Paris Reunion

I arrive in Paris late afternoon. Mid winter. Raining. I use the directions you sent me to find the hotel.

The hotel is old and my room is on the fourth floor. I lug my bags up the stairs and enter the room. You have chosen well - sitting room, bathroom and bedroom. Someone has lit an open fire. The room is warm. Rain lashes the windows.

I am exhausted after a long flight. I shower and my mind drifts to you. We have not seen each other for three years. But remembering you is not difficult. You are burnt into my mind like no other lover.

I dry myself and dress in a white bathrobe. I enter the sitting room and am surprised to find you there. You sit on a large leather armchair, legs crossed. You have come straight from your office.

You are dressing in pure Parisian chic. A dark blue woollen coat is a little damp from the rain outside. Under the coat you wear a white shirt. A simple, thin gold chain hangs around your neck. Your waist and thighs are draped in a jet-black skirt that stops just above your knees. Sheer black stockings cover your legs. And on your feet: classic black stilettos finish the image. These are tied to your ankles with impossibly thin leather straps.

I swallow hard as I take in the sight of you.

‘Get dressed,’ you say. ‘I have a special treat for you. Dinner. At my most favourite restaurant.’

I let the robe fall from my body and begin to dress. I feel vulnerable but exciting being naked in front of you. You sit silently, watching. I take my time. You say, ‘Your body is different to how I remember. More tone. I like it.’

I have bought special clothes for this reunion. Black shirt, dark blue pants and jacket, and black shoes. My underwear is also black. I dress slowly, looking over at your occasionally. You are still and watchful, like a cat. This is not what I expected from our first meeting.

You lead me down the stairs. Your shoes make a delicious click, click on the marble surface. It echoes through the long, deep stairwell.

In the taxi we exchange small talk while sitting apart.

At the restaurant you are in total control selecting the table, ordering the food and the wine. The meal is truly incredible. You explain each dish with patience and passion. When the dessert arrives I hear a shoe fall to the floor. Your foot finds my leg above my sock. ‘We will go now,’ you say.

In the taxi we are all over each other. Finally my hands can find you hair, your neck, your thighs. At the hotel we run up the stairs arriving breathless at the door. I fumble and drop the keys, twice.

Inside I sit on the armchair. You are about six steps away and begin to shed your clothes. First the jacket falls to the floor. Slowly you begin with your shirt. The top button is released to reveal for the first time your bra. A glimpse of black. The other buttons open. You turn your back to me. The shirt slips off your shoulders and flutters gently to the floor.

You are slim and toned. Even in the dim light your back muscles ripple and flex like waves on a windy pond. Your torso is dissected up and down by the sharp lines of your bra. The straps are so thin. You wear this underwear very tight on your lithe body. I shuddered and take a deep breath. ‘Beautiful,’ is all I can murmur.

You turn and walk towards me. Again the click, click of your heels. The wind gusts and the windows rattle in their frames. When you get to me you turn around and put both hands on your head. You look over your shoulder and smile at me for the first time since I arrived. I rest my hands on your thighs feeling the cool, smooth fabric of your skirt.

On the waistband of the skirt I find a zip buried within the fabric. As you sway gently I pull the zip down. The skirt is tight; as it opens the small of your back and then your buttocks are gradually exposed. The skirt opens like some exotic fruit, black on the outside with pale flesh on the inside. When the zip is fully down I pull the skirt to the floor.

Your stockings are held up my a delicate, black garter resting on your hips. The garter straps are thin and tight. The flesh of your thighs between the garter and your stockings shines like a pearl. You have no underwear to cover your buttocks.

You continue to sway, hands on head. My hands find the naked flesh of your inner thighs and I trace warm, smooth patterns. Your skin is impossibly soft, but the muscles are firm and toned. Again my eyes are drawn to your back. Your swaying causes these muscles to leap and undulate. Small valleys and mountains of flesh grow and die as you move your weight from side to side.

You lower yourself slowly down, putting a hand behind my neck to steady yourself. You straddle my thighs, throw your head back to rest on my shoulder. You whisper in my ear, ‘Touch me. I want to see you touching me in the mirror.’

Across the room is a full length mirror. Your body is there. The image is like a large art photo, all black of our clothing and the white of your skin. My hands explore your body and I watch in the mirror, mostly looking at your face as it responses to my touch.

I push you forward, firmly, so I can undo your bra. It is very tight – with the clasp undone it springs forward and slips off your shoulders and onto your lap. Now with both your hands behind my head you are totally revealed in all your wonderful glory. Your petite but perfectly shaped breast rise and fall with your breathing. I hold your torso just to feel your lungs fill and empty with air. Your hair – brown with the slightest and most delicious touches of silver – spills over your shoulders. The smell of your hair mixed with the dinner that lingers on your finger and breath is overwhelming. My breathing is shallow. I am dizzy now.

You stand to face me and kiss me. Your mouth is open, wet, warm. Our tongue meet and I am taken back three years to the last time we met. With one hand behind my head you press me against your mouth. The other hand unzips my pants. You reach in and find my cock. It throbs in your hands. You pull it and my ball out of my fly. While still kissing me you straddle my lap. And lower your sex to meet mine.

Your sex is like your mouth – open, wet and hot. I struggle for breath but you hold my mouth to your relentless kissing. With my entire cock inside you and my heart rate dropping you release my mouth and lean slowly back. Our foreheads meet. We cradle each other’s heads in our hands. We listen quietly to the rain and wind outside.