A Night of Life

Angelina shivered, although the room was not cold. James stood at the
entrance of the bedroom, waiting. Max sat heavily on the bed, removing
his socks and shoes. Angelina noticed the socks were stained and one
had a hole in the toe. He patted the bed beside him. Angelina sat and
removed hers as well. Why was James still standing in the doorway? She
motioned him in. He gave a tentative smile, bent, removed his socks
and shoes, and then sat on the other side of her. The room smelled
musty. Max had obviously not thought to air it out before their
rendezvous.

Max gently kissed her cheek. There was a time when those full lips
alone would have made her wet. Instead, she felt a surge of anger. How
could he kiss her with such affection? As though he truly loved her?

Max, the giant, was such an opposite of her first love. Stephen had
been slight, almost bony, a waif of a man, yet he had called her his
Little Vixen. God, she had loved him, drunk on love. What was most
unbelievable was how much he adored her in return. When he was
diagnosed with leukaemia, she’d thought, “Ah, so that’s it. The
universe could never allow such happiness to continue,” and she’d been
right. He was dead within a year. She might as well have been also.
For two years, she walked around like a robot, functioning, efficient,
but without emotion. She hadn’t even reacted when the mugger or rapist
or whatever he was accosted her in the underground parking one night
when she’d stayed late after work.

That’s how she had met Max. He’d heard her scream. She didn’t remember
doing it; it must have been an automatic reflex. Max had come racing
out of the dark and slammed the man against a concrete pole hard
enough to send the knife flying. Her attacker had taken one look at
this colossus and run for his life. The police never caught the man.
Max had stuck by her for the entire night and driven her home
afterward. They wound up in bed. She couldn’t remember how. Perhaps it
was another automatic reflex.

From that moment on, Max considered Angelina his girl. She neither
confirmed nor denied it. Sex had been rather routine. She seldom
orgasmed, and when she did it was a biological response. He made love
as though mining for gold, with exact attention, but no true joy. They
never, ever laughed.

She felt momentarily sorry for James, stuck in the middle of “The
Zombie and the Giant Have Sex.” They’d been together now for six
months and Max had continually brought up the subject of a threesome.
She’d laughed the first time, thinking he was doing a Seinfeld joke.
She could not wrap her head around the idea of touching another woman
intimately. She thought about Max with another woman and felt…nothing.
If Stephen had ever wanted someone else, Angelina would have had to
kill her. She’d told Max they might be better off apart. He responded
with “the plan” to spice up their relationship. Perhaps if he’d been
more interested in spicing her up, she might have actually felt
something. He was coarse and dull but safe.

He’d spoken of love, but nothing beyond, as though that was the final
destination. Now, it had become perfunctory. “Have a nice day – I love
you.” “Can you pick up the dry cleaning? – I love you.” “Suck my cock
because I’m horny after reading the latest Penthouse – I love you.”
There were moments when she wished she could force him to take it
back. Rewind. It seemed an abuse of the phrase, the way he used it.
She’d never said it back.

Eventually, Max had switched tactics. “Wouldn’t you like to be the
tomato sandwich?” “You know how sometimes I cum too fast for you. Two
guys could definitely satisfy you.”

Angelina had argued about venereal disease, their reputations being
ruined, blackmail, everything except what she really felt. How could
he ever want another man to touch her the way he did? How could he
want that intrusion, that violation of their relationship? “What if we
like it? Are we going to invited every available guy into our bed
afterward?” He’d laughed and said if she liked. At that moment, she
had hated him. That wasn’t love. Love was being the center of each
other’s universe, the yin to their yang. There was no yung spinning in
the circle. Just two.

James lifted a lock of her long auburn hair, twirled it around his
fingers, closed his eyes, and inhaled its scent. She remembered his
poem: “I closed my eyes, your scent Floated by on gossamer flies.” She
looked into his quiet face. He wore his brown hair very short and had
a mild widow’s peak. His goatee and moustache were neatly trimmed. His
eyebrows were thick, but not unruly, one slightly more pointed than
the other. His ears were small and very flat against his perfectly
shaped head. He was sturdily built, a sensual languidness about his
movements. His eyes were almond shaped and piercingly blue, such a
contrast to her deep brown.

Max pulled her sweater over her head, catching it on one earring.

“Ow!” she protested.

James deftly untangled it, folded the sweater and tossed it into the
corner. His eyes strayed down over her bra to her swell of breasts.
Angelina felt a blush rise. Max unhooked her bra and threw it onto the
sweater. Angelina resisted the urge to cross her arms.

“You’re beautiful,” whispered James.

The voice felt so strange and so familiar. She’d heard it so many
times on Literotica. Done embarrassingly private things as he’d read
poems: “We can only be described as sexy beasts of nature, oh so
primal.” Although they were not alike physically, something about his
intensity reminded her of Stephen. He’d also made her laugh in their
emails, a rarity these days.

She’d loved all the poems, even the indecipherable one in French, a
romantic banquet of sound. She’d been deeply touched by many works,
digging deep into the dark places of the soul – lonely, afraid,
wistful, lusty, and so much more. Even before they started exchanging
letters, she felt as though she knew a part of him few people ever
shared. She had never seriously pursued a relationship with him. That
way lies pain, she’d thought. Besides, he wrote once in reference to
another woman “Don’t ever tie me down.” They’d exchanged silly jokes
about bondage. But, inside, she felt a small twinge of disappointment,
a thread of hope snapping.

Now, here they were, the three of them. Max had finally convinced
Angelina to acquiesce when she, in a pathetic attempt to make him
jealous, had confessed her attraction to a romantic stud on the
internet who wrote erotica. She wanted him to say he could never stand
the idea of another man kissing her, never mind fucking her. Instead,
Max had written to James telling him his girlfriend was interested and
would he like a ménage e trois. Angelina told neither of them she had
already been writing to James for months under an assumed name, Vixen.
Mild flirtations. They discussed joy of dancing like no one was
watching, his writing, and a male perspective on relationships. He’d
replied with class and maturity to all of her rants and queries. When
she coquettishly asked what the hands of such an experienced lover
looked like, he’d emailed her digital photographs. She burst out
laughing, an unfamiliar sound.

Now, James sat beside her on the bed, softly trailing his fingertips
up her arm, from waist, to inner elbow, to shoulder, to throat, the
way she loved. She’d mentioned that once in a letter to him, but since
he didn’t know Angelina was Vixen, it must be a coincidence. To her,
skin was a canvas. She’d never liked painters who didn’t fill all the
spaces, every corner with colour and texture and life. He kissed her
shoulder, then along the back edge of her shoulder blade, to her
throat and back down, gently biting her in the curve. Goose bumps rose
all over her body.

“You got a reaction there,” Max’s voice clanged like dropped dishes.
“Keep doing whatever the hell you’re doing,” commanded Max, “and I’ll
suck her tits.”

Angelina stiffened, wanting to strike him. Max knelt in front of her
and took her left nipple in his mouth, fingering the other one. She
resisted the urge to pull away. James kissed her ear and whispered,
“Relax.”

She nodded, but a tear slipped down her cheek. James caught it on his
fingertip, examined it, and then shook his head.

“She doesn’t want to do this,” he said.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” snapped Max. “She agreed. She
thought you were hot.”

“Never-the-less, it’s not a good idea. I’m leaving.”

“Fuck that and fuck you.”

“You asshole—“ Angelina stood up and pressed her hand on James’ chest.

“I’m okay,” she said. “It was a mistake. My problem, my
responsibility.”

“Are you sure?” asked James.

“Yes, I have some things I need to say to Max. I never should have
involved you. I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” said James. He stood, picked up his shoes and socks,
and walked out.

“Where the fuck are you going?” called Max.

Angelina had not been far behind him. She’d send her brother over to
pick up her stuff. She never wanted to see him again. Max was stunned.
Totally clueless. She didn’t have the energy or the inclination to
explain. She was still sorting it out herself.

A block down the street, blues music oozed out from the Lost Hope Bar.
She figured it was a perfect choice. The bartender brought her vodka,
straight up with a concerned look. She glanced in the mirror. God, she
was a sight. Makeup streaked. Hair mussed. One collar up and one down.
She tried to tidy herself, then turned away from the mirror to watch
the band.

They were first-rate. She’d never been in here before. Max didn’t like
blues and he said queers hung out at that bar. Her foot started
tapping to the beat.

“Want to dance?” said a familiar voice.

Angelina whirled on her stool, stumbled and fell, face to face with
James.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m just a klutz.”

“No. I mean, are you okay?”

“Oh. I think so. I feel like I’ve unloaded a 200 pound weight.”

“That giant. At least 250.” They laughed. “You look better than the
last time I saw you.”

Angelina smiled, remembering her worse-for-wear reflection. “Yes.”

“Pardon?”

“I do want to dance.”

It was a slow, sultry piece. Their bodies clicked together. She waited
to see if his rhythm was one she could follow. He moved with a subtle
grace. In moments, they were dancing as though they had been doing it
for years.

When the music sped up, again they matched. Both gave themselves over
to the beat yet not losing the connection. She never did finish her
drink. They spent most of the evening on the floor. When the bartender
called, “Last call!” they decided to beat the rush.

“Can I give you a drive home?” asked James.

“Where are you staying?” asked Angelina.

“The Silver Anchor.”

“I’d rather go there.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded and smiled. They held hands as they fought the wind to his
car.

She thought she’d feel shy, but it almost seemed familiar. Not like
Stephen, but comforting still. He gently pushed her hair back off her
face. She felt his lips press against hers; they were soft, gentle in
their movement across her mouth and face – and his scent flooded her
nostrils. A mix of cigarette smoke and vodka, a touch of musk and a
hint of male sensuality bathed in music. James smelled of the place
they’d just danced, and he twirled her as he fumbled with his key and
opened the door to his hotel room.

Angelina broke his embrace and pulled off her coat. She noticed that
the room was all in coloured pastels – comforting and soothing. The
contrast between James and Max was striking. Sometimes, she felt a
hint of Stephen around him, but the image dissipated when James moved;
his size was more akin to Max’s. If anything, he was somewhere between
the both of them: Max’s reassuring size with Stephen’s tenderness and
thoughtfulness.

“Penny for your thoughts,” James said as he joined her while she stood
in the middle of the room. He handed her a glass of port wine. “You
seemed gone there for a second.”

“No,” she answered, “not gone. Just remembering better times.” She
gulped the wine – the port was satiny smooth as it passed over her
tongue. The aftertaste was somewhat chocolaty. James moved closer to
her.

“There was something we started earlier,” he whispered in her ear. He
gripped her glass and lifted it until it was between them. He twisted
it around until where she’d touched it with her lips was facing him.
He touched the same spot with his own. “But that doesn’t mean it has
to finish here.”

Angelina took her glass and sat on the bed, taking a longer, deeper
drink. James stared at the ruby liquid in his own glass and gulped
down half of it. She was amazed, he appeared as nervous as she was.

“That’s why I’m here, James. I need to finish it. Whatever happens… it
happens because I want it to.”

He finished his glass and joined her. His scent filled her nostrils
again – this time, it was spicier. She noticed a bulge in his pants
when he took her shoulders and turned her away. Angelina anxiously
waited for something to happen – she closed her eyes when he began to
knead her shoulders, his fingers expertly digging to where tension
hid. He poked and prodded, fingers composing rhythmic flirtations
while strumming across her flesh; his thumbs made small circles from
the base of her hairline to the beginning of her spine.

“The sweater?” James asked.

She nodded. She caught her breath when she felt his fingers slip under
the edge of the fabric and pull the sweater over her head. For the
second time tonight, Angelina was in front of James only in her bra,
ready to explore feelings long thought dead. But this time, there was
no place she’d rather be. When he deftly undid her bra and pushed it
passed her shoulders, she began to turn around, but he held her
shoulders firmly. Instead, he guided her onto the bed and laid her
down face first.

Angelina rested uneasily as she heard him unfasten his belt. “James,
what are you doing?”

“I want you to feel good tonight. Do you trust me?” He kissed the
small of her back.

“I… Yes.” Goosebumps across her flesh as the threat of mystery clouded
her reason.

She heard him disrobe completely and fought the urge to turn around.
She felt him straddle her ass – something hard bumped against her
buttocks. She felt heat through the material of her skirt; a sac
scrunched against the bulge of her rear. He was naked on her. She bit
her lower lip in fearful expectation. He pressed his hands against her
kidneys – she closed her eyes – he pressed into her flesh with the
same delicate but firm digits he’d massaged her neck. Each stroke drew
a sigh from her lips as he traced the curve of her spine, following
the natural contours of the muscles in her back. From each vertebra he
pushed outward; Angelina’s sense of relaxation grew steadily as each
vertebra was treated.

She was sighing deeply when she felt James rest his entire weight on
her back. His breathing matched hers and their combined heat was
soothing. She enjoyed the sensation of the hairs of his stomach and
chest against her skin. He was like a living, silken blanket. She
giggled when he began to play with her ear with his lips – even as she
laughed, he was running his fingers deeply into the flesh of her arms.
Her limbs were now gloriously heavy.

“Was that good?”

“Hmmm…” she acknowledged.

“So you wouldn’t mind if I did your lower half?”

“Un-un…”

Still savouring his sensations, Angelina wiggled her ass as he tugged
her skirt off her subtly curved hips. She knew she wasn’t a swimsuit
model by any means, but she’d always enjoyed the attention she
captured when wearing the right outfit – Stephen had commented from
time to time on how lucky he was: “This will be totally superficial
Vixen, but you’re smart and beautiful. I’ve got the whole shebang in
one sassy package!”

“Hummmm!” James exclaimed as he looked at her ass through her black
silk panties. Angelina ground her hips into the bed in a sensual come
hither motion.

James slipped his fingers through the leg holes and massaged her ass
with almost holy dedication; her flesh was firm, but also soft,
feminine and inviting. She raised her hips, allowing him to pull the
underwear down. She was now totally nude.

“Beautiful,” James whispered. To Angelina’s disbelief, she sank even
deeper into relaxation as his fingers worked her legs. She felt her
muscles stretch out and almost melt away, as if they were flowing
across the bed in a responsive puddle. Her body was now immobile; each
breath was deep and fulfilling – she felt she could stay like this
forever.

“Angelina,” James said. She knew his meaning, and despite the
heaviness of her limbs, she slowly turned over onto her back. She
opened her eyes as well. James stood at the foot of the bed – he was
as she’d imagined him. He was broad shouldered and barrel chested; his
entire body was covered with a fine thickness of hair. Despite his
average height, there was a virile strength to his body – he
stretched, and Angelina thought of a lazy tomcat, confident in his
control over his territory, but ready to spring to action. His pubic
hair was trimmed short and his cock – uncircumcised -- was not the
longest nor the shortest she’d ever seen; but it was thick and almost
perfectly cylindrical in shape . The foreskin was not pulled back
completely from the head. It stood straight and ready.

She felt his eyes on her body as he started to massage her feet. He
seemed to instinctively locate the pressure points attached to the
more sensitive areas of her body. Her hips moved autonomously as he
pressed the centre of her arch with his thumbs – her legs parted
slightly, readily. She’d missed that sense of involuntary willingness
to accept a cock. Again, a flash of Stephen’s gentle touch burst in
her mind.

But it faded as James began to massage her legs, pushing upwards to
her pubic triangle of trimmed auburn hair. She watched intently as he
passed that delta and reached her tummy. She stifled a giggle as he
trailed his fingertips lightly over her skin. James straddled her
again; she enjoyed his presence on her belly. He reached up and
started to massage her face; applying finger pressure, he followed the
lines of her features. She felt her face stretch, almost flatten as he
pressed deeply into her. Again, he followed the lines of her body –
down her neck and across her shoulders, she was relaxing, becoming
almost entranced by his attention and touch.

He’d taken great care to avoid touching her breasts; she wanted
desperately to feel those masterful fingers explore her sensitive
mounds of flesh. They’d fallen slightly to her sides – again, her
breasts weren’t the smallest or the largest, but like her ass and her
legs, they could attract the attention of either men or other women.
James locked his eyes with hers and he touched her tits, pushing them
together so that the nipples were only inches apart. Angelina smiled
and he put one of the nubs into his mouth. Like his fingers, his
tongue was expert in bringing life to her nipple. He moved from one to
the other, humming and lashing with his tongue while his fingers
seemed to almost slip past her skin to reach her nerves directly. He
bit, licked, pinched, squeezed; she sighed, moaned, trembled, gasped.

While James enjoyed her breasts, Angelina slipped her hands beneath
his arms and started to stroke his cock. When he felt her fingers,
pleasure seized him. Her fingers traced the shape of his member – it
twitched, happy for the attention it received from a beautiful woman.
Angelina pulled his foreskin back, fascinated by the tender purple
coloration of the exposed glans. James let go of her breasts and
leaned back, supporting himself on his arms while she rubbed and
pressed his cock into her stomach. 

“You’re not the only one with magic fingers, are you?” she asked as
she controlled his manhood. So much about men was reduced to a few
inches of flesh hanging between their legs; yet so much could be
violent yet desirable about those same few inches. She took her time
to contemplate it, feel it, tame it. Like James, she felt that his
cock was ready to pounce even as she covered it with gentle touches.

He grabbed her hands and held them tightly while he got off . He slid
between her legs; her wetness had spread down her inner thigh and was
now staining the blanket. His cock was only an inch away. “I think our
fingers have done enough talking, Don’t you think so?” James asked; he
parted her knees.

“Well, I think our bodies have something to say to each other.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes. So why don’t you… step into my parlour…”

“Said the spider to the fly.”

He reached down between her legs, his fingers brushing across her
engorged lips and electrified clit. The wait had been so long her
vulva was charged with sexual anticipation. She feared suddenly that
he wouldn’t be able to enter her. What if her erotic chasm had been
closed to any but Stephen? What if the emotions James stirred betrayed
her first true love? Was she ready to let someone she felt something
for enter that secret place that felt so empty since Stephen’s death?

Angelina closed her eyes and parted her lips while he opened her pussy
and pushed his cock slowly inside. He moved gently back and forth,
nearly slipping out before entering deeper into her. She was tight,
but she anticipated this wanton invader.

But when James came to lay his body on hers, his powerful heartbeat
reverberated through her, his gentle but strong strokes parting her
walls, his soft tongue entering her mouth, she understood that he
wasn’t trying to invade Stephen’s place in her heart; he wasn’t even
trying to carve out a place of his own. He was just alive, filled with
joy from being in the presence of another living person. He was a
catalyst for her awakening and her acceptance that life goes on.

James’ thrusting accelerated, his breath was raspy and animalistic.
Angelina wrapped her legs around him and felt the swell of orgasm
build as her clit rubbed against his pubic hair.

“Aaahhh!…” she moaned as she came, her muscles quivering around his
cock. James slowed, always kissing her. Through the kiss, he felt a
satisfied smile wash across her lips. He was still stiff in her,
filling her inner space. He pondered for a minute and then he laid
down on his right side while placing her upraised knees so they draped
over his left thigh. They formed a kind of erotic T; all the time, he
was in her pussy. He began to move in and out of her again, rotating
his hips so he could touch all the sides.

Her face flushed and she was startled by the alacrity with which she
responded to his slow fucking. Each of his thrusts pushed her orgasm
near the surface She neared the height of her eruption when he
stopped.

“Not yet,” he whispered. Her heart beat and her breathing refused to
slow down. He took a deep breath and fucked her again like there was
no tomorrow. The bed bounced off the wall. Her orgasm swept over her
as he drove his cock authoritatively into her. She was still moaning
when he slowed down – sweat dripping from his body, drawing his
outline on the bed.

“God, I haven’t fucked like that in so long,” she said. She was
stunned to feel his cock still hard in her.

“It’s my pleasure young disciple, but you don’t have to call me God.
I’m good, but not that good.”

“You could fool me.”

“Nah. Fucking you is good enough for me.”

With that, he pulled out of her and guided her to her knees until she
was on all fours. When he entered her from that angle, it was a whole
new ball game – she embraced the fact she didn’t have to see him to
enjoy him. For him, the sight of her heart shaped ass engulfing his
cock like a hungry beast, tight and feral around his manhood, was
enrapturing. He wasted no time and fucked Angelina with all the power
he possessed. She felt him begin to lose control and give in to the
instinct of the fuck, and responded to his new found savagery with her
own wild bucking. Soon, they were both moaning and growling and
snarling like beasts.

She howled as he came in her, filling her with warmth and a sense of
his life and joy. James cried out as his cock jerked and vibrated
while she clenched to empty him completely. His orgasm precipitated
hers and they managed to almost come simultaneously. They fell onto
the bed in a sweaty, satisfied, and most of all, living, heap.
Their breathing slowed. Angelina entwined her fingers with his, their
bodies too hot and sweaty to hug. She smiled and squeezed his hand.
She might never see him again. “A simple chorus to a one night fling?”
It didn’t matter. What a symphony it was! She was ready to rejoin the
music of life.

“I like the way you dance,” he whispered. “In and out of bed.”

“You should always dance like no one –“ Angelina caught herself.

“Like no one is watching,” finished James. “A beautiful Vixen of a
woman told me that. A vixen with long auburn hair and dark brown eyes.
Foxy Angelina.”

“How did you know?”

“How could I not know?” he silenced any further questions with a kiss.