Читать книгу Sex and the Stranger 2: A Mischief Erotica Collection - Justine Elyot, Victoria Blisse, Giselle Renarde - Страница 15

Simon laughed and touched my arm.

We embraced.

He smelled of very discreet aftershave. Something else we didn’t get much at Esalen.

‘You’re so enthusiastic,’ he said. ‘You’re so fast.’

‘Too fast?’ I said. ‘Are we waiting for … something?’

‘No, no,’ said Simon. ‘Just – just come and stand over here.’

He led me to the foot of the bed and positioned me very carefully, like the big loudspeaker in the show that had to be calibrated according to scientific principles. One inch to this side, one half-step to the front …

I followed him. This was a dance only he knew the steps for.

Finally he was satisfied.

He stepped back to survey me from the distance of the shuttered windows, then came close.

Softly, he touched the outline of my best bra and followed it gingerly all the way across. His hand raised little shivers. Simon lowered his head, then kissed my breasts just above the fabric.

‘Later,’ he said.

Then he looked me up and down.

‘I like this skirt,’ he said. ‘It looks like a big theatre curtain. With all these delights underneath …’

I wiggled a little to make the tiny bells rustle …

‘Take your seats and switch off your phones. The performance is about to start …’ I said.

Simon took his jacket off and hung it around the back of a chair. He was even slimmer than I had thought. His shirt was white and crisp. Every fold was in its place.

Then he knelt down in front of me.

Aha. We were going for the mystery intro. But it worked.

Seeing him on his knees before me made my stomach give little hiccups.

Simon reached out and gathered the rim of the wide red skirt. The little bells fell to the side with a tiny zing. All I could now hear was Simon’s breath and mine. And the discreet humming of the air-conditioning. Simon nudged the silk fabric up my left leg, revealing my body underneath. So far all he could see was my leg, but somehow he made me feel deliciously naked. Pale skin and lemongrass soap scent. Each tiny shaved hair was trying to stand up. Goosebumps all the way up my spine.

As the journey up the silk road progressed I couldn’t help smiling to myself. Because I had a surprise for Simon, too.

Simon pushed the skirt up almost all the way. He lingered at the top of my left thigh, the right one still unrevealed. Then I felt his breath on my skin, just at the top of the leg. He lingered for a while, giving me a row of small delicate kisses that led his mouth towards more intimate regions. Then he moved my skirt up further to reveal the middle of my body.

Oh.

Simon lifted his head just enough to give me a look. To acknowledge and approve.

Yes, I had no pants on.

He held the skirt wide open with both hands, just to make absolutely sure.

I glowed with pride.

Then nothing. Nothing for a while.

Suddenly, I worried.

How could I have forgotten!

I should know, really, I should know. Didn’t I share a bunkroom with six female Americans just behind the organic garden shed?

Hadn’t I learned how they were striving to be as hairless as possible? (Except on the head – very long hair like mine could be seen floating on the waters of the hot tubs in all colours achievable by human ingenuity and sometimes also nature.) Hadn’t I seen them, again and again, come out after a long session in our minuscule old bathroom, bleeding nicks and cuts on their baby legs?

Had I not witnessed them agonising about the various bikini-line solutions – just ‘trimming’ ‘so that it looks tidy,’ ‘landing strip’ or the dreaded, super-painful ‘full Brazilian’ that their boyfriends seemed to expect?

I had partly given in and now shed my weekly blood in the shower like they did, a kind of penance for being female. But I refused to go higher.

So when Simon softly drew the red velvet curtain aside, of course he saw my pubic locks in all their glory. Member of our secret tribe or not, how could I forget that he, too, was American?

What did the silence mean? Was Simon trying to overcome his revulsion? Was he going to run screaming from the room? Had he actually settled the bill yet?

He leaned back a little and I could see his face.

He had simply stopped to give himself time to look.

Look intensely. As if he had discovered a new and entirely absorbing phenomenon that deserved his full attention.

I said nothing. I stood strong. I had a lot of practice in those heels.

I looked down on Simon’s body, wiry, supple and alert. (And still fully dressed.) For him, there was no worry. He didn’t know what drama had just taken place.