Chance Encounter

"Are you staying here, at the hotel?" He asked.

She replied, "No, just doing the regular drop-off and I skipped breakfast, thought I would treat myself to a proper lunch before heading back into town. What about you, Mr. Black?"

"Just got back into town on an overnight flight, too tired to drive home, I thought I would stop here and catch up on some sleep. After a short nap, I felt like lunch, too, so here I am."

No point muddying the waters about his marital relationship, and the fact it wasn't the journey he couldn't face, but arrival at the home destination.

She seemed to warm slightly, and swiveled a little in the chair, her knees now pointed directly towards him.

"Well, then this is a bit like Kismet," Désirée said, her eyes twinkling mischievously "I just dropped my husband off for a twenty-hour flight to Europe, and then dropped in here for lunch purely on impulse. And here you are, and you've just got off a similar flight from wherever you came from. Why didn't you just get a limo from the airport?"

"Well, in truth, I needed some time to myself. Or at least, not at home." His response caused her brow to furrow slightly, in concern perhaps.

"Oh?" she responded, "Why is that?"

"Yes, well, I know this is probably a strange thing for a stranger to come out with, but my home life is, how can I say, a bit of a desert?" said Black.

"Emotionally?"

"Yes, and, um..." he hesitated.

She gazed at him searchingly, "...Physically?"

"Exactly. Good grief, I can't believe I've come out and told you all this and we've only just met."

"Mr. Black..."

"Please call me Tehan."

"Tehan, people tell me all sorts of things that sometimes surprise me. I must have a compassionate face."

"Actually, yours is a very beautiful face. Your husband is a very lucky man."

"Ha! You should tell him that to his face..."

She stopped suddenly and bit her lower lip briefly as if to swallow the just-uttered words. Staunchly loyal despite the lack of emotion, intimacy, and love in the marriage, she had never criticised her husband openly before and didn't know why she should start here, now, and with this stranger.

And yet, somehow, he didn't seem so much a stranger as more someone she was connecting with, almost a kind of lost soulmate from the past.

"I'm sorry, I've obviously touched a bit of a raw nerve. Can I buy you another drink?" said Black, motioning to the almost empty glass in her hand.

"You may, Mr. Black -- ah -- Tehan," She replied. "Is that a Campari you're drinking? I might have one of those, if I may."

A telephone rang at the bar behind him.

She smiled as if to herself, and then laughed outwardly,

"You know Tehan, our two situations may not be all that dissimilar." She looked deep into his eyes, searching for a reaction. He gave none, but the sadness was self-evident despite her attempt to disguise it with laughter. He leaned forward and touched her on the hand.

"Look, Désirée, you may be right, and I hope you don't think me forward, but would you do me the honour of joining me for lunch?"

The gangly barmaid approached.

"Mr. Black, your table for one is ready in the restaurant if you'd like to go through."

"Ah! Thank you," said Black.

Still awaiting Désirée's response, he took charge as usual.

"Young lady, please apologise to the maître d' and ask him to make that a table for two instead, and to cancel Madam's reservation -- she'll be joining me. And while they're sorting that out could we have two Campari and Sodas, please?"

The barmaid nodded, took a step back and turned away to her bar.

Désirée smiled again, her eyes less distant and once-more sparkling. It was a smile of genuine and happy surprise.

"I'd love to, Tehan. That would be very nice." She felt a warm glow within, starting in her midriff and extending downwards, causing a slight intake of breath.

She remembered that feeling from when she and her husband, then her boyfriend, had first been courting. She arched her back slightly, savouring the tingling as it spread down her back to her bottom and thighs, which she clenched, tightly, hoping he wouldn't notice. Some hope.

"Are you ok?" He asked.

She closed her eyes briefly and took off her remaining glove. Opening her eyes again she rolled the two gloves together and placed them in her handbag, along with her mobile phone, which she turned to silent.

Looking up again, she gazed searchingly again into his eyes.

"I'm fine," she said, "really." She felt like he was looking through her eyes into her soul, and she was frightened about what dark secrets he might find there.

"Really, I'm fine".

The barmaid brought the two Camparis and set them on white napkins on the table.

"They're just sorting out the table -- you're welcome to go through whenever you're ready, sir," she said.

"Thank you", he said.

"Désirée, may I ask you what might be construed as a personal question?"

She felt that overwhelming warm, excited sensation in her stomach again and squirmed apprehensively in the chair, the deep buttoned leather making her feel slightly sweaty between her buttocks and thighs.

Each time she squirmed she could sense her knit dress squirming against her skin and the leather, the tension in her back causing the hem to rise imperceptibly each time, and always upward.

"You may, on condition that I may also ask you some personal questions?"

"Of course you may. I'm an open book. Désirée, are you getting what you want from your relationship with your husband?"

She wasn't prepared for that, and crossed her arms defensively, then realised how that looked, and unfolded them again, and crossed her legs instead.

Which was opportune, as he noted the briefest of brief flashes of pale, creamy thigh above the golden lacy stocking top, and the dark shadows above.

She looked down and tugged at the hem slightly, wishing she had worn a longer skirt.

"Well, yes and no. Yes, he's a wonderful provider of things my friends think of as the necessities of life. The cars, holiday house, gardener, cleaner and anything I want basically. Except there's no... no warmth. And since we found we couldn't have children, no intimacy, either. That's the part I really miss."

Her eyes looked glassy in the dim light of the bar and Black realised she was opening up all her vulnerabilities to him.

"I miss that too in my marriage -- only for me it's been missing since the kids were born," he said. "Have you ever..."

"...Had an affair? No," she completed the question and gave her answer truthfully.

Not that she hadn't thought about it. One summer afternoon, while her gardener carefully weeded the flower beds around the curved driveway, his shirt off, sweat trickling off his sinewy, tanned back into the waistband of his shorts, she had unashamedly watched him from an upstairs window.

As he crouched and worked in the scorching afternoon sun, she had opened the buttons of her raw silk dress, first fondling her breasts, gently but firmly, exploring each nipple to the tip, feeling it harden under her soft touch, then quietly made her way down and under the elastic of her panties, to that hot, damp, dark place between her legs where her husband never ventured since That Day when she had told him the news she'd received only that afternoon from the gynaecologist.

As the gardener stopped for a drink of water from his battered stainless steel canteen, and stretched his aching muscles in that hot, stultifying and windless Toorak afternoon, she had put one foot unceremoniously on the window sill while surveying his tanned shoulders and long, sun-bleached hair, and delved deep inside her sopping wet sex, imagining his huge, calloused, dirt-ingrained hands all over her body, and she had come so hard on her hand, her foot had slipped off the window sill and she had almost tumbled onto the unforgiving, cold, hard marble-tiled bathroom floor. She laughed then, followed by a minute quietly sobbing tears of joy for the depth of an orgasm she had been missing for so long and had feared would forever elude her.

Remembering that sensation caused a slight hot flush which traveled immediately to her groin, and as she pressed her legs tightly together to save the feeling, she felt the same wetness starting in her vagina, and the old familiar prickly, hot feeling in her vulva.

Just being near this man, and talking with him and him being so open with her was making her feel like a teenager on heat again, and she was enjoying the excitement. This was way better than the bitching session the girls would be having at the tennis club.

Meanwhile Black was drinking in her all, her presence, trying to burn as much of her into his memory as possible lest this moment should be suddenly snatched away, never to recur.

She seemed to be dreamy, her hands loose and unsteady on her glass, her eyes half-closed, her mouth slightly parted showing perfect white teeth, and the knees she had been pressing so tightly together as if to lock out his gaze were now parted, only by a few inches, but enough for him to again see the inside of one perfect thigh just up to the margin of her stocking top.

"Ever thought about it?" He enquired.

She nodded, her eyes fully opening and looking at him again, and smiling.

"Truthfully, I have never found the nerve. Nor the opportunity. Anyway, how would I meet someone who doesn't already know all my friends? How could I feel safe and reassured about their discretion"?

"By coming here. For lunch. Today. Really. It is Kismet." As he stood up, he extended his hand to help her from her chair and she gripped it firmly, as if not wanting to let his hand go.

He led the way to the restaurant, where they were greeted by the flustered-looking Maître d'.

"Ah yes, for two, down the back by the window." Snapping his fingers, a fresh-faced young boy of a waiter appeared and led them to the table, awkwardly pulling out the heavy chair for Désirée to seat herself, which she did as she had in the bar, smoothing her dress down over her round buttocks as she tried to sit on as much of the dress fabric as possible.

"Would you mind if I ordered for us both?" he asked.

"Well, I..." she hesitated.

"What do you like to eat?" he asked her, placing his hand over hers, and over her closed menu.

"Salads, mostly. One has to watch what one eats," she smiled.

"Are you vegan, or vegetarian?" He asked.

"Oh, no, I'll eat meat, nothing too heavy though," she replied.

"Do you like a nice Cabernet Sauvignon with it?"

"Mmm, that sounds lovely," she answered, warming to his confidence.

Without even opening his menu, Black ordered rapidly, taking the waiter by surprise, fumbling for his pencil and notepad.

"We'll both take the eye fillet, blue, and a rocket, pear and parmesan salad. And a bottle of the Cyril Henschke, the 2004 if you have it."

The waiter read the order back and scurried away.

She felt the heat rise in her stomach again -- this time rising slightly indignantly into her chest, causing her breasts to feel hot and sweaty. She looked down at the vee of her neckline and realised the flush was showing slightly across the upper part of her chest.

She took a sip of the iced water on the table, and said, "How did you know if I'll like my steak blue?"

"I didn't," he replied. "But trust me, if you've never tried steak blue before, you'll soon see it's the only way to eat it. And if you normally eat yours well done, you're not the woman I think you are."

She normally ate her steak medium-rare. Her husband was a "well done, kill it" beef eater.

She'd heard people order steak done blue in restaurants while they were dining out but had always been afraid it would be bloody and had erred on the side of just done. But she trusted this man, Tehan, and felt safe with him. And, she reasoned, if she really didn't like it, she could always get them to cook it more.

The wine waiter arrived with two enormous Riedel glasses and set them down in front of them. He struggled briefly with the cork, a real cork, not often seen on modern vintages, but skilfully extricated it with a quiet 'pop' and a flourish, sniffing the cork imperceptibly as it passed his flared nostrils on its way into the pocket on the front of his white apron, then stood in the classic sommelier pose with one hand behind the back, holding the bottle by the base as he poured a little into Black's glass.

Black looked at the waiter, and at the label, and motioned to him to pour two full glasses.

They talked, and sipped at the heady elixir, and talked some more. Comparing notes about places they had visited, art exhibitions they had seen, European architecture -- and felt themselves gently connecting at a cerebral, intellectual level as if old friends.

They were half-way through the bottle when the steaks arrived, perfect in a tiny puddle of marchand de vin sauce replete with grilled bone marrow. The salad in a large bowl followed immediately.

Tehan put his hand over hers to prevent her from reaching for her cutlery while they waited for the servers to leave.

"This looks perfect to me," he said. "Let me cut a piece and check first."

He sliced through the fillet deftly, exposing the dark red-purple, slightly warm but uncooked flesh that lay beyond the first couple of millimetres of seared outer crust of caramelised meat.

"Close your eyes."

"Oh, but..." she protested briefly. "Trust me. Close your eyes," he repeated, more firmly.

Submissively, she followed his instructions and gently closed her eyes.

"Open your mouth!"

Excited by the smell of the food on her empty stomach and on top of the two glasses of extraordinarily good red wine, obediently she opened her mouth, all the while keeping her eyes firmly closed.

He speared the sliver of beef with his fork, and placed it slowly into her mouth, marveling at the child-like beauty of her face, the porcelain fragility of her skin, the faint freckles and the long, dark lashes that curled down almost to her cheekbones, framed perfectly by her dark hair.

Her mouth closed down softly over the morsel, and he slid the fork out, slowly, while she savoured the taste of the meat. She chewed gently, and slowly, and swallowed, opening her eyes.

"That is very good," she said.

"Sure you like it?" he teased.

"I'm sure -- what have I been missing all this time?"

"You'll learn if you're willing to open your mind a little," he said. "Will you trust me now?"

"I shall always trust you, kind sir," she smiled, coquettishly.

He continued to play with her throughout the course, allowing her to feed herself half the time, while the other half he would feed her, teasing each morsel into her mouth, sometimes tapping it into her tongue playfully while she eagerly closed her mouth and savoured every last piece.

He chewed thoughtfully, and they ate the salad together, afterwards, the bitter, peppery rocket perfectly foiled by the sweetness of the Beurre du Bosc pear, the raspberry vinaigrette and the sweet, salty, pepperiness of the parmesan.

As they ate and talked, he slipped off his shoe and gently rubbed his right foot against the inside of her right ankle, gently but imperceptibly increasing the pressure until she moved her feet apart, then further apart, until she could no longer keep her knees locked together. The wine had taken its effect on her, and she felt warm, well-fed and loved throughout her body, and very much at ease with Tehan.

His firm, masculine voice had no sharp words or sharp edges like her husband. And he talked to her -- he didn't consult his phone constantly like her husband did, or read the newspaper, or watch TV. Tehan was a consummate communicator and as her eyes danced with his across the table, his hands alternately stroking hers, and his foot gently rubbing her ankle and calf, she decided she would very much like to know this man better.

"Dessert." Black brought her back from the brief reverie.

"Oh, I don't know... I think I've had..." She caught his gaze across the table and realised it wasn't a question.

"I know just the thing," he said, smiling.

"Well, perhaps if it is something very light, then," she deferred.

Black looked around for the waiter who had temporarily taken leave of the now almost empty dining room.

"Will you excuse me a moment?" She asked permission... "I'm afraid the wine... I need to powder my nose."

Black shot to his feet and in an instant was at her side, helping slide the heavy chair out from the table.

"Won't be a moment -- hold that thought..." She rose to her feet gracefully, picked up her handbag but left her hat on the side table thoughtfully provided by the wine waiter, and walked purposefully across the room towards the lobby and restrooms.

In her absence, Black selected a luscious fresh raspberry soufflé and a half bottle of Château Giraud, 1996, which the wine waiter brought out triumphantly, showed him the label, and placed in an ice bucket beside the table.

She returned to the table almost without him noticing her arrival, smelling exquisitely of expensive perfume, and faintly of rather nice hand soap. Her matt maroon lipstick was freshly applied, and her eyes looked even more immaculate than they had during the main course. He felt his erection rise up again inside his pants and hoped it wasn't obvious.

"You look incredible," he said to her, softly, and he helped slide the chair back under the table, and noticed again how she slid her hands down the sides of her hips and her buttocks to smooth out her dress, and how seductively the fine blue jersey-knit dress clung to every curve, hugging her hips and buttocks provocatively.

He felt the urge to execute that primal stretch again, to take the tension out of his back muscles and hamstrings, and the tight cords of his abdominals. Worried about the tent-like appearance of the front of his pants, he sat down quickly.

She gazed at him approvingly and extended her hand across the table to meet his. He moved to cover her hand from above, in a dominant position, and submissively she allowed him to master her, while simultaneously rotating her hand upward, opening the palm and looking directly into his eyes.

His eyebrows shot skyward momentarily and he thought he was going to cough, but he recovered, swallowing deeply. His hand met the silky cool smoothness of her panties, scrunched up in her hand, and he squeezed them tightly into his hand as he closed it, feeling the gossamer weight of the silk and the dampness of the gusset against his warm, dry palm.

His eyes moistened slightly, his tongue suddenly parched and sticking to his mouth, he picked up his water glass with his left hand while holding her hand, and the panties, in his right. After quaffing half the glass in a gulp, he found words again. "

Thank you. I appreciate and shall forever treasure this fine gift."

"My pleasure" she replied, wickedly. "You do have a room here, don't you?"

"I do have a room," he said, remembering the check-out time of 7PM and thinking he wished it would be for eternity.

"A very nice room, on the top floor, with a very large bed, with stiff, crackly cold cotton sheets on it."

"Take me there now?" she asked, beseechingly, searching his eyes for further approval and acceptance.

"After you've had your dessert," he replied firmly.

"I want you for my dessert, and I want you now," she said. "You should feel how wet I am."

He smiled at her. "I can imagine," he replied. "Dessert will be here soon. You'll love it. Trust me."

She did trust him, but she was afraid this burning desire that ached throughout her bottom, groin and all the way to the depths of her now-dormant ovaries would somehow fail her, that she might turn cold before they got the chance to take their lust upstairs.