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I’d dreamed of her often, dreamed about her body I mean and what it would be like. It would be different, I was sure, from the other female bodies I’d known so well. Certainly different from the familiar comfortable one which lay beside me snoring softly. Different and yet the same, different from what I knew and loved yes the same in the same ways that all women are. That was some of the attraction I suppose, that sameness and that difference and the lure of sidestepping away from the known, the comfortable, the usual, into the unknown, the deep and for all I knew, perhaps the meaningful.

This morning I got up at two a.m, awakened by the usual, familiar combinations of things. The previous evening’s read, an overheated wife, a stuffy bedroom even with one window open wide to the winter, mad thoughts and madder gasses, permeating and percolating through a half digested too late eaten, to spicy evening meal.

I went downstairs and saw the other woman in the kitchen, bustling with the kettle, the cups and things. I pulled a chair up and she brought me tea while I stretched my feet out towards what was left of the fire.

She’d a ragged silk dressing gown on, a silk one, with huge flowers and foliage all over the back of it. There were no biscuits with the tea but her breasts moved in that heavily unconfined way that most excites me. Ragged silk dressing gowns no matter how tightly tied at the waist have little hope of retaining such things for long.

“She asleep?” she asked.

I nodded, she smiled, her nod in harmony with my own.

The dressing gown had a loop which was broken and another which was loose…...

“So……” she ventured as I sipped my tea.

“No biscuits?” I asked, knowing there were none but thinking I’d ask her anyway. Small talk. Inconsequential things appropriate for the lateness of the night.

“None” she breathed, not exactly top heavy but front loaded unmistakably.

I wondered if I should make the fire up. I knew her body would be even more enticing by firelight, knew her breasts would be enhanced by daubed, finger shaped smears of wood ash after I’d pulled them out.

“Oh well!” I said, my imagination running wild “I’ll have to make do with what I’ve got……”

Not exactly suggestive but she got my meaning. I could tell by the way she breathed.

There was a ragged hole where a seam had come undone, a patch of skin I didn’t recognise, a tiny inducement to continue, a larger encouragement to dream.

“Were you going to do some work?” she asks.

“No I….I came down to look at the fire!” I incline my head.

She reaches for a log, bending, stretching, almost revealingly, her arm long, her leg bent. And the embers crackle with sparks when she throws it on, the dressing gowns ragged hem high up on her thigh.

A second log follows the first and a yellow flame rises.

“and because I couldn’t sleep”

“Oh. Right!”

……………

I look at her, at her body and imagine it naked, as I know it is, under her silk dressing gown with the split seam and torn down pockets. When she stands the thing covers more of her again, still covers the parts of her I most want to see. I could undo the belt in a matter of seconds or reach and pull her breasts out of the front of it quicker than she could dodge out of the way. I could get her to……no, I suspect she isn’t wearing any……

“Are you wearing anything under that robe?” I ask carefully.

“Course not silly” she says.

It’s a stupid question and we both know it. There were so many holes and splits in it that anyone could see she was naked underneath. But then we are all naked underneath our clothes aren’t we?

The space between her breasts at the top was wider than my hand, the curved lines of their junction marginally higher on the right. Then exotic silk hid them where long lapels crossed one another.

I look at the belt which holds the whole thing together and wish it was looser.

The fire burns brighter and she sighs.

I saw her as a cavewoman when the firelight caught her, as a flicker of flame danced across her face. A cavewoman who I could squat in the ashes of the fire and gnaw mammoth bones with. Perhaps we’d start a new race of beings together. A fiery, spear throwing people, conceived in grey ash and orange flames.

She looks at me questioningly.

“I’ll put the light off shall I?”

I nod absently, trying to visualise her tits, trying to imagine what her body was like under that silk.

She closes the door when she switches off the light, smiles, says something about not needing to wake anyone unnecessarily.

I lean towards the flames and stare into a tiny, incandescent cavern seeing her bare feet coming closer out of the corner of my eye.

“Mmmmmm!” she says “That’s better!”

Her toenails are painted dark red I notice; her fingernails as a contrast, are dark blue.

“So why did you get up in the middle of the night really?” she asks.

“I got too hot” I told her. It was the truth for once.

“Not because you thought I might be here?”

“The thought never entered my head” I say

She made a funny little noise in her throat. As if she knew I was lying but didn’t really care. The fact is I’d got up and come downstairs because I was thinking desperately about her body. After all a man does not have to have a sexy female lodger living in one’s house for very long before he begins to fantasise about her. To tell the truth I’d an idea she’d still be in the sitting room by the fire rather than in the room she rented from us at the back of the house. Call it a hunch if you like, Pure luck maybe. I don’t know what it was. What I didn’t expect to find was her anything other than fully dressed.

“Well I thought you might still be up” I admitted “I……I mean not yet gone to bed……!”

“Ah yes” she murmured “I got back late from work, had a quick shower then thought I’d……I’d look at the fire. In case it was burning anything!”

Both of us were skirting round the issue obviously. How many evenings had she sat there, in her silk dressing gown by the fire waiting in case I might come down. And now I had, what then? Sit patiently and talk in riddles? Or take another step and trust to luck.

“I……”

“We……!

We’d both spoken together, then realising, hurriedly, we’d both stopped.

She laughed and I grinned, noticing the way her breasts moved beneath the silk. In the hall the grandfather clock chimed two thirty.

“Getting late” she murmured “if that’s right ……”

“It always keeps good time” I told her.

“Look……”

Daringly she took the plunge.

“What?” I asked.

The space between her breasts at the top looked wider suddenly, her shape fuller, rounder.

“What do you think of my tattoo?”

Somehow the front of the robe had slipped open and I, in my blindness, hadn’t noticed. Until the moment she spoke. I know silk tends to be slippery but……maybe she’d wriggled, maybe she’d something. I don’t know. Whatever it was there she stood, before my eyes, with her breasts beautifully poking out.

They were fuller than I’d expected, rounder and dare I say it, nicer, if nice is an appropriate word to use when describing breasts.

“Oh!” I said.

She laughed softly.

“Is that all you can say? she asked.

Then I felt a bit of a twit. She’d got the better of me without even trying, got the upper hand using the most powerful of feminine wiles. For the last twenty minutes I’d been trying to imagine what her tits looked like then without warning there they were being displayed disturbingly.

I might add I thought them to be perfect when I looked again, stared if anything, critically, as I’d been invited. Perfect, yes, with large, dark pink areola surrounding the nipples which darkened to almost dark chocolate at their points. And the left bearing the circular shape of a dragon entwined with flowers.

She cupped the breast with one hand and pushed it towards me.

“See?”

“Oh yes!” I said “Yes! Did……did it hurt. When you had it done I mean?”

I thought it was the most logic of questions.

“Not exactly hurt” she said thoughtfully “More uncomfortable and……rather arousing really!”

Her breasts moved towards me heavily when she leaned, their weight shifting outwards roundly. The right was slightly larger I thought, fuller perhaps but only slightly, and they were free now, not confined as they had been when she’d thrown those logs on the fire.

“Nothing on that one?” I asked stupidly. Obviously there was not, as I could see.

“Haven’t found anything I like for that one yet!”

I wanted to grab them both and bury by face between them, push them apart and shove my head right in but she held them together with her hands instead, so close together that the nipples almost touched.

And asked me to lick them.

There was both a smell and a taste in there, in that formation of deliciousness formed by her squashed together breasts. Talcum and sweat, and a dragon in flowers.

She made a noise, a cross between a grunt and a sharp intake of breath when my tongue first touched her. Then warm flesh pressed against my lips, a softness and a hardness together as one which I found quite dizzying.

I had to bite her, I couldn’t resist it, bite her and suck a stiffly pointed nipple right into my mouth.

“The tattooist said I had nice tits” she told me, her hands behind my head. “What do you think?”

“Mmmmm Mmmmm!” I slobbered not wanting her to escape.

They were nice tits alright. Nice enough to eat and I was doing my best to do just that. I’d got a goodly portion of the left one inside my face by the time she stopped me.

“What about the other one?” she asked.

So I did the same to the one without the dragon on it, which got her groaning and sighing all over again.

Then for some reason she pulled away, stepped back far enough for me to see what she was doing and untied the looped silk belt around her waist.

For a moment my eyes remained fixed firmly on her breasts and on the dribbly wet marks I had left there in particular, then my eyes slid slowly down her belly.

To her navel where an orange sunburst coloured her flesh.

I put out my tongue to lick it, thinking that was what she wanted but she stepped back, further away from me and put her hands on her hips.

“There is more” she murmured, softly and enticingly.

Tattered silk drawn back like an old pair of curtains and in the half light I could see what she meant.



I found myself leaning forwards in my chair, motionless, just staring mesmerised at her crotch. She’d no hair down there, not even a hint of it, and nothing to hide or disguise the riot of patterns and shapes which coloured that part of her body more usually covered by sensible knickers.

“Now what have you to say?” she asked mockingly “Surely not ‘oh!’ again?”

“Probably oh fuck! this time” I said.

“Yes!” she said “Why don’t you?”

© Aahlu 08 02 2011.