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A beautiful smile possessed the oval soft-featured face of Lily Mathieson as she unhurriedly turned the page of her book – unhurriedly as she was trapped in her private little world of romance and had no wish to escape prematurely.
The tiny alarm clock in her handbag would shrilly bring her back with a bang when it was time to return to the office.
But on this day she was returned before the alarm triggered.
“What are you reading that can make you smile like that?” enquired a smooth, well modulated masculine voice that seemed straight out of the pages of a recent novel she’d read, ‘Banished to the Colony’.
“Oh,” said the slim twenty-five year old with mousy brown hair and unfashionable blue cut glass drop ear-rings. “A woman writer, whose name will be unknown to you.”
The request burned into Lily’s cheeks, so she kept her head lowered, having interpreted those words as being almost obscene. Sensible men did not roam around asking women they did not know to try them.
“Oh yes, Katie,” said the man, with a familiarity as if Mrs Lambert, who was sixty-one years’ old lived next-door to him.
“She is securing quite a loyal following despite having only had three of her fifteen manuscripts published.”
What nonsense. Lily knew this was Kate Lambert’s fourth book and in none of the five or six reviews she’d read had any mention been made about a string of failed novels by this author. This man was a prig, attempting to chat her up for reasons unknown. She reached for her handbag nervously.
“Sorry, four books as I don’t recognise the title I’m attempting to read upside down. I had not realised, um, ‘Banished to the Colony’ was no longer her latest published work.”
Lily looked up at him, surprise showing on her face but that how it was. Anyway, there was no need to conceal what she felt about the implausibility of his assertion. How on earth could a man in Auckland know of an emerging writer from the Barossa Valley, South Australia?
Kate Lambert probably was not even on the Internet list of emerging writers of women’s fiction yet, as her emergence had been so recent, the flash of her acceptance igniting like an Aussie bush fire.
This man was a fake. Manufacturing this pretence that he had knowledge of women’s literature was one thing, but to ridiculously claim that he knew the author well enough to call her Katie, for goodness sake!
“This latest novel is titled ‘Imprisoned in My Own Little World’.”
Lily, an avid reader, had never come across an author who seemed so compatible with her in thought and utterances and in the descriptive word images.
Lily didn’t write, but when alone her thoughts invented dialogue and visual landscapes; and she refined characterisations as if playing mental chess. This fellow wouldn’t be aware of her skill in playing such games or why she did it.
“You have lovely shaped breasts.”
Lily’s breathing stopped, momentarily. She was in the process of being picked up. How disgusting, how interesting, how should she react? Those thoughts raced into her mind, confusing her, so she sat dumbly.
“Would you like to come across the street for a cup of coffee?”
Lily looked about wildly for a police officer, but as usual when one was wanted, none were in sight. There were plenty of people close by, though, but none seemed aware of her plight.
“Only for a cup of coffee. I’m really not a molester of pretty women on public streets and certainly not of women in crowded lunchtime enclaves like this one. Don’t you ever take a risk?”
Well, that did it! Lily’s deceased maternal grandmother had been full-blooded Irish, and it must have been Grandma’s influence – she’d also been named illegal bahis Kate – that rose inside her and burst out of her mouth.
“Of course I do,” she lied. “Lead on, Mr -?”
“Chalmers, Gavin Chalmers,” he grinned like someone landing a fish while Lily decided to keep her identify concealed for the moment.
“Here, let me carry your book.”
This Gavin practically tore it from her hands, although she had to admit her resistance melted as his fingers extended out towards the novel. He was tall, his features were soft just like hers, and his hazel eyes were laughing at her, not in the way of a maniacal rapist but with warmth and intelligence.
Her knees, just as Kate Lambert had described in ‘Married at Last’. In that book the heroine had felt ‘felt dangerous under-powered, desperately in need of underpinning support’. Almost like a Zombie, Lily slipped her arm through Gavin’s and neither of them reacted as if something extraordinary had just occurred.
At five forty-five that afternoon, Lily had both hands dug deep into Gavin’s thick thatch of hair pulling it painfully, screaming in ecstasy, as lying between her legs he slurped at juices flowing from her vagina. Her cheeks were glowing and just like Flossie’s in ‘Married at Last’.
Lily’s heart soared and soft tearlets fell. Her body was on a high, the highest she’d ever experienced. Gavin was a man with a golden tongue.
Although married with two children and being ‘an experienced woman’ through four brief bouts of sexual encounters prior to meeting her husband Tom, Lily had never felt like this before – NEVER!
She wished she could prolong the feeling of exaltation by boosting her discharge but knew already she had produced a bucketful. Well a thimbleful, a BIG thimbleful! God, Gavin was good – a man with a golden tongue. She began to giggle at her eloquence.
“Good – giggle some more, as it’s pushed out a bit more,” said the slurping maniac.
Finally he crawled up over her belly, briefly nuzzled her small and lily-white tits – she preferred the name breasts, but Gavin had insisted calling them tits and the way he’d said it had really excited her.
Heavens, when he’d slipped a finger under the elastic of her panties and entered her, Lily’s immediately thought had been to get rid of that interfering item of clothing.
Ladylike she refrained from doing that of course, but her desire was granted as Gavin simply grasped the top of them in his teeth and looked at her unblinkingly until she obliged and lifted her bottom.
Growling and with practised ease, he drew the flimsy article of clothing down her legs and she had her first orgasm.
She’d not believed Kate when writing in ‘Droughts That Burn the Soul’ that Susan had felt a sudden discharge filtering through her panties when Jimmy simply pinched her nipple through her thick bra. In fact she’d laughed, thinking that elderly Mrs Lambert these days was so far removed from sexual experience that her mind had exceeded reality. But now she knew better.
Lily slipped out of the bed to go to the bathroom and Gavin rose on to his elbow and asked, “Where are you going?”
“To the toilet, silly,” she replied, feeling like a liberated teenager after her first fuck.
“Can I watch?”
Astonished, Lily almost peed on to the polished dark floor of his bedroom. Nobody had suggested that to her, ever, and the thought of someone being that intimate with her was…well…repulsive. But those pleading eyes flipped her mind and she heard herself inviting,
“Oh, all right. Then giggled, becoming the temptress and jokingly saying, “I’ll stand in the bath and you’ll get a good look.”
Amazed that she could say such a thing, Lily had to clench her muscles illegal bahis siteleri to hold back the pee when he replied calmly, “I was going to suggest that.”
Lily phoned home and Sam answered the phone. Yes, his father was home and yes he would tell him that their mother would be home by seven as a print-run had gone wrong and she’d been held back to supervise the re-running of the job.
Lily made the ten year old repeat the message to ensure he had it word perfect. He did. At the outset, Lily had said she was in a hurry so did not wish to speak to Tom.
Back in bed Lily and Gavin talked and talked, which was a new experience for her because the other distant men in her life usually had left her dozing after The Event, either to go home or to plod about looking for something interesting to occupy their tiny minds.
Her husband Tom had lost his post-coital conversational powers soon after she was pregnant with Bess, but still chased after his twice-weekly shag, as he called it. Invariably, as soon as he’d blown his load he’d turn over on to his side and drift off to sleep. He’d sometimes say ‘I enjoyed that’, but these days never ‘Did you enjoy that?’ or ‘Would you like to go again?’ or ‘You did cum, didn’t you?’
“You came copiously,” said Gavin, looking very pleased with himself. Lily felt her lower regions stir with re-awakened excitement, but she was aware that Gavin’s largish penis would not be thrusting up her channel on this occasion.
Earlier he’d said, kissing her eyelids, “Let’s take this a little slowly, huh? I’m holding back on installments because I want to see you again.”
Lily had assumed that this, her first post-marriage sexual association with male or female at any level, would be a oncer. Surely, after getting what he wanted, Gavin would be looking for more vaginas to conqueror. But no, he was encouragingly alluding to at least one more session.
She squeezed her thighs together to dim the excitement being generated down there by rampant signals flowing from her brain as she ingested this information and added speculation.
From coffee shop to bed within an hour seemed an improbable outcome from Mrs Prim, but there you are, thought Lily, as Gavin rambled on about his favourite authors – she could always ask him to run that desertion some other time.
At the table she’d introduced herself. He was charming and unlike other people who obviously disliked her name, he welcomed the revival in her generation of such a sweet name, and asked do she know it was a well-used name in great literature.
“No I didn’t,” she responded.
He grinned and said that he couldn’t think of any off the top of his head but there was always Lily Langtry to fall back on to.
“I gather some gentlemen did,” said Lily mischievously.
His eyes shone and he laughed generously, which pleased her. Many men give the impression that females are without humour and lack a real brain.
Gavin revealed he was a senior lecturer at university in English literature and that he’d met Kate when he called into the winery her husband managed in the Barossa Valley. Kate sold him some wine and they continued chatting until the other New Zealanders he was with were ready to leave.
“We were all from Auckland University to attend an international writers’ seminar in Adelaide. At that function I met Kate as she was a presenter on a panel of writers discussing the problems of getting their first book published.
“She was so lively and forthright, the outstanding person on the panel. That evening I dined with her and her husband Roland, so I got to know her quite well.”
“Is she sexy?”
“Not really, why do you ask?”
“The things she writes about.”
“She’s great on research, canlı bahis siteleri and there is a women’s collective operating in the small community where she lives. She told us she gets lots of good quotes, marvellous stories and very intimate disclosures from those women which she then fictionalises.”
“You didn’t …um.”
“Fuck her? Of course not. She was with her husband whom she appears to adore and she is almost seventy.”
“How do you know?”
“She told me, privately when I questioned her closely after viewing her wrinkles, although I didn’t mention that. She said no woman would be interested in reading about relationships from the pen – computer actually – of a writer aged seventy.”
“Does it matter?”
“No, not at all. It’s just a matter of adjusting my mind, as I have a rather vivid imagination.”
“Me too. Right now I can imagine lying between your lovely tanned legs.”
“They’re quite white, actually.”
In saying that Lily had been aware of that response being on the tip of her tongue, but chose to utter it. The risk was there for the taking.
“Whatever, but my image remains unchanged.”
Lily decided to shift the conversation, asking Gavin did he write.
“Yes, I too have had four books published. One is a an unpretentious assessment of New Zealand fiction writers of the past twenty years which is becoming accepted as a textbook in secondary schools, thereby achieving the purpose of writing it.”
“And the others?”
“One called ‘Kiwi Backyard Poets’ and…”. ” Oh yes, that one some sort of award, didn’t it?”
“Yes,” grinned Gavin, liking the inadvertent diminution of the status of the award and pleased that she’d heard about him if not having read his work.
“Not yet, but I have a manuscript that no publisher seems to want. Would you like to read it?”
“Well listen, do you drive to work or come by public transport.”
“I drive, why?”
“Well after you finish work today why don’t you drop in and pick up the manuscript at this address,” he said, handing her a card.
“It is a small apartment, and I live alone. Don’t come if you are uncomfortable about it.”
“No, that’s fine,” smiled Lily lightly. That, of course, was not fine. She had no intention of taking herself to this chap’s lair. The fact that he was an author and knew Kate Lambert in person was of no consequence. In her view it would be an immoral visitation. Really!
However, as the afternoon at her workplace dragged on she thought more and more about risk-taking. Little wonder people got bored of life – they had curbed their spirit of living. When did you last take a risk, my girl? Er, at lunchtime when I went to coffee with an absolute stranger, a probable seducer of women.
Summarise please – what was your reaction? I felt alive.
Leaving the car park of the law firm where she worked as senior researcher, Lily turned left instead of making her customary turn to the right. Beside her on the empty seat was a sheet of paper on which she had drawn a map of the most direct route to Gavin’s lair.
Lily checked the bedside clock and groaned that she’d better go.
“You’ve got to toss me off first, meanie,” he teased. “Do you think you’re the only one who has to shoot your nuts?”
“Only men have nuts, silly.”
“Yeah, but there is an equivalent mechanism. Just spit on it or use some of your cunt juice. Don’t suck it, we’ll have that little heart-beater to look forward to some other time.”
Nuts, cock sucking, cunt juice: never in her experience had a male used those words with such erotic intensity, thought Lily, feeling gloriously depraved.
She reached between her legs to wet her fingers while looking at the very erect and shiny thingy silently begging to be sucked rapaciously.
“Roll on to your back, buster!” she smiled, reaching forward with glistening fingers.
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