Sexual Solstice (17 page)

“Other than the beer and Chinese we ate in jail last night I think I’ve had Champagne and some sort of sea food for every meal. I feel like the Little Mermaid for God’s sake. Anyway Christmas, what the hell, and it’s not as if Edgar ever looked at me. I could have been in a muumuu just as easily as a bikini.”

“You know,” Randy said, “ I have always wanted to swat your ass for staying with that guy. I mean what does that do to a person’s confidence? Look at you, the Queen of the Amazons and you act like you don’t deserve a damn thing.”

“Well, you are sweet, but––oh you wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

“I’m a woman. First of all. I don’t feel like an Amazon. Look at me, honestly. Can you really say that?”

“I can.”

“Then you’re a liar, or very sweet.”

“I’m neither.”

“Then you’re very, very sweet. Let’s get some sushi.”

Val shouldered up to Gillian at the buffet, “So,” she said, “are you going to tell us what happened while you were incarcerated?”

“I’ll say one thing: he was big. Massive. Randy he would have had you for an appetizer. I had to tie him up just to control him.”

“You didn’t.”

“Of course I did. Hancuffs. He struggled too. But he took his punishment well. Took the billyclub like a man.”

“Now
you’re
lying.”

“I am not. Go and ask Cliff.”

“He was there?”

“No. But he saw him. He can give you a blow by blow description of the Sergeant, and Randy, I don’t care how you feel about these two, I want you to be an immaculate guest. After all, Cliff sprung me, or sprang me, or whatever.” But when Gillian looked up, Val, working her black Michael Kors party dress that, with her new black haircut made her look like a Russian spy (at a cocktail party), had moved to the other side of the table and was chatting up a square jawed, square toothed WASP from Southhampton. She obviously saw this as a challenge, thought Gillian, given Val’s preference for mutli-culti encounters. When in Old Westbury, do as the Old Westburians do. Randy had taken off to hit up Cliff for information about the Sergeant, and hit up Chad just for the hell of it. And soon Gillian found herself chattering away once again about her weakness for sushi and bubbly, especially when back in the States. She had been cornered by a young couple, Cecil and Ashley who found her adventure intriguing, drank lots and laughed a bit too heartily. The man, about Gillian’s age didn’t seem cut out for the toffee nosed set, yet was doing his best to keep up, was darkly sexy, kind of rough, as if bred on the wrong side of the tracks, with the wrong first name––could he have been the tradesman’s son? And his girlfriend, a trophy?––reminded Gillian, but for the huge breasts, of herself so long ago. Smart, but willing to compromise her potential for a sure thing. It wasn’t so much wanting the high life, as just not being able to have faith that things would work out as planned and groceries and rent would be paid on time. A sexy guy, whether self-made or born rich, was a huge distraction. “Are you staying the night,” the man asked, and added quickly, “We are.” We hiked in from Water Mill. Cliff and I are buddies from way back. Seems he finally met his match. How do you know him?”

“Oh, it goes way, way back, too. I used to work at Nathan’s Original. God, I hope I didn’t turn him gay!”

“Not from what I hear. You above the coach house?”

“Yes.”

“Us too. Listen, when we’ve all had a chance to slip out of these party duds, come to our room for a drink by the fire. We’re in the room at the end of the hall.”

The evening wasn’t long as most had tired from too much Christmas merrymaking altogether, and before long the party had dwindled to a drunken few on Sofas in the parlour with Cliff’s parents telling stories. 

Gillian went back to the room, trying to figure out how she could make a drink before bed in someone else’s room sound somewhat logical to Val and Randy, but the room was empty. She changed quickly but left evidence that she hadn’t flown the coop, and then, in Jenny Pakham pyjamas she’d bought at Liberty’s the day before the trip, she padded to the end of the hall. Cecil and Ashley had the same idea and were well pyjama’d, him in silk shorts that showed off a pair of sturdy legs, perhaps the product of boys’ school rugby at some point, and a matching silk t-shirt that showed big nipples on a big chest, pointing downwards. Cecil was sitting in an easy chair and from time to time his balls would escape the leg of his shorts. Ashley had unknotted her bun and let her blonde hair fall down her back, her baby dolls seemed to be held aloft by ample breasts that required absolutely no means of suspension. Gillian suspected fake, but was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. Ashley patted the empty end of the sofa for Gillian to come join her. And join her she did. Cecil jumped up. “Sorry for being so rude, let me get you a glass of something. Have you had the pink Veuve?”

“Yes, and I’d love some more.”

“We can drink a toast to Cliff and Randy and dreams coming true.”

At these words Gillian felt a momentary jolt of sadness mixed with something that said life could indeed be good. If Cliff had struggled with his identity and come out the other side, perhaps better days were in store for Gillian.

“So you’re married?” Gillian spoke into the space in front of her. She attempted to sound positive, fighting an encroaching heaviness at the suggestion.

“Courting, as they say out here in Old Westbury,” Cecil said.

Gillian wanted to warn Ashley that love, of mind, body and spirit would be all that mattered in the end. Let her find out for herself? Perhaps.

“You’re tense,” Ashley noted, “Come closer, let me rub those shoulders. Cliff said you’d been going through a rough patch.”

Gillian slid along the sofa to Ashley and turned her back towards her. “I guess a night in prison has sort of tied me up in knots. Still the Sergeant was so accommodating, and I’m sure very few in my circle can say they spent Christmas Eve in prison, although you can never be too sure.

Ashley continued to gently rub Gillian’s shoulders, tucking Gillian well against her crotch and thighs, creating a cosy seat for Gillian. “God that feels good.”

“Have some champers,” Cecil brought the drinks around in front. He stooped to give Gillian her glass and then leaned in and kissed her.

“Oh!” Gillian said. “A pleasant treat.” And Cecil continued, slipping his tongue into her mouth and savouring the taste. “Mmmmm,” Gillian responded. She felt her body arch slightly, of its own accord, into Cecil’s warmth. Ashley didn’t seem to mind, in fact her hands responded by trailing to Gillian’s sides and then slowly moving under her arms and gently touching her breasts. Soon Gillian was wrapped in their warmth, Cecil on the sofa in front of her and Ashley’s breasts pressed into Gillian’s back, while she gently let her fingers explore Gillian’s nipples.

Gillian wasn’t sure how to reciprocate and decided to go with the flow. She hadn’t had sex with someone of the same sex since she was seven, and back then, though everything was new, there wasn’t a heck of a lot to experiment on, or with. She enjoyed, in fact, loved, being held by another woman, someone who understood by virtue of who they were, what it meant to be part of the sisterhood. Yes, being held by a woman could somehow make the world seem right. However, having sex with another woman was a whole different kettle of fish. She let Ashley’s hands do the wandering, from breasts to tummy to vagina, and that was where Ashley seemed to have it in spades over any man that Gillian had been with.  She was a sorceress of tenderness and touch when it came to stimulating Gillian. Gillian felt like a musical instrument being played by a master, and yet her top half was engaged in the hungry lips of Cecil, who now replaced Ashley’s hands with his own on Gillian’s breasts. Granted he was slightly rougher but at the same time the touch conjured up the differences that made men so alluring to Gillian––their roughness, their clumsiness, their ability to try to be as tender as they could. Once again Gillian was deep in the churning of sexual energy and release. And everything about the evening added up to her feeling loved: Val and Randy were somewhere close by, old beau Cliff, and his partner Chad were nearby, and Cecil and Ashley, who seemed to reflect Gillian and Edgar in the early days, minus Ashley’s enthusiasm to play with an extra partner, and a woman at that, enveloped Gillian in a sexual sandwich.

Eventually Cecil was pushing his silk shorts down his thighs, revealing a cock that did not want out, the pressure of his boner fighting the elastic, until it sprang up. Gillian wanted to participate, give, not just receive and she disengaged from Cecil’s delicious kisses and with hands and tongue found her way to Cecil’s gorgeous cock. The inflated head looked like a child’s over-inflated toy, about to explode. She gently wrapped her mouth around the head, not sure how much of it she could take. And Cecil fell back, knees bent, thighs still together forcing his cock skyward as Gillian reached for it again, leaned into him and took him in her mouth. As she leaned forward she felt Ashley come under her from behind, lying on her back so that her face was at Gillian’s crotch. Ashley started to give Gillian what can only be described as a tongue job from heaven. As a result Gillian sucked harder on Cecil’s cock, but, with Ashley’s prodding, found herself thinking of Spokes’s fingers inside of her. It was odd, for all the sex she had had recently she thought back to Spokes. It was his cock she wanted, his warm body she wanted. She felt, from all of those years of being driven around the U.K., from nights at a West End play to weekends up to the lake district, Edinburgh and the Devon coast, that Spokes had been watching her and knew her almost better by now, than she knew herself. He had watched her act out the life of a society wife, with sufficient zeal, but no real enthusiasm. But now, here in this house, where answers were starting to fly at her, she let the pink Veuve relax her and let Ashley enjoy the fruits of her womanhood, and Cecil have the time of his life with what, she imagined, every man dreamed of––sex, with two women, at least.

Meanwhile, Cliff related to Randy and Chad the monster of a Sergeant he had seen at the police station. Randy remembered Gillian’s instructions to be the immaculate guest and so he laughed and ooh’d and ahh’d at all the right moments, although he didn’t have to try because he really was in awe. And Cliff enjoyed explaining the what-might-have-beens while the men relaxed in the conservatory. “My God, when he stood up you could see his dick going almost down to his knee. He’d have stretch marks for sure if he wasn’t wearing a harness.”

“Sounds like his harness was in the wrong place.” But Randy remembered what Gillian had told him about her encounter with Cliff so many years ago, and from what he could remember Cliff wasn’t lacking in that department. As the men spoke, their conversation became full of double entendre, and suggestiveness of what might come next. Randy ventured first. “Gillian has always had a thing for the well endowed. It may be her weakness.”

Cliff blushed, not sure if this was a compliment. Chad butted in. “Well she did the right thing by sending Cliff over to our side. Did you ever have sex with her?––it’s obvious you fill the requirements from where I’m sitting.” Randy had crossed his legs, his ankle resting on his knee, and a distinct bulge now showing between his legs. “Oh no,” he said, “I was already out and doing the rounds at Coney Island, Fire Island too.”

“I think I recognise you.”

“The only way you could be sure is if I put your dick in my mouth.” Randy slapped his hand over his mouth. “God, I’m sorry, I can’t believe I said that.”

Cliff laughed. “It’s okay Randy, we can share. There’s lots of room in the bed, or the Jacuzzi, wherever you want to rest your weary bone.”

“Such hospitality out here in the wilds of Old Westbury! I told Gillian I would do my best to be a gracious guest and I will certainly not let her down. If there is anything I can do to be a gracious guest, let me know.”

“And if there is any hospitality that we can extend to you, our guest, your wish is our command.”

“––enough.” Chad interrupted. “Too much chit chat, I think it’s time for a night cap, or at least some head. Come on.” The three men retired to Cliff and Chad’s room.

As the men were preparing for a good soaking in the Jacuzzi, Val had brought her big banker back to the room in the hopes the others were preoccupied. If sex was described by flavours, this vanilla had very hot sauce poured on top. Val’s banker had her, heals in the air, while he rammed himself silly after working his thick member into her tight and horny hole. It was the end of a brief dry spell for Val––she felt like she’d been walking around with a sign on her head that said ‘please fuck me,’ or ‘temporarily celibate,’ and the more her banker pounded her, the more she wanted it. She wavered from numb to sore to desperately horny and steaming hot. At one point he poured bubbly over her and she practically cried out “Fuck me, fuck me harder, you banker prick. C’mon, occupy Wallstreeeeeet!” She was sure she’d hear a sizzle as the liquid hit her hot skin.

At that very moment, Gillian was reaping all the pleasures that could be had when you are being serviced, or servicing, two generous and generously endowed partners. Ashley couldn’t seem to get enough of Gillian and was crying out in pleasure, playing with her own self while her tongue was deep in the warm part of Gillian. And Gillian sympathized with Ashley’s cries; if it hadn’t been for the mouthful of Cliff she was busy trying to wrangle she’d have been letting her own moans fill the room.

Cecil’s erect cock commanded attention, seemed to need to be reduced to a manageable size. “I need two mouths on this baby,” he whispered. Ashley heeded the call and shimmied out from under Gillian. She started teasing Cecil by kissing Gillian, the two women’s faces close to his hard prick. Gillian had never kissed a woman, and though the sensation was foreign, again it seemed akin to kissing a mirror image of yourself. It was sensuous, relaxed, and harmonious. “You’re driving me crazy,” Cecil cried. He squeezed his shaft making the head bulge more. The women slowly brought their kissing mouths towards the head of his cock and shared the large end with their tongues. Gillian took to this with zeal; she loved all the slurping and the idea that there was so much sensation not only in Cecil’s prick, but in the women’s mouths as well. At this one spot where mouths and cock met, so many sparks were flying, and not only there, but soon Ashley’s long fingers found their way back into Gillian, and she reciprocated, tenderly touching the waxed skin surrounding Ashley’s eager hole. The women continued to pleasure Cecil’s member, running their lips up and down and taking the head together and one at a time. Gillian remembered how Robert loved having his balls squeezed, and, with her free hand took Cecil’s balls and gently stroked and tugged on them. Cecil let out a prolonged “aaaahhhhhhhhh.” And Gillian knew she was finding her way around this new found sensuality.