Chapter 7

Then a miracle happened! Alexandra phoned me on the next Thursday to arrange to meet me on Friday. I was stunned. I’d half expected her to disappear from my life for good. But she’d phoned. She wanted to continue our relationship. I shot from the depths of depression to the highs of elation.
And yet the elation was tempered with a hint of suspicion. I wasn’t a complete fool, I knew that she hadn’t suddenly started to love me. By this stage deep I was beginning to believe that she never would. And yet my “master plan” had been to give to her as much as I could and to keep giving, until there could be no doubt in her mind that I really did love her.
Some part of me knew even then that I’d fail. That if she didn’t want to believe that I loved her, if she couldn’t believe that I loved her, then no matter what I did she wouldn’t be convinced. If she believed that I was lying when I told her that I loved her, then she could believe that every thing I did to try to convince her of that love was simply part of some plan I had to trick her.
This is where I first realised that guilt was playing a part in my thinking, because I did have a plan to make her change her mind. I did do these things to convince her that I was in love with her. And I began to have an inkling that I was not only trying to fool her, but that I was trying to fool myself. I was not only trying to prove to her that I loved her, but I was trying to prove it to myself as well.
I was totally confused about how I felt about her. When I held her in my arms and the hormones were flowing I could forget everything else. There was no doubt in my mind. I had her all to myself and she filled my universe. It was once she had come that the disappointment came into it, when I had to get up and go home in the middle of the night. And even when I got home and masturbated to relieve my frustration, it wasn’t satisfying any more.
Oh I still got a trill out of making love to her, but I found it increasingly difficult to feel anything deeper. And yet this is when she started to act as if she might have stronger feelings for me. This is when she started to do the things I had wanted her to all along. And this is when I could no longer believe that she meant them. Or rather, that they meant the same things to her as they did to me.
I don’t mean that she suddenly blurted out that she loved me. I mean that she started to talk to me, and phone me, and behave as if she had an interest in me other than as a biological vibrator. She started to express an interest in doing things with me, in sharing at least some part of her life with me. Though I never did get to meet any of her friends or relations.
So it was with all these thoughts revolving around in my head that I waited for her that Friday night. And once again when she arrived they all fled from my conscious thought. She was beautiful, and I loved her. And nothing else mattered.
She was wearing black shoes and heavy black silk tights. With a straight, dark blue skirt that stopped a few inches above her knees. She had a lighter blue blouse, with the top two buttons open and a light blue jumper draped over her shoulders. Her black hair was tied back in a pony tail and she had dark eye shadow that made the sparkle in her eyes shine right out.
Once again her beauty took my breath away and my mouth went dry just looking at her. I wanted to put my arms around her and crush her to me. I wanted my fingers to touch her and my tongue to taste her. My hormones raced and I felt an erection building.
“Hi,” was all I could say.
“Hi,” she smiled back.
She started a conversation and I responded automatically. I don’t know what we talked about. All I can remember is that we went to a pub for a drink first and then went to the lighthouse cinema to see a French film called the Hairdresser’s Husband. All through the film I sat with my arm around her shoulder, running my fingers through her hair and brushing against her cheek, and her neck, and her shoulder, and her breast. We were both very aroused by the time we started back to her flat. And even though the cold night air served to cool us down a bit, once she’d got me home it didn’t take us long to warm up again.
When I first started going out with Alexandra, and making love to her, I didn’t take off my jeans or underpants because, at least on the first few occasions, I felt that she would be shocked, or offended, or would panic. Even then I think I knew she was pretending that we weren’t having sex. Anyway she didn’t seem at all keen to get her hands on me.
Then as our relationship progressed and she began to take off more of her clothing, she never did get entirely naked with me, I began to strip completely. And she defiantly knew that I was getting aroused and that this was a sexual act we were performing. But she still ignored me from the waist down. She’d kiss and neck, and her hands would roam my torso, but they’d never go below my hips.
A couple of times I took her hand and deliberately put in on my erection. I’d squeezed her fingers closed around it and give her a couple of thrusts, as a gentle hint to what she should be doing. But a few moments after I’d taken my hand away she’d move her’s back up my body.
So I was forced to accept that she wasn’t going to do anything down there. The couple of occasions that I tried, as gently as I could, to push her in that direction I just ended up even more frustrated than before. So I stopped taking my jeans off. It didn’t seem to bother her, she’d still strip down to just a T-shirt or blouse and I could make love to her in a fashion she’d accept.
That night, as usual, I made love to her and she sighed in contentment and cuddled up to me for a few minutes. She was lying across me wearing just her blouse. My right hand was tangled in her hair and my left cupped her breast. I floated in that sea of contentment I always got when she came, where I could pretend that she really did love me.
She sat up and I let my hands fall away from her, the spell broken, thinking that she’d say it was time for me to leave now. But instead she started to unfasten my jeans.
I looked up at her puzzled.
She smiled down at me, “I think it’s time you got some now. Don’t you?”
I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to say. A thought flared, was I supposed to express profound gratitude ! But she was pulling down my jeans and underpants and a trill ran through my body. I could tell by the way she touched me that she was inexperienced, that I was maybe the first guy she’d done this to. Though I still didn’t know precisely what she was going to do. And why she’d suddenly picked this time to start doing it.
She rubbed the palm of her hand against my testicles, gently pressing and squeezing them. Then she brushed the fingers of her other hand along the length of my half soft penis. Back and forth, back and forth, just barely touching it as it stiffened and stood up. She swallowed noisily and I looked up at her.
And found myself enthralled by the look of utter wonderment, mixed with complete concentration, on her face. As her hands worked, I looked up at her face. Her eyes were fixed, unblinking, at what her hands were doing. I don’t think she could quite believe what was happening.
Her tongue flicked about her lips, disappearing inside as she swallowed, then the tip just breaking through her lips as she continued to tease me.
By this stage I was quite hard and the fingers of both her hands were on my erection. As she ran one set along the top, she brushed the other down the underside. Then back up and back down, one hand reaching the base just as the other reached the top. The sensation of her dry fingers barely touching the tip was making sparks fly.
She wasn’t really touching me tightly enough to masturbate me, but I’d been so aroused by making love to her, not just tonight, but over months, that it wasn’t taking much to make my juices flow. I could feel my balls tighten already, as an orgasm built. She continued to stroke me, seemingly oblivious to anything but her fingers on my erection.
I closed my eyes and moaned, tilting my head back as I began to come. My balls tightened and the fire started to squeeze its way out. Then she stopped and took her hand away. I lay there for a few moments, breathing heavily, waiting for her to continue. She didn’t. Slowly I opened my eyes to see why she’d stopped.
“Well,” she smiled down at me. “I think that’s enough. Don’t you?”
I couldn’t say anything
She stood up and went into the bathroom, closing both doors behind her.
I looked down at my straining erection. And at the tiny bead of pre-come excretion at its tip.
“Fuck,” I whispered. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
But there was no real anger in my voice. I was to bewildered to be angry. I was too stunned to feel anything.
I reached down to stroke my wilting erection, but my orgasm had dissipated by then and I wasn’t in the mood to start again.