A Winters Tale


And all I know for sure

All I know for real

Is knowing doesn’t mean so much

When placed against the feeling

The heat inside

When bodies meet

When fingers touch

The music swam around my head. I stare out of the window at the rush of people as they dodge the snow and sleet. They look frozen, bedraggled or in some cases downright silly as yet another gust brought a flurry of snow their way.

I pick up my large cup and put my tongue into the whipped fresh cream on top of the hot chocolate: mmm… Yummy, as I lick it, slowly tasting its creamy sweetness.

All my words are second hand and useless in the face of this

The words ring out inside my head and I pick up the phone for the fifteenth time in five minutes; I scowl to myself and, looking out of the window, I see a woman in bright pink wellies and a short black skirt– well, that’s what the sophisticated office girl is wearing these days.

Rationale and rhyme and reason pale beside a single kiss

I feel myself mouth the words as the chorus kicks in and still my phone has not vibrated or rung. Please, please do something, as I check its signal strength; but no not a murmur. The ding-dong of the door bell distracts me as I see a woman with a pushchair struggling into the shop.

Another lick of the whipped cream as I stare around the café at the cold and, with one exception, lonely people sheltering from the winter. The exception is a couple of young-ish girls busy sucking their straws of something as they gossip about the latest conquest or who they want to have at the office.

I hear the beep of a phone and automatically look down at mine even though I know it’s not my ringtone. ‘What a dumb dumb,’ I say to myself.
And I’ve heard so many things

I fail to understand at all

I’d settle anytime

For unknown footsteps in the hall outside

And still the music blares out in my earphones as the woman and pushchair find a seat; another distraction and still no phone beep. Arghhhhhh! I want to scream, why are you not in contact? You promised you would. 9.30am you said in your last text and it’s now 10.05, don’t you know how hard it was getting out of bed that early for me? I switch off a minute as the music takes over my thoughts.
And I know the world is cold but

But if you hold on tight to what you find

You might not mind too much though

Even this must pass away and

Memories may last for years but

Names are just for souvenirs

Some kind of angel let me look into your eyes

The cream is all gone now: no more suggestive tonguing, only the warm sweet chocolate as I swirl it around. All gone and it’s 10.10; I guess you’re not coming, for whatever reason. I push the cup away, gather my things and my thoughts– must use the bathroom before I do anything.

I pick up my phone and, as if by magic, it vibrates. I feel myself smile with anticipation as I sit back down to read the text. Two seconds later and the smile is replaced by disappointment.

‘Sorry not going to make it’

I turn to face the window and I feel my eyes begin to water; don’t you dare cry, I tell myself, as my heart feels heavy and I get a knotted feeling deep in my stomach.

I was so looking forward to today and all the things you had said we might do or rather the things you said you would do to me. I focus on the outside world and the funny people walking, slowly or quickly, trying to keep warm and dry from the relentless white wet stuff falling from the sky. I hear someone close to the table as my cup is dragged across it and onto a tray by a waitress; I catch a glimpse of the rear view as she walks back to the counter.

 Don’t give me whys and wherefores

Reason or surprise

I don’t care for words that don’t belong

And I don’t care what you’re called

Gathering up my things again I make my way towards the bathroom, avoiding eye contact in case I suddenly burst into tears. Anger is starting to take over from disappointment: I would have been in my nice warm bed with my naughty thoughts at this present moment, dreaming about your sexy body as I kissed every inch of it…….. Damn you to hell.

Tell me later if at all

I can wait a long, long time

Before I hear another love song

I narrowly miss an elderly woman coming out as I smash open the bathroom door. I apologise and try to smile, but I think it came out more as a grimace; bet she’s thinking, ‘miserable bitch.’ Do I care? No, not a jot as I shut the cubicle, dump my bag down, knickers down and sit down. Staring at the door in front I try to read the messages and phone numbers of girls looking for a good time; wonder if any want a student up for fun this morning, your place only?

All done, I prepare myself for the walk back to the bus stop, back into the cold, wet, dank, miserable street full of people of the same description.
Come here I think you’re beautiful

My door is open wide

Some kind of angel come inside

Come here I think you’re beautiful

I think you’re beautiful, beautiful

Some kind of stranger come inside

I open the door and get the shock of my life– there standing in front of me is you, you’re here now– wow. You push me back into the cubicle; your hand goes across my mouth as I try to speak. The force of your hand bangs my head on the partition; my earphones fall out. The bag is thrown on the ground and your other hand grabs mine as I try to reach up. I see you smile as you put your mouth close to my ear and whisper for me to be quiet. I nod as you slowly remove my temporary gag; it is replaced by your mouth, the pink glossy lips teasing my lips for a moment, then you kiss me and I feel all warm; deeper and deeper your tongue slips into my eager mouth.

My legs feel ever so wobbly as I catch my breath, your face close to mine. You smile an impish grin. Fingers trace patterns over my top, making my nipples rock hard as they get closer and closer to them. Kissing me again I feel the lips grind into mine, your tongue forcing its way back in. My mind spins as I’m suddenly aware of you grabbing my skirt, pulling it up, stroking your fingertips up my thighs as you do it.

Suddenly you’re crouching down, kissing the flesh of my thighs; your hands, mouth and lips are everywhere. I tingle, I ache, I want to squeal with delight as I grab your hair. You look up at me and I feel your eyes burning into me: I should not have touched you. I remove them slowly and you smile knowingly.

The pink panties I wore especially for you, that are wet from my juices, are pulled down urgently and you stand back up with them in your hand. You sniff them deeply before I get another shock. You put them first to my nose and then to my lips. I get the smell and taste of sex, my sex, as they’re rubbed all over my face, then pushed into my mouth. I see you smirk at my shock and discomfort.

Your fingers are back at my thighs, this time up and down, getting nearer and nearer to my pussy. The other hand goes under my top and finds my breasts; you squeeze each one in turn– god that feels so good. The anticipation of you touching my fleshly lips is too much and I let out a long moan of sheer delight.

Then you stop: a sudden click clack of shoes, a door banging– someone is in the next cubicle. I hold my breath for what seems minutes, only you then take that moment, as I can hear the tinkle of water, to finally rub your finger in the folds of my lips. My eyes roll and my body shudders. You leave the lone finger there, nestling in me; you touch my neck lightly with butterfly kisses, waiting for the intruder to finish what seems like the marathon piss championships next door.

She’s gone. I breathe deeply and you’re back all over me once more, fingering my wet slick pussy, kissing my neck and cupping my breast. This three pronged attack is getting me more and more horny. Your lips leave my neck and I feel you nibble my earlobe, god I love it when you do that! Then you whisper that I’m a dirty little slut, and two fingers are pushed hard into my aching soaked hole. You smile and whisper again that my pussy is yours, I nod slowly as I feel another tingle, my pleasure heightened even more by the fingers touching my g-spot, the palm grinding my mound.

I feel the need to cum but at the same time I also want to see what other delights you might have in store for me here in the cubicle. A loud moan escapes my lips as you insert another finger and I know this will tip me over the edge. My legs, hips and body are bucking as you finger-fuck me. I’m hearing slurping sounds; my juices I can feel on my thighs. I’m trying to say I’m cumming but the panties in my mouth turn it into gibberish: the flood erupts inside me, deep inside me and I shudder hard, my eyes shut tight as I bear down on your hand; over and over, I feel a wave of euphoria which turns into sheer pleasure as I wet your hand still slowly pushing up and down against my soaked, slippery pussy.

Not sure how long I was in my own world but suddenly I register a sharp pain: your fingers were still squeezing hard on my right nipple. I open my eyes, my head on your shoulder. I relax, your fingers resting on my sex; I move my head and you take a step back, reaching up you pull the panties from my mouth and stuff them into your pocket, your eyes never leaving my face. Your fingers are wiped across my lips and cheeks, I can taste sex again, my sex; I want to suck them but as I open my eager mouth you shake your head and move them out of my reach.

With that you turn, open the door and without a goodbye kiss or a smile you’re gone, disappearing as quietly as you came. Here I am standing against the partition on weak legs, my thighs coated with my juices and minus my knickers. A few more minutes I savour the feelings of what has happened before I clean myself with some tissue, adjust my clothes and leave the cubicle.

As I’m washing my hands a middle age woman comes into the room and makes her way into the cubicle I had just vacated. I smirk as I look into the mirror.

 Some people get by

With a little understanding

Some people get by

With a whole lot more

I don’t know

Why you gotta be so undemanding

One thing I know

I want more

Back in the café, earphones back in, The Sisters of Mercy blasting into my head I make my way to the door past the counter, trying not to look at the girls behind it, in case they give me knowing looks, which will make me go even redder than I already feel. My phone vibrates and pings: I have a text, just when I did not want to draw attention to myself. It reads:

‘I have left your knickers on the table in the corner’

My head shot round to look across and sure enough there they were. I knew I had gone beetroot. I ran from the cafe shop as quick as my legs would go into the freezing cold January day, never daring to look back.

E xx

The lyrics are copyrighted to Andrew Eldritch, Gary Marx and Jim Steinman.

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