tagRomanceA Night of Passion

A Night of Passion



My dear friends, I would like to relate to you a story of Passion and beauty. Its so surreal. Truth be told, I'm not even sure it actually happened... It might have been a dream– a glorious, heady dream, my friends. If you're interested in reading on, I must warn you: this story, a vivid blur, is etched into my mind for its might. If you are not of the Passionate and very open mind, you might take offence.


They sparkled.

I'll get back to them in but a moment, for you know not of where we were or what we were in the process of doing. We, that is me, Dorian, and my friends, that is Peter, Max and Carl, sat in our seats at the Victoria Concert Hall. We had gotten tickets to see the works of Tchaikovsky, in a presentation known as Poetry and Passion, under the direction of one Frederic Weissmann. The hall was very impressive, made more so by the fact that we had a box right next to the players, where I assumed the sound would be the most impressive (and knew the players would be clearly visible). The hall, filled with black and white suits, with the odd splash of colour here and there (such as a rose corsage, a bright tie and even the odd blue or green dress). But, my friends, while I went to the Victoria to envision beauty, I had not an idea of what form it would come in, or rather, I had the wrong idea.

They sparkled. Her eyes that is... I thank the heavens I was gifted with sharp eyesight; I could have easily missed them otherwise. Our eyes met at the same time. I knew it for a fact, because eyes don't glint quite the same when they look off. No. These eyes met mine.

"So do you think it'll be any good? I don't know this Tchaikoffskee fellow too well," asked Carl (he frequents not these artistic and emotive areas, but rather bars and cinemas and the like). "Dorian? Did you hear me?"

"Huh? What?" I said, startled, for I was taken away from my dreamy reverie.

"I asked if you thought that the umm, 'Poetry and Passion' would be any good," answered Carl.

"Oh. Uh, well it should be. I've heard good things about Weissmann and I know Tchaikovsky's music is good. So full of life and well, as the title puts it, Passion," I answered him.

The lights dimmed, for the concert was about to start. The hall fell quiet and the last of the players stopped practising and tuning their instruments. Out came Weissmann. He was a balding man, about fifty, but with an air that immediately, even from our distance, calmed and soothed. He was a man to be respected, one could see it, or perhaps feel it, right away. He had on a traditional black and white tuxedo with the most elegant violet pinned to his lapel. I wondered if he wore it out of symbolism, but before I could finish my thoughts, the crowed clapped for him and with such vigour that it near split our eardrums.

"Thank you ladies and gentleman," he said, in an effort to silence the roaring crowed, "Thank you, but if you keep on like this our ears will be in too poor a condition to appreciate the subtleties of the orchestra!" The crowd gave a little laugh to this and silenced for the dignified man.

And it was then that the orchestra started to play. They started off really light with Romance. I realized only now, for I had been drawn in by the conductor's charisma, that I forgot about that young lady, that delicate flower. I looked back to where she was sitting. She was still there. Oh she was the vision of heaven! Among all the dreary blacks and whites, she was dressed in the height of fashion, in a crimson red dress. It started on her shoulders, with thin straps that may or may not have gone down her back. In the front I could see that they went part of the way down her chest and stopped for silky fabric that covered the rest of her body in such perfection that it appeared to be a second skin all the way down to her hips. From there, I could see no more, for she was covered by the railing of her box. Her skin was a light colour, very white, but not so much as to appear pale or gaunt, but rather quite immaculate. I wanted a better look at her face, which I assumed had the same beauty as her dress and great, glorious, and glamourous hair (not as red as her dress, but equally attractive {long and curly}. Silky smooth, the dress and hair, I would imagine). I whispered to Peter, "Pete, did you bring those opera glasses?"

He looked at me, frowned for a moment, looked in his brief case and handed me the recovered item. "Thanks," I whispered, but I don't think he could hear me, him being too into the Poetry bit.

I looked through the binoculars. She wasn't there anymore. My heart sank. All I had was a mere glimpse of her and more emotion was evoked from my loss of her (if I may call is such) than by the entire concert (which was quite thrilling, Tchaikovsky being a favourite of mine)!

I tried to forget about her and enjoy the concert. I simply couldn't. Waltz of the flowers couldn't even take my mind off her. I thought to myself of how silly I was being. Love doesn't just happen like that! I was attracted to her beauty and no more. The male mind, being what it is, made me want to find her, but my reason told me otherwise. I should just stay here with my friends and enjoy this concert!

Even the 1812 Overture, my favourite song, couldn't tear my mind from her. She was like a bird in winter or an azure sky of deepest summer. I was so looking forward to this concert and now it was ruined!

The concert ended, with much applause, but I was not around to hear the extent of it. I left as soon as the last cannon belched fire, I couldn't take sitting there anymore. I handed Peter his oculars and left before he could ask me where I was off to. I think he assumed I sorely needed to go to the bathroom.

As I walked down the grand, burgundy-carpeted staircase, I heard a little noise, like a woman weeping. I stopped and listened for a moment. Nothing. I started off again, going down the stairs and about to enter the main hallway when there it was again. It was closer now and certainly a woman crying. "Hello?" I shouted, not too loud, "is everything alright? Anyone hurt?"

Still nothing. I decided to go to the bathrooms, before leaving, after all. As I came closer to the destination, the weeping got louder. It was someone in the woman's washroom. I knocked on the door. "Hello? Is everything alright in there?" But the weeping went on. I couldn't help myself, the curiosity burning within me, coupled with that inspiration known only to providence, led me to open the door.

And lo and behold! She stood there, alone. Her. Her! I was speechless for a moment. She looked up at me and remembered me as I had her. I could see it in her eyes.

"I-I--I" I stuttered, "I came to see what the problem was. A-are you alright?"

She sniffled a little. "No..." she said, really hoarse-like, "my dress ripped at the seam as I went down the stairs. There was a loose thread, apparently, and it got caught in my heels... Thank god there was no one around at the time."

"Oh my. Well uh..." I was at this point trying to think of something to say or do for her, but nothing came to mind right away. "How are you getting home? Did you come with anybody?" I asked, perhaps a bit too quickly.

"I don't know, I took a limo here and was supposed to meet a friend, but she called sick a few minutes later. You wouldn't have any safety pins or anything would you?"

"Uh no... but uh, you could uhh," I was still trying to think of something half intelligent to suggest, but her beauty distracted me, "you could wear my belt and uh, use my tie to wrap around your chest, so as to keep your dress whole until you can get home"

"Oh thank you!" she gave me a light kiss on the cheek. It was like an electric shock. A bolt of pink lightning. She jumped back a bit and said, "oh! I'm sorry... I uh, I don't even know your name. Who can I thank for this aid?" she asked really shyly (perhaps that was a farce).

"Dorian, Dorian Ray. And you are -?" she looked almost startled. "Uh I'm uh," she was even more shy and awkward than me (or pretended to be). I found it to be quite endearing, especially with her cheeks all puffed out from crying. Her makeup was still in prime condition, surprisingly enough. "I'm Julia, Julia O'Flaherty."

I smiled warmly at her. "It's a pleasure to meet you miss O'Flaherty."

"Oh, you can call me Juli-" it was at that moment that a large, older woman chose to enter the washrooms. Julia and I, being in our own world together, didn't hear the concert-goers leaving the hall. "What are you doing here young man!?" she shouted, "this is a ladies room! Get out of here! Shoo, shoo!" she nearly pushed me out the door, but didn't quite. Julia followed me.

"Thanks again," she said bashfully.

My mind was racing, I figured I'd offer her a ride, but I didn't know how to. The words couldn't come out. I needed this young woman. It may have been primal instinct or much more, I don't know, nor will ever know. She had my tie around her chest, just under her breasts and it served as a bit of a push up bra. She saw me looking at them and I blushed. "Sorry," I said.

She had collected herself by this point. "Oh its alright, after all, its your tie, you have the right to look." I didn't quite know how to take this, but decided not to look into it further.

"Would you-" something caught in my throat.

"Yes?" she asked, in a pretend innocence.

"Would you-" the same choke, but this time I forced on, "like me to drive you home?"

"Sure," and she gave me this really strange eye, either naughty or plotting (or both) I couldn't tell. "How do I know I can trust you not to take advantage of me? A petite little girl like me, in a car, alone, at night, with a strange and..." she took a pause here, looking at my arms, "muscular man... I don't know..." at this, she came right up next to me and sort of hooked arms, but with her other hand on my wrist. I smiled on the outside, and beamed on the inside. I don't believe in God, but its times like this when one must wonder.

We made our way to my car, a top of the line Chrysler Crossfire, and I opened her door for her.

"Thank you monsieur Ray," she said slyly, no doubt poking fun at me for calling her 'miss O'Flaherty.'

I got in the driver's side and put on my seatbelt, taking off my corsage (for it was in the belt's way) and put it on the dash. Julia took it and pinned it to her breast. I looked over as she put it on. "Still trying to catch a glimpse of my breasts, eh?" she said in a seductively sweet voice. I blushed and started to excuse myself, but she put her finger on my lips. "Shhh," she said, "now, lets get going."

"Well, where are you going? You haven't told me where you live." I said as I put the car in gear.

"Where I'm going and where I live are two different things," she said, then winked at me.

All I could muster was a dumb, "oh."

I started to drive home. I didn't know what to do. I'm not the kind of guy that picks up "strange" women. Even those that I know, I don't... well... bring them home after a first date. My mind went to areas it had never been before. It raced with ideas and predictions. Could I trust this girl, it recently made me wonder. And if I could would it be right to, well, let my libido out? What is love? What is sex? All these things are just labels. But she's such an amazing woman. I can sense that without needing anymore information than I already have. Was it just my hormones? Aw great, now I'm silent and she's just sitting there patiently. She's waiting for me to say something. What?

I was lost. I was drowning in the sea of love. Or was it the sea of Passion? Could it me both?

I made up my mind. I'd let Passion take me. What did it matter if we didn't know each other? Will society shun us? Will I consider my convictions weak? I don't know how things will go. But I know that what I'm doing is right, started off right and will end right.

It was her actually, that broke the silence, "I can't imagine what I would have done without you! You're my hero!" she made me feel quite good for a man who merely loaned his belt and tie to a woman that most guys would have donated all their clothes to, if she had wished it.

"It was my pleasure! I hate to see anyone in distress, but most especially when it's a stunning young lady such as yourself," I said, feeling a little silly.

We carried on, with some flattery and small talk, until we got to my house. I stopped the car and jumped out to get the door for the delicate blossom. She gave me a smile, Her cheeks were right back to normal, I suppose the smiling in the car helped in the recovery process. We went inside, after fumbling with the keys a little bit and me feeling the fool. I asked her if she'd like something to drink and she replied, "whatever you're having."


So I brewed us up some coffee, me not being much of an alcohol drinker. We chatted a bit, and even though we had our great differences, there was so much about her that melted all those little imperfections away,

"So, you like Tchaikovsky?'I asked.

"Yes, the Passion in his music really moves me. I can feel it all through my body." she said this with a real low voice, "Passion is my favourite word you know," she kept talking quieter and quieter, "you know what I like about Passion?"

"No," I reply, "what?"

She mumbled something. I couldn't tell what so I leaned in closer and asked if she could repeat what she had said. And to my sizable and fortunate surprise, she lunged, if I may call it such, towards me in a magnificent and Passionate kiss. Oh my friends, it was like nothing I had ever felt before! I am far from a virgin, and had my first kiss at 13, but this kiss... even the girlfriends that I loved much, at one time, had not delivered such... well... Passion, in their kisses. It was never like this.

She wrapped her legs around me and the chair I was on, sat in my lap and immobilized me. She had me right where she wanted, I'm sure. The beauteous one held my head with one hand and, with the other, started to unbutton my shirt. I was too taken aback by the kiss itself, the perfect fusion of tongue and lip, to do anything other than put my arms around her. Her cherry lips against mine, oh bliss! Oh joy! And then, my friends, came the finale, she sucked on my tongue ever so delicately, bit my lip tenderly and pulled her face away. I could see she was quite amused by the bewildered look on my face.

My mind came back online and I saw what I had to do. I stood up, for she had released the chair from her grip and, with her still on me, I walked over to my bedroom. I put her down on the bed. She looked in my eyes. That look. That look, I can never forget, be her a dream, an angel or another moral.

I took off my shirt while she slipped off her dress and removed her heavy jewellery. I was about to disrobe fully when she pounced on me again. She was more like a lioness than a cat this time around. She was biting my neck and scratching at my back. I'm sorry to say that I was stunned once more and was not capable of much myself, but rather gave into her mastery of Passion. She was art! She was all that is, was and will be! I got my mind back again and decided to not let her do all the work. I started kissing her neck and giving a little bite, every other kiss. I sucked on her immaculate flesh every now and then. Whenever I found a spot that she particularly liked, she would give a soft moan. We kept on this way for- well I don't know how long... Time seemed to stop. It felt like hours-time seemed to slow. It seemed like seconds- time went by too fast. We were locked together, her legs wrapped around me, squeezing, enthralling and cutting off not my circulation, but my logic and reason. There was no room for those tonight. I thought logic and reason would have no room in my mind ever again.

Somehow, and don't ask me how, I knew when to pause for a brief moment, as did she. We looked into each other's eyes. She had these unique sky-blue eyes, unique, I say, for their brightness. We stared into each other's souls. I felt something inside me change. She had changed me. Parts of my logic and reason dissolved completely. I would never find them again. She is a creature of Passion (and influence) in the form of a luminous temptress. It seemed right, at this moment, to remove her bra. I did so, flawlessly, despite my nerves.

No words were spoken, my friends. Our minds (and bodies) became one. We didn't need words, words, my friends, became obsolete.

I taunted her. I didn't caress or otherwise touch her supple (yet well proportioned and perky) breasts. Instead, I started to kiss her neck and made my way down (she released me from those long, sleek {and I would soon find out, exceedingly smooth} legs). I started to kiss her legs all up and down. When I got to her inner thighs, oh my friends, she gasped! It seemed as if she had a hard time just breathing, from all the attention she was being given. I kissed her panties and, at this, it was clear she could stand it no longer. She hastily undid my pants and pulled them off, me still surprised by her strong will, incarnate in Passion and lust. In my underwear alone now (as her) and feeling quite shy (I retained some of my old insecurities, my friends), worried that, for whatever reason, she would not be pleased by what she found there.

She reached down, but before she could continue with any more disrobing, I grabbed her and held her to my bosom again, locked in Passionate kissing, but this time, with more exploring and wild urges. She bit and sucked my lips. I did the same for her. Neck kissing. And, now, no longer interested in teasing, I felt up her chest. It was just as I had imagined it, better even, for it was real (and, my friends, perfect).I rubbed her nipples softly, which made her convulse a little, being so eager. I rubbed a bit harder, matching the hardness of her nipples. She shivered. I licked them and sucked a bit, feeling not at all like an infant. During this time, her hands were not idle, my friends, oh no! They were quite busy. One was massaging my head and messing up my hair, while her other was currently engaged in pleasuring herself.

I thought it unfair that she should be doing this bit alone, so I abandoned her chest and licked my way down her. I removed her panties, at first with my teeth, but then giving up after a few failed attempts (which made her laugh really sweetly). She was, my friends, as pristine down there as anywhere else (now I know for certain that she is a natural red-head) her sickly-sweet smell served as an aphrodisiac (as if I needed one). I gave the lips (not the cherry ones, my friends) a kiss. I looked up at her. It was sort of funny to see her from this view. I could see her curves in a different light. Such a nice waistline, with the cutest bellybutton. Her breasts looked nicer than most from this view, as they were not too big and were indeed quite perky. I could see her looking down at me (not in any negative way, my friends). Her eyes twinkled. She let her head fall back and gave in to the pleasure she anticipated.

I started slow, licking up and down. She got wetter and moaned a little. I found her clit and before I could really do anything, her whole body pulsed. I licked and occasionally sucked (very lightly) on her clit, which enraptured the young lady. I went faster and faster, she squealed after a stronger suck than normal. She grew louder, and forced my head down on her (I don't think she wanted to do this exactly, but couldn't stop her muscles from contracting).I took this as a hint to slow down, not yet wanting it to be over. I had been feeling all up and down her body with my fingers during this, taking in her every curve and feature. My fingers had a new job now. She knew what I was thinking (perhaps we really were one). She sucked on my finger a bit and left it well lubricated. I slowly pushed it up her. She grew tense all over, then relaxed and submitted to the pleasure, the feeling. I hooked my finger a bit, searching for her G-spot, licking her all the while. A shiver! I found it for her loveliness! She couldn't help it anymore.

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