The Vicarious Lover

Her eyes pierced into me like emeralds. As I sat diagonally from her on the patio, I couldn’t escape their invasion. What was she thinking? The conversation had gone a bit dry, and my mouth was hurting from feigning too many courtesy smiles. Frank had been talking incessantly, cracking jokes that became more and more absurd, but we all had smoked some hash, so I suppose there was room for silliness in conversation. Yet my mind was obsessed with what lurked behind those eyes.

Douglas, her husband, had been sitting beside her. Attentively and genuinely engaged in Frank’s comedic routine, he’d reach and touch her leg now and then. An endearing gesture, yes, but her eyes told me she felt otherwise. As it grew later, the cold began to get to me. Summertime in Long Island isn’t exactly like that in San Diego. I sat with my arms crossed, for fear of my nipples cutting through my shirt. Leila had noticed my shivering, so she offered me one of her sweaters, and I thanked her, somewhat embarrassed. The wool was laced with her perfume, and the smell intoxicated me more than the hash we had all shared.

It was a Monday night, and Frank and Douglas had an important business meeting in the morning. The corporate world can afford many material luxuries, but being chained to a desk has always been a drawback in my mind—even in an executive position. After a couple drinks and handshakes, Frank left for home in his “baby,” a silver Porsche Boxter. Following suit, Douglas gave Leila a kiss on the forehead, and bid us both a good night.

“Now it’s time for you two to get down to business,” he said before winking and closing the French doors behind him. We giggled, probably because we were both too trashed to conduct a professional interview now. And something in me said there were other reasons for that nervous laughter. Yet, the interview was the reason I was there, so I brought up her latest painting.

“I hear your show went well; everyone is raving about La recherché, and I understand it sold for twelve million,” I said.

She shot me a look, which seemed almost contemptuous. “Fifteen million,” she retorted, her mouth fading into a complacent smile.

“I..I’m sorry,” I stammered, “the people at MOMA….”

She rose from her chair and took the seat next to me, which had been occupied by Frank. “Don’t apologize, Kate,” she said warmly, placing her hand momentarily on my knee. “We met two years ago in the same dilettante crowd that makes or breaks the artist nowadays. The exact sum is always a rumor, but my academic background tends to make me a bit adamant in correcting the misinformation I hear.” She laughed, taking an arrogant pride in her response, her eyes settling on my arms and chest. “Goddamn, Kate, you’re still shivering! Let’s go inside.”

Her sharp tongue excited me. I’ve always found intelligent women extremely attractive, yet something about her was exceptional. Here was a woman who had it all…beauty, talent, intelligence, and security. But I felt that she wanted more from life. Then again, don’t all artists?

I followed her into the kitchen, carrying a couple wine glasses and ashtrays. “Thank you again for the sweater,” I began, “I guess it’s going to take me a while to get used to these eastern seasons.” I was still a little flushed from the hash, but the warmth of the house made me much more comfortable.

She laughed, “You’ve been spoiled on the west coast with all that excess sunshine and storybook blue skies. Nothing changes over there! No wonder everyone from California is on Prozac. Either that or their brains are cooked from frying too much. The seasons here, darling, are what makes me tick,” she said, facing me. “Here, I’ll show you the difference between west coast and east coast art.”

I followed her into the living room. She had a cool restlessness in her walk, as she approached the bookshelf, turning her head sideways to read the bindings. I sat on the couch, my eyes gazing over her body. I’ve known this woman professionally for years, and God knows I’ve always found her attractive. But this night, my first evening in her home, made her almost irresistible to me. I prayed that she couldn’t read my thoughts, but secretly wished she could.

She grabbed three oversized books and sat next to me. Opening the first, she began speaking of brush strokes and texture, but my eyes were focused on her profile. So close to me, I could feel her leg against mine, smell her perfume on her neck, the faint scent of chamomile in her hair. I began to imagine the softness of her lips, the feel of her breast on my fingers…

“Do you see…,” she began, glancing at me and noticing that I hadn’t been looking at the book. This took me by surprise, as I didn’t want to seem rude.

I blinked, “Yes…it’s very clear of the different styles among these two paintings here.” I tried to recover, but I had no idea what she had been talking about.

“Kate, you’re distracted. Are you blushing?” she said with a coy smile.

“No, no, “ I giggled, “the hash is still working it’s magic. Please, Leila, go on.”

She was staring at me now, which was making me uncomfortable. Did she know what I was thinking? Whatever was working within me made me want this woman right then and there. Yet our relationship was hardly more than acquaintances. And besides, she’s married. I tried to dismiss this lust.

At that point, she put her hand gently on my face, caressing my cheek, my chin. “You have a beautiful profile, Kate. Wonderful bone structure…so strong, yet remarkably feminine. I’d love to draw you sometime.” Her eyes gazed almost seductively over my face, focusing intently on my lips.

I looked down and grinned sheepishly. Is she flirting with me, or is this a purely artistic interest? “Well, maybe we can set up a time when you’re not busy,” I said.

“I’m not busy now,” she spoke softly, her green eyes still on my lips. “You must know, Kate, that I find you very attractive,” she kept the same low tone in her voice. “I think there has always been something between us, even in our pseudo-professional phone calls and gallery meetings. I feel a connection with you.”

Both hands were on my face now, caressing my cheeks softly. Her fingers lightly touching over my lips, those eyes still burning into me. My heart was racing, my breathing quickening, yet I had to remain calm. I didn’t want to go too fast…not with Leila.

“What about Douglas? I mean…you’re married,” I turned, looking up toward the bedroom.

She turned my head back toward her. Moving closer to me, I could feel her breath on my lips, that intoxicating smell filling my lungs, burning in my loins. “He and I,” she spoke slowly, “don’t have this kind of energy….”

With that she kissed me gently. My eyes closed for what seemed like an eternity, a fire racing through me. I moaned softly, wanting more of this divine touch, yet I was afraid. Her body was against mine, pushing me into the cushions of the couch. We were lying down now, and I could no longer resist her…and didn’t want to.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she kept saying, her lips were like petals touching mine. She tasted of the merlot she had been drinking, and her scents were driving me wild. My hands ran through her soft auburn hair, caressing the back of her neck, her shoulders. She was so strong, incredibly sexual. Kissing my neck, her moans were almost inaudible, as if she were reveling in the contact with my skin, indulging in my scent. I could feel her pushing against me softly, that aching desire growing in us both.

My hands were urging her sweater up, the contact with her skin sending waves of excitement through my body. She sat up quickly, impressively, peeling her sweater off in one fluid motion, and tossing it to the floor. Almost ravenously, she turned to me, rolling her sweater along with mine up and over my head. I was moaning, touching her abdomen with my fingers as she sat up. Her skin was like silk in my hands.

Suddenly the lights went out, and I jolted up. “My God! What’s happening?” I whispered, moving to gather my things.

She grabbed my hands, stopping me. “Calm down, Kate. The lights are all on timers. Douglas is sound asleep upstairs,” she giggled, amused at my bout of panic.

The darkness brought a new confidence to our encounter. I could feel her unzipping her slacks, and encouraging me tenderly to do the same. I barely slipped them off when she pounced on me again. Her nude body was writhing against mine, her mouth searching for mine in the darkness. I felt her ass with my hands, giving it a little playful pat, which incited a giggle from her curious mouth. I still had my bra and panties on, but she seemed to be taking care of that. Skillfully, she unsnapped the bra and tossed it aside. I moved a hand down to my now moist panties, but she stopped me.

“Leave them on,” she whispered demandingly.

Our bodies writhed and meshed in ways I’ve never experienced. In that darkness, she knew me like no other ever had. I was her canvas now, coming alive with every stroke and blend. Our tongues danced together, her lips tangling with mine suggesting a hunger that can never be satisfied. Her hands cupping my breasts gently, her fingers moved concentrically over my nipples, making them hard and firm. Her tongue was teasing me on purpose. With my mouth, she was showing me a preview of what was to come. I was moaning, instinctively grinding my hips against hers, silently cursing the fact that I had worn any undergarments. My hands moved along her back, down to her ass. Pulling her against me harder, I moved up to meet her thrusts. I could feel her wetness against my thigh, the softness of her pubic hair exciting me.

“You like that, don’t you, baby,” she said with an audible smile.

But I could only respond with my body. I wanted so badly to devour her, rock her millionaire world with the love that I could give, the passion I could instill. I reached down toward my thigh, aching to touch her. She stopped me, grabbing my wrist.

“Not yet,” she said firmly.

And she overtook me. Pushing me up farther against the cushions, she was slowly moving down. Her hands firmly on my abdomen, she moaned hungrily as she kissed and sucked on my skin. Teasing my navel with her tongue…first circling it slowly, then flicking it lightly, then almost fucking it. God she was amazing. I could barely make out her outline in the darkness, but the sounds of her mouth were almost enough to make me cum.

“Shhhh…shhhhh,” she consoled me. Firmly restraining my hips, she had me rhythmically entranced. My hands ran through her hair, lengthening my arms as she moved down further. I could feel her mouth stop over my panties, her hot breath permeating the cotton. I was about to explode, and moaned to indicate this. But she knew…it was what she wanted. Kissing my panties lightly, I could feel her gentle pressure against my swollen clit. I heard her purr, and knew she could taste my salty sweetness through the fabric. God I was wet.

I could hear her sighing “oh, honey…” while feeling her moist lips against my inner thighs. Suckling my skin with her lips and tongue, her hands remained over my hips. Moving to my panties again, she began kissing, only harder this time. I could feel her tongue probing, aching to get behind that veil. Her hands quickly reached under my panties, sliding them down my legs and into the darkness. My breathing had become much heavier in this heightened state. And she was prolonging it, teasing me.

Her whole mouth engulfed me for a moment, savoring the smell and taste of my sex. But her tongue wanted more, tracing every fold, every crease, circling my clit, but careful not to touch it…yet. I could hear her licking at my lips, teasing my pussy with her darting tongue. Her soft sighs and moans were driving me mad. Teasing, she ran her tongue under my cunt, back and forth. One hand moved from my pelvis, and I felt a finger touch, tease, and finally slowly enter me. She was fucking me with her finger, slowly and deliberately. Moaning my name, telling me how beautiful she found me. I was enraptured.

Her finger moving steadily, I felt her tongue against my clit. She was gentle, still feeling my reaction to every touch she gave. And she knew just what to do, her tongue gently teasing my clit, exciting it without overstimulating. I felt another finger enter, and she was fucking me harder now. Her tongue was flickering and lapping at my clit, her fingers probing and penetrating me in rhythmic synchronicity. My legs were spread as wide as possible, at times my heels resting against her upper back. Her hair was so soft in my hands, as I felt the bobbing and turning of her head as she ravished me.

Her fingers moved faster, trading off with her tongue in teasing my clit and penetrating me. After an eternity of climax, she begged me to cum for her. Her fingers, working me steadily, she engaged in a frantic dialogue, pleading for me to cum for her, to say her name.

Sweating from exhaustion, my hips furiously bucking against her hand, I must have said her name twenty times. Tears streamed down my face as the release came, her fingers still inside me, feeling my contraction in orgasm after orgasm. I could feel her mouth against me, licking me softly, with long, tender strokes. A purring again, indulging in my bittersweet cream. Breathless, we held each other for hours, though we didn’t sleep.

At some point before dawn, we woke. I gathered my clothes and took a shower in the guest bathroom. She went upstairs to freshen up before Douglas would wake.

At 7:00am, we all met in the dining room for breakfast. Douglas was complaining of a headache, cursing the hash from last night, and mumbling something about using his laptop for a Net Meeting from home. Leila and I looked at one another, partly in fear, partly in sorrow. I had a train to catch at 9:15, which would take me back into the city. So much for the formal interview, but I’m witty enough to come up with something.

I thanked them both sincerely for allowing me to stay overnight, and had a brief moment alone with Leila before my taxi arrived. We were both a little teary, as what happened between us was completely unexpected. And what will the future hold? Is this to be a one-time fling, or is there unfinished business?

As I sit here, three months later, she fills every thought in my mind. I love this woman for all and everything that she is. Our communication is not frequent, but when we do talk, there is an undercurrent of something not yet realized.

I want so much to give to her, to love her completely. Not just for that one night alone, but always. And part of me does, in an odd way. I think of her and Douglas often, wonder if they are happy. I wonder if she makes him feel the way she made me feel.

Lucky man. To him, I am a mere acquaintance. But to her, I will always be the vicarious lover.