Unleashed Desires, Ageless Passions Ch. 03

As we talked, we had eaten breakfast, cleared the dishes and I had loaded the dishwasher. We moved around each other naturally and without any awkwardness. It was as if we had known each other a very long time; even our conversations had the feel of longstanding familiarity about them.

"Come here, Rosie," I said grabbing hold of Rosie. I tugged on the cord of her bathrobe and put my arms around her naked body. I released my own robe so I could feel my skin next to hers.

"You are a very special woman, you know and very special to me," I whispered in her ear. "I just love the way you are, even when you're being bitchy about your sister. I love everything about you."

I bent to kiss her with renewed passion.

"How I can stop myself taking you upstairs again and fucking you right now, I don't know," I said. It's an act of supreme will and masochism combined. But I know we must do the chores and all the other stuff. I just wanted you to know how much you mean to me and how lovely I know you are. I'd use other words but I don't want to appear like some infatuated adolescent or lapping poodle, but I do feel so much for you, you know.

"I feel the same, my sweet man," she said. "Exactly the same, and so much more too. Like you, I feel embarrassed to admit the strength of my feelings for you. Now hold me very tight and kiss me. I love losing myself in those long never-ending kisses. Kiss me, John."

We kissed passionately, our lips full of longing. It was a kiss that said I care, farewell and I don't want you to leave; it was a kiss full of love and yearning. It was also a kiss where my tongue penetrated the warmth and wetness of Rosie's mouth in the heat of sexual desire. I clung onto her for all life too, my embrace saying all those things that my kiss could not.

Our kiss ended Rosie rested her head on my chest.

"John, may we talk about our next time together, not tea tomorrow but after that," she said. "I have this strange work schedule but if you ever needed or wanted me, I want you to know I'll be there for you."

Rosie spoke with such tenderness, it made me go weak at the knees.

Rosie deliberated for a moment then said, "My weekly schedule goes like this: On Mondays, I usually work between nine and four. On Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays, I start at about seven in the morning from home. On Tuesdays and Wednesdays, I also do two separate clinics in town in the evenings and don't generally finish until eight thirty or nine at night. Those are long days. On Thursday I finish at about six and on Friday I try not to work at all, but sometimes I might do a couple of hours in the morning.

"So here's my idea, why don't you come over on Friday night and stay through to Monday morning, I would love that," she said smiling warmly. "But perhaps sometime before then you might drop in or stay if you want. Just call me, my darling and I'll be there. I wrote my pager number on that piece of paper that I gave you if you need or want to send me a message while I'm working too."

"Likewise I'm here for you anytime you want, Rosie, just call me whenever you want," I said, "and next weekend would be wonderful too. So that's a yes please!"

"I'll just go and sling my clothes on and head back home," she said.

She went upstairs and was down again in minutes carrying her overnight bag.

"The village gossips will love the sight of me in this untidy state setting off from here with my bag this morning. It will set tongues a-wagging for days," she said chuckling.

"Who cares," I replied, "if only they could have so much fun."

"Goodbye, my love. Call me tonight," she said.

"Until later, Rosie," I replied and blew her a kiss.

I stood in the yard in my bathrobe watching Rosie saunter down the lane. She was wearing a beaming smile that seemed to stretch from ear-to-ear.

Closing the farmhouse door behind me, I sat in the old battered leather armchair collecting my thoughts and planning my work and domestic campaign. I showered, shaved and dressed in record time and with the same energy I attacked the day like a tornado.

With one arm full of dirty clothes and the other wielding the vacuum cleaner, I set to work. The farmhouse rang with the clamour of the vacuum cleaner, the washer, the dryer and the dishwasher all whirring noisily together. I shopped, wrote the proposal, ate a healthy lunch of poached salmon and finished the chores by four that afternoon.

I was exhausted, tired from strenuous physical activity and emotionally drained from the towering highs and the troubled lows of the past two days. I could not remember any time like it before. It felt like living at full throttle. I wandered through to the kitchen and looked at my motley selection of opened wine bottles. I picked up a bottle of particularly fine Italian Merlot, took a large wine glass from the cupboard and poured myself a very substantial measure.

I picked up the CD case from the music I was playing last night, grabbed the remote control, and sat letting the melodies of 'the marriage of Figaro' wash over me. I picked up the phone that I had put on auto-answer so that it did not ring and noticed that I had three missed calls, all of them international. At the end of the first disc of Mozart, I rang the answering service. There were three messages, each much the same as the last and all from Jane. She sounded drunk, very drunk and slurred her words badly. The calls were full of drunken remorse and regret about her behaviour earlier on Saturday. Could I, would I ever be able to forgive her? She droned on about how very foolish she had been and on and on. I heaved a deep sigh, reset the phone to ring normally and went back to the kitchen to pour another glass of Merlot. I felt no sympathy for Jane, then I felt badly for feeling as I did, and that was very little.

The wine and the music together made me feel soporific; my eyelids felt heavy and my limbs ached pleasantly from the night's exertions. I thought of making love to Rosie and felt my cock start to rise in the excited enjoyment of my recent memories. I slipped into sleep, a very deep sleep.

I had a strange dream filled with tinny electronic music. It was at a fairground on one of those high-speed merry-go-rounds, the sort that makes your stomach churn and heave just to watch them. I was dressed like a gypsy, one of the fairground hands standing in the centre of this machine as the wheel accelerated faster and faster. I recognised two of the people in the cars as they flew past: One was Jane and the other Rosie. They didn't know me. I was just the fairground hand and they were both out of my reach separated from me by a wall of sound and speed. I started to drift in and out of consciousness. The tinny music grew louder. I knew the music. It was the sound my phone made. It was my phone.

Drowsily I reached out for the phone.

"Hello," I said sleepily.

"Hi honey, it's me. Just calling to see how you are," It was Jane, who sounded as though she had been drinking again.

I looked at my watch. It was ten past nine and I had slept for hours.

"Hi Jane, I'm fine, absolutely fine," I said. "How are you?"

"I'm good. Hey look, there's a couple of things I need to talk to you about…only I've been thinking about cars and this and that," she said.

"Go on then," I said, thinking that this sounded like an expensive introduction.

"Well, yesterday I went into San Francisco shopping and stuff. I bought some nice things and I'll tell you about those later," she said.

I bit my tongue. We were meant to be on an economy drive, saving our money to pay for the high costs of a transatlantic move back to England. The cost of housing in England had doubled between the time I left for the USA and the time I got back. It was not easy to think how to make the books balance and preserve our standard of living.

"Yeah, I guess I had been doing some sums about the cost of running that old Isuzu Trooper of mine. Last year, it cost about three thousand bucks in repairs and maintenance and now I'm getting only twelve or so miles to the gallon. It's downright wasteful," she said.

I followed her accountant's line of logic but I could see little point in changing the gas-guzzling SUV for just a few months.

"The price of gas here is three bucks, thirty five now and the Trooper has a twenty five gallon tank that I fill up at least once or twice a week," she said.

"The cost of petrol here is double the cost there, Jane," I said, "but I don't know where you're going with this."

"Well, I guess I'm going to be here for another six or nine months so I just looked at the cost of getting a low-depreciation car for that time. Something smart that wouldn't cost me anymore," she said.

"Anything in mind?" I asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.

"Yeah. I thought I could get a new Beamer on finance that would cost about the same money to run including the repayments. The fuel economy is better by more than three hundred per cent too. According to the calculations of the guy at the BMW showrooms, I wouldn't lose that much on depreciation either," she said. "Those new Beamers are so sexy. I went for a test drive and I felt really hot behind the wheel."

I thought for a moment, then made a standard management consultant's response, "Look, Jane, that's a bit of a fast ball. Could you jot down the numbers on a spreadsheet so we can both see what we're getting into here, then we can decide."

Jane was a banker, a vice-president of a large community bank. I thought that if her logic was failing then the numbers might speak to her.

"Sure, I will honey, but I already know the numbers will make sense, trust me, I just know," she said.

"Okay, let's take a look and both be sure. Better that way than rushing into something and regretting it later," I said. I thought I sounded just like my mother when she was dead set against something.

"So what else did you buy?" I asked.

"Well, after driving that Beamer, I felt really hot and turned on, sort of sexy and wired," she said. "So I just went and bought some clothes and stuff.

"First I went to that English lingerie shop that's opened downtown. It's called "agent provocateur' like it's for James Bond's sort of women, at least that's the image," she said. She has definitely been drinking I thought.

"It was just what I needed. Their stuff is slinky and sexy and maybe a tiny bit sleazy too. It was how I wanted to feel: really hot, sexy and desirable. I bought some silk and satin panties, skimpy little things and one pair with bows on the side that you just pull to undo. I got some garters and a garter belt; you say suspenders there. I bought some bras too; one is very low-cut so it holds up my tits but my nipples pop out over the top. That looks just too sexy for words. I bought some matching stockings too. I felt so excited buying this stuff that I got really wet, but that made me buy even more," she said. "I started rubbing myself in the changing rooms I was so turned on. I think the woman who was serving me knew what I had been doing too. She gave me one of those disapproving looks."

"So what else did you buy?" I asked.

"Well, next I went to Saks Fifth Avenue," she said. Just hearing the name of that store gave my credit cards rigor mortis.

"I bought this lovely black silk dress, it fits really tight and it's gathered on the waist. It's so classy that I couldn't resist it. It's from a top designer too, Versace," she said, "and I bought a couple of Calvin Klein separates.

"They had this Japanese fashion show there and I bought a very slinky-looking skirt like a kimono with a slit up the side, but it's a skirt really. I bought a pair of stilettos too. They were by Jimmy Choo and are really amazing. They make me kind of push forward so my breasts stick out."

"Jane, you bought a Versace dress. What on earth…I mean, how much did that lot cost?" I said.

"The whole lot came to around six thousand bucks. The dress cost about two and a half," she said. She had obviously expected an angry reply.

"You spent six grand and two thousand five hundred dollars on a single dress! How did you pay for all of this stuff?" I asked.

"I used my cards, Amex mainly as it has the highest credit limit," she replied coolly. "And look I spend virtually nothing on myself, I scrimp and scrape so I can move there with you. I spend nothing at all on me!" she sounded angry, but it was mock anger meant to divert my ire. I was seething quietly.

It was true that she did spend very little on herself until now, but the excess of a dress that cost over one thousand pounds shocked me. Was I becoming too small-minded, middle-class and provincial in my outlook? I liked to think not.

"So what do you think, darling? Would you like to see me looking this hot for you? I bet you would. Maybe I won't wear panties under my dress; it would be a shame to spoil its sexy lines. I could put on that up-and-under bra too so my nipples jutted out through the silk. That would turn any man on," she said.

"I bought one more small thing too that I'll tell you about now. I went to an adult store. It's called 'Good Vibrations'. I'd never been to a sex shop before. There were so many men standing around just looking, staring. They all took a very good, long slow look at me. I was the classiest woman in there by miles.

"In Saks, after I'd bought my clothes, I changed into my new stockings, garters and bra, my stilettos and my sexy black silk clinging Versace dress. I looked like a million dollars and all these guys just couldn't fathom why I was in there on my own. They all stood around staring at me. It was awesome."

I hate that 'awesome' word that so many Americans use as a general-purpose superlative. Hearing it now made me cringe.

"I'm rubbing my wet pussy now, Johnny. Don't you wish you were here with me? I'm sitting in your office chair and the juice running out of me has made a small puddle on the seat," Jane said.

I hated being called Johnny too and Jane knew that very well. She was trying to goad me. I said nothing in response.

"So what about this sex shop? Is there more to tell?" I asked.

"Oh yes. So I just strutted around this place looking very superior picking up the dildos and inspecting them. There were some big black ones that were just enormous, I mean gigantic," she said. "This really got the guys going, watching me finger those great big rubber dicks. I was wearing this pair of black-calf dress gloves so it looked like I didn't want to get my hands dirty. But the guys knew…they knew that underneath my classy exterior that I just wanted to be fucked by a big black cock like the plastic one I caressed in my fingers. Does that make you horny, Johnny? Are you stiff for me now, baby?"

I didn't reply. Jane was in full flow now, in more ways than one.

Anyway, I found this big black dildo in a set. It was called 'the Dildobrator'," she said.

At that point I had to move the mouthpiece of the phone away as I couldn't suppress my laughter. First today, it was 'Designer Vaginas', now I was hearing about the 'Dildobrator'. I stifled my laughter with my hand, letting out small chortles that Jane was bound to hear as my making noises of sexual arousal.

"What's a Dildobrator? I haven't heard of one of those before. I know that the Rampant Rabbit is very popular as vibrators go, but that's about it," I said.

I thought I sounded a little prurient. I was not prudish at all, far from it, but I did not share Jane's mood at present. Her exhibitionism in a sex San Francisco sex shop also struck me as dangerous, but that was part of its thrill for her.

"It's a big black dildo about ten inches long and very thick. Lots of women wouldn't like it. It would be too big and uncomfortable for them. Anyway, I can use it as a dildo manually or if I turn on the power, it pumps up and down like a massive cock fucking me. It has five speeds from gentle to hyper-thrust. It comes with a much smaller, more slender pink one that also has a pumping action and a vibration action. I can use that one on my clit like a vibe or if I'm feeling really naughty, I can put it in my ass at the same time as I have the big black brute pumping my pussy," she said in a breathy voice.

"Jane, this feels out of character for you. Showing yourself off to men in a sex shop could be downright dangerous. Some of these guys might take a tease as an invitation," I said. "It feels like high-risk behaviour all round."

"Well, after I read those e-mails of yours yesterday, I felt so pissed. I was furious about you fucking that Adrienne woman or whatever she's called. I wanted revenge at first, but then I thought 'fuck it!' Fuck him too! Just go get a life and please yourself, just like Johnny," she said.

"Oh, for God's sake, Jane. Those emails were from a man called Adrian, who I'm not fucking. We went there yesterday and it's not true. If you want to stay there in that particular paranoid fantasy, you can do it on your own and I'll put the phone down now," I said.

But what if she had said Rosie, what then, John? A voice inside me said, gnawing at my guilt.

"Oh baby, don't be like that," said Jane sounding like a small child, "stay here and do it on the phone with me. Let's imagine we're fucking honey. Let's talk dirty to each other. Please honey, I need to cum. I feel so horny. I need to cum real bad, like it hurts"

"Jane, look I do understand but first I need to talk to you. I don't want to sound like some angry parent but that is how I'm feeling right now. I don't want to treat you like a naughty child either," I said. "I think there is one hell of a lot you don't understand about men, men in general and me in particular. Going into a sex shop, acting like Princess Cock-tease wearing three thousand dollars worth of clothes and carrying the same amount is a very bad idea. You don't know the guys who were ogling you. You may have been flirting with rapists or worse. Doing what you did is not some clever game; you were playing with high stakes -- your emotional wellbeing, sanity, health and possibly your life are the chips you had on the table. I'm sure as you fingered the dildos some of the guys thought about you doing it to their cocks. Maybe they thought that you were some spoilt little rich girl; maybe they were angry, bitter, jealous and would have liked nothing better than to slam you up against the wall and give you something you'd never forget with their fists as well as their cocks. That environment is not like fooling around in some high-class city nightclub. You could come badly unstuck. Okay, that's the first part."

I was angry, in full flight and not about to stop.

"Here's the second part: All men are frail in different ways," I said. "I'm no exception. There are some men who feel inadequate and if humiliated they might resort to violence. That's a type, but that's not me. There's stuff I definitely don't go for, like I don't like cheap emotional blackmail, manipulation and veiled threats. I get totally turned off sex if that happens. Like a lot of other men I don't function too well sexually if I'm made to feel unworthy, not trusted, inadequate or an object of ridicule. I can't get it up if someone is one minute shouting abuse, and the next minute cooing 'Johnny baby' at me. I don't relate well to people with whom I haven't got deep trust at a sexual level either."

"Vibrators take batteries and operate with switches. I don't. I'm not some moneymaking machine that provides you with sexual amusement either," I said. "Where you and me are with each other now isn't a very healthy place, it's not respectful, supporting, responsible, accepting, loving or peaceful. It's certainly not that enjoyable either and I have real difficulties with that.