and again, every touch sending little ripples of pleasure and excitement washing through my body.

“Your breasts are so beautiful.” I could almost taste the excitement and enjoyment and desire in your words.

“I want to kiss them,” you added, your eyes searching mine, and I wanted you to kiss them too.

From your tone, it was a statement. You weren’t asking me, it was something you were going to do, and so I said nothing. I merely waited. Waiting was all I had to do. You’d do what you wanted to do, and I’d let you, or I’d stop you, but I didn’t want to stop you. I wanted you to kiss my breasts. Would it be as exciting as your hands? Would it be different? I didn’t know, and I wanted to know.

Your hand continued to caress my breasts, both of them, now, and I found my back arching a little as I pushed them at your hand, offering them to your hand, biting my bottom lip to prevent myself moaning out loud as you played and teased and tugged gently at my all too painfully aching nipples. They felt so swollen that they might burst, so swollen that they did hurt, and I wanted you to tug and squeeze them again, hard.

I looked up at you, at your face above mine, looking down at me. Your hand continued playing with one breast as you pressed yourself against the length of my body, half-beside me, one of your legs half-over mine, almost between mine, pushing between mine. I was acutely conscious of your weight, and of the hard masculine presence pushing against my thigh in a long bulge. Even though I’d never felt that before, I know what that bulge was, and I shivered with excitement, my body reacting with a slippery heat that pooled inside me, at my center.

You looked back, you looked into my eyes, your hand moved on my breast, caressing me gently for what seemed to be an eternity, and your face drew closer. Closer still, until yours lips once more touched mine. And as you kissed me, your hand squeezed my breast lightly, squeezed my nipple not quite as lightly, and your leg that was between mine pushed inwards, pushed higher, and my legs parted for you, without thought.

Pressure. Your leg solid and muscular between mine.

My thighs parting, that pressure slides high.

Bulging hardness against my thigh.

Your thigh moved higher between my legs, pushing firmly against that slippery wet heat at the juncture of my thighs. The pressure there sent a surging rush of pleasure through my body, jolting me almost as if it had been an electric shock, forcing a moan from me just as I opened my mouth wide to you, and my back arched, I pushed my breast hard into your hand, moaning again as you hand crushed my nipple, assuaging that ache that needed so much to be assuaged.

“Ohhhhhh.” Your lips lifted from mine, my head arched back, and I clung tp you as your thigh moved against me, friction and pressure through my panties, just where I was most sensitive, drawing that helpless moan from me as I drew one knee back, parting myself wider for your leg to move freely. Your leg did, bringing another moan from somewhere deep within me, and then another as his movements elicited waves of pleasure that surged through my body with a heart-stopping intensity that demanded more and more. I could feel my own flooding wetness at the point where his leg pushed against me, a flooding slippery heat that was new to me; a hot clenching excitement that made its own demands.

Demands that my body pleaded to have met.

Your mouth lifted from mine at last, both of us breathing heavily as we gazed into each other’s eyes, and I knew I loved you already. Someone I’d only met a few hours before, but I loved you, and in that moment, I knew I was meant for you. That you were everything I’d ever wanted, and already I knew so much about you, and you about me. I wanted to know everything about you. Everything, and I wanted you to know everything about me, and I knew what I wanted as your hand slid from my breast downwards, down over my waist to my thigh, easing my skirt upwards to expose that point where your thigh pushed against me.

Exposing my little white panties, the ones with Hello Kitty on them, and you looked. You saw, and I knew you saw.

I lay there, breathing hard, not quite moaning as you slowly, so very slowly and deliberately, ran your eyes over me, looking at my naked breasts, my stomach, my panties. The way your eyes ran over me brought a hot flush to my cheeks that spread outwards, from my face to my neck, and from there to my shoulders, and, slowly, downwards to my breasts. Not just that slow burn. My sex seemed to pulse with a wet, liquid heat that held me helpless, a black hole inside me.

Very deliberately, yours eyes looking down into mine, your hand now held my hip, held me firmly, with a firmness that said I was yours, and you urged me slightly towards you, your leg moving slowly and methodically between mine, rubbing against me so that there was no mistake about what your were doing.

“Ohhhhh… ohhhhhh.” I couldn’t help it, those moans. Those sensations you created in me were so intense that I moaned out loud with each movement of your leg despite the embarrassment I felt

“You’re beautiful,” you breathed, through those moans, smiling down at me, running your hand across my face, tracing my chin, stroking my cheeks, brushing my hair back from my forehead before sliding your fingers down my neck, and tracing them over my shoulders.

“You’re beautiful, I want to see you,” you murmured, and I didn’t even think about stopping you as you worked my top off me, and then my camisole. Naked. I was naked from my skirt upwards, exposed to you as I’d never been exposed to any man, and your eyes devoured me.

I lay before you, helplessly in thrall to the excitement I felt, the sensations created within me by that slow frictioning of your leg between mine, the aching firmness of my breasts and my painfully engorged nipples amazed and surprised by how large they were. How swollen. How much they ached. Slowly, very slowly, unsure of what I was doing, I lifted my arms, moved them, moved until my hands rested on the couch above my head, surrendering myself to you.

Your hand explored my body, my breasts, my ribs, down over the taut flatness of my stomach, caressing every inch of my skin that was exposed, running down over my hips to the hem of my skirt, already eased upwards far enough to expose my little white Hello Kitty panties. Your eyes held mine as you brushed the hem of my skirt higher still, slowly raising it to expose my panties completely. I lay still before your, arms above my head, unmoving, my heart pounding wildly as you raised my skirt all the way to my waist.

You smiled as your eyes looked down, and your finger traced across the base of my stomach, tracing that white cotton that hid the most intimate part of me from your eyes, and your touch. My entire body trembled under the touch of your fingertips, and my sex pulsed with that slippery wet heat, a heat that held me enthralled. Enslaved. Captive.

Movement.

Pressing against me, and suddenly I was aware of that hard bulge, pressing against me. I knew what that was, and that knowledge made me even more aware of my own unbelievable wetness as I lay there looking up at you helplessly, held motionless by the sensations and pleasure your touch was generating. Just the touch of your fingertips on my skin, tracing the edge of my panties across my thigh, and my hips twitched and lifted. My legs seemed to fall even further apart, almost begging you to touch me there.

And then you did.

Your fingertip slid over that thin white cotton, to trace the centre of my slit through my panties, pressing lightly inwards, pressing against the swollen sensitivity of my labial lips, a sensitivity I’d never before experienced. I gasped, my back arching, eyes wide at your featherlight touch, moaning out loud as your finger pressed Hello Kitty more deeply inwards, sending another rush of pleasure and anticipation and fear surging through me. You smiled while your finger continued its gentle explorations, teasing me with a slow thoroughness that drove me wild.

You smiled, and you lowered your mouth to suck and lick at my breasts and my nipples for the first time, your mouth assuaging the swollen aching I felt as I stared blindly upwards at the ceiling with glazed eyes, knowing what you were doing to me, but I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t deciding whether to let you or not. The time for that decision was long past. Now?

Now I was experiencing, and it was yours to choose what I experienced.

You chose to move your hand, cupping me sex, two of your fingers pressing my panties into the hot wetness there, while your hand half-crushed my hyper-sensitive labial lips between them, so that my eyes widened, my mouth opened wide, unable even to moan as my hips jerked, half in relief, half in excitement, half in a futile attempt to escape the intensity of the pleasure you drew from me as your fingers firmly pressed that thin cotton deeper, the almost harsh friction sending shivers racing up and down my spine, and I knew I wanted them to push inside me.

I knew I needed you to fill the growing need within my body.

“Wait,” I gasped. “Wait.”

You drew back a little as I half sat up, and then I did sit up, and you sat there watching me as I stood and walked away from you. Walked through the doorway and into my little bedroom, to my bed, and I opened the draw in my bedside cabinet. The top draw, and in there, hidden at the back, was that packet I was looking for. The one we’d been given during student orientation, and I’d blushed with embarrassment as I took it.

Now I blushed with excitement as I took it out, hiding it in my hand.

There was excitement mixed with embarrassment as I turned back towards you, naked from the waist up, seeing you looking at me as I took those half a dozen steps back towards you. Back to where you sat on my couch, and my heart was racing. Pounding, because I knew what I was doing as I stood before you, and offered you my hand.

Offered you my heart.

And my love.

Your hands reached out, reached out, and took mine, uncurled my fingers, exposing that little packet of Trojans I held, my face burning. You took them from me, and placed them on the couch beside you, and your hands moved to rest on my hips. You drew me towards you, and my hands held your head, brushing that silky hair back as your mouth sought my breasts. Sought, found, suckled, and my knees almost buckled as your mouth engulfed one breast, your tongue swirling, sucking, drawing on my heart.

Drawing my skirt down over my hips to fall on the floor, pooled around my ankles.

I stood before you in my little white cotton panties, watching as you suckled at one breast, and then the other, alternating, your hands holding me, and now they explored my back, my butt, my thighs. Gentle slowness, caresses that set my skin on fire until I burned in the flames of my newfound love for you. Barely able to stand, I did something I’d never dreamed of doing, ever.

I found your hands, and I stepped back, drawing you with me. Drawing you to your feet, seeing you pick up those condoms as you stood, knowing what they were for, and that I’d given them to you, as good as words telling you what I wanted, my eyes looking up into yours as I led you into my bedroom. Led you to my bed, and stood there, not knowing what to do next.

“Unbutton my shirt,” you said, and I did, fumbling at the buttons as you unfastened your belt, pushed your trousers down, kicked them aside, and peeled your shirt off. Your t-shirt came next, and you were left in your boxers and your socks, I n my little white panties.

“Bed,” you said, gesturing as you peeled my duvet down.

I crawled onto my bed, turning to lie in the center, waiting for you, watching as you removed your boxers. Your cock sprang free, my first sight of a naked and aroused man. Huge. I remember thinking it was huge, and instinctively my hands moved to my sex. To cover myself? To protect myself?

You smiled, moving onto my bed to prop yourself up beside me, looking down at me as you had on my couch, easing closer, until your skin brushed against me. Pressed against me, and your cock rested on my thigh, enormous, and hard. Rigid with your desire for me, and when you moved to kiss me, I was suddenly afraid. Only for a second. The tenderness of your kiss removed my fears.

Your hand removed my panties.

My little white cotton panties, drawing them down, but not revealing my sex, because I didn’t stop you removing my panties, but my hands cupped my sex. Shyness? Fear. It didn’t matter. You didn’t try to remove my hands.

You kissed me.

You kissed me again and again, your lips on mine, your lips brushing across my face, your lips teasing my neck, my shoulders. My breasts. Your lips on mine, your tongue deep in my mouth. And I kissed you back. Or at least, I opened my mouth wide to your and let you kiss me as you wanted.

“Open your mouth wider,” you murmured, teasing my lips with yours, and you kissed me, and then you murmured, “you’ll open your legs wide for me, too, won’t you, Estelle.”

Your hand moved to rest on mine, where I still cupped myself protectively, and under my hands, I was so wet. A slippery, heated, sensitive wetness I’d never felt before, liquid wetly oozing from my sex, coating my labia, coating my fingers, and I’d never felt like this in my life. The friction of my own fingers moving under the pressure of your hand was an exquisite torment that begged for more, and now you looked down at me, watching my face as your hand pressed down on mine.

“Give me this hand,” you said, taking the topmost, and I let you.

Without a word, you moved it downwards between our bodies, guiding me so that your fingers clasped my shaft. I made no effort to draw my hand away. This was what I’d offered you. This was why we were on my bed, and I continued to hold you, feeling that long hard shaft beneath my fingers, the naked steely hardness, silky and hot, veins bulging and pulsing slightly in my hand.

The feel of him, of your erection, hugely naked in my hand, overwhelmed me, and I felt a further flooding wetness that made my knees fall limply apart. You looked down at me and smiled and you were as naked as I, and the knowledge of that, the feel of your steely hard erection and of my own heated slippery wetness drew a soft moan from me.

“Take your hand away,” you breathed, looking down at me. “I want to see you.”

I looked up at you, speechless. And then, slowly, I moved my hand away, to rest on the bed beside me. My face burned, and I knew I was flushing bright red, breathing hard, my heart pounding as I exposed myself, to you.

“Like this,” you breathed again, your hand urging my knees to part, exposing me as they half-urged, half-forced my knees wider and wider apart.

I waited, trembling, for whatever would happen next to happen. I was naked. Completely and totally naked before you. You could see all of me, touch all of me, and I’d offered myself to you. I’d never exposed myself to anyone like this before, never had anyone look at me there before and it was terrifying. Terrifying, and exciting. Your hand stroked its way slowly upwards from my knees, stroking my legs, sliding over my inner thighs. My heart pounded wildly as I waited, waited for you to touch me where we both wanted you to touch me. Where I desired your touch. Where I feared your touch.
You didn’t touch me. Not there.

Your fingers caressed my inner thighs, sliding over my skin, and your eyes were there too, looking down at where you touched me, and my sex pulsed, alive with excitement, so wet, and I was so aware of my own wetness. That was something I’d never felt before, but holding your cock in one hand, my fingers clasping you, I knew, and I’d given you those condoms, and I wanted you. I wanted to give myself to you, completely.

“I want to see you,” I whispered, out of nowhere.

You smiled. You smiled, and you eased away from me, onto your back, exposing yourself so easily, so casually, proud of yourself. Proud of your erection, displaying yourself to me. I’d never seen one before, and now, alive with excitement, I was filled with curiosity. I did, I wanted to see it. You, and you said nothing. You smiled, and you waited.

I sat up, curled around, half lying on your legs, my face over your balls and you cock, looking down at you. Studying you. I’d held this in my hand, but now it was right before my eyes. Inches from my face, jutting upwards stiffly. Your balls, big, round, and I was fascinated by them. Your cock, criss-crossed with veins, that swollen head. I reached out and touched you with my fingertips, stroking you, absorbing the feel of you.

Heart pounding at what I was doing, I looked around, saw those Trojans, that little packet, and I’d opened one, out of curiosity, I knew what they looked like. I took the box, opened it, removed one little package and opened it. I took the condom out, and tried to work it onto your cock. Your erection was something that I couldn’t take my eyes off as my fingers tried to work that condom onto you. I’d never imagined a man’s thing would look like this. Never imagined it was so big. Huge. I wasn’t even sure how it would fit inside me.

“Like this,” you said, showing me, and I knelt there, watching as you worked it onto you, and then you looked at me. You smiled, and my heart thumped as you eased me back down, onto my back, and I knew what you wanted. On my back, naked before you, your cock covered with that condom I’d taken out and started to put on you, I’d never felt so utterly and completely exposed as I did in that moment when you looked down at me, and I knew you were going to take me. You were going to make love to me.

“Estelle,” you breathed, and you eased yourself closer. Not over me, to take me immediately, as I half-feared, half-anticipated you would, but beside me, close to me, one arm under me, your condom-covered cock resting on my thigh, your hand resting on my inner thigh and now your hand touched me, sliding over my waist, my hips, my thighs and then over my stomach, the gentle slide of your fingers on my skin leaving me trembling.

This time there was no pause. No teasing. No hesitation. You knew what you wanted, you knew what I’d offered you, and your hand slid down over the base of my stomach, over my sparse, almost non-existent little fluff of pubic hair, and then you cupped my sex, your hand between my legs, your fingers sliding over my swollen and slippery labial lips, one finger sliding down between them, bringing a long moan that filled your mouth as you kissed me. My hips jerked uncontrollably as your finger explored, my thighs falling wider and wider apart, even drawing back a little so that I could spread myself wider, expose more of myself to you.

“Ohhhhhhhh.” That moan shuddered from me as the tip of your finger probed inwards between my labia, paused for a moment and then penetrated with a slippery ease that startled me. My own swollen liquid excitement startled me even more and the ease with which your finger penetrated was even more of a surprise. It was as if my body sucked your finger within myself, and I felt myself open to your touch like the petals of a flower opening to the sun.

“Ohhhhhhh.” Your finger slid upwards, penetrating and exploring as I’d never dreamed of being penetrated, sending a new and irresistible wave of pleasure and need washing through my body. With a leisurely gentleness, your finger probed deep within me, exploring, caressing, awakening new pleasures and excitement within me.

You found the swollen little nub of my clitoris as if you’d always known me, and you teased that simultaneously, so that I moaned in helpless thrall to the sensations you were creating within my body. Your mouth locked itself to mine, your tongue probed deeply, as deeply as your finger, your lips crushing mine almost painfully as your finger within me slid and pressed and turned. And all the time there was that erect shaft resting on my thigh, the knowledge of what it was for, that scared excitement at that knowledge as your fingers teased and explored and probed.

Your mouth lifted from mine. You looked down at me, and I waited, knowing you were going to take me, knowing why that condom was on you, and I was wide open to you, my body burning with excitement, and scared as I was, I wanted to surrender myself, I wanted to be taken. I wanted you so much, and the thought coaxed a faint moan from my lips.

You said nothing, simply raised yourself and moved over me, between my legs, your hand guiding me knees further apart, your eyes holding mine as I gazed up at you, waiting, still, silent but for the beating of my heart.

“Move your knees back further for me,” you breathed, and submissively, my heart pounding, I did as you asked, drawing my knees back, opening myself completely to you as your finger left me.

“Further back,” you breathed.

I obeyed. I’d never before felt so exposed and vulnerable and helpless. Or so excited, and I moaned softly in my excitement and in my fear of the unknown, but my helpless excitement overwhelmed all else as I waited.

“I’ve never,” I gasped, suddenly frightened, wanting to delay the inevitable. “I don’t know what to…”

You smiled down at me, saying nothing. One of your hands took one of mine, and clasped your fingers around your condom covered cock. Your fingers tightened, you moved my hand, stripping that condom from you, leaving it in my hand as you moved down on me, and I felt the hard swollen head of your cock part me, and push firmly against my entrance.

“Ohhh!” You felt huge there, huge and hard. I still couldn’t believe how incredibly wet I was and as you pushed against me. You chest pressed roughly against myaching breasts, a roughness that I craved. Your body pressed against mine, pinning me beneath you, your thighs forced mine back, and I was completely exposed, completely wide-open and totally vulnerable to you.

You kissed me gently, then harder, almost roughly forcing her mouth wide open, and as you kissed me, you gently eased the swollen plum-sized head of your cock through the tightness of my entrance for the first time.

“Mmmuuuughhh!” I moaned into your kiss as you entered within my body for the first time, swollen and large, stretching my sex around you. It was strange, strange and weird and scary and new and exciting and terrifying as I felt you within me, stretching me inside, stretching my entrance around your thickness, hot little ripples of excitement and pleasure washing through my body and I wanted it, wanted you to continue and I was scared of what was happening, all at one and the same time.

Your mouth lifted from mine but your eyes remained locked on mine as you moved a little inside me, easing the head of your cock just a little higher up inside me against the tight resistance of my sex. I felt myself stretching around you, felt your shaft stretching my entrance around your girth as you slowly eased yourself higher, gently moving backwards and forwards within me, penetrating her a little further with each slow movement. I’d never felt so vulnerable, never felt so helpless, never felt so excited as I did now, looking up at your face above mine as you moved inside me. I couldn’t help the little noises I made as you moved, excited little noises, gasps and moans and soft little cries that reverberated through my body, adding to my own excitement that seemed to ripple and surge outwards from within myself.

Slowly, gently, moving in a steady rhythm, you penetrated more deeply, stretching me and opening me, sensations rippling through my body, and as you moved, my pleasure seemed to grow and intensify. I welcomed the steady penetration, the steely hard shaft that seemed to fill me impossibly as it drove inwards between my widespread thighs.

You didn’t pause, you continued working your cock backwards and forwards rhythmically, working yourself deeper and deeper inside my tightly clasping sex, thrusting yourself into me again and again while my body juddered and quivered in helpless surrender beneath you, myr breath coming in quick gasping moans and little sobbing cries as you thrust and thrust, grunting your pleasure as you took me.

“Uuuuggghhhh ….. nnnuughhhh ….. hhuunnghhhh …..hhhuugghhh.” I groaned and cried out and sobbed and gasped and groaned again and again with each of your thrusts, feeling my sex stretched impossibly by the solid thickness of your swollen shaft within my body, feeling my channel curving to the shape of the impossibly large bulbous plum-sized head of you until your pelvis finally crushed up against my sex.

You paused then, completely inside me. Impossibly big and long and thick inside me, and weirdly, it was both painful and exciting at one and the same time. Even the pain merely added to my excitement as I felt the hard length of you deep within me, penetrating to my heart, and then, somehow, he thrust even further up inside me and I groaned again, a groan of helpless submission as your shaft managed to thrust itself impossibly further inside me.

“Are you OK?” Your voice was gentle.

I looked up at you blankly, my entire focus inwards, on the huge hard shaft of hard male flesh so deeply buried within my body and the sensations it was creating within me. I could feel every single inch of you inside me, from the swollen glans to the veins that covered the hard surface of you. You stretched me within, stretched me mercilessly, stretched me to the point that it was almost pain, but not quite, and as you moved slightly I could feel my entrance moving with you, feel the slick slide of your shaft between my labial lips, feel your glans moving within me, the tight frictioning of your shaft against the clasping grip of my sex.

I gasped as you eased outwards, then moaned quietly as you thrust into me. It hurt a little, but it also felt good. Very very good. Exciting. And I wanted more. And then you were moving inside me steadily, harder and faster than at first, sliding your hard length out until only the swollen head was inside me, pausing, and then thrusting yourself up inside me until you impacted solidly against my pubic mound.

Impossibly long smooth thrusts that seemed to slide up inside me almost to my heart and with a regularity that could have been timed by a metronome. The sensation was unbearable, exquisitely pleasurable and I wanted more, I wanted you to move harder and faster, I wanted you to keep doing it and doing it and doing it as a slow tidal wave of pleasure and suspense built up deep within my body.

I lay helplessly beneath you, enthralled by the sensations you were creating within my body, excited by my own submissive helplessness, the weight of your body on mine, the way I was forced to remain spread wide open for your use, the friction of your movements within me, the hard masculine feel of your body riding mine, the hard male shaft that penetrated unbelievably far inwards between my widespread.thighs, impossibly thick and long, driving me half-crazy with excitement and desire and a need to be taken and used.

“Huuhhhh… nnuhhhh… hhuunnhhh.” Those gasps came from my mouth without thought, as your cock seemed to plunge even deeper inside me. The top of you brushed up against something deep inside, almost but not quite, hurting, and my entire body shivered on that borderline between pleasure and pain.

“Oh fuck, yes… yes yes yes.” You seemed somehow, if that was possible, to be fucking me even harder than you had been before.

I could sense your excitement increasing. Inside me, you cock seemed to be swelling and engorging, larger than before, huge inside me as you thrust and thrust and thrust, your cock spearing into me. Impaling me. Taking me. You were taking me, and I wanted to be taken. I wanted you to sheathe yourself inside me, I wanted you to take your pleasure with me, and I was yours. Completely yours, helpless beneath you, possessed by your urgency, possessed by the driving power of your thrusts, the sheer force with which you were using me, and I revelled in that use. That subjection to your desires, knowing that using me like this gave you such pleasure, such enjoyment, and seeing your face looking down at me, I could see that pleasure written across your face as you took me.

Your body over me, on me, your thighs spreading me wide, your cock thrust deep, sliding up inside me again and again, rigid friction that filled me where I clasped you, your body moving, as you thrust yourself into me, and I knew that thrusting, that rigid shaft within me, frictioning thickly against the tight-clasping walls of my sex, that was what was bringing you so much pleasure, just as you were bringing me pleasure. Pleasure? That surrender to you was ecstasy.

“Ohhhh… ohhhh…” My own moans filled my little bedroom, my excitement reaching a new peak as I lie beneath you. I strained against you, my back arching upwards, my body slick with sweat, my breath coming in hoarse panting gasps and wild little sobs and moans and cries that emerged uncontrolled from my mouth.

“Ohhhh… ohhhhhh.” This was sex? This was love? This was what it was like to be taken by a man? I couldn’t get enough of what you were doing to me, and I wanted more. More? I wanted everything, and I opened myself completely to you, giving myself, my body, my heart, everything, as you made love to me.

“Oh fuck… fuck…” You groaned your pleasure, your enjoyment, driving you engorged length hard up inside me, penetrating so deeply, again again, and I was sure you were reaching my heart. You thrust, groaning. You paused, holding yourself deep inside me, his body straining against hers, his pelvis pressed firmly up against her, holding yourself there. Looking up at his face above her, I could see the urgency, the desire, the need. His expression changed abruptly. His body jerked hard against hers, he groaned deeply and I’s eyes widened as she felt his shaft begin to throb and pulse within her body.

There was that heart-stopping moment when I realized what was happening as you began to ejaculate. Your cock impaled me, spearing high, thick and rigidly hard, a steely shaft of male flesh driven to the hilt inside me. Your eyes looked down into mine, you grunted, straining against me, and I felt your cockshaft throb where I clasped you within me. You throbbed, your body strained against me, pressed up firmly against me where we joined, and for the first time ever, your semen spurted out deep within me, flooding me with your emissions.

Your first spurting ejaculation erupted within me, but it was only the first. My eyes opened wide, my mouth opened wide, a rounded “O” of surprise, as your shotgun-like blasts erupted, bursting inside me, flooding my sex with your emissions, your entire body straining and heaving against mine with the violence of your culmination. You moved, withdrew a little as you continued to spurt within me, and then your drove yourself up inside me again, so that my body juddered with the violence of that impact.

“Uuhhhhhh.” I groaned, my body reacting for me, without thought, as you speared me with your cock. Those spurts? I’d seen you take that condom off, and you were ejaculating inside me. I knew the risk, that risk you were taking with me, and I was scared. Scared, and wildly, incredibly, excited, and my body knew what it was for. My body knew I was there for your cock to sheathe itself in, for your semen to flood, and my body reacted, drawing me knees back, open myself wide to your while at the same time I clamped down on your length, squeezing your tightly.

Milking you. I didn’t know that was what I was doing, but I was milking your cock.

“Fuck,” you groaned. “Oh fuck.” Your expression changed, your eyes widened, your crushed me beneath you, and you groaned again, wordless pleasure, as your hot fluid spurts continued to erupt within me, flooding me with your semen.

“Ohhh Fuck” you groaned, “take it take it take it.”

I was already on the edge of something I didn’t know, and those words, your shaft pulsing and spurting inside me, sent me over the edge, and that wave that had been building and building and building inside me crested and broke at last. My back arched, my hands clutched at you, my body quivered helplessly as the throes of my first climax washed through my body, overwhelming me with an ecstasy I’d never imagined as you drove hard up inside me, holding yourself there. Golden pleasure washed through my body in a long slow wave, filling me, blotting out everything except the incredible sensations.

“Ohhhhooohhhoohhhhh.” I moaned, a long warbling wordless cry of sheer pleasure as my body arched beneath you, and I climaxed while your body rode mine, as you jerked against me spasmodically, your shaft continuing to throb and pulse inside me, on and on until you relaxed at last, your body suddenly limp. I whimpered softly as the golden pleasure continued to wash through me, slowly subsiding as I gasped for breath, clinging to you, and then we were both still, both breathing hard.

Afterwards, you held me in your arms, and I slept there, all night, and when I woke in the morning, I was still in your arms, you were still in my bed, with me, and it hadn’t been a dream. It wasn’t a dream when you woke up, and you looked at me and smiled, and then, a long time, and many whispered words of love later, we made love, slowly and gently. Afterwards, a long time afterwards, we showered together, and then we made love again. And again.

You moved in with me a month later.

* * *

I sit there, in that Spanish Café, waiting for you. Remembering. I can’t help thinking of you. I can’t stop myself thinking of you. Of you and me, and now it’s that that first night I’m remembering. It’s that last night. Remembering last week, before you left. Before I knew. Before my dreams were shattered. Last Thursday night, I loved you, and I knew you loved me. Last Thursday night was our anniversary. Our first anniversary. A year to the day since that first meeting. Since that first night together.

So many firsts, with you, and that was a year ago, now. A year ago last week, and I wonder if you remember. When we met I was eighteen, and now I’m nineteen. When we met, I was a girl, and you made a woman of me. When we met, I’d never been in love, and now I am, and my love for you has never been more real. I can’t think of a life without you, but know that after tonight, I’ll have too.

Now, waiting for you. I don’t want to think of that, and I’m not sure now which is worse. Thinking of us, last week, when I was so happy, knowing now that it was all a lie. Or thinking of tonight, and what will happen.

I’d rather remember last week, at least for a few minutes, and my mind won’t stop. Can’t stop, my thoughts whirling, spinning out of control, trying to think of what went wrong. Of why this is happening to me. Why this pain? What did I ever do to deserve this? What did I ever do to deserve this pain, this agony, but I know there’s no answer.

Perhaps there never will be an answer, and I know our story is coming to an end. We’re on the last page of our chapter, and for a moment, only a moment, I do my best to turn the pages of my mind back.

“Happy Anniversary, Estelle.” That’s what you said as we looked at each other across the restaurant table. I dressed for you, especially. A new little black dress that I bought especially for tonight. My first little black dress, and it’s a little more revealing than anything I usually wear, because I know you enjoy that.

Your eyes, your smile, your hands holding mine, everything says I was right, and I glow under your eyes, under our attention, and your love. Last week, I knew that was love. Now I know it was all an act, and my eyes sparkle with tears. Last week they didn’t sparkle with tears. They sparkled with happiness, because you’d remembered, and I hoped you had when you’d said we were going out to dinner.

You sat in the seat I’ve been saving for you, and I’ve already ordered your drink. Laphroaig. Water, no ice, the way you like it, and you know I remembered. You know I ordered that drink especially for you, and you smile. You raise your glass, I raise mine, our glasses touch, delicately, and we both sip.

“I booked us into Il Casino,” you say. “For seven thirty. Do you want to walk, or shall we catch a cab?”

“Let’s walk,” I say. It’s not raining, we both have our winter coats, and it’s not far. Fifteen minutes, twenty if we walk slowly, and there’s nothing I enjoy more than walking with you, my hand on your arm, your arm around me, sheltering me, protecting me. Holding me.

“I’d like that,” you smile, and I smile back, overjoyed. Elated. Ecstatic. This is love, and I love you so much. I love that you’re with me. That you love me. That your smile for me reflects my smile for you. That you help me on with my coat, button it for me. That when we leave the restaurant, you’ve somehow arranged for a bunch of roses to be there for me, and you carry them back to our apartment.

It used to be my apartment, but after we met, after that first night, you moved in with me, and now we have a huge bed, a bed that fills the little bedroom. A bed that’s perfect for making love on, and I know that’s what you want, as soon as you take me into your arms. You take me into your arms, and I feel your arousal, pressing against me, huge and hard, and my own body responds in an instant.

“Happy Anniversary, Estelle,” you say, and you produce a small box from your pocket. A small jewellery box, and my heart leaps, my eyes wide as I take it. Are you…? Is it…” Of course I’ll say yes. I’m nineteen. I’m far too young, but I don’t care. I love you, and I will. I’ll say yes and I don’t care what anyone thinks.

They’re diamond earrings, beautiful, but they’re not what I was expecting, and I know I was too eager. Too hopeful, and I hide my disappointment behind a smile, because they are beautiful.

“Wear them for me,” you say, and I do, smiling.

“Thank you,” I say.

After a couple of seconds where we look at each other, you slide your hand under my chin, tilt my head back further, lower your mouth to mine. My lips part, your lips meet mine, very gently, and we kiss almost as if it’s for the first time.

Our lips touch, my mouth opens to yours, I taste you, and we kiss for an endless period of time, gently, delicately, my tongue gently explores your mouth which opened wide to me as soon as our lips touch, probing, tasting, your tongue flickering against mine my arms vine around your neck, my body presses up against yours, so masculine and hard, eager, and I know I want to give you something special as an anniversary present.

Something I’ve always been too hesitant and shy to do.

Tonight, after half a dozen glasses of wine, I’m no longer shy or hesitant. I’m eager, almost wanton, my hands fumbling at your clothes, undressing you slowly as your hands run over my body, and the little black dress I’m wearing lets your hands explore, underneath to cup my butt, and you like it when I wear G-string panties for you, and tonight I am.

Finding that out excites you. Inflames you, and you almost tear my dress of me, and you’re so aroused when I’m left in nothing but those G-string panties. I finish undressing you, kneeling before you, taking you in my mouth, knowing you enjoy that as I move my mouth and tongue on you. As my hand cups your balls and holds them, my tongue caressing your length until I know you want more, and you help me stand.

I smiled as your move to turn me and guide to the bed.

“No,” I breathe, “Lie down, on your back.”

You move to our bed, to the center of the bed, and you like back, smiling, anticipating that I’ll use my mouth on you, and I know you enjoy that. I know you’ll enjoy this as I crawl onto the bed and kneel upright, beside you, leaning forward a little to take you in my hand, and stroke you. My heart’s pounding as I smile down at you. I look at you, smiling as I kneel upright, and wriggle out of my little G-string panties.

A year ago, I’d never worn anything like this.

A year ago, I’d been a virgin, innocent, and the thought of exposing myself to a man, like this, had never crossed my mind. Now, I expose myself to you, heady with excitement as your eyes caress my nakedness. Heady with excitement in the anticipation of what I’m about to do. I smiled as I move onto my knees and forearms, and take you in my mouth again, sliding my lips down your length, down and down and down until you almost choke me, and I hold my mouth there.

I couldn’t have done this a year ago. I wouldn’t have known what to do a year ago, but you’ve taught me so much. You’ve brought me to ecstasy time and time again, and my body is yours to play. You’ve taught me to play your body too, and I enjoy this, bringing you pleasure with long slow movements of my mouth on you. I’m kneeling so your hand can’t reach me, and I know you want to, and I smile now.

Smile as I draw my lips back, remove my mouth from you, and I want to see this. I want to see your face, and I turn. Before I can succumb to embarrassment, I turn towards you, and my lips find yours. I kiss you.

“Happy Anniversary,” I breathe, and I kneel, I slide up and I swing one leg over you, looking down at you as I kneel above your face, and I have. I’ve shaved everything for you.

“Estelle.” You notice, instantly, your hands on my butt hold me now. Hold me as I give you what you’ve wanted to do to me for as long as we’ve been together, but I never have. I’ve been too shy, and I’m still shy. Shy and embarrassed, because I don’t see why you’d want to, but shyly, hesitantly, my face burning, watching that excitement and desire written across your face, I lower my sex towards your mouth.

Your hands urge me down onto your face, a gentle urging, your lips brush me, there, and I sink down, sitting on you. Your mouth seals itself to me, your tongue caresses me impossibly, probing inwards, and my eyes open wide. My mouth opens wider, and my hands clutch at your head as I lean forward, watching you. Your face. Feeling yuor mouth on my sex for the first time. Your tongue, probing.

“Ohhhhhh.” My moan is a shiver in the night, and I’m so wet. So excited that I squirm on your face as you lap at me, and is it as good for you when I take you in my mouth? No wonder you enjoy that, and I want you in my mouth while you do this to me.

“Wait,” I gasp. “Wait,” and I ease myself up, smiling at that look on your face. Smiling as I straddle you, and lower myself onto you, exposing myself completely, only now I’m face to face with your cock, and I feel your breath on my inner thighs before your hands settle me down.

“Mmmmphhhhh.” I moan around your cock, and both of us are moving. Both of us eager for more as I slide wetly across your face, your cock in my mouth.

“Ohhh… ohhhhhh.” Your tongue finds my clitoris, and just like that, I climax, half sitting up, straddling your face, climaxing on your face as your tongue swirls across me there, and I’ll never say no to this again. Not this, and I moan again and again until you lift me from you and turn me to lie on my back, and now you take me, and I revel in that taking, climaxing again as you force the swollen glans of your cockhead through my entrance, and we’ve been doing this for a year, but I’m still tight on you. So tight and hot and wet and slippery for you.

Clasping you tight as you surge up inside me.

Tight and wet, and you thrust yourself into me, slow and deep. So deep, and so good, until you possess me completely.

“I’m going to fuck you, Estelle,” you growl, your voice hoarse with desire.

“Yes,” I moan. “Yes…”

You do, you fuck me, and I cry out again and again as you work your cock into me, and I’m almost out of my mind with the sheer pleasure of your taking. The joy of surrender. The joy of love, of giving myself to you so completely, and I’m always amazed that this works. I’m so small, so delicate compared to you, but still you fuck me so hard, and my body takes what you give me.

Takes your cock as you bury yourself to the balls inside me, my channel clasping you in a vice-like grip as you thrust deep and high, feeling the tip of your cock lightly brushing my cervix as you push up hard into me. I’m moaning now, constantly, moaning as you ride me, as you make love to me, and I can see the ecstasy on your face as you fuck me. The ecstasy of love, and I give you my love, my body, my everything, responding to your movements, responding to your deep-thrusting penetration as you sheathe yourself inside me.

“Ohhhh.” I can hear myself sobbing. “Ohhhh, so big, you’re so big inside me.” My hands clutch at you. “I love you… I love you.” My sex spasms on your shaft, clasping you, squeezing you, and my feet beat against your hips, spurring you onwards, and it’s as if the mare spurs her rider, wanting to be ridden harder, and I do, I want you to ride me to the end.

“Estelle,” you groan, “you feel so fucking good.” You’re moving backwards and forwards inside me, pulling halfway out of me, forcefully thrusting all the way back, again and again, harder now.

“Uhhh… uhhh…uhhhh.” I can hear myself, half-grunting, half-groaning, my body quivering as you fill me so powerfully, and when you slow, and your mouth possesses mine, I taste what I know is myself on your lips, on your tongue, and I’m ashamed, and excited at my own shame, and I know I’ll do it again.

I want to do that again. Offer my sex to your mouth, and I know I’m not the demure and innocently sjy Chinese girl I was a year ago.

“Yes,” I sob. “Yes… use me… use me…” I know you like it when I say that. “Use my cunt… fuck me…” You taught me to say those words, and now I’m like pavlov’s dogs. I’m conditioned, and I use the words that I know will bring me the reward I seek.

“Yes,” you grunt. “I’m going to use you… I’m going to use your tight little cunt with my cock.”

In my excitement, my own words come effortlessly, without thought, fed my my desire, my excitement, and my love. “Use me …. I want you to use me ….. use me with your cock. …… use me with your big cock.”

“Take my cock… take my cock up your tight little cunt.” You grunt those words, fucking me so hard now, your pelvis slapping audibly up against my butt and the backs of my thighs with each thrust, and I know I’m going to be bruised by the time you finish with me. I don’t mind. It’s Thursday night, you’re leaving in the morning, and those bruises will have gone by Monday night, when you return.

“Yes,” I moan, “Oh yes, give me your cock, give it to me hard …… fuck me hard …… fuck me…. Fuck my cunt …..use my cunt …..use me.”

My voice sobs lasciviously around those words, tasting them, savouring them as I surrendered myself to you.

You’re slamming your cock into me now, again and again, forcing me to open to you completely with each long hard drive. My knees are drawn back, brushing your ribs, my feet kicking up at the ceiling, behind your back, and I know what I look like. I’ve seen myself in the dresser mirror, you and me, on our bed, your cock plunging thickly into me, my feet riding our hips or kicking high, and you’re pistoning your cock in and out, and I can feel you moving towards your climax.

“Yes,” I moan, wanting that. Wanting you culmination, “Ohhh yes yes yes…. do it to me …. do me …… I want it … I want it ….Ohhhhh…… ohhh I want it inside me ….. use me …use me. ….. I want you to use me.”

“I’m using you,” you groan, and you do. Hard.

“Finish in me,” I sob. “Finish it inside me.” My back arches as you move. In and out. Each movement bringing you closer to erupting inside me, and your cock seems to swellinside me, there’s one last hard thrust, you ram yourself hard into me, and simultaneously your hold me tight, groaning, your cock pulsing and throbbing, and you empty yourself into me in a series of explosive bursts fill me with your cum.

My head shakes from side to side, my sex squeezes your cock and your pleasure is so intense you’re groaning uncontrollably, your cum spurting out inside me. Deep inside me, and those spurts inside me are what I’ve been waiting for. I climax myself, moaning as my sex spasms on your cock-shaft, squeezing you, milking you, sucking you into me as I lie helpless beneath you.

Somehow, we separate lying side by side, both of us panting for breath, slippery with sweat, and afterwards, after we’ve both recovered our senses, we lie in each other’s arms and talk. Except it was me that talked, sleepily. Talked of my dreams, of you and me, and you murmured responses, answers, words of love, and I glowed at those words, secure in your love, cocooned in happiness that we were together, that I’d found love, and that you loved me.

* * *

In the morning, we make love in the darkness before dawn. You’re leaving early, while I’m still in bed. I listen to you in the bathroom, shaving, showering, and when you walk into our bedroom, you’re wearing the bathrobe I bought for you a month ago.

“I’m off to that conference for the weekend, Estelle,” you say. “I have to run.”

Your voice is a soft whisper in my ear. Your lips brush my skin, and I smile sleepily, not opening my eyes, my happiness reassured by those little things you do. Pulling the duvet up and making sure I’m warm. That last brush of your lips. The rustle of your clothing, and I know that’s your jacket, then your coat, then that soft click as you open the door to our apartment. The door shuts, the lock snicks, and you’re gone.

I know you’ll be back on Monday night, and that’s okay. I need to study, there’s a test on Monday, and I’ll miss you, but I need to put the time in. Even if you were here, I’d have had to study, and with you here, I wouldn’t have wanted to, because I treasure every weekend with you. I know you speak at those conferences, and most of them are over weekends, but still, I miss you so much.

I should come with you, one of these days. Maybe over the summer vacation, when I’ll have more time? I’d love to go with you, see you speak. Listen to you. Spend that time with you, and my eyes close again, and I drift off to sleep, smiling and glowing from our love-making. Making love with you is ecstasy. Pure, unadulterated, intoxicating, ecstasy, and afterwards, I can remember how good it was, but the memory is never the same as the reality.

The sheer pleasure I experience in surrendering myself to you. The joy I find in your arms as you hold me, kiss me; caress me. That rising tide of anticipation and desire that you bring with your hands, your mouth, the arousal of your desire, rigid, rampant, ready to spear into me. Ready to take me, and you hold off, teasing me, tempting me, until at last I beg you, plead with you, until excitement leaves me almost in coherent.

How do you do that to me? I have no idea, but you do it every time, drawing a pleasure I never realized I could experience, so intense that it floods my mind, possesses me, fills me until all I can think of is you, and then you give me what I need so much, and the joy and pleasure of that first sheathing of your cock in me is enough to bring me to a climax, almost every time you take me. It’s so good, and you hold me, you take me, you ride me through that first climax, and then you make love to me with your body.

Your body on mine, and you tell me what you want from me, words breathed in my ear, words spoken to me as you take me, your face looking down into mine, my thighs cradling you as you thrust yourself into me, again and again. Your words tell me what you’re feeling, what you’re experiencing, what you desire. Those words and your body draw my pleasure from me, a pleasure that I share with you, and my own moans and gasps and sobbed out words tell you what you’re doing to me, tell you what I want, and more than anything, I want to give you pleasure. I want to satisfy you.

I want to give you my love, and I do, with every iota of my being.

If love was food, you’d be so full that you’d burst, but instead you continue to take me, and your taking becomes more powerful, more intense. Long deep thrusts that become harder as your cock moves within me, sweet spearing of your flesh within mine, your sword sheathed within me again and again, and I’m there for you, yours for you to enjoy, to take pleasure with, and your pleasure brings me mine, on and on.

You know me now. You know my body, you know how to bring me to that point of no return, and send me over the edge, my climax washing through me, but there’s no surcease, and you bring me to another, and another, until at least you reach your own culmination, taking me hard, and your cock throbs, pulses, you groan, your body taut and straining as if your cock is seeking to pierce my heart. There’s that flooding of wetness inside me, those hot spurts as you empty your semen into me, juddering against me, and then you’re finished, and we lie there together.

I’m glowing from that climax. Those climaxes, really, because there was more than one. There were half a dozen, and afterwards, I love your weight on me. I love that you stay inside me, holding me, heavy on me, and I know this is love. It’s love, and afterwards, after you ease yourself from within me, and lie beside me, still holding me, spooning me, your breath hot against the back of my head, I cup my sex with one hand as I drift off to sleep, keeping your emissions inside me, and I can’t help thinking there’d be nothing I’d like more than to have your baby.

I know you love me. You’re living here with me, and I wonder when you’ll ask me to marry you. I know I’m only nineteen. Only in my first year at university, but you’re thirty five. You’re a man, not a boy, and I love you so much. I’d marry you in an instant. Tomorrow, if you asked me. I’d have your baby right now if you wanted me too, and I drift off to sleep thinking of you and me, a house, babies. Happiness.

You’ll be back on Monday night, and I can’t wait to see you.

* * *

My laptop’s open when I wake up again, and I’m in the kitchen making coffee when I notice. I know you were using it last night, for a few minutes, when we were going to bed. You asked me if you could, and I said yes, and I logged you on, before I went to bed. I grab my coffee, and sit down to check my Facebook feed, but when I click, it’s not my account. It’s your gmail, and you must have left yourself logged on. I’m going to log you off, but something catches my eye.

It’s the gmail account. It’s not the one you use to send me email. I pull out my iphone and check.

It’s your name, but the account you send me email from has your name, and a 04 at the end of it. This is just your name, and gmail dot com, and I’m curious now. I look at the folders, and it’s all very organized. I smile, because that’s so you, but I am puzzled. Why are you using another email account to email me. This one has folders for Utilities, for Personal Stuff, for Work, for your Family.
Family?

I didn’t know you had a family. You told me your mom and dad had passed away, that you had no brothers or sisters, but there’s names here. Quite a few names. I open the folder that says Mom and Dad, and there’s emails to you. From your mom. The last one is yesterday. I sit there, my heart fluttering, breaking out into a pale sweat, and my hands are shaking as I open another, and another. They go back and back and back.

I work my way through those folders, one by one, and there’s a whole other life here. Two brothers. A sister. Cousins, Uncles. Aunts. Friends I’ve never heard of, and I’ve never actually met any of your friends, have I? I’ve never thought about that. I’ve been so happy spending that time with you, just you and me, and it’s not like I have many friends here. Not close friends, anyhow.

What’s going on? I don’t know, except I’m starting to think I do, and I’m feeling sick.

I click on your Google Drive, and there’s folders there, too. Utilities. I look, and there’s bills. Gas. Hydro. Water. I open one, and the account is in two names. Yours, and a woman’s name. There’s an address. It’s local, Five years, there are five years worth of statements, and there must be a mistake. There must be. I look and I look and I look, folder after folder, and there’s so much. I want to tell myself its lies. It’s all lies. It can’t be true. It isn’t true.

But I know it is. There’s images to. Photos. Lots of them. This is all real, and what am I? What are you and I?

That woman, I read through your emails to her, and hers to you. You email to her the way you email to me, you tell her you love her, and I look at the most recent email. From last night. You tell her you’ll be back for the weekend, that works gone well, that you love her, and I feel sick. What is this? What have you been doing? I read, and I read, my classes forgotten. I look at my calendar, and when you’re telling her you’re away for work, you’re with me.

When you’re tell me you’re away for conferences, and work trips, you’re with her. It all matches, and I go back and back and back. She’s your wife. You’re married, and what does that make me? You’ve been living with me. At least, I thought you were living with me. But now I think I understand why you’re away most weekends. Why you’re here, with me, Monday night to Friday morning. You’ve been lying to me, and you must be lying to her, too, and I look at those wedding photos.

I know you don’t have a Facebook page, and now I think I know why. It’s not because you don’t like social media, is it? I search for her, your wife, and it’s easy. I find her right away, and there you are, with her. She’s not very security conscious, all her friends are visible. Her posts are all public, the photo album of your wedding is there for anyone to look at, and I do look. The last posts are from the weekend. You and her, with friends, out for dinner, and she’s announcing that she’s pregnant.

There’s even photos of a baby shower she just had, a few weeks ago. Those dreams of you and me? Of marriage? Of babies? Shattered into splintered glass, and she’s beautiful. Older than I am, and she’s not Chinese. She’s blonde, like you. She’s tall, not short, and she’s not slender like me, but she’s beautiful, and you two look so happy. She’s smiling at you, and her wedding dress is gorgeous, the sort of wedding dress I imagined for me to wear for our wedding, and the way she’s looking at you, I can see she loves you.

You’re looking at her, and I know that look. It’s the way you look at me, and my heart breaks. Is that look a lie? Do you still look at her, like that? Like you look at me? I search for my name, and I find one doc. It’s a letter. It’s to me, and I read it. I read it again and again, and I can’t believe what it says. I don’t want to believe what it says. It’s a goodbye letter, and you’re telling me you’ve gone. You’ve left me. It’s not working for you, and it’s a draft.

I can’t see anymore, I can barely read for the tears, and I know everything here is true.

I’m not sure what to do, but I can’t stay logged in to your account all day. I copy everything. All the contents of your google drive. All your emails. Everything. It doesn’t take long, and then I logoff, and I have no idea what to do.

None.

My mobile rings, and I know it’s you. I look, my heart pounding, tears in my eyes, because I know, and I’m sure that whatever you say, you’ll be lying to me. I answer anyhow.

“Hi,” I say, and you know something’s wrong.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

“I’m not feeling well,” I say, my voice catching, and there’s so many questions. So many things to ask you. But I’m scared you might answer, and I don’t want to know. Not now. I need time to think, although I’m not sure what to think about. “I took the day off.”

“Stay warm,” you say. “And drink some lemon and honey. Take some extra Vitamin C.”

“Okay,” I say,

“I love you,” you say. “I’ll call you tonight.”

“Love you,” I say, and I do, but inside, I’m cold. I’m shivering. I’m terrified, because you’re saying one thing, and I’m terrified that the reality is different. I don’t want it to be different. I don’t want to know the truth, but I can’t lie to myself. I know.

But I can lie to you. Now. “I’ll see you when you get back. Call me tonight?”

“I will,” you say, and I wonder what reason you’re going to give for not being here next weekend. It’ll be something else. Something I can believe, I know that, because up until I saw those emails, I believed you. Conferences. Sales trips. Contracts, and you told me your company had overseas contracts, and you spent a lot of time travelling, working on client sites, attending conferences. Public speaking.

I have friends in companies that do that kind of work. I believed you. Until I read those emails.

Late afternoon, I take my car, and I drive to the address on those utility bills. It’s an inner city suburb, one of the older ones with those huge old Victorian houses, and the address is one of those. It doesn’t take me long to get there. Two story, bay windows, there’s a garage that’s new; the house looks like it’s been restored. New roof, new windows, the garden is landscaped.

Expensive.

We share the rent for our apartment, since you moved in with me. I look at your house, and half the rent for my apartment must be spending money for you. For me, it’s a struggle every month, and I was so grateful that you paid half. I park my car across the road, and I wait.

Six. Six thirty. My mobile rings, and it’s you.

“I’m at the airport, Estelle,” you say. “My flight just got in. I’m catching the shuttle to the hotel, I called to tell you I love you.”

“I love you,” I say. “Call me when you’re at the hotel, I want to know you’re safe.”

“I’ll try,” he says. “But if it’s too late, I’ll text you, okay… hey, here’s my ride. I love you. Bye now…”

“I love you,” I say, watching the garage door open, and a car slows, turns. I see you, driving, checking the traffic, and you’re not checking who’s sitting in a parked car across the road. It’s you, I know it is, you’re only feet away as you wait for a car coming the other way, and then you drive into the garage, the door closing behind you.

I sit there, shaking. Shivering. Pale, and I want to throw up. I open my laptop, and I read through again, everything I’ve copied. I need to see them again. I need to make sure it wasn’t a nightmare. It is, but it’s a nightmare that’s real. It’s true, I know everything in those emails is true. This is where you live. Where you really live. Where you’ve lived with her for five years, since you were married. You’ve lied to me. You’ve lied to me from the very first, and I look at the letter you’ve written to me.

The letter that tells me you’re leaving. Leaving your job. Leaving the country. Leaving me. In two weeks’ time, because I’ve seen the air tickets, in your emails. Tickets for you, and her. You’re so organized. Everything’s there, on your Google Drive, in folders. Utilities. House Sale. Travel. The moving company. Your taxes. Bank statements. Emails to and from her. Every day. Her parents. Everything about your life with her.

Email folders. I go through them all again. Your friends. Friends I’ve never met. Never heard of. Family. Two brothers. A sister. You told me you were an only child, that your parents were dead. Lies, they were all lies, because I can see the photos. Your wedding. Your parents. Her parents. So many people I’ve never heard of from you.

There’s that other email address. That other Google Drive, linked to that other email address. The one that’s for you and me, and there’s not much in that one at all. It’s a façade, for emailing with me. Chatting with me. Photos of you that you shared with me, and it’s all so fake. It’s all an act, and I can’t read that letter again. The one you’ve written, and you weren’t even going to tell me you were sorry.

Just that you were leaving, that we weren’t right. That it was over between us.

When were you going to tell me? Were you ever going to tell me? Or were you just going to leave, take your clothes and those few things of yours from our… no, my… apartment, and vanish from my life, leaving that letter for me? What did you think I’d think? Did you even think about how much that would hurt me? How much pain I’d feel? How much I loved you? How betrayed I would feel? It’s agonizing, that pain, and all I want to do is curl up on my bed and cry.

Except it’s not even my bed. Not anymore.

Tears trickling down my face, I start my car, and I drive, except I don’t know where I’m driving too, and I drive around and around and around, aimlessly, until at last I return to our apartment, except it’s not, and I can’t bear to sleep in that bed. It’s your bed, you bought it for us. We spend a whole Saturday together, choosing that bed. For you and me, but it was all a lie.

I sleep on the couch, and I only sleep because I’m exhausted.

On Monday, after you go to your work, I’m going to go to your house. I’m going to ask that woman who lives there. Is she really your wife? Are you married? I’m going to take everything with me, and I’m going to find out if it’s really true. I don’t know how I’m going to say it to her. How I’m going to ask.

But I will. I have to know. I have to.

* * *

Now? In that Spanish Café where I asked you to meet me, this evening, I know you tell her the same stories you tell me. She thought you travelled for work, too. She thought she knew you, too, but neither of us did, did we?

Cry? I want to wail in agony, but I can’t, not here.

Instead, I sip my coffee, dark, as bitter as my thoughts, and I stare blankly out the window into the grey, wet darkness. It’s almost beautiful. The street outside is wet, the rain pouring down, car and van and bus lights shining through the darkness, the bright lights of the shops and restaurants, street lighting, reflections everywhere. I have no idea what I’m going to say to you, but I know that tonight is the end.

The end of you and me, and when I walk out of here, it will be just me, and I don’t know what I’ll do. I don’t know what to do, but that same song is playing, the one that was playing the night we met. Only that night we met, I didn’t listen to those words, not to all of them, but I listen now…

hold me tight and keep me warm

cause the night is getting cold

and I don’t know where I belong

Just one last dance

The wine and the lights and the Spanish guitar

I’ll never forget how romantic they are

but I know, tomorrow I’ll lose the one I love

There’s no way to come with you

it’s the only thing to do

Just one last dance

before we say goodbye…

I want you to hold me tight. I want you to keep me warm, but I know my wishes aren’t reality. I know reality. Reality is that letter to me that you wrote, with my name on it, and I know our love is finished forever. I know this is the end, there’s no more chances, not for you and I, and there’s no way for me to come with me. I’m going to lose you. Lose you forever, and my heart is torn to pieces, but I know. I know. It’s the only thing to do…

* * *

There’s movement outside, movement that draws me out of that reverie, those memories of you and I, and there are so many memories of you and I. I glance at the door, seeing it open, watching you walk inside. It’s raining out there. Raining hard, and your Burberry coat is dripping as you hang it on the rack, by the door, with the others. There’s not many. It’s not crowded, not on a night like tonight, and watching you, I wonder what lies you’ll tell me tonight, before you leave.

It doesn’t matter. She came around earlier, I helped her take all your clothes. Everything of yours that was in my little apartment, it’s gone. Loaded in the back of her car, and tonight, when I get back, I’ll be moving myself. I talked to the rental office. I know the old lady in the office, she’s Canadian, from Montreal, and she enjoys it when I practice my French on her.

I talked to her, explained a little, and she’s moving me to another apartment. I already have the keys. She’s asked a couple of other tenants to help me move. They’re students, she asked them, and they said sure, no problem, they’ll be there tonight, when I get back. All I have to do is call them, and one of them, Andrew, he offered to come here with me, when I break up with you, so that I’d feel safe. To start with, I was going to say no, but I realise that I don’t know you. I don’t know you at all, and who knows what you might do when I tell you it’s over.

He’s sitting in the far corner, sipping on his coffee, not watching, except that I know he is, even though he looks like he’s reading an old Graham Greene novel.

“Hi, sorry I’m late,” you say, bending over and kissing me, before you slide in to the booth in the back corner of the Spanish café, opposite me. The way you slid in opposite me, that night we first met. How long ago was that? A year ago? Back when I’d just started University. It seems an eternity ago, now. A lifetime, and I’m not a girl now.

I’m a woman. I thought I was your woman. Forever.

Just you and me, that’s what you said.

I believed you back then.

Now? Now I know the truth, but I still can’t bear the pain of standing up, and walking away, and when you reach out to take my hands in yours, I acquiesce. My hands clasp yours, the blood rushes to my head, my eyes drink you in; my body says I’m yours. Forever yours.

“Let’s dance,” I say, listening to the music, and I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to hear your voice. I won’t go back to the apartment with you tonight, or any other night now, but still, I can’t resist the urge to have you take me in my arms.

We stand together, and you do, you take me into your arms, and it’s like the first time. That first night we met, here in the Spanish Café, where we danced together, round and round, on and on, and now I want just one last dance, before we say goodbye, and I know she’ll be here, soon.

“Let’s go soon,” you say, swaying with me, and I close my eyes, trying to pretend, but I can’t. I know I can’t, but still I love you, and I wish there was another chance. I wish. Oh how I wish.

Just one last dance

before we say goodbye

when we sway and turn round and round and round

it’s like the first time

Just one more chance

hold me tight and keep me warm

cause the night is getting cold

and I don’t know where I belong

Just one last dance

Just one last dance, just one more chance, just one last dance

The music plays on, for us, and I sing, softly, a whisper that only I hear, and you can’t see my lips moving. My face is buried against your chest, breathing in the scent of you for the last time. We’re the only ones dancing in that Spanish café, and it’s the last time I’ll dance in your arms. I know that, even if you don’t, not yet. I’m lost in your arms, swaying with you, round and round and round, not wanting this music to end, not wanting this song to end, but I know it will.

I know it will, and I know how this night will end.

I see her, she’s at the door, walking inside, closing her umbrella, her hair wet from the rain, just as mine was, on that night we met, and I know that moment I’ve been dreading is here, now.

“I love you,” I whisper, my heart breaking anew as I say those words, and I do, I love you so much, and this time, you hear my whisper.

“I love you, Estelle,” you say, softly, looking down at me, and I wonder if that’s a lie too, like all the other lies you told me. I know it’s a lie. I read your letter to me. The one you haven’t given me yet.

The one you will never give me. Not now.

“I love you,” you say again, your arms holding me, and I want to believe you so much.

The music’s playing on. On and on and on, as we sway and turn, round and round and round, but she’s standing there, watching, waiting, and like me, she has tears in her eyes, and I never want to leave your arms,. Never, but I must, because I know you’ll never leave her. Not for me. You’re married to her. To her wealth. To her family. To everything you have, everything you value over me, and maybe you do love me. Maybe you mean those words you’ve said, but I don’t think you do, that’s just wishful thinking, a dream, and you’ll never leave her.

Not for me.

Not for a nineteen year old girl, and I know what I am to you. I think I do, anyhow, and my heart is broken glass, splintered into fragments, as shattered as my dreams.

“Shall we go back to our apartment?” you ask, again.

I know you want to, and why, and my body wants you. My body longs for you, and even now, even knowing what I do, I’d go with you for the ecstasy you bring me to. I’d go with you for the joy of giving you what I know you desire so much, except… I know. I know it’s a lie, and it’s not my love you seek. It’s my body, it’s the pleasure I give you, not the love I thought I was giving you, and I want to, but I can’t.

“I love you,” I say, just as softly, gazing up into your eyes, and in this moment, I do. I love you so much, and I can’t do this. I can’t, but I have too. I have to do this for myself. I love you, and I’d love nothing more than for you to hold me tight, keep me warm, hold me in your arms forever, but I know you won’t. I know the truth, and now, when I gaze into your eyes, I love you, but that love was always mine, and mine alone. Only mine.

Never ours.

You’re leaving me.

That love was never yours.

“I love you, but you lied to me, didn’t you? You’re not going to leave her, I know that. I know you’re moving. Not just moving. You’re leaving the country. You’ve got that new job, running that company for her dad, and the baby’s due soon, isn’t it?”

My eyes hold yours, and your face? Your expression? I know it’s true. Every word she told me, everything I found out over this last weekend and today, it’s true, and there’s no more chances. No more hope. There’s nothing except pain and sadness and hurt, and whatever hope that remained burns to ashes in that long silence as we stand, frozen in that last step of that last dance.

Your face tells me it’s true. It’s all true, and all I have left is my own strength, and my pride. That’s all I have now, and I know I’ve been living a dream, and it’s as if I’ve been robbed. Part of me has been stolen, my love has been violated, and yet, still I love you, and the pain is beyond anything I’ve ever imagined.

“You have to go now,” I say, my face buried in your shoulder, my tears soaking into your jacket, and I’m trembling. Shaking. Shivering, and this is an agony I’ve never imagined. “It’s over. It’s ended.”

“Estelle?” you say, and if I didn’t know the truth, I’d believe from the anguish in your voice that I’m mistaken. That it wasn’t a lie. That you really do love me, but I can see her, standing there, watching us, and her face, she’s hurting too. She’s hurting, and she’s carrying your child, and she loves you too. I love you, but it was true, all of it.
“I know you’re leaving,” I say, and now the tears trickle from my eyes as I look up. As my eyes meet yours once more, and this time, your eyes flinch away from mine. “Don’t lie to me. You are. When were you going to tell me?”

“I…I…” You hesitate, and it dawns on me that you weren’t going to tell me anything.

“I saw the note you were writing to me, to tell me. When were you going to give that to me?” It comes out as a whisper, a whisper of shocked disbelief and betrayal, that you could do that to me. You say nothing. Nothing at all.

“You weren’t, were you?” I whisper. “You were going to leave it for me. You weren’t going to tell me at all, and that pain that was beyond anything I’ve ever imagined is as nothing to the anguish that tears through me in that moment of utter betrayal.

“Why now?” you ask, at last, and I have no idea why you’d ask that, now. What does that matter, compared to that betrayal of us? Of our love, except that now I know it was my love, not our love, and there was never yours.

I have no idea what you’re really feeling. What are you thinking? What do I mean to you, really? Your face displays pain. Anguish. Heartbreak. But is it real, or is it just a mask? A show? An act? Your love for me, that was an act, and I believed you. I believed in you. In you and me, and that was nothing but a figment of my imagination. Your love for me, anyhow. My love for you is all too real.

All too agonizing.

“Why now?” you ask me, again, and it’s a nonsensical question. What does that matter, compared to your betrayal?

“Her,” I say, and I look. You look with me, and sudden shock writes itself across your face, because you know who she is. Your wife. We both look. My eyes meet hers, and I can see the hurt there, the pain, and the love. She’s your wife, she loves you too, you’ve betrayed both of us, but she’ll take you back. She’ll forgive you as I cannot.

“How could you?” I say, at last, and all the pain, all the anguish, the agony, the betrayal, it’s all contained and poured into those three words, but I can see on your face that there will be no answer from you. You were going to leave me. Abandon me. You didn’t want to face me, and tell me. You were going to leave me to suffer through that agony without a word of explanation, and now? Now that you’re face to face with the reality of what you’ve done?

You say nothing.

You’re not dancing anymore. Not moving. You’re frozen, your arms around me, and the music fades away, leaving silence, and even if I could take you from her, I don’t want you. You lied to me. You betrayed me, as well as her, and she may want you, but even though I love you, I can’t betray myself. I won’t betray myself.

“I… I…” For once, you’re lost for words. My eyes hold yours, until you look away.

“It’s over,” I say. “Go now,” and I slip from your arms, step back and it’s over.

I watch you turn. You turn, and you walk away from me, towards her.

I know that for you, they were only words, words you used on me.

For me, you were my first love, and my heart is broken glass.

My eyes follow you out the door, and then you’re gone.

For you, I was just a bit on the side, that’s all I was.

The door closes, you’re gone from me forever.

And for me? For me, it’s the end of love.

The end of everything I’d hoped for.

But for you, it’s nothing special.

Only the end of the affair.