She had realised this morning, looking at the newspaper over breakfast. Suddenly, the date at the top right had become bigger, seemingly at least, and then it came to her. Twenty years ago today, to the day. It made her smile. The gratitude for what had saved her life had long been wry, but now it was like it was. Twenty years was a long time, long enough to have almost lost the memory of how it used to be before. Actually, she was reminded strongest of ‘before’ in her dreams, very lively even, which she had always found weird. Her dreams somehow refused to adapt, causing a vague sadness whenever she was awoken from them.
“Today, of all days. This can’t be a coincidence,” she whispers to herself,getting up to change.
She grips her crutches routinely. They’d been her trusted aid since she went to university at age nineteen, when she decided to dump her prosthesis. It was uncomfortable, frankly she couldn’t properly walk with it, and the transitition from highschool to a new life in a big city made a good moment to stop using the darn thing.
She had never regretted it, even when the visibly one-legged student attracted considerably more attention than the high-school girl with an artificial leg. But showing the world how she looked gave the student – and later the owner of her own business – self-confidence. This was how she was; take it or leave it.
On the way to her bedroom, she still hasn’t decided what to wear tonight. Looking at the time broadens her smile. About an hour, then he’d finally be here. Ron always found her very sexy in business outfits, but that isn’t her idea for tonight. She has something different in mind, something distinctly unbusinesslike.
While the skirt slides off her hips, she counts the days since they last met: ten and much too long. The mere thought of meeting again makes her nipples tighten, visibly so when she takes off her jacquet, unbuttons her white blouse and unclasps her regular bra. She’s going to have a shower, but she’s also changing it for something more exciting.
Sitting in front of the mirror, she lets her hands slide the curves of her body, enjoying the tingling of her skin and imagining his hungry hands. It wettens her panties, but that’s been the case all day.
Her stare wanders off to the leg no longer there. It’s what makes her clash with the culture of beauty, and she has always experienced it as harshly clear-cut. A woman with one leg never qualified for ‘beauty’, irrespective of other assets. After all, she was a pretty attractive and intelligent woman, and there was nothing wrong with her body. Otherwise then, as was so often added, and the annoyance and hurt had often felt like a stab. Being stared at, lame remarks. Pain of being rejected, cowardish pretexts of men pretending not to mind but being embarrassed to be seen with her. Who never said so but tried to avoid it nonetheless. It had scarred her soul, but never enough to give up. One day there was going to be someone who wanted her the way she was.
“Are these seats free?”
“For you they are, I think…,” Ron had replied.
It had been their first words, now a year and a half ago, in a bar somewhere in town. She’d been to the movies with Claudia, a friend, as Ron had been with one of his. The crowdedness had brought them together at a table for four, where it soon turned out they’d been to the same movie. It had eased the conversation, although it was soon clear it didn’t need much to proceed smoothly. Glances of interest went further than the subject of talk.
Claudia had noticed fast. She was good at it. They stayed longer than planned, and Ron and friend – she still saw him ocasionally but always forgot his name – had done the same. In between, she had gone to the bathroom for a moment, just like Claudia, who didn’t need to pee either. She confirmed Ron liked her, the thing she wanted to check. Claudia’s intuition for this was reputed, and she had been right again. When she’d returned to the table, there was a note on her chair.
The city code of his phone number had been a disappointment. He lived a three hour’s drive away and was only visiting the friend whose name she always forgot.
She had called him anyway the next day though, and much to her surprise, they had been on the phone for two hours. That usually only happened with her best girlfriends.
Their first date had been a week later. Afterwards, they had both said they never ended up in bed at a first date. They found it worth a second, and more had followed, although it soon became clear they’d both stick to living where they lived. Because they both had a business that was hard to transfer, but also because their relationship thrived best with intervals allowing two dominant characters some distance, and not let mutual desire be disturbed by potential conflict. They were both fighters with a short fuse, and they both knew they were.
Before meeting Ron, she had often wondered if she would ever be desired. Not found nice, sweet or smart, but to be the woman giving a man naughty thoughts. In Ron she had found this man, and he’d made it easy for her to feel like that. Unlike other guys, Ron had never been uneasy with her body. At their first time in bed he’d been curious in a normal way. He asked how it had come, how she felt about it, how inconvenient it was and if she’d mind him touching her there. In a normal way she had answered normally. That bone cancer had caused the amputation of her right leg when she was twelve, that having only one leg was hardly fun yet also something you could get used to, that it did bring inconveniences but had never stopped her from living a normal life, and that touching her there was very sensitive but that he should feel free if he liked. He had felt free, had touched her then. And he’d continued doing so, strengthening her hopes he was really okay with it.
Those hopes became a conviction when they started doing weekend trips, and the outdoors did not make him behave differently. He was helpful without showing pity, felt at ease to joke about it, and he found her sexy for not hiding her special physique in a short skirt or in tight jeans cladding the shape of her stump with defiant dare. She had always done that, but it did feel great to see him like it so much.
Her decision is made. It was going to be the leather mini skirt, with that new sweater. Its deep cut at the front made it unsuited for many occasions, but this wasn’t one of them, on the contrary. An underwire bra to go with it, to give her cleavage a little extra. Finally silk stockings and high heels, singular in her case. Perhaps she shouldn’t wear panties, she thinks with a naughty grin. It would allow him to smell her excitement more easily, even more.
Ten days of abstination had pumped her lust to roaring heights, and she wished to show him without a trace of reluctance. It was also what she had messaged him. The day before yesterday, yesterday, and twice today.
Their living a three hours drive apart made them often use it, as well as Skype with web cam. Communicating from behind a screen wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea, it was for them and they used it to their advantage. Their online conversations were even more explicit than the stuff they’d message. They made the best use possible of combining distance and imagination.
She would often make herself come with a vib while skyping, and she always told him. She never showed though, preferring to let the buzzing sound in the background and the expression of her face to tickle his imagination. It invariably did, and he loved it.
She ponders how his welcome today will be. He’d often do it the very hungry way, and it aroused the heck out of her when he did. Grabbing under her skirt instantly or knead her tits at their first kiss.
A few weeks ago, he had just lifted her up at the doorstep, walking her straight into the bedroom. Barely a word, just a look deep into her eyes, being pushed onto the bed, and her jeans and panties yanked down with impatience. A greedy kiss, his stare flaming with lust and then his hungry entering without much foreplay. She could still remember the sounds of it. Her sweater grating against his shirt, mixed with the sound of his heavy panting. His weight pressing her tits, but there was anything but pain when he had taken her barely lubricated cunt to fill it with his stallion passion.
The scent of her panties reflects a day of anticipation. She stands up, uses her thumbs to make them lower and lets them slide down her sole leg. The sight of her now bare, shaven cunt is beautiful and exciting. Her hand slides down her right hip. The scar runs across her stump to the side of her hip, giving the remainder the straight shape that unvarnishedly depicts what had happened: they had simply cut if off there, just under the hip, very high to maximise her chances to survive the cancer. She had, she could now safely say. But it had left virtually nothing of her leg, which was the reason she’d never been able to properly walk with a prosthesis.
The pleasantly warm water sprays her skin. She keeps her face in the foaming waterjet, letting it relax her from the stress of work. Power shower was a heavenly invention. The urge comes up to direct the waterjet to her inner thighs, but she bans the thought. She’d often masturbate, but this time she hadn’t orgasmed since she’d been with Ron ten days ago, making her body hyper sensitive to every touch. It was a mutual agreement; Ron had done the same. And very soon now, all this built-up sexual tension was going to be unleashed. In his arms, inhaling the scents of his body.
While the waterjet foams her skin, there’s a shiver down her spine.
The cups of her dark blue bra enclose her full breasts firmly, pushing them together to form the seductive cleavage line that will drive Ron wild. Her nipples sting against the inside of the cups. She pulls the silk stocking up her leg, clasps it to her garterbelt. She chuckles, knowing he rather likes the idle dangling of the clips at the other side, especially when she’s not wearing panties. Then comes the matching dark blue, leather mini skirt, and the wafer-thin fabric sweater matching her chestnut hair so well. Giggling a little, she leans forward. The view was phenomenal, and very much what she had in mind.
She feels a shudder as she sits down on the couch. Every motion is now shooting straight into her hypersensitive cunt. Twenty minutes, then he’d be here. Luckily, Ron was never late. She’d go mad if he’d be. Ten days of abstination had actually gone surprisingly well. But now the moment of release really approached, her body seemed to lose control. Very rapidly too.
She has to shift to relieve the pressure, but even that is now exciting her, realising she’s actually so loaded with sexual tension that she can’t even sit normally. She bites her lip. Fifteen minutes. Time can run so slowly. And even the images in her mind are out of control now.
She can see him stand in the rolling waves at the beach, his yummy big cock very very hard. They had spend the night in the dunes by a deserted beach, fucking harder than the countless rabbits around them and having a swim at the break of day. The salty wind, the empty beach at sunrise and a night long of orgasming had made her totally shameless. She had crawled towards him, on her hands, wading through the rolling waves. Once close enough, she had taken his cock between her lips, tasting salt waterdrops mixed with dried up sperm and the juices of her cunt.
“Jerk off and come full in my face,” she had asked.
He had done it. Balancing serenely in the surf, he’d watched her look from very close by, tensedly awaiting the explosion that would cover her face with the warm and masculine scenting heftiness of his passion for her. She had almost come spontaneously when the violent spurts hit her point blank.
Her phone ringing shoots her back to now. A sudden fear: he can’t make it today. Then the look at the display. And the relief.
“Claudia!” she exclaims. “No hon, I’m expecting someone.”
A grin, knowing how Claudia will be looking now. The stinging in her cunt is becoming unbearable. She shifts, yet again. No relief. Maybe she should just groan into the phone. Claudia would understand.
“Yes Ron, how did you guess?”
Even mentioning his name adds to her excitement now.
“At eight. He should be here any moment.”
Barcelona, last year. “I feel like licking you, right now,” he had said.
They had just come out of a tapas bar, slightly oiled. He had pushed her into a dark alley, taken off her panties and licked her until she came in an echoing grunt, her fingernails scratching the wall she was leaned against. The horny memories are now unstoppable. Ten minutes? She hopes it’s less.
“No problem. He’s not here yet.”
Yet another shift, a squirm to contain the pressing urges, her breathing faltering.
A car driving up the parking. Is it Ron’s BMW? He’d told her once you could hear if a car was a BMW. She should have paid attention then. Her nipples are hurting now too.
“Tomorrow? Um, I can’t really tell. You know…?”
A girlish giggle. Another shift. She’s one wrong move away from coming.
“Okay, hon. I’ll give you a call after the weekend then.”
Another sting. She can smell her being wet. And she knows Ron will too.
“Yeah, let’s do that.”
“I can smell how wet you are.” Sometimes it was the first thing he said to her. Ron could smell her every trace of excitement, faultlessly. She often called him Grenouille for it, the main character from Patrick Süsskind’s The Perfume.
“Okay hon, bye!”
She puts her phone down and walks to the front window. A peek from behind the curtains. Seven minutes? No BMW. She walks back to the kitchen, stands at ease for a moment to try and relieve the pressure. For sheer diversion, she opens the fridge, to check the things she knows she’s already checked. Two bottles of white wine and some cheese. They wouldn’t be eating much tonight. And tomorrow, they’d go to the market together, like always. Five minutes. Another car parking. This one sounds different, but was it a BMW? Ten days of anticipation are now pressing into ever slower minutes. A car door slamming shut. A moment of silence. Then the sound of a trunk being closed. Ron always had his stuff in the back seat.
“Will you let me undress you?”
It was what he’d said before their first time. On that night when they’d both done something they never did. Her “Yes…” had been a whisper, followed by a nervous smile followed by relief. He had lovingly kissed the reason for her insecurity, as he had never stopped helping her to feel completely at ease with him. Which she now did.
The bleep of a text message awakens her again. A deep breath. He wouldn’t…?
With ya in a minute! she reads.
A deep sigh, both of relief and of tension. She hops to the door. No crutches is unstable wearing a high heel, but she wants to welcome him hands free. She can feel her cheeks glowing. Determined footsteps coming closer, sounding ever louder in the silence of the evening. Her heart pounding in her throat.
His smiling is broad when he lets his eyes appreciate her. Just a groan for welcome. In their embrace, he lets his hands slide under her skirt. His kneading gets more lustful the moment he notices the absence of panties. Her sigh heaves into his right ear as she pulls herself tight against his body. He sniffs her scents, faultlessly. Grenouille, she thinks, and she lets herself be inhaled.
“Hey gorgeous,” he whispers.
She beams. “Come in, hurry.”
“Is there time for a glass of wine?”
“No, there isn’t…” she replies with a naughty grin.
“Not even for a small present?”
She looks at him, surprised. Afraid too that she may have forgotten something.
“For me?” she asks.
“It’s nothing special,” he adds as he hands her a small, oblong package.
A charmed smile as she frees herself from their embrace. She turns around and hops to the living, sitting down on the couch to open it.
“I love small presents!” she exclaims with a curious smile.
A short frown when she opens the package, but then a beaming smile.
“Aw Ron, that’s so sweet! I had no idea you knew!” she says, visibly touched.
“You mentioned it at our first night together,” he replies. “And I’m good at remembering dates.”
“I remember a lot from that night, but not that,” she grins.
His grinning back is beautiful. “They also had a stork, but you might take that as a child wish,” he winks.
It makes her giggle as she puts it on the coffee table, a flamingo, balancing elegantly on one leg.
“This one’s beautiful,” she whispers as she gets up again to stand close to him. She enjoys the look of his eyes when she unzips his pants and pinches his half erection. “And it won’t necessarily give us a baby, by the way…”
“Is that a fact?”
“Maybe we shouldn’t wait then?”
His hands slide under her skirt again, kneading deep into her buttocks.
“Not maybe. I didn’t come for ten days. I need you to fuck me now, very very badly.”
“I didn’t either. And I’m exploding.”
His half erection wasn’t half anymore. Far from. A shiver down her spine. And if he’d now touch her clit, she would come on the spot. But he didn’t.
She lets her lips nibble the stubs on his chin and jaw. Her fingers continue the teasing of his cock, seductively but with one sole aim. His inevitable response lifts her up.
She puts her arms around his neck to hoist herself up, pretty convinced his cock needs no further stimulation. Glowing cheeks. She feels her skirt being pulled up. His breathing is heavy and aroused as he makes her hang backwards. The hungry undulating of her hips. No shame to show him the swollen eagerness of her cunt. A few teasing rubs of his cockhead, lubricating itself in wetness already gushing. And then the deep grown accompanying his thrusting into her with the built-up lust of ten days of abstination.
Her hands clench to tight fists, turning her knuckles white. Faltering breath, the unleashing lust taking control of her bucking hips, or rather letting any control disappear and whirl her into the same tornado of primary hunger that she’s being fucked with.
For a short moment, she’s disturbed by the sound of Ron accidentally bumping the coffee table behind him. It makes the flamingo wamble, but it doesn’t topple.
The symbolism makes her smile. Then she closes her eyes again.