Smoking Hot Ch. 07

It's another loose brushed-cotton, the lack of wrinkles less impressive once I'd learned Ade took his shirts to the dry-cleaner's over the road. Tactile. But then, so's his body.

He meets my eyes as he slowly unbuttons.

Topless, he sits down, carefully shifting to be next to me again, and picks up the tuna off my breast. He holds it to his nose. "Mm. Adds a certain something." Transferring it to his chopsticks he takes a bite, then offers the remaining piece to me.

We both chew, solemnly.

"Not bad."

We do the same with the salmon and the seabass, though I let him munch the whole California roll.

"Full?"

"For now. Come here."

He solemnly licks the last of the fishiness off my décolletage, suppressed laughter twitching at the corner of his mouth. We share a kiss, but rapidly want somewhere more comfortable.

Ade stands up, pours himself a drink. "Try this." He passes me a glass with a dribble of golden liquid. Lagavulin.

"It's my new smoking substitute. Beats that fucking gum."

It is indeed smoky, and peaty, with a bit of saltiness offsetting both. "That's rather good! I don't think I'd buy it myself, but it's good."

"Wait up." He's poured a measure of another. I didn't see what it was, but he's replaced the bottle in its box and there's a gap on his top shelf. "Try that, before heading to the bedroom."

I take a sip.

"Smooth, smoky and stylish, the reviews say. Kinda like me, really."

It's good. Similar to the previous one, only so much more refined and interesting, like a top wooden musical instrument versus the plastic basic version. It's smoky, yes, but flows in my mouth smooth as silk. There's a sweetness in the aftertaste that balances out the salt and the peat. "I like the warm sweet notes at the end. Did they use sherry casks?"

"I think so." He checks the box. "Aye, you're right. Good spot. It's the Distillers edition, 1991, bottled in '07." He pours himself a similarly restrained measure. "Bring it with you."

I set my glass on the far bedside table and turn back to where Adrian is lying on his side. He's looking happy, with what can only be described as a shit-eating grin.

"Enjoying the view?" I ask.

"Obviously. I mean, I know I've seen you topless before..."

"Oh god. That party." Half-way through first year. That might have been the one where Adrian passed out on the stairs and had to be bumped down to the bottom, with people stepping and tripping over him in the hallway all night. Or maybe not, if he could remember me running around, thanks to that game of Truth or Dare?

"Aye, that one. That was when I first got it together with Gareth, too."

"First? You mean it was more than that once?"

"Aw, fuck."

"Tell."

He takes a larger sip of the Lagavulin. "Not much to tell. Half a dozen times, from then to late second year, couple of times relieving stress before Finals... That's it. Couldn't do more; he's too much of a romantic wee sod..."

"Ah. Can see how that wouldn't work."

"Mm. You, now. You know what you're getting into. Just something you do with a mate."

"Exactly." I giggle. "Dave asked me recently, if I wanted to see the full Lord of the Rings trilogy at the IMAX. The director's cut. Twelve hours of bloody hobbits and goblins! I told him, that's something you do with your other girlfriend, you sick pervert..."

Ade laughs. "Did they?"

"They did. All-night showing, so I bet they fell asleep for a bit. I mean, yet another orc battle -- how would you tell?"

"Eh, they were all right. Not bad fillums."

"Oh no, not bad. Just I wasn't particularly interested the first time round!"

Another chuckle from Ade. "The second fillum, we saw on Boxing Day, evening. Me, Will and Linz. Cinema was packed out, loads of people not caring what fillum it was, just couldn't take their families any more and bought tickets to the longest thing going..."

"Lots of booze smuggled in, too?"

"Aye, most of the audience was half-cut, so by the end of the opening credits they were heckling. By the time you got to Gimli the dwarf going 'Toss me, Legolas...!'" He wipes his eye, still mirthful over it.

We'd laughed at the idea of the elf giving the dwarf a hand-job, too. "Could have done with that down our way. Actually, I enjoyed them well enough, until halfway through the last, when I started muttering "Push him in, Gollum!" And then finally they get home, and I knew from the news they'd left out the whole Return to the Shire bit which is the best bit of the books, so I thought finally, we can go home in a minute -- but no! They've axed the Shire only to replace it with forty-five minutes of them all meandering around gormlessly, that wasn't even in the bloody book!"

He pats me on the shoulder. "I feel your pain."

He's being sarky again. Then he's feeling round the side of my breast and I pull him on top of me. My arms are all round his back, lovely warm smooth skin, nigh on hairless, and I'm enjoying running my hand over this different man. Ade's both more slender and shorter than Dave, who's almost furry, with black hair so it's much more obvious even to look at. Adrian, from the back, could almost be a woman, just with more muscle in the shoulders and a smaller narrow arse, which is fun to squeeze, through his jeans. I wrap my ankles over his to hold him in place, and snuggle with my human blanket, his weight falling just between my legs.

He's smiling above my face. Then a kiss, followed by scooping up one breast in his hands and applying kisses to that. It's intense, that time of the month when every touch to my breasts is treble the sensation, and I'm sighing even before he applies his mouth to my nipple.

When he does, squeezing my breast into his mouth, I can't help bucking up against him, moving my hands to his denim-covered thighs, gripping the solid flesh there. All that cycling has given him what must be beautiful leg muscles, and I really want to see them. Actually, no -- his leg firm between mine, me rocking against it to make it good, a hard bump starting to push on my pubic bone, his mouth returning to mine for a whisky-tasting kiss... this is good. Very good.

I clutch his shoulders to encourage him to keep moving against me. He does.

And then he manages to get one hand between my legs and pinches my nipple with the other, and life really couldn't get any better.

By the time I've returned to Earth, Ade's given up on any plan to wait until I leave before getting his own rocks off, belt undone and hand inside his pants. He looks embarrassed when I meet his eyes.

"Sorry..."

"No, go on. I'll watch." I undo his fly-buttons for him and he moans with the sudden freedom of movement. I don't think he meant to, but his briefs don't cover him as he pulls his cock, exposing his head, already leaking over his hand. It's not the biggest cock I've seen, but assuming he knows what to do with it, it should be perfectly satisfactory.

He's still looking slightly awkward, jerking off in front of a woman he's known for twenty years, so I lean over to put my mouth over his prick.

My lips hardly touch his tip before he's come, all over everywhere.

Unsurprisingly, his come tastes of the usual salt water with a hint of whisky. It's an improvement over most, I have to say. I lie back down next to him -- he can look at my tits again -- and smile at him.

"You a happy boy?"

He rolls his eyes. "You have to ask? A happy man with a beautiful view -" he gestures at me from head to stocking-clad toe - "and a rare fine whisky. What's not to like? I should buy you sushi more often."

"Oi! I'm not being bought! I mean, not that I'm ever going to say no to good sushi. Or your booze."

"No, sorry. Not a transaction, you're right." He sucks an urgent mouthful of whisky through his teeth, reminiscent of inhaling a cigarette. "Never really had a thing for prostitutes."

He takes another sip, looking a bit maudlin.

"Never? Or just never-a-thing for? Given you've tried bloody everything, I'd have thought...?" I run to a halt.

"Huh. No, you're right, as bloody usual." He pauses, swirls his glass around. "Lost my virginity to one."

"Really?"

"'Twas like in that song about blood brothers: 'Danny knew this good-time girl, we each threw in a ten; she took us to this cheap motel, and turned us into men... Oh we were so young...'" He's aiming for an American accent, nasal, East Coast. The tune sounds almost country, suiting his bass voice.

"Is that a blues song?"

"Not quite. Bon Jovi, end of their New Jersey album. Not quite the good Catholic boy, our Jonny." Another sigh. "Blood brothers. Now there's something that died out sharpish in the Eighties."

"Ha! I'd forgotten. Yeah, I bet. Though it was about the same time as kids stopped being encouraged to carry a useful penknife, too. I always thought it was knife crime panic, but yeah, you're probably right." AIDS changed so much.

His lips are pursed and he nods distractedly, running his fingers round my breast.

That face usually means there's something else he needs to get off his chest. I think for a moment.

"That the only time you've seen a prostitute, then?" I stick to the formal word. I'm sure there's enough people who've called him a whore.

"One other. After graduation, working my first job in the City, didn't know anyone really in London. The usual guff; lonely guy gets hammered and wanders through Soho..."

"Mm." I try to encourage him to spit out what's bothering him. I'm not shocked -- he really did get through everything Britain's capital offered to get out of his head, back then. It's a bloody miracle the man's still alive and well. I assume well; I wouldn't be surprised if he's HIV-positive, but thank fuck for modern drugs.

"So I get easily persuaded to go up a staircase, this bloke shows me pics in a ring-binder, I point at a girl, hand over me cash, and get taken to a room.

The girl's there. She's trying to smile. She didn't really speak English, but I'm thinking, how much speaking do we need to do? Then I reach to touch her, just on the shoulder, like, and she flinches." He demonstrates, then knocks back more of his glass. "And I knew she didn't want to."

He sighs. "She knew some German, picked up some English from her customers -- obvious words... I told her I'd go, don't worry, but she said she'd be in trouble with him outside, wanted me to stay for the time I'd paid for. It was kinda excruciating, not really know how to make conversation. She'd been had by six guys that day, one had really slapped her about... She got me to get my cock out and have a wank, but me being banjaxed and all, couldn't get off. She put her hand on me a bit, then once I was done, she just put her head on my shoulder and cried.

"Eventually I left and the guy asks if I'd had a good ride. I just lamped him one in the face.

Not such a great idea, seeing he was double my size an' sober -- he kicked me down the stairs and the bouncer on the door kicked me down the street."

"Bad night all round." Ouch. Too flippant. I'm horribly tactless, sometimes.

"Aye. Nigh on twenty years ago, though. OK, sixteen. She'd be nearly our age. I wonder what happens to trafficked whores once they hit middle age?"

"No idea."

"Me neither. Sorry, that was a depressing trip down memory lane! I kept thinking I should have done something, you know, but I had no idea even what street I'd been on..."

"And what would the plods have done? 'There's an unhappy whore in Soho? No shit.'"

"That's true. Few years later the story came up with guys at work. This man, right tosser, he goes till me, 'Cully, you fool! Bet she does that to all the guys, so she doesn't have to spread her legs and do any fucking work!' Fucking cunt.."

I think for a minute. "Was that the job you got fired from, for decking your boss after lunch one day?"

Ade's sad repose melts into a wry grin. "Aye, it was. Worth every penny, I tell you!"

"I thought that was out of character for you. Not like you've never had arsehole bosses!"

"I'd never realised how notorious he was in the industry. Searching for a new job that time wasn't hard at all. Got three offers in a week and it was suggested me trailing that bastard was a positive, not a black mark...

Enough about me. How are you doing here, all decorative in my bed?"

"All right." I snuggle closer with him. It's kinda nice, gabbing on like we normally do, but getting to directly cuddle his bare chest. Like I do with Dave, most nights. "You said you were going to meet Stu earlier -- sorry I couldn't make it. How's he?"

"Same old. About to get another promotion, as usual. But, though, Julie's pregnant. He's excited, he'll be able to teach the wee'un how to look a tosser in a posh suit, an' all."

"Oh." The jealousy curdles all the joy I'd just been feeling. I manage to say, "Pass on my congratulations," but it's flat.

Ade notices something's not right, but not, as a woman would, quite what. "Will do. You might see them first, though. Y'know, I always thought you and Dave would have kids. No?"

At least I don't have to keep up any civilised veneer with Ade. "Chance would be a fine fucking thing."

"What do you mean? Oh..."

He cottons on as I burst into tears on his shoulder.

It's not the first time I've cried on Adrian, and probably won't be the last, but I've never been able to smell so much of his reassuring male sweat, before. I like his bare shoulders.

"No chance at all?" he queries once I've called myself enough to blow my nose, sip my whisky and down a glass of water he's fetched me. We're sitting, now, propped up on his fat pillows.

"That's the thing. It might happen. Just hasn't."

"You been under the doctor?"

"Yes. Five years, now."

"Ah. Any... I mean, is it Dave? I mean, just thinking, there's loads of guys would offer... that boyfriend what was your best man... or donors, if you didn't want..."

"It's not him. He's producing beautiful sperm. Firing well on all cylinders, apparently. It's me."

He holds me to his chest for a few more minutes.

"It's the whole stereotype. Uptight career woman, too stressed, can't get pregnant because she's not relaxed enough..."

"Is that what the doc said? Sounds like old wives' bollocks to me."

"The not ovulating was the key bit. So been taking hormones to kick-start a menstrual cycle. Periods, Ade, periods! That worked, only every few months I need re-booting and have to take them again."

"Right. So is that all you can do, take the drugs then get Dave to do his bit at the right time of the month?"

"Pretty much. Only you never know when the right time of the sort-of-month is -- the bleeding is around fourteen days after the egg is ready, so without psychic powers to see when in between three and ten weeks I might be fertile, the only thing to do is try fucking every other day."

His first envious reaction falls as he realises the constraints of that. "Does that not get... I don't know, feeling a bit mechanical?"

"It's OK. We've done OK at keeping it fun, mastering the ten-minute quickie. Taking more time every week or two." I sigh. "I can't pretend it's not taking a toll. I know he's hardly shagging Sheena at all, or anyone else he's been seeing. I've not been seeing anyone but Damien since Becky, and that's not that frequent. I miss the different stuff, you know? The wanting to talk about sex, the anticipation, know what I mean?"

"And this is where I come in? But serious, sweetheart, you can't go on like that for ever. Have you thought about IVF? Or giving up?"

"I'm never doing IVF. My mental health wouldn't stand for it, and the hormones... The stuff they have me on just to trigger ordinary ovulation -- it has side effects. Not as bad as the meds to produce a period first..."

"What happened?" I'm chuckling, so he's curious.

"Well, part of PMT is hormones telling you to fuck anything in sight and be pissed off if they won't. Imagine that, dialled up to eleven... My god, I was having to sit on my hands on the Tube so I didn't grope anyone gorgeous! And suddenly ninety percent of the carriage seemed gorgeous too..."

"Oh god!"

"Yeah. I was just about coping, then second time I was on it I had to go to a meeting near Hyde Park. Mounted police. I went down this alley and there's this cop in his black jodhpurs and shiny black riding boots..."

"Nice..."

"Exactly! Right next to me, and I'm gripping my coat pockets so I don't end up grabbing his inner thigh..."

"Wise. Don't grope cops without asking. Good rule for life."

"And then he swings himself up onto his horse so I get a huge eyeful of the inside leg on both sides, and the package at the top, and his arse..."

"Mmm..."

"You can't imagine how good it looked. Only I swear I was burning up inside, with the effort not to pull him back off his horse! He trotted off quickly; I have never been so relieved in my long life!"

"Oh, dear! Poor you."

"And the hormones for IVF are about ten times as strong, to get you to superovulate. So, just, no."

I knock back the rest of the whisky. "So I figure I'll give it a go until I'm forty, then resign myself to the happy DINKY lifestyle with lots of fancy holidays with Dave, being a disreputable aunt to Jack and Rosie and any other kids the gang produce."

"Nanny Ogg, basically?" He's got a cheeky glint in his eye, and I pull his ear and tweak it.

In response, he uses his legs to hold me down while he pushes me onto my stomach, and then sits on my ankles as he examines my outfit. He's running his hands up the stockings, tentatively pressing at the bare skin at the tops as if he were a naive teenager again, unsure how far he'd be permitted to go.

"Seamed stockings. Nice," he comments. Then he must have caught sight of my arse where my skirt had ridden up, as he calls out, "Whoa!"

His hands leap up to my bum cheeks, thumbs running down the edges of the little thong, then over the scrap of fabric. "I'm gonna have to readjust my fantasies, you realise. I'd always been thinking of you in far more sensible undies."

"You know how you're told clean underwear is vital in case someone sees it? Well, I figure if someone's definitely going to see it... Special occasion."

"I'm honoured, I truly am." He drawls the words out, hokey cowboy -- Irish freedom fighter? - all 'ah am', and I feel myself getting wet even before he touches me over sensitive bits.

And then I'm getting wetter. I hadn't really expected much, but he's diving in there, sinking his face between my legs, inhaling, loving it, pressing with fingers where that damp cloth is, kneading my arse.

"Turn over."

I obey. Why wouldn't I?

He lays his hand down over the crotch of my pants again, this time able to find my clit through them and circle it with one finger.

"Gotta feel sorry for Linz and Will, having us two influencing their kids," he says.

"Naah. It'll be -- aah! - good for them. Stop Will being so -- oh, yeah... - pompous git."

He grins and sucks one nipple, letting his hand continue driving me mad. Then he shifts to use his other hand on my tit, pinching gently but not letting it drop, so I'm pushing my groin into his fingers while he continues conversationally, "Be harder with Stu's kid. Can't see him or Julie being so welcoming of bad influences."

Julie's also a determined up-and-coming civil servant, with a temporary Directorship under her belt. She's lovely, but you don't cross her. I should put a fiver on her becoming the first black Permanent Secretary. I get the impression her word is law in their house. Though with maternity, who knows? Stu might become a trailblazer for taking his paternity leave and then some, or maybe she'll take a few years out and take over the school PTA?

Ade continues, "One thing's for sure, they won't have nearly so much time to do things like this... you'd best enjoy while you can..."