The Floating World

Amanda liked Adam's friendly face looking at her, his blue eyes steady, his smile creased at the corners of his eyes. She always tried to remember her regular customers' names. His was easy, and she remembered on the third day. A for Adam, the same initial as her own name. He thought she looked like an Anna. She wondered who his Anna was, this girl she was like. Amanda drifted, her mind lulled. He called me honey.

Amanda shifted in her seat, and remembered the tall, slim man at lunchtime, lost in his own world as he gazed at his partner by the window. Ah God, the look of love on that man's face as he looked across to the woman with the bright red lips, sitting in her wheelchair. Amanda wanted someone to look at her that way. She had to call him twice, to break his reverie, and then there was something spell-binding about the woman that Amanda wanted to get closer to.

Amanda drifted. Antony never looks at me like that. Adam called me honey, I touched his arm. He smiles at me.

Like a hand maiden she had served the couple their drinks on a tray, and Adam was at the table beside them so that was nice, seeing him there as well. And when the woman spoke to her, with words she could no longer remember but just her beautiful voice, Amanda had felt a deep run of something flow through her like a thread of hot silver, coiling from deep inside her. Some elemental thing like a curl of flame in a fire.

When she walked away from them, Amanda knew they were all watching her, Adam too, and she held her head high. She felt proud to be watched by them, even if she was their prey; and felt some visceral prickle on her skin at the back of her neck, three sets of eyes watching her, undressing her as she walked. She liked the pull of their eyes dragging cloth from her flesh as she walked. Amanda wanted to stand naked before them, her slim waist tapering to her taut ass and firm thighs. She was younger than they were, and would entice them. Their fingers would play with her breasts.

The train lurched and Amanda jerked awake, startled. She quickly looked around the carriage but nobody had noticed anything. The other passengers were heads down in their phones or trance like, gazing out the windows or seeing mirrors. Amanda's nipples were full and tight, and when the train rocked, the graze of her bra against her breasts was an exquisite rub. The tips of her nipples felt like ice, hot and cold at the same time, piercing her breasts. God, she thought, what's going on with me?

Amanda took another quick look around the carriage (good, nobody watching), then tightened her stomach muscles, pulling her belly flat. She quickly dipped a finger down inside her panties, her bag hiding the movement. Jesus, I am so wet, she thought. How long before the train gets in? Fuck, I hope no-one's in when I get home, I need to lock my door and make myself come. Why am I so horny? He calls me honey and looks at me with his deep blue eyes, and I touched his shoulder. What, Adam? No, I'm young enough to be your daughter.

And the woman with the luscious red lips, with her full pregnant belly, she talked to me and the beautiful man loves her. Why won't someone look at me like he looks at her? But Adam, he looks at me. He's old enough to be my father. Oh, but he looks at me, with a soft gentle look. He indulges me.

The train lurched across the crossing, the bells clanging, and thuddered and juddered to a stop. Amanda, her senses all jangled and an ache deep in her belly, stood and gripped the back of the seat. She shook her head and her pony tail flicked. Quick, she thought, get to my car, get home. Nobody be home, please, nobody be home.

As Amanda walked quickly across the car park, a last practical thought crossed her mind. God, my feet are sore. But it didn't matter because her nipples were tight and her pussy was wet, and she'd feel wonderful soon. She was so aroused from her dreams, faces blurring through the visions of her mind, that she stumbled.

Amanda drove home, her mind still fuzzy from day-dreaming in the train. It was most unusual for her to get so aroused on her own. Most nights it took a little persuasion from Ant for her passion to rise, she was so tired. Weekends were sweet though, sleepy mornings and slow wakings, her long hair splayed wide on her pillow as he entered her. She would lift her legs and wrap them around his torso, she loved to be spread wide under him, her arms wrapped tight around his back, pulling him in.

But now, she just wanted her own fingers, fast and efficient, slow and meandering. When Amanda masturbated alone, she was fascinated by the way her mind wandered, shifting fantasies and images of strangers and lovers. And her own pace and flow. Sex with Ant was good, he was a sweet boy, but he often left her behind. When he came, he was gone too soon, leaving her alone in her bed. By herself, she always came.

I'm still warm in my bed. Goodness, Adam's words sounded in her head, and Amanda saw his wide shoulders, his creased blue eyes gazing fondly down at her. She liked his lop sided smile and a picture of him formed in her mind. No, she thought, that's too strange, he's too old for me. The memory of the younger man with his beloved woman flickered through her mind's eye, and the woman's red lips were so full and enticing. Amanda's nipples ached, there was too much going on in her head.

Pulling up in the drive of her house, she was pleased to find she was the first home. Good, the other girls were still at work, and Antony was at his place tonight. My time, thought Amanda, as she unlocked the front door. Going to her room, she kicked off her practical flat work shoes and collapsed on her back on the bed. My feet are so sore from standing all day, she thought. She lay there for a few minutes, just stopping from her long day. It was warm, the late afternoon sun warming her body as she dozed.

A flash of colour flickered in the tree branches just outside the window. A pair of rosellas landed on a branch, then flew off. Amanda went to the window to watch them go, bending down to massage her feet. Oh, that felt so good. She wiggled her toes in pleasure, and then reached under her skirt to pull her hose and panties down. She smiled as she untangled her plain cotton-tails from the black nylon. Wow, the glamorous underwear of a working girl! She wondered what the women ordering coffee wore under their crisp, executive blouses. Crisp executive lingerie, she thought, whatever that looked like. Or felt like, on their skin.

Amanda flopped back into her bed, sliding up the length of it until her back lay against piled pillows. She reached behind her head and coiled her long hair high, but was too lazy to pull the band from her hair. She smiled at her own laziness, and the idea that her hair looked the same as her customers saw it popped into her head. Her customers didn't see her slowly closing eyes though, nor the red tip of her tongue licking her lips. They might have seen a faint flush of red at the base of her throat, sometimes, if they caught her distracted.

She stretched her limbs like a cat does, pointing her toes down the bed, her ankles touching; her arms outstretched and her fingers laced together. Her legs fell slightly apart, and her nipples tightened. Amanda pulled a long breath deep into her lungs, rising her belly high with the depth of it, then let it go with a sigh. Slowly the tension of the day left her, and her limbs warmed and relaxed even more. She opened her eyes, and the colours in her room seems brighter, more alive. Ah yes, this little time to herself felt good.

Amanda's fingers wandered to the waistband of her skirt, and she pulled down the zip at the side. She shimmied the tight cloth down her thighs, lifting her legs from the covers then tugged the skirt away, dropping it to the floor.

The bed cover was soft and warm on the backs of her thighs and the cheeks of her ass. She wriggled, spreading her thighs wider. A coolness flowed between her legs as her pussy opened to the air. Amanda's eyes closed, and her fingers wandered to the base of her belly, her hand curving over the little delta of soft, dark hair. She loved the soft tickle against her palm, and pressed on herself.

Her skin was soft, and she shivered as her fingers wandered, finding that special place just inside her hip. Oh yes, the shiver rippled through her, and her nipples grew harder. She loved their tightness, and ached for her own touch on her breasts, but denied herself.

Oh my, she felt luxurious and spoiled, and didn't mind that it was her own touch on her flesh. Even though there was weightless air above her body, Amanda raised her legs up high and pulled her thighs as high as she could. If it was Antony in the morning above her, she would open herself wide to him and taken his swift fuck into her. Ant was slight like her, slim and narrow hipped and she'd grip his body between her thighs wrapped tight.

But Ant wasn't there and she was heated still from her dreaming on the train. With her eyes closed she pictured first the beautiful man with the look of love in his eyes, but Amanda didn't know him. In his place she heard Adam's words and his voice; honey, he said, honey, and dipping between her legs there was honey, slick and warm between her lips and on her fingers.

Amanda's eyes were closed, but she saw his blue eyes smiling down at her. She knew his shoulders were broad in his suit, but she'd seen nothing else, so there in her head he was, leaning over her in a dark charcoal suit.

Her fingers dipped and slid, and Amanda swirled the nub of her clit in her own special way, gasping, oh fuck, fuck, moaning. She gripped the backs of her thighs with her hands and pulled them tight to her body, and her ass hole and cunt were opening. Amanda gripped her firm ass cheeks and pressed a long middle finger to her hot, tight hole.

Her finger tip pressed, and she dipped it higher into the wet depth of her cunt until it was slick with her wetness. Pressing it back to her ass, the slickness was enough and her finger sunk to the second knuckle. Yes, yes, she wanted this, fuck me there, fuck me there. Ant, in my ass, fuck yes. But blue eyes gazed down on her and looked deep into her eyes. Oh fuck, Adam, she moaned, am I really your honey?

Now her fingers were sliding her lips wide, slicking moisture up over her clit. She rubbed her nub fast, faster, hitting perfectly the right places and pushing the heat in her belly till it throbbed. With little whimpers she stroked and pushed into herself, her cunt wide and hot and wet, so wet. Ah yes, fuck fuck, she cried out, and she didn't know who was above her, whose face it was as she pushed herself up to a first, fast, climax.

Her nipples were tight ice, the friction of her twisting movement causing an exquisite pain, a wincing rub on the cloth of her bra. With a long moan followed by a low grunt, Amanda came again, her cunt throbbing. She clamped her thighs onto her hands, trapping her hands cupped between her legs. Her blouse twisted tight around her middle, bunched up exposing the base of her belly to the air. Her body shivered and jerked and Amanda shuddered with little after shocks.

Ohh fuuuck that was good. She sighed, and pressed her hand hard between her legs. Her palm was hot slick with her wetness, and she cupped her sex like a little fallen bird, holding its fluttering heat in the cradle of her fingers. Oh fuck, his voice was soft, he called me honey and I touched his arm. Ant, where were you, why don't you look at me like that? Her dreaming men blurred and merged and mingled and her boyfriend wasn't amongst them. They looked at her with gentle, lovely faces, fondness in their eyes.

For several minutes Amanda lay there, her body hot in the early evening air. She grew cooler, and rolled herself into her bed under her covers and was warm, her hand still cupping her sex. I'm still warm in my bed, there was his voice. Amanda smiled, and two minutes later, she was asleep. Amanda dreamed, but when she awoke, she didn't know who had been in her dreams.

***

"Hey, Amanda, how are you?"

"Adam, hello. I'm well, thanks. Finished work for the day, thank goodness. You're off early too?"

"Yes, I'm going to the Gallery, there's an exhibition I thought I'd go see."

Adam had left work half way through the afternoon, and as he passed the front door of the café, there was Amanda. They nearly collided as she came out the door, both smiling as they each did a little side step and pirouette on the pavement.

"Where are you off to?" Adam asked, as they both seemed to be going in the same direction.

"The station," Amanda replied, hitching her bag over her shoulder. "Then the train to the hills." She looked up at him, and her fingers twisted a flick of hair from her cheek.

"We could walk together, if you like. We both need to get to the Embankment."

"Why not," the girl replied, and they crossed the next street, side by side.

They made an easy conversation together, as they had each told the other little snippets of their lives over many mornings and the occasional lunch when Adam went to the café. Amanda had an open innocence that Adam liked, and to see a pretty girl smile, well, that made his day worthwhile.

After walking a block they came to another crossing. The lights were against them, and Adam jabbed the walk button. "I don't know why I do that," he said, "we're going to get the lights anyway, on the cycle."

"I know, it's funny how we do things to hurry ourselves up, when really we should be slowing ourselves down." She laughed. "Amanda the philosophical, that's me."

"Amanda the wise, more like. You balance Adam the cynic, that's me."

While there was an edge of banter to his words, Adam knew there was a truth to them. Maybe that was why he was fond of this girl, she was fresh and young and reminded him of promises. His own were long lost, hers were still to be made.

Amanda must have sensed the change in his mood, for she touched his arm. "No. I can't believe you're a cynic. You don't seem that kind of a man."

"So what kind of a man am I, do you think?"

"What kind of a man?"

"Yes, what kind of a man?" Adam was curious for her answer.

Amanda took two steps back, as if to look at him from a distance. She hung one hand on her hip, exaggerating her dancer's counterpoint stance, while her other hand supported her chin, the classic thinker's pose. She looked at Adam, as if scrutinising him for the first time. "What kind of a man? Hmmm, let me see."

Adam laughed at her playfulness. "Aren't the young meant to respect those older and therefore wiser? You're just taking the piss now."

"Who, me?" she replied, all innocence and wide eyed astonishment.

"Come on," he said, "there's the walk sign. Let's go."

This time on the crossing, Amanda came closer to him and looped her arm through his. Her gentle teasing had broken through Adam's seriousness, and it seemed a natural thing for her to do. He looked down at the vibrant girl beside him, so spontaneous, so fresh, and his heart opened to her.

"Are you in a hurry to get home?" He didn't want her to go.

"Not really, no," she replied. "Why?"

"Can I buy you a coffee, and then we could go see the exhibition together? I'm sure you'd like it."

"That'd be lovely, yes, I'd like that. But what's the exhibition?"

"Hundred Years of Fashion. It's from the Tate."

"Really? That'd be cool, yes, I'd love to see it with you. Nobody's taken me to an exhibition before. Not since mum and dad used to take me to museums and stuff, anyway, when I was a kid." Her excitement bubbled.

In the end, they got to the gallery before they could find another coffee shop, so once Adam had bought the tickets, he took her to the gallery café.

"Somebody can serve you for a change," he said, as they found a table in the warm afternoon sun.

"That would be nice, yes." Amanda looked around, checking out the place with her critical waitress' eye. "It's got a much better view than our place, hasn't it."

"Yes, but the girl behind the counter isn't the prettiest in the room." Adam looked at Amanda, wanting her reaction, whatever it might be.

Amanda glanced over to the counter, and Adam watched her appraise the woman there the way women do, quickly and precisely, with a slight narrowing of the eyes. She then looked back at him, meeting his gaze with a directness of her own.

"Are you flirting with me, Adam?"

"I guess I am, yes. Do you mind?"

Amanda looked at him, her hands motionless on the table before her. She was silent for a moment, giving nothing away on her face, a stillness in her. Then, and Adam's pulse thumped as he saw it, she replied with just the slightest smile. "No. I don't mind at all. I like the way you pay me attention, actually. It's different. Ant doesn't do it."

Ant doesn't do it. With those words Amanda placed her relationship on the table, and with it a challenge. So, Adam thought, this girl wants to be the only girl in her man's world, but she doesn't always get what she wants. Intriguing.

Now it was his turn to look at her silently, his hands motionless on the table before him. Adam didn't use words to reply, he didn't always need words. He lifted his hand from the table and with one finger pushed a tiny coil of hair away from her cheek, for surely it was tickling her skin and annoying her, just a little bit, and needed to be moved. I have to be so, so careful with this girl, he thought, she's like a wild thing, she can't be tamed. But she can be seduced, slowly, with great care and attention. If she'll let me.

Across the room, the woman behind the counter looked up. Something was crackling through the room, some elemental force. She saw them by the window, and smiled. The moment was intense, a slow conflagration, she could almost see the smoke rise. Surely the eyes of everyone in the room were drawn by this tiny fragment of time upon which anything and everything might turn, spiralling inwards and outwards at the same moment, demons dancing on a pin, angels falling.

Lucky girl, the older woman thought, she's found a man who has learned over time to to wait, to pause. I'll give them a moment, and then I'll take their coffee. I wonder what kind of a man he is. If the girl is very lucky, he's a slow, patient man who takes his time. She's still young, she's got plenty to learn.

***

Amanda shivered. Even though the table was warm in the sun, when Adam touched her cheek, so gently, so very gently, goose bumps ran up her arms. The deliberate act of possession in his touch astonished her. Amanda's men, until now, were all young and none had the confidence, nor the audacity, to claim ownership of her the way Adam had in that simple touch. Amanda felt she had been claimed by him, and she should have been offended. But he had been so gentle, so very gentle, and she craved the attention he gave her.

Antony never looked at her the way Adam did. Antony's look was distracted, fleeting, always somewhere else. He would get up and leave her longing, go gaming with his mates, reach for his phone. Sometimes she felt that Ant would do anything rather than talk to her; and emotion? None, really, that she could see. Not what she wanted, anyway.

But Adam. His gaze when he looked at her was so serious, so unyielding, yet so full of fondness and affection for her, she ached for it. When he spoke to her, it was as if nobody else was there, she was the only person in the room for him. For those moments, she felt as if she was the only woman in his world, that he needed her, wanted her. In those moments Adam adored only her, and oh goodness, she loved that. To be the centre of attention for five minutes, ten, Amanda wanted it.

But no, Adam is old enough to be my father, she dwelled on that. But is that it, to be loved like a daughter, unconditionally, is that it? But she wasn't his daughter, she knew that, there would be conditions. Then Amanda realised she too could have her own conditions. She might want to be seduced - she was coming to realise that's what was starting here, a seduction - but she could name her own conditions, couldn't she? But who was seducing who?