A Threeway Tie Ch 01

Part 1 The Mistress

You meet me and we walk through the warm drizzle to a bar. It’s busy, noisy, typically gay in fact, but we blend in here and no one’s to know. You let me buy the first round; you find a spot by the fag machine, lean your broad back against the wall. I stand by your side, close so we can talk, thick as the thieves we are. And so we talk, and drink, smoke and flirt, check out the talent on offer. As if there were choices to be made, other avenues to be explored. But there aren’t really... Really there’s no choice, I think, looking at your mouth.

It’s high summer and it’s hot in the bar. It’s hot everywhere. The tiny sliver of space between our bodies is hot. Inside me is burning. The alcohol and the nearness of you is having its usual effect and not touching you is slowly driving me crazy, like an itch. I reach out to you with everything except my hands; my eyes tear your shirt from you, stroke your shoulder, your damp hair, the back of your neck. My spirit kisses your forehead. Ah, love and attraction, and the hours of fun we have with it. It's all I can do right now to keep what little distance remains.

Your eyes lock onto mine and your pupils are huge, fully dilated. It’s not that dark. I want to put my hand to your chest to feel your heart beat. I feel the adrenaline ripping through my body again, as it has so many times since our paths first crossed. You're breathing quicker now too, a faint smile playing at the corners of your lips. We know exactly what we’re doing. We know exactly what we’re not doing. There’s that intensity in your gaze. I feel something go.

So close; so near and yet... Time slows right down, and there's only you and me now. I close my eyes, shift my weight through my shoulder to the wall. Try to keep the lid on. It’s been too long. What would I do if you reached for me right now? If we forgot who we are, and you took your hand to me right here in this bar? If you brought my desire to the attention of your fingers? You would have me in minutes, my total surrender in your palm. Oh god, it’s that simple. And if I reached for your body: if I took hold of your shirt-front and pulled you to me, and touched my lips to yours, would you stop me? Could you?

I am breathing the smell of your skin, warm and perfumed, and it fills me. I am full of you. You are already inside me and I don’t know how to get you out. You penetrated me so long ago and you’ve been there ever since, buried deep but quite still. And now? Now I feel you wanting, aching, to move. But I'm such a tease. I learned it from you.

"What do you want from me?" Your voice comes out rough, a little ragged round the edges but you hold it steady. Your eyes are closed; you’re resting the back of your head against the wall. You exhale a thin, tense streak of smoke. I watch it rise and mingle with mine before I reply. I think we both know the answer. Are you daring me to say it? Your tight leash is stretched to breaking point already but I do believe you're still pulling. I consider carefully before I speak, or rather whisper, in your ear.

"Don’t you know by now?" I take your hand for a moment and the current flows between us. I reach round and grab your arse hard, run my hand up your back, and your body trembles momentarily under the weight of expectation that you feel from me. I am enjoying the power coming off your nerves. The anticipation is our foreplay. It doesn't get much better than this. "Guess," I murmur. I am playing with your belt buckle and you’re almost stopping me.

Another drag on the cigarette, another pause while you exhale and think and your filthy mind jumps through my filthy hoops. You look a little troubled. "Ahhhh shit..." You swallow, clear your throat. I'm waiting. "You know..?" Sweetie, of course I know. I know what this is all about. This is the crossroads. It's time to put some money where that reckless mouth is. There’s a film of sweat in the hollow of your collarbone and I wonder about licking it off. And then you let me have it. "I'm a married woman," you say quietly, with a wry smile, and it sounds like an apology. But still, there it is, the red card again. I laugh. It’s true. But it doesn’t change anything and we both know it. You are so close I’m almost wearing you. I think I need to close this deal. I think I need to push you harder.

Imagine that I am at your mercy... Imagine that you really are at mine. Imagine that everything we've said was all true. I am the needle and you are balanced on the tip. I am the needle and you are rolling up your sleeve for me with the belt between your teeth and your eyes shut tight because... Mmm, just because. I don’t need to know why.

The insistent, pulsing beat of the music is nothing compared to my heart. I find you looking at me and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Sweat has darkened your hair at your temples and behind your ears; I am searching your face, for what? For some sign, a warning, an invitation...but there’s nothing. You’re inscrutable, giving nothing away. Still you give me nothing except your little uncertain smile. For a bad girl you’re infuriatingly well behaved. Oh, this ridiculous game, turning in slow circles around and around and around until... I feel dizzy and have to turn away, look away, into the dimly lit bar. Maybe I can find something else to look at if I try hard enough. Someone else to look at. I look at the girl at the bar who’s looking at us.

She’s staring; her glass suspended in mid air, shamelessly, her lips parted, one eyebrow slightly raised. She looks almost familiar, but I can’t place her. I am momentarily incredulous at this overt voyeurism as I follow her fixed gaze, and as that line leads me straight back into your eyes I feel the sudden acid burn of jealousy in my stomach. She’s got you in her sights, like so many others, and you are compelled to return the compliment as a moth to a flame, as always. Such a peacock. What is it about you, I wonder? I look back and forth between the two of you for a couple of seconds like a spectator at a tennis match. It must seem fairly comical to anyone watching. But not to me. Christ, I hate you for making me feel this way over something so stupid. Sometimes I hate both of us. But – I chastise myself, why should I care who else looks at you? Or who else you look at? You’re not mine. Oh, imagine if you actually knew what you wanted! Imagine if I knew what you wanted. What then? Yes, what then indeed, lover...

Contd. in Part 2