Foreward: This is still pretty much in draft form, particularly the last part. I have a possible chunk to add on as another section, but I think for now it's better without it. Let me know what you think and how it could be better!
Please send comments or suggestions to tendermidnight@hotmail.com.
She throws you off balance the first time you see her because it takes you a moment to feel certain of her gender. Her swagger is made up of very wide steps, her illfitting trousers are belted awkwardly at the waist, her faded navy tube socks slouch over her beatup loafers, her buttondown shirt hangs loosely off her body, and her wild, tousled black hair obscures most of her face. Yet despite (or, admit it now, perhaps because of) her ambiguous gender, you find yourself strangely attracted to her.
Then you notice her breasts swinging even under that oversized shirt. It's subtle at first, but then you find you have to pull your eyes away for the sake of decency. When you pay just a bit more attention, you can see her sweet, open face beyond the hair. So she's definitely a woman, and you're glad to have that cleared up.
You might be wondering where you are when you see this compelling woman. You're at a conference, doesn't matter what kind. It's in a city you've never been to: a small, sleepy, boring city. You have come alone. It's been interesting thus far, but you aren't looking forward to spending tonight alone in your hotel room, and there doesn't seem to be anything else to do past 9 in this town. Right now you're at a panel discussion, with about thirty people.
The woman you're admiring has just entered a bit late and quietly sat down across from you in the back row. She pulls out a pencil from her briefcase and holds it almost daintily between two long slender fingers curled in a beautiful curve. Next she procures a pair of glasses, and adjusts them on her face. Then she crosses an ankle over her thigh and leans in towards the speakers, with a look of intense intent.
The panelists finish speaking and open the floor to questions. Calmly the woman raises her hand. She is called on, leans back, opens her mouth to speak, and then: utter brilliance drips off her tongue in low earnest tones.
You had noticed her before, of course, but now she is flashing bright red all over your radar screen. The panel discussion ends and you go to the next one only to find that she is on the panel! No longer must you refer to her only as Mystery Woman, the placard placed in front of her reads: "Cynthia Rothenburg, Member of the Board."
For an hour, a whole hour, you have the pleasure of experiencing her speaking, enthralled by her deep enchanting voice, but even more by the articulation of her words and the brilliant spark of intellect behind them. They create a tension and excitement that spreads down into your body, then back up into your mind. In a word, she is fascinating. What's more, she seems to be looking primarily at you. (Or are you just kidding yourself?)
Afterwards everyone is dispersing for dinner. You go up to her as she's collecting her things. "I just wanted to tell you I was really impressed with what you were saying back there. It was just right on the mark. We need more people like you."
She smiles shyly. "Thanks." she says, then pauses. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?"
"Alyssa." you say quickly. She reaches out her hand and you feel a surge of electricity pass between you.
You briefly consider asking her to dinner, but asking people out is something you've never been particularly You've been so busy lately with your career that other needscomfortable with. She's looking into your eyes so deeply you feel like she can see right through you, like she knows what you're thinking. You look away, nervous as a middle schooler.
"Well, um, I've got to get going. Dinner, you know."
She nods. "Well, nice to meet you, Alyssa," she says warmly. "I hope I see you around again."
Me too. you think, but you don't say it, instead concentrating on not tripping and making an even bigger ass of yourself.
It's later that evening after a very boring dinner with some very boring colleagues. You're in your hotel room when you decide: what the hell. You pull out an outfit you've packed just for some such circumstance: a tight black skirt; soft, slinky lowcut red blouse made of cool knit silk, black silk stockings with a seam up the back and high black stilettoes. It's the one hot outfit you own, and you rarely have a chance to wear it, but you often find yourself packing it along on business trips, just out of some vague hope. Lately you've been so busy with your career that certain other needs have fallen by the wayside.
You take a long, hot bath, luxuriating in the water and thinking of Cynthia. Then you put on your clothes, twist your hair up intricately, and even pull out an old long-neglected bag of makeup. When you finally check over your reflection, you deem it more than acceptable. You step out the door of your hotel room, resolute and ready for action. Then you stop suddenly in your tracks, remembering that, in fact, you have nowhere to go.
Resigned, your stride a little less purposeful, you march in defeat to the hotel bar. You try to remain upbeat as you take in the unpromising looking people already quietly scattered there. But when you finally slump into a seat at the bar, it is still with resignation. You embody the proverb, all dressed-up and no place to go. "A beer. Doesn't matter what kind." you say to the bartender, still trying in vain to sound cheerful.
All eyes are on you, but you try not to make eye contact with any of these unlikely-looking prospects. A few men try to pick you up anyway, and you manage to politely brush them off. Finally when you've put in a good hour and lord knows how many beers, you think it might be time to go home in defeat. But then from over your shoulder you hear a familiar enthralling, intelligent woman's deep voice. "So we meet again, Alyssa."
You turn around and try to play it cool when you see her, although your face is itching to light up like a Christmas tree. "Cynthia!" it's difficult to contain your excitement. "How are you?"
"Eh, pretty well, pretty well." she says sliding easily into the stool next to yours with debonair charm. "You look..." she pauses as though searching for a word, but really it is her eyes that are searching your own, "stunning. Really Alyssa, absolutely stunning." Her tone has grown deeper and more serious along with her face. She leans toward you a little as she says it, and you smell a spicy and exotic fragrance, which seems out of place on so earnest a woman.
Blushing is something that cannot be helped, this is something that you've learned, and you learn it again as the familiar flush creeps along your face and you look at the ground. "Thanks," you reply, your voice sounding timid. But when you look down, you see her old beatup loafers, faded navy tube socks, and can't help but smile, easing up a bit.
"So," she says, brushing aside the gravity and returning to her light, easy manner, "any reason you're so dressed up?"
"Oh god, I don't know. Just trying to create a little excitement, I guess. There doesn't seem to be too much to do around here."
"Well, you've certainly succeeded at that," she says.
"At what?" you blink distractedly.
She raises her eyebrows. "Creating excitement." Her tone is wry and the corners of her mouth crinkle into a small smile. A very small smile. But it makes her eyes appear even kinder than they already were. "So not much to do, eh? Can I buy you a drink?"
"It's a nice offer, but I'm afraid I've already had too many tonight!"
"Ah. Well then..." you become confused when you see the look of rejection that briefly crosses her face. She begins to stand "I guess I'll just be-"
"Wait." you say, quickly. "I didn't mean..." Just say it, you order yourself, you'll never even see her again if she says no. "I really have had too much to drink. What's more, I've been HERE too long, in this damn little bar. But...I'd love to go somewhere else."
She pauses, looks at you, sits back down slowly. "Well, actually...someone was telling me about this little jazz club nearby. I don't know anything about it, but it's worth a shot. Besides, I'm not sure there are exactly too many options."
"Sounds good to me! Do you know how to get there?"
"Yes, at least in theory. I could drive you if you'd like."
"That would be nice, thanks." Once again you are in the position of struggling to contain your excitement while you pay your bill and follow her out of the hotel. You shiver as you step into the dim parking garage, trailing behind her quick, long gait.
She stops at a small burgundy hatchback, chivalrously unlocking the passenger side door for you first, holding it open as you climb in, then slamming it shut behind you. When she gets in and starts the engine, NPR comes on, but she quickly puts in a cd. The voices of Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong waft through the air. The car smells distinctly of what you now identify as her smell. Breathing it in contentedly, you lean back into the seat.
When you finally get to the place, it has no identifying marks on the outside. Hmm... you think, This might not be half bad. Then Cynthia holds open the door and the sounds of the polka burst out, disrupting the still night air. Uh oh. Inside, about 20 people, none of whom could be under 60, are enthusiastically polka-ing away.
After a moment of stunned silence, Cynthia bursts out laughing, and you join in. Neither of you go inside. Cynthia quickly shuts the door, and the music is once again inaudible. The two of you stand on the empty sidewalk, the only light coming from a nearby streetlamp, which flickers.
"Well!" she exclaims, "Some jazz place!" You nod. "What do you think? Do you want to try it anyway?"
"Um..." you look at the ground and raise an eyebrow.
A cool night breeze causes you to shiver again. She puts a hand on your bare arm, and her gentle unexpected touch makes you shiver even more. "You're cold." she says, obviously, her voice warm. Then, after a pause: "I tell you what, I have some cd's in my room. If you're still interested, we could go back there in listen." she says this all lightly, but without looking you in the eye. "Maybe." she tacks on awkwardly, "I mean, if you want to-"
"I want to." The two of you get back in the car.
On the ride back, as you talk and laugh, you find yourself harboring more and more serious feelings for this woman. You are not the type to make fast connections with people, at least not serious ones. It usually takes people months to get to know you, if even then, and vice versa. But with Cynthia, it's different.
You reach the hotel and Cynthia pulls the car into a space. "You know, I've never felt this close to anyone," you tell her. And it's true. Right after you say it, you find your breath and pulse quickening a little. Cynthia reaches over and softly pushes a piece of hair off your cheek, behind your ear. Slowly, you turn to face her. Slowly, she leans toward you, her hands on your hair. Without thinking, you reach up and gently hold the back of her neck.
When your lips meet, it is the sweetest moment you have ever known. Very, very gingerly, her soft lips reach yours once, twice. You feel yourself melting towards her. But at the same time, something very incendiary is welling up inside of you. Beneath the sweetness, embers are glowing. Suddenly, they spark into flame. You feel her strong arms firmly pull you towards her. Her breasts brush yours, hard nipple against hard nipple. Hungrily you go towards each other with open mouths and longing tongues. Desire is laid bare against desire, and then suddenly you fall away from each other. You are panting and shaking.
"Maybe we should go back to my room now." she suggests gently.
"Oh yes," you agree between pants. "But...hffh...I should...hffh...tell you...hffh."
She waits expectantly and you try to gather yourself before blurting, "I've never been with a woman before!" (It's true: you've never been with a woman before. The idea had somehow neve occured to you, but in this moment, it seems perfectly natural.)
She blinks. You panic, worried that this will scare her off. Is there any way you can take it back? You want her so much, you can't afford to botch this one.
"So THAT'S why you seem so eager." she teases. Oh god, kill me now, you plead silently. "Well, baby," she says in a ridiculously low, breathy, seductive tone, running her finger along your thigh and tilting her head, her expression a parody of lasciviousness. "I'd say right about now it doesn't look like that will be true for much longer, does it?" You don't know whether to laugh or throw yourself at her. Either way, she has put you at ease once again. You laugh.
The two of you jump out of the car and practically run into the hotel. The man at the front door looks suspicious when you breeze by, out of breath, surely flushed, and holding onto Cynthia's hand.
She unlocks her door and you both burst in, then you pause as she shuts the door. Silent and still, you stand for a minute, just looking at each other. You are overwhelmed with desire and joy, nervous and eager anticipation.
You can take it no longer and turn away from her beautiful kind eyes. Slowly and with shaking hands, you take off your shirt, fold it, place it on the floor. She doesn't move but you can feel her watching you. Carefully, carefully, you unzip your skirt, slide it off, step out of it. Your breath flutters, caught like a bird in your ribcage. Never in your life have you felt so naked as now, though you are still wearing your black lace bra, matching panties, stockings, and shoes. You have been much more technically naked before other people, but none of them ever looked at you the way she does. You can almost feel her take in every line, curve and hue from behind you.
The floor creaks. You hear a rustle of fabric and realize that she too is taking off her clothes. Eyes closed, you imagine that smooth olive skin and have to bite your lip to keep from crying out with desire. Now your whole body trembles. Your skin seems to sing, joyfully taking in all the sensations of the air, but craving something more.
You sense her taking one step towards you. Your pulse pounds in your ear. She takes another step towards you. Oh, please now. You are worried the trembling will overtake you, uncontrollably crash you to the ground. One more step. She is behind you. Now your breathing is so loud, it seems to fill the room. You can feel her breath on your shoulder, she must be only inches away.
You startle when you feel her delicate touch come to rest on the back of your hips. With beautiful painstaking slowness, her fingers slide around your hips, her arms encircle you, and your trembling begins to subside. A feeling of peace starts to settle over you as she gradually pulls you into a tight, firm embrace, her breasts cradling your back, her lips on your shoulder, her hands pushing on the space just below your navel."Oh my sweet..." she murmurs, opening her mouth and pressing it's wet warmth on your back. "sweet Alyssa."
"Ah," you reply as both a cry of helplessness and a sigh of content.
It feels as though you could never get enough of this silent embrace, but after quite awhile you feel perfectly calm, and that's when she speaks. "I promised you music." she reminds you, her rich, deep voice far-off and dreamy. "If only to get you back here. But still, how about it? May I have this dance?"
Her arms loosen around you, and you turn to face her. She has on a camisole in lieu of a bra. It is very, very soft, and sheer, and it clings to her large breasts, with her eager nipples looking as though they might poke through the thin material. She also wears black men's-cut briefs, and you find yourself oddly wondering how it would feel to take the thick cotton between your teeth. That can come later. For now, you reply, "Absolutely."
Your eyes languish on her as she walks over to the stereo. Without her awkward, bulky clothes to muffle it, an undeniable feline grace is apparent in the sleek way she moves. You savor the sight of her, rolling your eyes over the long, lean curves of her body. "You're so beautiful," you whisper, too soft for her to hear.
"There," she says, with satisfaction as the music begins to float into the air. She also seems to float as she approaches you, her arms outstretched. The music is Ella Fitzgerald once again, this time without old Louis. The song is "Cheek to Cheek" which is exactly how you dance together. Her skin just rests against your own as the two of you waltz around her hotel room in your underwear.
She holds herself erect and moves so gracefully that elegance seems to exude from her. You find yourself going weak at the knees, held up by her strong arms. You concentrate just on following the flowing motion of her body and the pressure of her hand at the small of your back. "Heaven, I'm in heaven, and my heart beats so that I can hardly speak. I seem to find the happiness I seek, when we're dancing cheek to cheek..."
When the music ends, you continue holding each other for a moment. Then she leads you to her bed, and eases you onto it. You sink into the soft mattress, and look up at her, still longing. As you watch, she pulls off her camisole. You inhale sharply at the sight her full, smooth breasts, rising and falling with her breath. She lays down beside you slowly, looking you steadily in the eye.
You begin shaking again as you reach for her breasts, touching them lightly with your fingertips, then cupping them in your hands. She closes her eyes and rolls her head back, moaning a little with her mouth closed. "Mmmm...that feels good." she mumbles. Encouraged, you bring your lips to her body, gently licking and kissing her breasts. Finally you take her nipple into your mouth and feel it swell there. She is moaning loudly now, but seems conflicted, pulling your head closer to her, then pushing back away.
Excitement overwhelms you once again, and you lay back, trying to catch your breath. As you do, she climbs over you, kissing you hard, sucking on your tongue and even biting your lips lightly. Then she eases up and with very, very slow deliberation, begins planting kisses down your neck to your breasts. She traces the edge of your bra with her fingertip, then reaches around and unhooks it. Slowly she peels it back and tosses it aside. "Oh, my beautiful girl." she whispers.
You are still shaking as she gently and almost reverently kisses your breasts, then moves down further to your navel. Slowly, carefully, she peels your soaked panties off of your body, and smoothly slides them down off your legs. She slides up between your legs, gently easing them apart. When her face is level with your exposed cunt, she lets out a breath.
She is paused there: waiting and watching cautiously. You want her so badly that tears threaten to fill your eyes. "My dear, beuatiful girl." she says finally, smiling at you over your quivering body, "I've never seen such silky, fine hair. But..." her delicate hand perches on one of your spastic hips, "Nor have I seen anyone shake so much." She moves back up, leaning her face over yours, wiping the dew of sweat off your forehead, lightly touching your cheek. "Be honest. Are you quite alright, Alyssa?" she asks kindly, with gentle concern, "Should I stop?"
"Ooooh..." you are nearly whimpering now, your need is so great. Somehow you still manage to force out the words: "Please don't stop, Cynthia!"
A slow smile lights up her face. She kisses you just under your earlobe. "Ok, baby. I won't stop. Don't worry." You muse over her paradoxical effect on you: the same action both soothes and excites you.
The two of you are a study in contrasts: you, frenzied with anticipation; she, serene and peaceful. But then, she presumably has the benefit of experience you haven't had.
She trails sweet kisses along the line of your jaw, and as she does, you feel her hand moving down your body, leaving a wake of lightning. Then in a flash, a sudden explosion wracks your body as she presses her palm between your legs, applying steady pressure to your cunt. No teasing from this woman. A long, low moan escapes you. When she dips her fingers between the folds of your skin and pushes hard on your clit, your hips begin to grind in a slow cadence.
You are in another world entirely as she fondles you with those long, graceful fingers. When she enters you it is as though she has taken hold of your center, your essence. She fills you and you are hers entirely. Orgasm after orgasm pounds out of your body. You grab onto the sheets and her strong arms hold you close although your rocking body bucks her into the air.
Gasping for breath, you are convinced you see the night sky spin starrily around, although you are still inside. When your orgasm begins to fade from explosions to waves, the stars fade and you see her open face looking sweetly at you, her eyes calling to yours, pulling you inside of her. The last wave washes over you, and with a sigh, you settle back into your body.
Heaven. I'm in heaven, you groggily think once again, smiling sleepily at her as she holds you, stroking your hair, your breasts, your stomach, your ass, your back.
"What did you think?" she asks with a smile. God, her voice is so sexy.
"Ohhh...there aren't words. That was incredible, Cynthia. Transcendent. Thank you so much."
"It was my pleasure." The comment makes you a little more wet, as you are excited by the idea of Cynthia's pleasure. All of your apprehension and uneasiness has melted away.
"You have to let me return the favor."
"I think that can be arranged." she says coyly. Then quickly she returns to her usual earnestness and serious tone. "But no, Alyssa...don't worry about it. Seriously, I should be the one thanking you. Anyhow, I have hands, I can take care of myself."
"Mmmmmm. Cynthia, do you ever have hands," you say enthusiastically, holding the object of discussion and gently kissing her fingertips. "And I know I couldn't even approach their skill. But just...ahhh, please let me try." You eye her lustily.
"Well...ok" she relents. "But Alyssa, you have to promise me you won't do anything you don't feel like doing." The comment seems so absurd it doesn't even warrant a response. As though there's anything you don't feel like doing to her! Happily, you kiss her on the cheek and begin to slide down her long, sleek, body. You are eager to wipe that bemused, affectionate smile off her face and make her groan with pleasure.
You reach those thick black briefs of hers, and realize that now you'll be able to satisfy your earlier curiosity. You take the thick cotton waistband in your mouth. Holding it between your teeth, you tug it down past her hips, then lower still. A distinctive and alluring smell dizzies you and makes your mouth water. She moans softly with approval. You pull her underwear the rest of the way off of her using your hands, then return back up.
A bush of thick black hair, as wild as that on her head, is waiting for you, contrasting sharply with the white skin of her thighs. You touch your cheek to it, revelling in the tickling feel of the wiry hair.
Slowly teasing, you part the thick hair. Cynthia moans louder now. You note with satisfaction that she is very, very wet. Finally, hungry and eager, you drag your tongue slowly along the length of her tender, sensitive skin, tasting her, feeling the smooth, moist texture. By the time you reach her clit, her hips are already rising and falling, tensing and relaxing. You can see it throb. You take it entirely into your mouth, sucking hard, and she groans loudly, grunting with each powerful thrust of her hips, faster and faster.
The two of you fall into a rhythym outside of time as she comes with a low moan and you just keep licking and sucking, trying to acquaint yourself with her timing. Finally her hips fall hard back down into the bed, and with one final kiss, you bring your face back up.
Cynthia looks ethereally beautiful, flushed and radiant. She is so alive and strong, her pulse pounding through her veins, her breath shaking up her lungs. Both of you are silent, there is no need for words. The affectionate smile of gratitude on her face says enough.
Savoring the taste of her still clinging to your lips, you settle with content onto her shoulder. She puts her arm around your back, resting her sensitive fingers on your waist. Peaceful and exhausted, you settle into her and feel her surrounding you. Soon a sleep, floating sleep envelopes you.