Burning

At the end of a tiring and uneventful job doing silver service for a ballroom full of corporate lawyers I discover my locker has been broken into and my bag pinched. I am without purse, phone, door keys, meds, nearly full bottle of Coco Chanel and charm bracelet my dad gave me when I was 15. I’m tired and so I just stand in the middle of the changing room and cry while everyone else tiptoes around me, gingerly getting their coats and shuffling off home. I don’t tell anyone what’s happened because I’m too upset and so I suppose they imagine I’ve just been dumped by my boyfriend and discovered I’m pregnant or I’m just so radioactively depressed that I rend my clothes and wail in the street.

Finally, with red eyes and smudged make up, I shrug on my coat without changing out of my waitress dress and go and stand with my hands thrust crossly in my pockets in the foyer of the hotel, glaring at the carpet until it begins to swim before my eyes.

I can’t do this forever and soon people on the desk are whispering to each other and the concierge hovers at my shoulder. Nobody knows what to do with a distressed woman; he keeps going to put his hand on my arm and then fluttering away again as though I’ll crumble into ashes if he touches me.

I don’t know who to get them to phone and I can only remember D’s number, Lynda’s number and the number of the Lebanese take away in Finsbury Park. Of the three, I choose Lynda, who doesn’t quite manage to hide her irritation that I’m having a crisis in the middle of one of her boyfriend J’s rare days off which will now be partly spent on collecting me from the West End and breaking into my house.

I sit on the hotel steps, hugging my knees and enjoying the misery of being cold while I wait for J to turn up. Instead, a police car arrives. J has obviously decided to stay tucked up in bed with a warm Lynda and just called in a favour from another station. I can’t say I blame him. I climb in the back without saying anything and let them tease me all the way home.

Actually, once we’re home I can see the advantage of having a uniformed officer shin up my drainpipe and force the bathroom window over having J do it in plain clothes. I am perhaps not as grateful to them as I ought to be and once they’ve gone I soak in the bath and then phone the bank and my doctor.

I’m in my dressing gown, wondering if tea time is too early to go to bed, when the doorbell goes. For some mad reason I think it’s going to be the police officers again and I open the door frowning. It’s D, who has a shift off and has driven all the way to London to see me for two hours before driving all the way back. I fling my arms around him and burst into huge, hiccuping sobs.

Laughing, he lifts me and I wrap my legs around his waist as I blurt out the story of my day. He tumbles me onto the sofa, stretching out on top of me and kissing my blotchy, teary, snotty face, barely brushing my skin with his lips. His body is trembling and his cock is digging into my belly and I lie there thinking, “I want…” and then wondering what I want.

I want to lie trapped under his hot, trembling heavy body for ever. I want him to impale me with a single thrust of his cock so savage that I explode into a firework burst of orgasm and die instantly. I want to feel his hand on my throat, slowly tightening, squeezing the breath out of me as he looks into my eyes, silently asking my permission. I want to kneel at his feet, kissing and sucking on his toes, begging him to let me suck on his cock. I want to have his baby. I say this last one out loud.

He stops kissing me and looks down into my face, amused. “Do you want a girl or a boy?”

“Six girls and one boy.”

“Why one boy?”

“Someone’s got to inherit the tile.”

“I hate to break it to you, Lu, but I don’t have a title.”

“Don’t you? Well in that case I’ve changed my mind, I don’t want your baby after all.”

He kisses me, a hard-soft, fierce-gentle kiss, and I feel my cunt liquify as I dig my fingertips into his shoulder blades and arch my back. I gasp as he pulls away.

“We’ll do all that Lucy, but not just yet, there’s no hurry.”

And I nod, and give a little smile and slip my dressing gown off over my shoulders. But secretly I know there is a hurry, because my need is burning.

Comments

[D&L]

Hooray for D! And hooray for you, so happy to see those feelings come out, however blotchy and snotty.

Forever is not scary, not when you're wonderfully happy, which I suspect underneath you may be. D too.

Anyway, we're cheering you two on, from over here this side of the pond, just so you know.

L

[Hugh]

Just what they said I was going to say - Hooray for D! I am glad there was a happy(ish) ending to that one.

I saw your Christmas wish list - what address should I send them to? (A stalker has to start somewhere)