How do I speak of last evening without resorting to the poetic? From a chance meeting in a cafe to dinner some days later and to the bed, a place to which I am no stranger, though last night something was revealed to me that I feel may change me irretrievably and forever.
Last night was la nuit de la passion sublime (the night of sublime passion).
It is a fact that I have never harboured a dream, not a real dream, not a dream in which I could see myself happy, just happy, without the spectre of darkness poised to attack my filigreed illusion of joy.
Last night allowed me to imagine there might be a reason to dream of joy. Last night I was not roughly handled, savaged nor prodded. With gentle strokes such as I have never known, I was opened as a flower is opened to the muted first rays of the morning sun.
When the first climax of the evening came, I did not bellow as is my usual way. When I came it was as if my voice had been lost and the only sound I could make was a long, rasping sigh. The breath that came from me seemed to come from the deepest part of me, a part never yet reached, until this night. The evening was as one, long orgasm, never easing away, only dipping, just a little, before the next wave washed me into bliss.
But I’ve said nothing of my lover and how this night came to be. I’ll go back a little.
****
Last week during a trip into the city to attend to some financial matters and for a little shopping, I stopped at a cafe I like, ordered some cake and an expresso, and sat, watching the people drift by, struggling with bags and the cold, winter wind. Please forgive me if I write a little dreamily, it feels that’s exactly how it was, a dream, but it occurred just as I say.
Sipping coffee, my eyes to the street and lost in thought, a voice, a woman’s voice, asked if the other seat at my small, round cafe table was taken. I waved my hand to say it was free, not looking her way, still deep in thought. As one does I glanced across at my erstwhile companion as I separated some cake with my fork. I must have frozen like a statue because the woman smiled, putting a hand to her mouth as you do when you have no desire to appear mocking. Her eyes were laughing though.
The reason I froze was that the woman sitting just opposite was the most handsome woman I had every seen. She had an air of sophisticated confidence, not the arrogant kind but that “I am completely comfortable with who I am” sort of style. Her smile, when she lowered her hand was as wide and as honest as I’ve ever seen. And amongst a city of white people and more so, people paled by a cold winter, a woman with skin as dark as the darkest chocolate took one’s eye and held it.
When finally I was able to breath and to regain my composure, somewhat, I introduced myself. “Nina.”, I said. “Ayana.” she responded.
A million things to say kept going around and colliding with each other in my head. I discarded all those, “Haven’t seen you before” and “Are you new here?” kind of things people say and instead went with the still standard and cliched, “Ayana, pretty name, does it have a meaning?”
“It means beautiful blossom where I come from.” she replied.
From my mind sprang up the thought, I’m sure you have, but from my mouth came, “It suits you.” Much better.
When the waitress came Ayana said she’d have whatever I had then we settled into chatting, more relaxed. Business had brought Ayana here and she planned to stay for a year, between visits home one a month or so. I couldn’t tell her my situation, so I said I was a student, a business student.
After we finished our coffees and cakes I asked Ayana if she’d like to come shopping with me. She said she had an hour or so before her next meeting so we shopped and chatted some more. In one shop she bought a set of silver hoop earrings that suited her perfectly. Just plain, big silver hoops, so stylish. I bought a necklace with a little silver star. “Cute!” she said, looking just a tiny bit longer than was necessary at the star nestled near the top of my cleavage. “Thank you!” I said and smiled with my eyes down a little and looking up. Ayana is tall, at least 172cm (about 5′ 8″ – I looked it up). It felt nice to look up at her.
It didn’t seem long at all before she had to leave, there really was a meeting, she promised. She gave me her number though and asked if I’d be free for dinner on Monday night. She had the whole night free, a rarity. I jumped at the chance and said yes. She suggested a restaurant. It’s one I know. We parted.
And so to last night. I walked into the restaurant at the appointed time and Ayana was there, dressed far less businesslike in a flowing, mostly white dress with what looked like willowy grasses along the bottom, extended up and to the left, across one breast. She was wearing hoop earrings but gold, and on her right wrist the most gorgeous celadon bangle along with a fine gold one. I’d just worn a little red dress under my gigantic winter coat, which I’d left at the door with the cloak-room attendant, and the silver heart necklace. My bag was an old Prada that had belonged to Mistress. I felt underdressed.
Ayana smiled that brilliant, broad smile of hers and poured some wine for me, something white (I don’t know wine). It tasted nice, not sharp, a little sweet.
We both ordered fish for dinner and after, a wicked chocolate dessert. Over coffees Ayana told me she hadn’t been able to stop thinking of me since we met and I admitted to the same feeling. When she put her hand over mine I felt a surge of pleasure go right through me. Her hand was warm and soft. We went quiet then. Some silences are awful and awkward, this was so charged I could almost hear the humming of electricity. I knew where this would end up and I was trying to think of how to tell her I’d already booked an hotel room. We would be needing it.
In the end I just said it. “I’ve booked a suite. It’s nearby. Hope you don’t mind.”
I thought she would be angry at my presumption. I was hoping she wouldn’t leave. Instead she smiled at me, a smile that melted me, turned my legs to jelly. She squeezed my hand and just said, “Let’s go.”
Actually, I’d checked in earlier, before going to the restaurant so we by-passed reception and went straight to the lifts.
“You were confident.” Ayana said, laughing.
“Hopeful…very hopeful.” I replied.
The moment I closed the door behind us we kissed. I just dropped my coat and bag on the floor and put my arms around Ayana. She did the same. We edged toward the sofa, pushing the cushions onto the floor as we fell onto it. We were tearing at each other’s clothes without, for a moment, parting lips.
How we got to the bedroom and onto the bed I have no memory. I was pushed back against the pillows, my arms above my head in complete surrender, while Ayana gently parted my legs and began my voyage into heaven. All I heard, apart from the tink and another tink as she dropped her earrings onto the side table, was the sound of her tongue lapping at my sopping cunt. Her bangles clanked a little then and rested on my thigh, cold and a little thrilling for it.
Given that my usual style is nothing at all like gentle, this was so different. I was not slapped or pinched. There were no harsh words or really any words at all. It was all a gentle, beautiful seduction and when I climaxed, as I said at the beginning of this journey, no voice came out of me, I wasn’t capable of making more than a great sigh. It was so exquisite that even my nipples were aching from their hardness. In fact, my whole body ached with that first orgasm. Every minute bit of energy left me but Ayana did not stop. Even when I had enough voice to beg her to stop, she would not. She carried me to orgasm after orgasm, selflessly licking and massaging my cunt with her gorgeous, full lips. When I couldn’t stop my pee escaping from the power of my orgasms, Ayana pressed on. It was only when she had no more energy to keep going that Ayana stopped.
Collapsed in each other’s arms and sharing my taste when we kissed, we rested for a while. We whispered cute things to one another and some surprisingly tender expressions. If what I’ve read and heard is true, this felt like the beginnings of a kind of love. A first date and virtual strangers, it’s a fantasy to imagine love coming so quickly but the joy of the feeling raised my energy and I began climbing down Ayana’s long, dark body, stopping along the way to tease and caress. Her sounds guided me to places that thrilled her most. When I moved my tongue under her breast she gasped and squeezed my shoulders. I lingered and played. We had all night and I was in no hurry to move on. When Ayana’s thrilled gasps subsided I moved down.
When I reached her lower belly her legs opened wide, inviting me into the source of the great heat I could feel near my face. When my tongue touched the top of her bikini line her belly drew in as her breath caught. My fingers reached and drew apart the lips of her shaven cunt. The contrast of the near-black flesh outside and the pink inside made me pause to admire. Not for long though and I snaked my tongue in and tasted her for the first time. I know it sounds like some romantic nonsense but genuinely, her cunt, wet and fragrant as it was, tasted sweet, not like honey, but sweet. I was to spend hours in that delicious place before the morning arrived.
A friend had told me of a technique involving the g-spot (it does exist, more sensitive in some more than others though), tongue and the arse. I hadn’t known of this particular combination before but it was magical. Within seconds of my touching that spot inside her and pressing then rubbing, she was moving under me like a great wave in the ocean.
Ayana needed to be up at 6.30am to have some breakfast and to prepare for her day. We managed a couple of hours sleep, or at least she did. I was too excited and elated to sleep more than an hour. I woke her at 6am by slipping between her legs, parting them with my body and bringing her to a slow boil. In my opinion an orgasm is THE best way to wake up. Ayana’s body, if not her weary eyes agreed.
During this week I have a million things that need doing and I won’t be able to get together with Ayana and besides, she needs to fly back to Africa for a few days too, for business. We’ve arranged dinner for, tentatively, Saturday night at the same restaurant. There is not one hint of doubt that we will get together again.
When Ayana’s driver came for her, to the room, with a bag, and she’d finished dressing in her business clothes (her clothes from the night before were in tatters and were thrown in the garbage chute down the hall), she whispered to me, at the door, “I could wind up loving you, Nina.” I smiled and nodded.
I think I already do…or I might, just a bit.
