Sexual Solstice (2 page)

“No, after you.”

“I insist,” she said, stifling a guilty grin. She held her hand low as if to usher him by. He glanced down. “If I must––”

“You must,” She said, hand still held low.

The steward lifted the tray, exposing himself. “I warn you, I’m ticklish,” he joked.

“I wouldn’t dare,” Gillian said, but dare she did; as he passed, she turned and let her hand draw across the front of his trousers. She swore he couldn’t have been wearing any underpants as the back of her hand grazed his crotch. Yes, it was all there, hours of pent up back and forth, causing the stewards cock to most likely rub incessantly against the fabric, she could feel the head of his firm member, the rim that defined it, the shaft and the balls, even if only for a split second, she could see it all in her minds eye.

“It got that way from looking at you.”

“Forgive me.”

“I should like to put you over my knee for that. Very much like to.”

“And I shouldn’t object.”

“You’ll have to fly over some late February, I could tend to your needs so much more––”

“––personally? And I, to yours. That must be painful.”

“Mmmm. Let’s not talk about it or my zipper might burst.”

“Your drinks are getting warm.”

“Lots is getting warm.”

“It’s been a hot summer.”

“I think we’ve done enough to melt the ice––“

“I better carry on, Gillian said. “I wasn’t counting on first class being busy.”

“Everybody thinks they’re entitled to an upgrade. You, on the other hand, I would have no problem.”

“I’d behave.”

“You’d be a good girl.”

“For you I would.” There, she had said it and made the emotional leap. She had finally connected with another man on a basic level. There was nothing either could score from the other except some pleasure. She felt free for a moment, and proceeded to the washroom where she closed her eyes, imagined the man’s large hands lifting her sundress, and tickling down the elastic of her panties. His hands cupping her breasts was all she needed to think of in order to gasp, shiver and release. God he was good, she thought. And so was she, when push came to shove. The steward made her life hell for the remaining hours: Every time he passed he stared directly and longingly from her crotch to her breasts. It all sent Gillian reeling and brought her pulse back up for the remainder of the flight. She could only concentrate enough to barely leaf through a
Hello!
Magazine, looking at the photos, and distractedly rereading full sentences.

Needless to say, when she left the arrivals area, where others were travel-weary, her senses were tingling. She felt guilty for a crime she didn’t commit, such was this ambiguous loyalty to Edgar. And mixed with that guilt was a desperate drive to be close to someone, a man who would appreciate her as much as she would appreciate him, and to hold and to be held, and most importantly to be fucked. Bu that was just the build up to her desperate encounter with Spokes, which she now recalled there, in the back of the Rolls, with such relish. She had to stop for a moment and breathe in the English country air, mixed with a hint of jet fuel. The night was clear; London’s arms were open wide. Now where was Spokes?

“Ma’am, oh ma’am.” Spokes came running after Gillian and she swirled, happy to see the long suffering Spokes in shirtsleeves for once. “Forgive me ma’am, I left my jacket in the car. Are you early?”

“No, no, Spokes, right on time.” It was the first time Gillian had ever seen any of Spokes’ flesh other than his solid hands, his chiseled face and that bit of neck below his cap. He reached out to take her bag. “Spokes, this is all I’ve got, really I can keep it on my shoulder.” But it was too late, Spokes thick forearm was close enough to Gillian’s face that she caught a hint of his cologne, a hint of lime, a bit musky, mixed with the distinct light scent of his body, she could almost feel the dark hairs that covered his arm so evenly. Gillian grinned. “Well if you insist.” Their hands touched as she withdrew the shoulder strap, and he took it from her. “I feel almost naked without it.”

Spokes had parked the Phantom ostentatiously and characteristically in a no-parking zone, to keep busybodies from venturing a touch, snooping or smudging. “Yes well, you can relax now. We’ll have a nice ride up to Cherry Hill. Can’t imagine there will be much traffic.”

Ah Cherry Hill, a mere fragment of Edgar’s vast fortune, thought Gillian. A place where they could rest from London bustle, but most of the time Gillian spent there alone. She still couldn’t get used to the name. It sounded like a great name for a stripper. “Don’t put on your jacket, Spokes, definitely too hot this evening, for England anyway. New York was stifling.”

“Thank you ma’am. Very good ma’am.”

Gillian dozed as the amber lights of the motorway and the outskirts of London gave way to the dark countryside. She couldn’t manage to sleep, no matter how smooth the Rolls was, still she kept her eyes closed, and as it became obvious that they were soon on the secondary roads she fell asleep.

When she woke Spokes strong hand was on her shoulder. “Beg your pardon ma’am, but we have a flat. It will be a tad uncomfortable but I should be able to get us fixed up shortly. The night was silent and dark with nothing but the far off light of Cambridge. “If there was ever a night to have a flat I suppose this is it.”

“Ma’am?”

“No rain, no cold. It’s a lovely night.” She moved to get out of the car.

“You needn’t get out, it’s really no problem. I can jack you up, car and all. You just stay comfortable.”

These Brits, Gillian thought, their choice of English is enough to drive one crazy. “Well I’ll just sit here and watch, at least I can do that.”

“There are some sandwiches in the cooler, why don’t you help yourself, and I’ll tend to this.”

“I’d love a drink about now.”

“That too, all the comforts of home. It think there’s a bit of emergency bubbly.”

“Well I’ll busy myself,” and while Gillian took care of the champagne with her former waitress finesse, Spokes struggled with the car. Gillian noticed a few gasps and grunts coming from the rear but didn’t want to intrude. She knew how men could be with their work. No one needed to lose face. After some peaceful reflection of her own, and another glass of Laurent-Perrier, she called out to Spokes, “some water perhaps? Spokes, can I bring you some water at least?”

Spokes stood up from behind the door, his forehead glistening, his shirt now open to the waist, the work lamp catching the fine line of hair up his torso, highlighting the profile of his nipples touching the edge of his shirt. It was obvious that he had been struggling. “The worst is over at least.”

Gillian moved to the back passenger door, by the stubborn tire. She handed a bottle of water to Spokes and then took her place on the edge of the seat, her legs draped out the door, one foot touching the ground, the other a mere breath from Spokes’s face. “Seems alright to me.”

“We should be back on the road in no time.” Spokes wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, exposing more of his chest. Gillian sipped her champagne against a tide of excitement. “Please let me offer you a bit of bubbly Spokes. After all, you deserve it.”

“I’ll just lower the rear and then I promise to indulge you. If you insist.”

Gillian felt the car shift, listened as he slammed the trunk, and then Spokes face reappeared from the darkness. Gillian rose too quickly with the glass in her hand, and bumped the flute of champagne against Spokes’s chest, sending a small splash onto her chest, caught in the light. “Oh God, clumsy me.” They stood face to face.

“It’s alright.” He ran his stubby thumb along her sternum and then licked the drops off his thumb. Gillian gazed, wedged between Spokes now, and the rear seat. “I um, I um.”

“Cheers,” Spokes rose his glass to clink and Gillian sighed and laughed, “Here’s to emergency provisions.”

“––and emergencies.” Again Spokes’s body gave off a heavy warm masculine scent mixed with his aftershave. Gillian was sure he could see her swoon. “Forgive me, it’s gone straight to my head.”

“You’ll have some jet lag.”

“Perhaps that’s it.”

“Let me help you.”

“Oh.” Gillian was going to excuse Spokes but she was aware that her cultivated English manners were getting in the way of her American practicality, and her rising passion.

“Allow me.” Spokes, leaned forward, touched the backs of Gillian’s legs and then literally swept her off her feet. “My lady your chariot awaits.”

“This could be awkward.” Words Gillian wished she hadn’t spoken. “I mean, well, don’t strain yourself. You know. There’s plenty of room back here, and I think you should enjoy your handy work, see how evenly the car sits and all that––“

But Spokes stifled any more rambling with his soft lips on Gillian’s. “MMMMMmmmmmy God.” Gillian managed out the side of her mouth. She put her hand on his chest, and took a firm grasp of the coarse hairs. After succumbing to the delight and pleasure of finally having his mouth on hers, she relaxed and let his tongue ignite her senses. She gasped, “Come into my parlour.”

Spokes smoothly and deftly swung Gillian into the rear seat, champagne glasses and all, finally coming to rest on his knees at her lap.

“You’re not only handy with cars I see.”

“I am your servant. My job is to please you, my lady.”

“Spokes, you are so old fashioned,” Gillian giggled. “Have another sip, this time don’t spill any,” she teased.

Spokes dipped his finger in his glass, licked it and then drew it between her breasts. “I hate to waste it.”

“Me too,” Gillian said and leaned forward. She touched the line he had traced. The neckline of her dress opened and she knew that she was exposing her breasts. She felt Spokes firm hands softly and barely touch her nipples. She moved her face up to meet his waiting lips. It had all seemed so long since she had felt a real man against her skin.

She gasped quietly as she felt his rough warm hand cup her breast. It had been so long she thought, so long. And so long seemed to be the refrain of her relationship with Edgar. After a few good years the well had run dry. For now, she felt justified in her desire.

Spokes’s fingers played with her nipple as his tongue imitated the short meandering movements. With her, it had always been the same thing when she was aroused, it seemed her breasts somehow felt as if they were growing or rising to the occasion. She swelled. Her being swelled. Her senses swelled and expanded. “Touch me,” she sighed. “Mmmmm, touch me.”

“You needn’t ask.” She felt Spokes’s other hand touch her knee and trace a circle ever so gently before slowly pushing the hem of her dress up her thigh. Again her whole being shivered and she let her legs relax and open ever so slightly. She didn’t want to seem desperate and she wanted the moment to last for so much longer than she felt she deserved. Lays with Edgar had been quick, and every other ad agent lived by the moniker “quickie,” so that now she really was on foreign territory. Yet there she was, taking to it, one of his big hands caressing her breast while the other wandered up her thigh. Spokes nose whistled as he pressed against her face and kissed so much harder now. Gillian responded, her lips on his tongue, wanting to devour this man who was confined to a uniform daily, but now was revealing all she had ever wondered about him: how much hair covered his arms, how it arranged itself in a swirling pattern on his chest, the colour of his nipples and whether they were large and soft or small and tight. Her hand pressed between his pectorals, feeling the round curve of firm muscle pressing back towards her palm. She inhaled again, inhaling everything about him, his cologne, the male scent of his body after working on the car, his touch, things that had been kept from her behind that glass window separating the driver from the passenger, where he remained in a sterile state with little to stimulate her senses. But now the wall was down and she had Spokes’s solid body over her own, she placed her drink on the floor and ventured to grab Spokes’s ass.

“Mmmmm, please do,” he whispered, without losing a step in the dance their tongues were taking in each other’s mouths.

“Please?”

“Yes, please.”

“You English are so polite. Mmm, tell me exactly what it is you want me to
please
do?”   

“Really?”

“Really.”

“If you insist.”

“I insist. I know who pays your wages after all. It is your job to please me and get me to my destination as smoothly as possible. So abandon the politeness and just be straightforward.”

“In that case, to keep going, to get to your, um, destination, well, put your hand on my ass.”

“Done.”

“Now apply pressure.”

Gillian did so and Spokes moved his pelvis against her other thigh for a treat even Gillian couldn’t have imagined. “Goodness.”

“Mmmm. Very goodness.” Spokes pressed his pelvis harder.

“Oh my God.” Gillian couldn’t put into words her arousal but it was as if Spokes were already inside her. Was it the anticipation? Her horniness? His?

“Now grab the top of my underwear and pull.”

“You English are so––”

“––so?

“Kinky”

“Just pull.”

Gillian’s hand traced the orb of Spokes rear end until she arrived at the waist of his pants and his belt.

“Your underwear.”

“Mmmm. Pull.”

She grabbed the elastic and pulled and each time she pulled Spokes groaned and ground himself harder into her. “Torture, you’re torturing me. God I’m going to come, with you. I’ve wanted you for so long.” But as he spoke he moved his hand up between her thighs and Gillian felt his fingers gently rub her. “You rascal. Oh God. You rascal.” She pulled at his underwear and then grabbed his shirt. “To hell with this,” and she ripped his shirt down his back and bit at his chest.

Spokes took his hand from her breast and drew the sundress up over Gillian’s head so she was now naked. He arched over her and she took it as an opportunity to grab for his belt buckle and pull.

It all seemed so sudden as if Spokes’s cock was some kind of bound medieval catapult wedged within his pants that took no time to spring forth after Gillian undid his belt and started to undo his zipper. The head of his erect penis pressed against his cotton Fruit of the Loom creating the likeness of a tent that forbade any to enter until they figured the magic touch. Gillian had that touch and gently pulled at the rim of his underwear letting the head of Spokes’s cock out for some fresh air. What Gillian couldn’t see in the dark, she could feel and she felt drive, desperation, pleasurable pain and downright horniness from a man who was all decorum and duty.