Festival Ch. 02

I have to stop walking, I must. My feet hurt so. But when I stop walking I start thinking. Thinking of him and the cruelty within him. The cruel way that he treats me in this sham of a marriage. 'All dressed up and nowhere to go.' How can you say that? How can you say that in a text? And with the usual excuse of having to 'work late'. Working late with that bitch Fiona from the energy desk in some noisy bar in the City I'm sure. Or worse in a hotel room. I don't even love him any more. I can't remember what it feels like to love. Or to make love. Or to feel loved. To feel desired. And I had put so much effort into making myself feel desirable today, one last effort at an evening out together. I feel like throwing these tickets into the Thames. But I may as well go to the concert. I'm all dressed up with somewhere to go. Just no-one to go with.

And then I see him. Him. I remember him. Three weeks ago at that stupid football club. He was the only thing good about the evening. Wolfgang late as usual, hell knows where he'd been. Various brain-dead footballers and their terminally vacuous wives. And him. He was drunk, but he was charmingly drunk, talking about classical music but keeping his voice hushed like it was some embarrassing social disease, to have taste. Embarrassed to be talking about such things in a room full of 'jocks'. And he desired me, I could see it.

And now there he is, marching towards me. I feel my spirits lifting, my shoulders straightening. I should talk to him.

'Jim!'

He jumps like he's been shot in the back. Cupid's arrow perhaps? Now he looks confused. Shit, he doesn't even know who I am! Fucking men. Perhaps it was just the booze that night. Oh well, I've got to go through with it now. I put on a smile.

'Fancy seeing you here!'

He still looks confused, but less startled. He must have come from work, what does he do? Something he doesn't like I seem to remember, office work. His suit is very well-cut, and he's had his hair trimmed since last I saw him. I like that. Masculine. And though he's rather short he looks muscular, like he's bursting with vital energy. Rather attractive.

I can see him thinking, looking at me. And then, 'Hi Ingrid, great to see you. I love your sunglasses!'

Joy unconfined in my heart, he does remember me. My hand goes to the sunglasses that I was using to keep out the unwanted world. He knows what to say, the charmer.

I should calm down, I'm not a teenager any more. But instead I blurt out, 'Chanel! E-Bay! A bargain.' I can't even say a proper sentence.

I can see you looking at me Jim, running your eyes over me. I need to get his attention again, 'So where are you hurrying off to?' Maybe he's free this evening?

'Oh, meeting friends in Covent Garden. We're supposed to go and watch a film later, but to be honest I'm a bit whacked so I might just head home.'

Shit. Oh well, why would he want to come out with me this evening anyway? He's probably meeting some English girlfriend on a Friday evening, and he's just being polite. But isn't it worth just testing him a little? If he knew it were Zimerman that I have tickets to...I remember he told me he'd just bought his recording of the Debussy Preludes the last time I saw him. He was raving about it.

'Oh, that's a shame. I was about to ask you if you wanted to go a concert. My friend dropped out at the last minute and I have a spare ticket. It's Zimerman.'

He's smiling. I know he wants it. I know it.

'What's he doing? If it's anything too Tuetonic I might not be able to digest it.'

He thinks he's so cool, but I know he's sold.

'Chopin Etudes first half and Lutoslawski for the second'...'Chopin...how romantic. I hope Wolfgang wont be jealous.'

Pain! Like a knife in my heart. Wolfgang. I don't know whether to spit or cry...but revenge would be sweeter.

'Wolfgang can go fuck himself. Do you want to come or not?'

'Okay.'

Correct answer, Jim.

We walk off together. I'm oblivious to the surroundings. We could be anywhere. All I can think of is this man beside me. A man I barely know. I haven't been out with a new man on my own for fifteen years. We're inside now but my mind is filled with thoughts of this man beside me, a man of muscle and purpose, but sensitive too. Like Wolfgang. Fuck. Fuck. Forget Wolfgang.

'Let's go upstairs, I've got my Member's Card with me, we cebeci escort can get away from the masses and have a quick G and T before kick-off.'

Kick off! I take off my sunglasses. Bloody football. 'Whatever you say.'

In the lift I hold his gaze. He has deep brown eyes. Intense eyes. I feel excited being so close to him. He seems dangerous almost with that intense look to him. I wonder what lucky woman looks up into those eyes when he presses his cock into her.

'What would you like to drink?' He's enjoying himself, I can see it. But he needs to lighten up a little.

'I thought you already told me I was having a gin and tonic.'

'So I did.' I smile. 'Grab a table, he says, 'and I'll be with you in a sec.'

I turn, see a last table free and flop into the chair. My feet now that I've sat reminding me how sore they are. I look up and see him talking to the barmaid. He's not talking, he's flirting. Why should I be jealous? Why? She looks like a Pole. Everyone's a Pole in London nowadays. But attractive in a boyish kind of way. Fuck her, he's mine for the next hour at least. He's returning. I glance at my watch, we haven't got long to the beginning of the performance.

'Thanks for the drink, but we'll have to be quick. The concert starts in twenty minutes.'

'No problem. I ordered the same again for the interval...to save us queuing.'

I can see him looking at my legs. I like my legs. My breasts I always felt were too large. Men like them, but to me they're things to be managed. But my legs, I love showing them off. I'm going to test him.

'Oh, you think of everything don't you?'

I can see him thinking. Thinking about my legs.

'I think about a lot of things.'

I let my legs part slightly as I lean forward to take my glass in my hand. Let's push him a little more.

'Are you enjoying the view?' I look innocently out of the window.

Now he's looking out of the window?! He should be looking at me! Perhaps he's not that interested after all.

'I've seen it so many times I barely notice it any more. Especially when there are more attractive prospects in the room.'

Charmer.

'I don't know what you mean?' I ask.

'I think you do.'

That's direct. That's good. No more English reserve. Satisfied, I say, 'Come on, let's get to our seats', and head off to the auditorium.

The seats we have are in the choir, behind the piano, but virtually on the stage. Practically the whole of the rest of the auditorium is visible to us, as well as the pianist himself. I can't concentrate on the music. Half of my mind is taken with this semi-strange man beside me. The other half with my failing marriage. The first six études pass by without my registering a note. And then during the seventh....during the seventh he grips me! Fingers on my thigh, his hand across the hem of my dress. Does he know what he's doing? The seventh etude is slow, and Zimmerman is playing with the tempo, drawing out the emotion of the bass melody, falling and rising. And as he does Jim's hand is on my thigh, no longer gripping but squeezing, caressing, making my spine tingle.

I should stop him. I glance at him, but he has his eyes closed. I glance around our neighbours, they follow the pianist, as do the people I can see in the front rows. And here I am being pawed! Pawed or caressed? If it feels good isn't it a caress? And shouldn't I submit to it? Submit to the feeling inside, the sensation of his palm on my dress, the sensation of his fingertips curled around the flesh of my thigh, a sensation that is transmitted directly to my pussy, making me wet, making me breathe shallow, excited breaths as the swift eighth etude begins. Four more after this! Four more pieces of music that I count by as his hand drives me to the brink of orgasm while he sits there rapt and seemingly unaware of the effect he's having on me.

The music's stopped at last. At last? I didn't want it to stop. And the spell is broken. He's realized. He's apologizing to me. I should slap his face, but I can't help telling the truth, in a fashon.

'Oh, I don't mind at all...there are few people who get quite so intensely wrapped up in the music.'

'Chopin does that to me', he says. He looks as embarrassed now as he did that night when last we met. He's looking at me intensely again, making çukurambar escort me feel the welling of excitement in my chest again.

'I'm so glad to have bumped into you, it's almost providential that I met you on the bridge.'

'Providential!' I squeak. Calm down. 'You're so melodramatic.'

He doesn't take the opportunity to lighten up. He's serious.

'Is that a bad thing?' he says. No, it is not. And then he says, 'I think I need a drink, I'm not sure Lutoslawski's going to be able to live up to that.'

Me neither. I think of his hand on my leg again, and the wetness of my pussy. If I don't make myself come now I'll barely be able to hold a conversation for the rest of the evening.

'I'm just going to the loo', I say, 'I'll see you in the bar.'

I push my way through the doors of the lavatory. Oh great, both stalls occupied. Looking in the mirror I notice the flush of excitement in my cheeks and across my chest. I'm beautiful. What man wouldn't want me? Want to fuck me but also to have me forever? God I need to come. I hear both doors of the stalls open simultaneously. Out of one comes an old bag with more make-up than flesh in a gaudy Versace suit. Gold rings everywhere. Either Essex or Russia. From the other stall that boyish Polish barmaid. We make eye contact and she looks at me knowingly, like she knows what I'm going to do. Christ, now I'm blushing. But I must do it, I'll wait till I hear them go.

Once inside the cubicle I hear the loo door swing open and heels clack away, fading as the door shuts. I squeeze out some wee, just as the first pips go to call people back to their seats for the second half. Peace at last. My knickers are pulled down to my knees, below the tops of my hold ups. I can see the wet patch in the gusset where my juices have soaked into the fabric during the concert. When he had his hand on my thigh. Oh God yes, think of that.

I push my knickers down to my ankles and take them in my hand, brining them up to my nose. I let the smell of my pussy fill my nostrils before putting my knicker-filled left hand on the edge of the toilet seat, spreading my thighs apart to around ten to two on a clock, leaning forward, taking my weight on my hand and feeling my inner labia kissing apart.

Quickly now, he must be wondering where the hell I am. The index finger of my right hand going directly to my clit. I'll only need to touch my clit to come this time I'm sure. Rubbing gently, working my juices around the nub of my clit, my head down with eyes closed as I picture his strong hands on me, caressing me. Now two fingers either side of my clit rubbing swiftly backwards and forwards, manipulating it, making beautiful jolts of electricity in my body. Leaning forward more now, and oh, panting, I can't help panting, taking my bottom lip between my teeth in a bid to keep quiet, but losing myself to the rhythm of my fingers and their skipping, flickering beat around my oh so sensitive clit.

Oh God now I'm thinking of him taking out his cock and fucking me, plunging his cock deep into my pussy, filling me. As I do I lean back, putting my hand behind me so that I can support myself while I push two fingers of my right hand inside my wet, wet pussy. Hearing the squelch of my juices as I fuck myself with rapid movements of my hand, imagining his cock there bringing me to orgasm, bringing this flooding sensation to my swollen cunt and, as the orgasm sweeps over me, squeezing my thighs together, my fingers squashed against my clit and my hips rocking back and forth in a wave of mind-fogging pleasure...closed eyes, enjoying...

I relax and mop up my pussy with my knickers, I can't put them on again! Shit, I need to clean up and get back to Jim, he'll think that I've gone. I open up the stall door and as I do I see the swiftly retreating back of someone in a black t-shirt and jeans passing out through the loo door. That Polish girl I'm sure! Shit, I thought she'd gone. Shit, shit. Fuck it, what does it matter. Christ I'm still so horny, masturbating just made me even hornier than before. Sometimes one orgasm just isn't enough.

As I walk around the corner to the bar I realize, as I swing my handbag onto my shoulder, that I'm still clutching my moistened knickers in my hand. But fortunately there's not many people around, only desperate drinkers slugging down their demetevler escort wine as the pips sound once more. The barmaid is back on duty, but I look at her out of the corner of my eye. I certainly don't want to see her again.

I can see Jim standing at a rail, looking out at the sunset over the Thames. I can tell he doesn't realize I'm here and I take the opportunity to enjoy his profile against the subdued blaze of the evening sky. And I look at him and feel another wave of desire for him. I just might do something extraordinary for this man this evening.

I approach him silently and lean in to his ear, 'That's a little present for you, but don't look at it yet. I'll tell you when.'

I take my drink and stand beside him, unsure of what to do next. What I want is to feel his cock inside me, but I'm not feeling that reckless just yet. Thinking. Thinking that I want to see his cock, I make up my mind.

'You know the Chopin was so good, I'm not sure I'm in the mood for the second half',

'Oh really? Well, I guess we could just have a drink here...'

He's so polite. I need to push him a little more.

'Don't you still feel like you need an emotional release?'

He looks confused. He says, 'I guess....', just as he feels in his pocket in his hand. I can see the outline of his fingers under the fabric of the suit curling around my damp knickers. If I'm not brazen enough to have his cock in me yet I at least want to see his spunk. I must be frank.

'Those are my knickers Jim. When I went to the bathroom I had to bring myself off. The combination of the music and your hand on my thigh had already got me halfway to an orgasm. I fingered myself through my knickers and thought of your fingers being on my clit. I hope you don't mind?'

The white lie doesn't matter, I want him to picture me fingering myself like that.

'I might have to take myself in hand if you keep talking like that.'

Are all Englishmen this hard to get? And yet, the idea of him taking himself in hand gives me an idea.

'Oh, I rather hoped you'd let me do that. The concert's started now, if we go to the bathroom we should have some peace and quiet.'

'Your place or mine?' he jokes. I'm not walking back past that bloody barmaid, she's had enough fun for one evening.

'Oh, yours.'

Now he's in a hurry, taking me by the hand and almost pulling me to the Gents, pulling me through the two doors and turning to face me. Oh no, that's not part of the plan. I want you Jim, but I'm still a married woman.

'No, I'm not going to fuck you, or even kiss you. Face the mirror'.

I come up behind him, my body squeezed against him, my breasts pressed to his back. My fingers unzipping him, taking his already hard cock out of the fly of his boxers and out through his trousers. It feels different to Wolfgang's, Longer, not quite so thick. And un-cut. Oh, that's nice, that's very different. I peel back his foreskin gently. I can feel his cock growing, growing and swelling because of me. My pussy tingling with excitement once more, reminding me...I put my hand in his pocket and take out my knickers, the delicious scent of my pussy once more filling my senses, then wrap them round his cock.

My lips to his ear once more...'How does that feel?'

He groans. I grin at him in the mirror and rub his cock up and down, slowly. My fingers and thumb circle around his shaft and pull his foreskin back and forth over the head of his cock. My sensitive fingertips feeling every bump of his rigid cock. He's completely under my control. I want him inside me but I also want to be inside him. I want to wank his cock and stick my finger in his arse, get that cock jerked swollen hard. Digging my other hand inside his clothes now, rootling for his balls inside his boxers, finding them and gently digging my nails there, just centimetres from his arse. And stroking him faster now, our bodies closed together and my hand jerking his hard cock.

'Are you going to come for me darling?' I whisper in his ear intensely. Looking at him in the mirror I can see that he is ready.

He sighs, 'Yesss', and I kiss him on the back of the neck just as I feel his balls tightening beneath my fingers and watch spurts of hot, sticky white spunk arcing through the air, landing on the basin in front of us. Such a lot of spunk that it makes me weak at the knees with desire for him, for his cock. And his cock still spurting its last drops into my knickers, mingling with my own fluids on the silky material.

I can feel him relaxing and lying back on me as I clean up his cock, putting my now sticky underwear into his pocket. He's not ever going to forget me. I grin.

'Now, let's go and get that drink'...and this time I'll choose.'