A term of endearment
Sometimes your dreams come true, as a friend reveals her true feelings and for a night at least you can experience what you had long imagined. So it was with my friend, Sarah, some years ago.
She and I had shared a house, along with her lover, James, who appeared each weekend. We both worked at the local university, some 10 miles away. Sarah was a superb and inventive cook, and occasionally I was invited to join them for dinner, particularly if my girlfriend of the time was staying. Very occasionally Sarah and I went out together for a drink, but in general evenings during the week were spent quite independently, and often on academic work.
But that did not stop me from admiring her from a distance. She had studied Thai and Vietnamese at university. Her father was not English, it always appeared to me that she had a slightly exotic, foreign look, although in many ways she was a quintessential upper-middle class Englishwoman, in manner and speech. Her skin was slightly darker than many English women, olive is the colour name which comes to mind. She had beautiful brown eyes, and a smile which reduced me to jelly, when it was directed at me. She could be very studious and analytic, but also very funny and lighthearted. Sarah and I were very correct about privacy. There were rooms in the house which I did not enter, like their bedroom; actually God knows why not when I think about it now, and I never saw her naked. Nor did I advertise my own wares. I did once glimpse her breast, when, on a hot summer’s day, she wore a dress which had very deep arm holes, and the memory stays with me.
After about a year I got another job and moved away. Sarah and I stayed in touch. James I have not seen since I left. He and Sarah eventually parted, possibly quite soon after I moved on, and she took a job in another city.
At some point I had to go to her new university, to examine a student thesis. That experience in itself was fascinating, and the guy’s supervisor tried hard to influence me to ignore his shortcomings. I was not offered money or sexual favours, but it must have been a distinct possibility. But to punish me for being so difficult I was left waiting by him in a gay pub – no big deal in fact, but it was intended to be embarrassing, and it was there that I met Sarah, who was greatly amused by the choice of venue.
Memory is a curious thing, as it constructs and reconstructs the past. I do not remember now if I made just one trip or two to examine the thesis. I think two, because I am fairly certain that the guy failed to turn up for the first appointment, not having been told about it. Nor do I remember if the experience I am about to describe occurred on the first or the second occasion. Logic says it must have been on the second occasion, but that is the problem with memory. Things are adjusted to seem right or more agreeable, and just possibly even now as I tell you story I am inventing and adding to make it more potent. That you have to guess.
By luck there was a party at Sarah’s shared house that evening. She and I danced and chatted and reminisced. Some time during the evening I confessed that I had found it hard living in James’s house as I had found her so attractive, and to my great surprise she said the same. “If you only knew how many times I thought of paying you a visit at night”.
Senses reeling, I kissed her, only to discover that she was quite concerned that we would be observed, since she had a lover, who was abroad at the time. I know I knew this and did not think that my affectionate gesture was too compromising. Perhaps it was more expansive and passionate than I remember ?
At the end of the evening, the party finished, there was some fitful clearing up and the few people left took to their beds, or so I assume. I think there was a spare room, but I do not remember if I actually occupied it. I think I may have done so, because at some point I remember crossing to Sarah’s room and tiptoeing in.
“Who is it ?”
“Amal and the night visitors”
“Well the baby Jesus isn’t here. What do you want ?”
“I can’t sleep, can I come in and spend the night here ?”
This was a pretty flatfooted approach when you think about it. Surely I was a bit more subtle and persuasive ? Probably not.
“Yes. But just to sleep, no sex.”
“OK, that’s fine. It will be nice.”
Without giving the matter much thought, I removed all my clothes. That is how I sleep and I remember her saying in the darkened room, before I got into bed, “Err, you are very naked, more naked than I intended.”
“Oh really, yes I suppose I am quite naked. Not unacceptably so, though, I think, under the circumstances.”
“What did I say ?”
“You said no sex, Sarah. But you said nothing about nakedness.”
“Good night.”
And for a while that was that. But the delicious scents of her bed and the presence of her body prevented sleep very effectively. It seems to me that we lay there for a while and I decided how best to approach the situation.
“Perhaps just one kiss before we fall asleep ?”
“One, just one or I will kick you out.”
“That’s fine. It will be one very special kiss.”
“Breasts and privates are excluded.”
“No, that’s fine, just fine. Roll over on to your front.”
“No trickery now”
“Just turn over. Trust me.”
She too was almost naked, except for a very delicate pair of lacy pants. Sarah dressed very well and, I now discovered, had very high standards in underwear too. She wriggled slightly to get comfortable and I pulled back the covers from her shoulders. I planted one very light kiss on her right shoulder blade and then withdrew.
“Is that it ?”
“Erm, I got carried away in my excitement and made a mess of it. Can I just do it again ?” And without waiting for a reply, I brushed the same place with my lips, but this time I lingered for longer and then repeated the gesture.
“That’s two.”
And I carried on, moving across her back and then very slowly downwards on one side of her spine.
“Three. Four.”
Then the voice got much softer and its tone changed.
“Fi …”
She never got to six, but I did and well beyond it, not that I was counting. Around twenty seven, I would think, I reached the upper edge of her panties, and a real decision point. Slowly I slipped my hand inside them and pulled them gently down. It proved surprisingly easy to remove them. I guess that is what you pay for with high class lingerie. I continued to kiss, moving across her rump and towards the divide between her legs. As I continued gently exploring, she bent one leg, so that my kisses could go lower, down her inner thigh, to the calf and on to her ankle, and she started to sigh.
As I started the return journey up her leg she flipped over on to her back and looking up I could see the tangle of hair between her legs, her flat stomach and her breasts, as shapely and rounded as I remembered, with dark nipples standing out.
Reaching down with one hand she stroked my hair.
“Just use your mouth. That will be enough.”
And that turned out to be true, as ten, twenty minutes, perhaps an hour later, who knows or cares, she came with a sudden sobbing cry and with both hands locked in my hair.
In the morning, I woke to find her face very close to mine, eyes open, studying me carefully and critically.
“Bastard” she whispered.
“In some parts of the country that is a term of endearment.”
“Including, it has to be said, in my bed. What time is your train ?”
“Well, there is the 10.15”
“Oh, that’s plenty of time.” Deftly she rolled towards me, slipped herself on to me and set to work.
She and I had shared a house, along with her lover, James, who appeared each weekend. We both worked at the local university, some 10 miles away. Sarah was a superb and inventive cook, and occasionally I was invited to join them for dinner, particularly if my girlfriend of the time was staying. Very occasionally Sarah and I went out together for a drink, but in general evenings during the week were spent quite independently, and often on academic work.
But that did not stop me from admiring her from a distance. She had studied Thai and Vietnamese at university. Her father was not English, it always appeared to me that she had a slightly exotic, foreign look, although in many ways she was a quintessential upper-middle class Englishwoman, in manner and speech. Her skin was slightly darker than many English women, olive is the colour name which comes to mind. She had beautiful brown eyes, and a smile which reduced me to jelly, when it was directed at me. She could be very studious and analytic, but also very funny and lighthearted. Sarah and I were very correct about privacy. There were rooms in the house which I did not enter, like their bedroom; actually God knows why not when I think about it now, and I never saw her naked. Nor did I advertise my own wares. I did once glimpse her breast, when, on a hot summer’s day, she wore a dress which had very deep arm holes, and the memory stays with me.
After about a year I got another job and moved away. Sarah and I stayed in touch. James I have not seen since I left. He and Sarah eventually parted, possibly quite soon after I moved on, and she took a job in another city.
At some point I had to go to her new university, to examine a student thesis. That experience in itself was fascinating, and the guy’s supervisor tried hard to influence me to ignore his shortcomings. I was not offered money or sexual favours, but it must have been a distinct possibility. But to punish me for being so difficult I was left waiting by him in a gay pub – no big deal in fact, but it was intended to be embarrassing, and it was there that I met Sarah, who was greatly amused by the choice of venue.
Memory is a curious thing, as it constructs and reconstructs the past. I do not remember now if I made just one trip or two to examine the thesis. I think two, because I am fairly certain that the guy failed to turn up for the first appointment, not having been told about it. Nor do I remember if the experience I am about to describe occurred on the first or the second occasion. Logic says it must have been on the second occasion, but that is the problem with memory. Things are adjusted to seem right or more agreeable, and just possibly even now as I tell you story I am inventing and adding to make it more potent. That you have to guess.
By luck there was a party at Sarah’s shared house that evening. She and I danced and chatted and reminisced. Some time during the evening I confessed that I had found it hard living in James’s house as I had found her so attractive, and to my great surprise she said the same. “If you only knew how many times I thought of paying you a visit at night”.
Senses reeling, I kissed her, only to discover that she was quite concerned that we would be observed, since she had a lover, who was abroad at the time. I know I knew this and did not think that my affectionate gesture was too compromising. Perhaps it was more expansive and passionate than I remember ?
At the end of the evening, the party finished, there was some fitful clearing up and the few people left took to their beds, or so I assume. I think there was a spare room, but I do not remember if I actually occupied it. I think I may have done so, because at some point I remember crossing to Sarah’s room and tiptoeing in.
“Who is it ?”
“Amal and the night visitors”
“Well the baby Jesus isn’t here. What do you want ?”
“I can’t sleep, can I come in and spend the night here ?”
This was a pretty flatfooted approach when you think about it. Surely I was a bit more subtle and persuasive ? Probably not.
“Yes. But just to sleep, no sex.”
“OK, that’s fine. It will be nice.”
Without giving the matter much thought, I removed all my clothes. That is how I sleep and I remember her saying in the darkened room, before I got into bed, “Err, you are very naked, more naked than I intended.”
“Oh really, yes I suppose I am quite naked. Not unacceptably so, though, I think, under the circumstances.”
“What did I say ?”
“You said no sex, Sarah. But you said nothing about nakedness.”
“Good night.”
And for a while that was that. But the delicious scents of her bed and the presence of her body prevented sleep very effectively. It seems to me that we lay there for a while and I decided how best to approach the situation.
“Perhaps just one kiss before we fall asleep ?”
“One, just one or I will kick you out.”
“That’s fine. It will be one very special kiss.”
“Breasts and privates are excluded.”
“No, that’s fine, just fine. Roll over on to your front.”
“No trickery now”
“Just turn over. Trust me.”
She too was almost naked, except for a very delicate pair of lacy pants. Sarah dressed very well and, I now discovered, had very high standards in underwear too. She wriggled slightly to get comfortable and I pulled back the covers from her shoulders. I planted one very light kiss on her right shoulder blade and then withdrew.
“Is that it ?”
“Erm, I got carried away in my excitement and made a mess of it. Can I just do it again ?” And without waiting for a reply, I brushed the same place with my lips, but this time I lingered for longer and then repeated the gesture.
“That’s two.”
And I carried on, moving across her back and then very slowly downwards on one side of her spine.
“Three. Four.”
Then the voice got much softer and its tone changed.
“Fi …”
She never got to six, but I did and well beyond it, not that I was counting. Around twenty seven, I would think, I reached the upper edge of her panties, and a real decision point. Slowly I slipped my hand inside them and pulled them gently down. It proved surprisingly easy to remove them. I guess that is what you pay for with high class lingerie. I continued to kiss, moving across her rump and towards the divide between her legs. As I continued gently exploring, she bent one leg, so that my kisses could go lower, down her inner thigh, to the calf and on to her ankle, and she started to sigh.
As I started the return journey up her leg she flipped over on to her back and looking up I could see the tangle of hair between her legs, her flat stomach and her breasts, as shapely and rounded as I remembered, with dark nipples standing out.
Reaching down with one hand she stroked my hair.
“Just use your mouth. That will be enough.”
And that turned out to be true, as ten, twenty minutes, perhaps an hour later, who knows or cares, she came with a sudden sobbing cry and with both hands locked in my hair.
In the morning, I woke to find her face very close to mine, eyes open, studying me carefully and critically.
“Bastard” she whispered.
“In some parts of the country that is a term of endearment.”
“Including, it has to be said, in my bed. What time is your train ?”
“Well, there is the 10.15”
“Oh, that’s plenty of time.” Deftly she rolled towards me, slipped herself on to me and set to work.
9年前
