Bernie s Back Room 7 Evie
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What Katie Did (4) On The Phone With Evie free porn video
If you haven’t read any of my previous “stories” in this series, you should try to read them in order, though each can stand by itself.
How I Started Being an Exhibitionist http://xhamster.com/user/Katie_tt/posts/404258.html
What Katie Did in the Parking Station http://xhamster.com/user/Katie_tt/posts/410980.html
What Katie Did on the Balcony http://xhamster.com/user/Katie_tt/posts/425176.html
These are not just “stories”; they are based on things that have happened to me or to people I know. This chapter is not quite as erotic as the previous ones, but this is how it happened. I hope you find it interesting. Please feel free to leave a comment. I always appreciate constructive criticism.
KATIE ON THE PHONE WITH EVIE
Four days have passed since that torrid encounter with Evie in my apartment. There has been no contact between us yes she is still with me: that elfin face with those big dark eyes which burned into mine at the heights of our passion, those lips, so tender to kiss yet so fiery after that first real kiss, when we breathed sparks of desire unto each other and our tongues entwined. Her hands on me, in me…
I have been in a constant state of arousal since that day. I have to change my panties two or three times a day’ My lower lips seem swollen all the time, I feel strange pulses deep inside my vagina, my clitoris is hard, yet I do not try to give myself any relief. I take out a toy from my collection in the drawer of my bed side table and look at it: a long, slim phallus with a vibrator in it. I t has served me well in the past but now I put it back. It is just an inert piece of plastic. I want her; I want her fingers inside me; I want EVIE!
When we parted on that day we said nothing about meeting again. Have I taken too much for granted? Have I misinterpreted the way in which she returned my passion? The feelings I have for her, the yearnings – yes, there is a lot of a****l lust there, but is there more? Why do I want to see her again, to talk with her, to find out who and what she really is? Am I in love? It is a long time since I thought of “love as anything more than a sanitised expression 0f mutual physical desire. Does she feel the same way?
I wish Alex was here, the only person with whom I could talk freely about these things. He would listen to me, guide my thoughts along meaningful paths towards some answers. He would probably make love to me. Love? That word again! No, he would fuck me, we would fuck together and I would welcome that because he always knows exactly what I need at any moment.
Alex believes that sexual repression is destructive of all thins good and the origin of most things evil. He would admonish me for not masturbating or finding comfort with someone else, but he would understand, and he would know how to `help me brush away the repressions without destroying any genuine feelings I have for Evie.
Why hadn’t we exchanged emails or phone numbers? Was there a tacit belief in the inevitability of our affair, or an unspoken understanding that there was not to be a relationship at all?
I tell myself that we simply forgot, amidst the turmoil of our emotions.
Of course, she knows where I live, and I know where she goes to visit her brother. It is the apartment block just cross the road.
I don’t know what she may have told her brother Colin. She is devoted to him and treads with care around his psychological illness.
I feel a twinge of guilt as I remember how I teased him just a few days ago. How I let my skirt ride up my thighs as I sat in his car when he gave me a ride home on that rainy day. How I “accidentally” popped the button on my shirt to give him a full view of my bra-less breasts. How I pretended not to notice him watching me from his balcony while I carelessly allowed parts of my body to show for all to see.
I had exploited his voyeur’s inclinations to satisfy my own exhibitionism.
That was before his sister had explained that there is a deep psychological problem underlying his behaviour. He is a genuine peeping tom, and he has a police record because of it.
How would Evie react if she learned about my activities? She was no stranger to the joys of lesbian love-making, that much was obvious by the way she had welcomed my touch and returned my caresses, but there was a certain innocence about her, as if her sexuality was something she cherished and did not easily share with others.
And how would Colin react, if he knew that his sister had a lesbian relationship with the tart across the road?
It is getting dark and there is an autumn chill coming in from my balcony. Before I slide the door closed something compels me to step outside and look across the road. Colin has a light on but I cannot see anything through the curtains drawn across his French windows. Then I look down to the street below. It is there: Evie’s little red sports car. She is with him.
The thought that they are together, possibly sharing a meal, fills me with envy and sadness. Envy because of the close relationship that they have, sadness because I would really like to be there with both of them, but that cannot be. I feel it is ironic that the person who unknowingly brought us together is keeping us apart.
I go inside and close my door but do not draw my own curtains. I sit in the dark, facing the window, looking at the light in Colin’s apartment.
My inner eye sees Evie standing at my door, her neat skirt and blouse accentuating her femininity, her big dark eyes looking up at me with uncertainty and apprehension. I sense again that exchange, the recognition, the flash of understanding that needed no speech..
Evie, standing naked before me for the first time, not shy, offering to me those sweet full breasts with their hard nipple, the curve of her hips. I see again her smooth creamy skin, the perfect lines of her limbs, her flat tummy, her sex.
I see us in my bed, our naked bodies merging, lips and fingers exploring, squeezing, caressing, entering. I hear her moans, my harsh breathing, as we strain towards fulfilment. I feel the hair of her pubis brushing my face; I smell her aroma, taste the sweet and salty essence of her body.
My vision is accurate but more vivid than the reality, as if painted in psychedelic colours and outlined with purple brush strokes.
I come out of my fantasy before it reaches its climax. My hand is under my skirt and in my panties, pressed hard against my lips but not between them. I do not rub myself though my clitoris is urging me to touch it. I do not want to make love with an imaginary Evie. I have had the real Evie and now I want nothing less.
I stand up, stretch and look outside. I must have slept for an hour for is quite dark now. There is no light coming from Colin’s apartment, not even the flicker of a television screen.
Something compels me to go out to my balcony and look at the street below. Evie’s car is still there.
There is just enough moonlight for me to read the time on my watch. It is just nine o’clock. Surely it is too early for bed. No, not too early for bed. Too early for sleep, but not too early for bed.
I have a horrid mental image of Evie and Colin fucking. FUCKING! Her sweet body under him, her legs splayed apart as he plunges his huge cock deep into her vagina, despoiling my newly discovered garden of delight.
Is she resisting him, or is she accepting the intrusion? Is she welcoming it? Does her devotion to Colin extend so far as to offer herself as a receptacle for his lust?
I scold myself. I am thinking like a schoolgirl. They are probably having dinner in some inner room, or perhaps sitting in the dark listening to music. I do not know if he has a big penis or a small one.
I am about to return inside when I notice two figures walking leisurely down the street, from the intersection with the main road. They are walking side by side, not touching each other. A tall one and a short one. A man and a woman.
They walk under a street lamp and I can see that it is Evie and Colin.
My heart is lightened. They have been enjoying dinner in one of the restaurants on the main road, while I have been torturing myself with an almost uncontrollable flood of jealousy.
I watch them reach the entrance to his building. They hug, very briefly, and though I cannot see it I know she has kissed his cheek, because that is the kind of thing that my sweet Evie would do, and a feeling of pride in her has replaced my jealous rage.
She walks to her car and he stays to watch, as a caring brother would, to make sure his sister is safely away. I want to call out to her, but Colin would hear and I don’t know the consequences of that.
Is it my imagination, or does she turn her face to look up at me? Then she is in the car and soon she is driving away.
Colin is still there. I can see him clearly by the light of a street lamp, and from this distance the resemblance to Evie is striking. True, he is taller and broad-shouldered but his body has the same lithe slimness as his sister, and because I cannot make out the masculine angles of his face, I could be looking at her face.
Now he looks up towards me. I wonder if he can see me on the dark balcony. Without thinking, my hand goes up as if to wave to him. He waves back, and it is as if his wave is a caress, for a hot flush starts from between my legs and races through my body. My breasts seem to be swelling. I want to tear off my clothes, I want to show him my naked body, to present my breasts to his gaze, to offer my cunt for his inspection.
He turns around and disappears into his building. Has he shared in that flash of desire which has left me panting as if I have just run a race? Has my shadowy presence induced in him the same relentless need that is now making my hand go down, to my sex, my swollen, wet labia? Has he hurried inside to masturbate?
Maybe he would rather peek at me from inside his flat. Will he be able to see what I am doing, that I am rubbing myself in my desperate urge for orgasmic release?
I peer intensely into the gloom of his balcony, but cannot detect any movement of the curtains to show show that he is watching me, stroking, making himself cum..
Suddenly my body is calm, as if I have climaxed but I haven’t. Desire has left me, though I feel a little weak and shaky.
I feel hungry I go inside to mix myself a light meal of tinned tuna and noodles.
After eating and watching bit of television I busy myself with some housekeeping, trying to tire myself into sleepiness. I end up with a bag full of rubbish which could wait till tomorrow, but something makes me take it to the bins downstairs. On the way back I go past the mail-boxes and though there would have been no deliveries since last I checked, I open my mail box and put my hand inside. There is a solitary piece of A4 paper, neatly folded in half. I unfold it. I see a row of numbers, obviously a mobile phone number, and beneath those, the letters EB and a heart.
EB! Evie Burgess! Evie has given me her number! I want to sing and dance and shout with the joy of knowing that she has thought about me! She wants to see me again. I am the love-struck teenager again.
Back upstairs, I sit on the edge of my bed, my phone in one hand, her note in the other. I wonder how long the note has been in the letter box. It is now after 11, two or more hours since I saw her car disappear around the corner. Should I ring her now? Could we meet now? I don’t know where she lives. It might be in the same suburb or 20 km on the other side of the city. She would not expect me to find it until the morning, and perhaps I should curb my excitement and wait until then. But a text message should be OK, to show that I have seen the note.
I tap the numbers into my phone and add “EB” to its contacts. Now I hesitate, my finger over the “send message” button. I want to press “phone”, wanting to hear her voice, wanting to speak to her, wanting to ask… I think of disappointments, of having to leave a voice message, of hearing her annoyance because I have disturbed her sleep.
I go to the message box, type simply “Katie” and press “send”. I am about to put the phone down on the bedside table when it rings.
The caller ID says “EB”.
My shaking hands almost drop the phone in my haste to answer.
I say: “Evie?”
“Katie?” Her voice.
We speak together then stop after a few words, confused.
I try to order my thoughts. “I didn’t know if you were awake,” I say, “so I sent the text message.”
“Oh Katie,” she says. I am not sure if I hear a sob in her voice. “I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking – I saw you on the balcony, and I wanted to call out to you, but Colin was still there…”
“I know,” I say. “I saw you too and I wanted to call you. But I wasn’t sure…you know…Colin.”
A sigh. “I went away,” she goes on, “then I came back but you were gone. That’s when I left the note. And I didn’t think you’d see it before tomorrow.”
“I wouldn’t”, I say, “but something made me look.”
Silence.
“Katie?’
“It’s okay. I’m still here.” So many thoughts in my head.
“Katie, do you believe…these things? I was willing you to look. All the time I was driving back, I kept picturing you – at your letter box.”
I know her unspoken questions. Do I believe in love? Do I believe that true lovers can communicate through some ethereal channel?
“I don’t know,” I say, almost truthfully. If I hadn’t filled my kitchen tidy…if I hadn’t gone to the bins downstairs…if it hadn’t been raining that day when I met Colin…
I think of the random sequence of events that lead to this moment but I do not share my thoughts with Evie. This is not the time for cold logic.
“Evie.” I break the silence. I am trying to choose my words carefully. “I have been thinking about you – about us – all the time. I wanted so much to see you again. I was going to go to Colin and ask him to give me your number but I didn’t know if that was OK.”
“He knows I came to see you,” she says. She is quiet for a few seconds. “He knows how I look after him. Warning people if I think he is going to be a nuisance.”
Would Evie ever understand why I had actively encouraged Colin to peep at me? I change the subject.
“Evie,” I say, “We really do both want to meet again.”
“Oh Katie! That’s all I want.”
“Where are you?” I ask. “I don’t want to wait any longer.”
“Balmain”, she says. That’s only twenty minutes away. She could come here, or I could go there. Before I can voice my thoughts, she goes on. “But – tonight – not really.” A sigh. “I’m at my sister’s place.”
Why should a sister stop her from meeting me tonight? I wonder what this third Burgess would be like.
“She is all right,” says Evie, confirming my belief that she can hear my thoughts. “I’m only there till I get my own place. It’s a bit of a long story.”
“We all have long stories,” I say meaninglessly, just to break the silence.
“She’s all right”, she repeats. “It’s her husband. He doesn’t like me being there.”
Not to worry, I say in my mind. You will come to live here, with me. Close to your brother. With me.
If she senses those thoughts, she makes no sign of it. “I’ve only been here for about ten days”, she says, “and my sister said I could stay for a month.”
“Evie,” I say, “we both have a lot of questions, but we don’t have to ask them tonight. We might never have to ask them. All I want –“ I feel my voice faltering. I am the elder, the woman of experience. I shouldn’t be saying this. But I say it. “”All I want is to be with you.”
Why are there tears in my eyes?
A whisper comes down the line. “Katie. I wish – I want –yes, to be together.”
“Tomorrow, “I say. “Early. In the morning. We can meet – somewhere.” I am thinking, come here my love, and we will share breakfast and then we will share our bodies. But I am also thinking: no, we must be in a place where we can talk, where I won’t be able to offer my breasts to your mouth, where I won’t be able go on my knees to worship your naked body.
I finish my sentence. “You know…somewhere we won’t be distracted.”
“I am going for a job interview,” she says. So much to learn about Evie. “At ten. In Darlinghurst.”
This is good. “My shop - where I work, is in Darlinghurst,” I tell her. No need at this stage to tell her that I own the shop. “We can meet, maybe seven thirty?”
She does not answer straight away then says, “Katie, can we meet somewhere – not your place? Somewhere we can talk, where we won’t, um, be tempted.”
I can’t help giving a little laugh. “Oh, Evie,” I say. “Wherever we are = wherever we go, we will be tempted.”
She laughs too. “Oh Katie, Katie,” she says. “I have been tempted all day.”
Her laugh. I remember her smile. I so much need to see it again. Just to see her face again, those big expressive eyes, those lips, so sweet on mine, the eager parting of her lips, the meeting of our tongues.
I am losing myself in a fantasy of her arms, her legs, her breasts…oh God, those nipples…
I can feel her hand exploring me, her fingers tracing my lower lips…no, they are my own fingers. I am sprawled on the bed, one hand holding the phone to my ear, the other between my legs.
I can hear Evie breathing on the phone.
“Evie.” My voice is husky. “Are you…tempted now? Touching?”
“Yes.” Her breathing is loud but her voice is soft. “I can’t help it. I wish it was you.”
Somehow my shorts and panties have migrated down around my knees. My sex is exposed, and it is moist and hot and swollen.
My free hand is caressing my hungry flesh while the other has the phone glued to my ear.
“Evie,” I whisper. “My body needs your touch.”
“And mine needs you. Katie, I need you.”
“We know it will happen again,” I say, “but for now, we can have this.”
She is moaning softly.
“I can feel you,” I tell her. “My fingers are touching you – caressing…there.”
“Yes…”
My finger moves to my clit. I remember how hers felt under my fingers, then under my tongue.
“I am touching where I have tasted you”, I whisper.
“Oh…yes…Katie…”
The memory of her cunt pushing against my mouth is so vivid that I can smell and taste her juices, feel the quivering of her thighs.
My own body is shaking as the frustrations I have been feeling all day gather like a storm to overwhelm me. Now two fingers are in my vagina now and they slide easily in the wetness, in and out, in and out.
“I want to taste you, too”, she says. I open my legs as if she is there, her head between my thighs, kissing, lucking, sucking.
“Evie.” I say her name. Other words are difficult to find. “Evie – inside – deep in you –“
I hear a whimper. I remember the sounds she made during her orgasm, and that memory together with her moans on the phone push me towards the brink. I remember the little cries she made when she came, and the expectation of hearing them again heightens the sensations spreading through my body.
I hear my name. “Katie…Katie…”
I know she is coming’ My hips are thrusting up and down. Three fingers now, filling me, moving, in, out, in, out, faster, harder.
I feel her in my arms, breasts crushed together, fingers working in each other…
“Oh Evie, Evie.” Am I screaming? All my muscles are tense. My fingers are gripped tightly by my cunt. It is almost painful. It IS painful. My orgasm won’t come. I strain. I relax. It won’t come. I need the release. I want to put my other hand down to touch my clit while my other hand works deep inside my vagina but I want to keep the phone to my ear.
Her voice. “Oh, Katie, Katie.” Urgent. She is coming, I can feel her intensity as surely as if she is on the bed with me. I feel the heat of her body, taste the sweat on her skin, feel her cunt opening and closing around my fingers..
I climax. It is over in a single moment. A hard, violent, vicious explosion. I feel relief, but no pleasure. My mind is drifting. Drifting…
The pain of the phone pushing against my ear helps bring me back to reality. The phone seems silent. Did one of us cut it off during our passion?
“Evie?” I whisper. “Are you still there?”
I can hear her breathing now, then her voice, so soft that I can barely hear her.
“Yes, Katie,” she is saying. “I – I’m so sorry.”
Whatever for? I want to ask, but not sure quite how to say it. My fingers are still inside me but there is no afterglow. Now I hear…tears?
“Evie, what is it? Are you okay?” My arms ache to hold her. I know she is crying, but why? I slide my fingers out of my vagina, which now feels cold and clammy and totally inert.
“Katie…I couldn’t…I didn’t…I’m not right for you.”
Now it hits me. My orgasm had been just for me. I had not helped, hadn’t tried to empathise with her needs, hadn’t said things to carry her along with me. My own hungry cunt, that’s all I’d cared about. I am feeling shame and guilt, shame at my selfishness, guilt at the way I have used her as a fantasy object.
“Oh, Evie,” I say at last. “You didn’t come. It doesn’t mean anything. And it’s my fault. I got carried away. I didn’t wait for you. I didn’t help you at all.”
There is a long silence before she says: “I couldn’t do it. I tried to imagine you, Katie, I imagined how it feels in your arms, and your breasts, Katie, the way you comfort me with your breasts, and how we kissed, and how you…with your mouth…down there.”
Another pause. I am surprised at the effect her words are having on me. Not just the words, but the need they were betraying, and the need which was re-awakening inside me.
“I’m very tired, Katie,” she says, her voice even fainter. “I want to go to sleep now. Goodnight.”
A click, and I know she has hung up. My first instinct is to find and press the redial button, to tell her that it is all right, to tell her – what? That I love her? Or that I want to use her body? I know that in my own emotional heart I do not understand what I feel for her. There was no denying that I wanted her body and her caresses, but there is something else: I want HER, all of her.
Suddenly I realise that we have made no firm arrangements for the morning, other than that we would meet at 7:30. I want so much to speak to her again but I am not sure if that would help her gather her own emotions. I would probably blurt out some romantic nonsense and she would start crying again.
I thought for a moment and decided on a café on the cliff-top road between the beaches. I knew it opened early and served good coffee (did she drink coffee?) and it is away from the busy beachside areas.
I tap a message on my phone: “7:30 Blue Sky Café Tasman Street just north of Coogee” and press “send”. I wait for a response. I take the phone with me to the bathroom to start preparing for bed. I undress and avoid looking at myself in the mirror, fearing that I might see what Evie sees, a middle aged woman with breasts beginning to sag and too much flesh where her own body is taut and trim. I admonish myself: she has already seen my unclothed body and gladly came into my naked embrace.
The thought makes my vagina pulse, just once. My recent orgasm, violent as it was, has satisfied neither my body nor my mind, yet I do not want to masturbate again. I want Evie, I need to come with her, I need to feel her body responding to my touch. To taste and explore again the mysteries of her beautiful cunt and then to be with her in the peace that would follow the climax of our passion.
But what if I have pushed her away by my selfish rush to my own satisfaction? Have I made her unhappy, made her doubt the reality of our fledgling relationship?
Then my phone pings. I almost drop it to the tiled floor in my haste to read it. The caller ID says “EB”. The message has only a single word: “Yes”.
How I Started Being an Exhibitionist http://xhamster.com/user/Katie_tt/posts/404258.html
What Katie Did in the Parking Station http://xhamster.com/user/Katie_tt/posts/410980.html
What Katie Did on the Balcony http://xhamster.com/user/Katie_tt/posts/425176.html
These are not just “stories”; they are based on things that have happened to me or to people I know. This chapter is not quite as erotic as the previous ones, but this is how it happened. I hope you find it interesting. Please feel free to leave a comment. I always appreciate constructive criticism.
KATIE ON THE PHONE WITH EVIE
Four days have passed since that torrid encounter with Evie in my apartment. There has been no contact between us yes she is still with me: that elfin face with those big dark eyes which burned into mine at the heights of our passion, those lips, so tender to kiss yet so fiery after that first real kiss, when we breathed sparks of desire unto each other and our tongues entwined. Her hands on me, in me…
I have been in a constant state of arousal since that day. I have to change my panties two or three times a day’ My lower lips seem swollen all the time, I feel strange pulses deep inside my vagina, my clitoris is hard, yet I do not try to give myself any relief. I take out a toy from my collection in the drawer of my bed side table and look at it: a long, slim phallus with a vibrator in it. I t has served me well in the past but now I put it back. It is just an inert piece of plastic. I want her; I want her fingers inside me; I want EVIE!
When we parted on that day we said nothing about meeting again. Have I taken too much for granted? Have I misinterpreted the way in which she returned my passion? The feelings I have for her, the yearnings – yes, there is a lot of a****l lust there, but is there more? Why do I want to see her again, to talk with her, to find out who and what she really is? Am I in love? It is a long time since I thought of “love as anything more than a sanitised expression 0f mutual physical desire. Does she feel the same way?
I wish Alex was here, the only person with whom I could talk freely about these things. He would listen to me, guide my thoughts along meaningful paths towards some answers. He would probably make love to me. Love? That word again! No, he would fuck me, we would fuck together and I would welcome that because he always knows exactly what I need at any moment.
Alex believes that sexual repression is destructive of all thins good and the origin of most things evil. He would admonish me for not masturbating or finding comfort with someone else, but he would understand, and he would know how to `help me brush away the repressions without destroying any genuine feelings I have for Evie.
Why hadn’t we exchanged emails or phone numbers? Was there a tacit belief in the inevitability of our affair, or an unspoken understanding that there was not to be a relationship at all?
I tell myself that we simply forgot, amidst the turmoil of our emotions.
Of course, she knows where I live, and I know where she goes to visit her brother. It is the apartment block just cross the road.
I don’t know what she may have told her brother Colin. She is devoted to him and treads with care around his psychological illness.
I feel a twinge of guilt as I remember how I teased him just a few days ago. How I let my skirt ride up my thighs as I sat in his car when he gave me a ride home on that rainy day. How I “accidentally” popped the button on my shirt to give him a full view of my bra-less breasts. How I pretended not to notice him watching me from his balcony while I carelessly allowed parts of my body to show for all to see.
I had exploited his voyeur’s inclinations to satisfy my own exhibitionism.
That was before his sister had explained that there is a deep psychological problem underlying his behaviour. He is a genuine peeping tom, and he has a police record because of it.
How would Evie react if she learned about my activities? She was no stranger to the joys of lesbian love-making, that much was obvious by the way she had welcomed my touch and returned my caresses, but there was a certain innocence about her, as if her sexuality was something she cherished and did not easily share with others.
And how would Colin react, if he knew that his sister had a lesbian relationship with the tart across the road?
It is getting dark and there is an autumn chill coming in from my balcony. Before I slide the door closed something compels me to step outside and look across the road. Colin has a light on but I cannot see anything through the curtains drawn across his French windows. Then I look down to the street below. It is there: Evie’s little red sports car. She is with him.
The thought that they are together, possibly sharing a meal, fills me with envy and sadness. Envy because of the close relationship that they have, sadness because I would really like to be there with both of them, but that cannot be. I feel it is ironic that the person who unknowingly brought us together is keeping us apart.
I go inside and close my door but do not draw my own curtains. I sit in the dark, facing the window, looking at the light in Colin’s apartment.
My inner eye sees Evie standing at my door, her neat skirt and blouse accentuating her femininity, her big dark eyes looking up at me with uncertainty and apprehension. I sense again that exchange, the recognition, the flash of understanding that needed no speech..
Evie, standing naked before me for the first time, not shy, offering to me those sweet full breasts with their hard nipple, the curve of her hips. I see again her smooth creamy skin, the perfect lines of her limbs, her flat tummy, her sex.
I see us in my bed, our naked bodies merging, lips and fingers exploring, squeezing, caressing, entering. I hear her moans, my harsh breathing, as we strain towards fulfilment. I feel the hair of her pubis brushing my face; I smell her aroma, taste the sweet and salty essence of her body.
My vision is accurate but more vivid than the reality, as if painted in psychedelic colours and outlined with purple brush strokes.
I come out of my fantasy before it reaches its climax. My hand is under my skirt and in my panties, pressed hard against my lips but not between them. I do not rub myself though my clitoris is urging me to touch it. I do not want to make love with an imaginary Evie. I have had the real Evie and now I want nothing less.
I stand up, stretch and look outside. I must have slept for an hour for is quite dark now. There is no light coming from Colin’s apartment, not even the flicker of a television screen.
Something compels me to go out to my balcony and look at the street below. Evie’s car is still there.
There is just enough moonlight for me to read the time on my watch. It is just nine o’clock. Surely it is too early for bed. No, not too early for bed. Too early for sleep, but not too early for bed.
I have a horrid mental image of Evie and Colin fucking. FUCKING! Her sweet body under him, her legs splayed apart as he plunges his huge cock deep into her vagina, despoiling my newly discovered garden of delight.
Is she resisting him, or is she accepting the intrusion? Is she welcoming it? Does her devotion to Colin extend so far as to offer herself as a receptacle for his lust?
I scold myself. I am thinking like a schoolgirl. They are probably having dinner in some inner room, or perhaps sitting in the dark listening to music. I do not know if he has a big penis or a small one.
I am about to return inside when I notice two figures walking leisurely down the street, from the intersection with the main road. They are walking side by side, not touching each other. A tall one and a short one. A man and a woman.
They walk under a street lamp and I can see that it is Evie and Colin.
My heart is lightened. They have been enjoying dinner in one of the restaurants on the main road, while I have been torturing myself with an almost uncontrollable flood of jealousy.
I watch them reach the entrance to his building. They hug, very briefly, and though I cannot see it I know she has kissed his cheek, because that is the kind of thing that my sweet Evie would do, and a feeling of pride in her has replaced my jealous rage.
She walks to her car and he stays to watch, as a caring brother would, to make sure his sister is safely away. I want to call out to her, but Colin would hear and I don’t know the consequences of that.
Is it my imagination, or does she turn her face to look up at me? Then she is in the car and soon she is driving away.
Colin is still there. I can see him clearly by the light of a street lamp, and from this distance the resemblance to Evie is striking. True, he is taller and broad-shouldered but his body has the same lithe slimness as his sister, and because I cannot make out the masculine angles of his face, I could be looking at her face.
Now he looks up towards me. I wonder if he can see me on the dark balcony. Without thinking, my hand goes up as if to wave to him. He waves back, and it is as if his wave is a caress, for a hot flush starts from between my legs and races through my body. My breasts seem to be swelling. I want to tear off my clothes, I want to show him my naked body, to present my breasts to his gaze, to offer my cunt for his inspection.
He turns around and disappears into his building. Has he shared in that flash of desire which has left me panting as if I have just run a race? Has my shadowy presence induced in him the same relentless need that is now making my hand go down, to my sex, my swollen, wet labia? Has he hurried inside to masturbate?
Maybe he would rather peek at me from inside his flat. Will he be able to see what I am doing, that I am rubbing myself in my desperate urge for orgasmic release?
I peer intensely into the gloom of his balcony, but cannot detect any movement of the curtains to show show that he is watching me, stroking, making himself cum..
Suddenly my body is calm, as if I have climaxed but I haven’t. Desire has left me, though I feel a little weak and shaky.
I feel hungry I go inside to mix myself a light meal of tinned tuna and noodles.
After eating and watching bit of television I busy myself with some housekeeping, trying to tire myself into sleepiness. I end up with a bag full of rubbish which could wait till tomorrow, but something makes me take it to the bins downstairs. On the way back I go past the mail-boxes and though there would have been no deliveries since last I checked, I open my mail box and put my hand inside. There is a solitary piece of A4 paper, neatly folded in half. I unfold it. I see a row of numbers, obviously a mobile phone number, and beneath those, the letters EB and a heart.
EB! Evie Burgess! Evie has given me her number! I want to sing and dance and shout with the joy of knowing that she has thought about me! She wants to see me again. I am the love-struck teenager again.
Back upstairs, I sit on the edge of my bed, my phone in one hand, her note in the other. I wonder how long the note has been in the letter box. It is now after 11, two or more hours since I saw her car disappear around the corner. Should I ring her now? Could we meet now? I don’t know where she lives. It might be in the same suburb or 20 km on the other side of the city. She would not expect me to find it until the morning, and perhaps I should curb my excitement and wait until then. But a text message should be OK, to show that I have seen the note.
I tap the numbers into my phone and add “EB” to its contacts. Now I hesitate, my finger over the “send message” button. I want to press “phone”, wanting to hear her voice, wanting to speak to her, wanting to ask… I think of disappointments, of having to leave a voice message, of hearing her annoyance because I have disturbed her sleep.
I go to the message box, type simply “Katie” and press “send”. I am about to put the phone down on the bedside table when it rings.
The caller ID says “EB”.
My shaking hands almost drop the phone in my haste to answer.
I say: “Evie?”
“Katie?” Her voice.
We speak together then stop after a few words, confused.
I try to order my thoughts. “I didn’t know if you were awake,” I say, “so I sent the text message.”
“Oh Katie,” she says. I am not sure if I hear a sob in her voice. “I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking – I saw you on the balcony, and I wanted to call out to you, but Colin was still there…”
“I know,” I say. “I saw you too and I wanted to call you. But I wasn’t sure…you know…Colin.”
A sigh. “I went away,” she goes on, “then I came back but you were gone. That’s when I left the note. And I didn’t think you’d see it before tomorrow.”
“I wouldn’t”, I say, “but something made me look.”
Silence.
“Katie?’
“It’s okay. I’m still here.” So many thoughts in my head.
“Katie, do you believe…these things? I was willing you to look. All the time I was driving back, I kept picturing you – at your letter box.”
I know her unspoken questions. Do I believe in love? Do I believe that true lovers can communicate through some ethereal channel?
“I don’t know,” I say, almost truthfully. If I hadn’t filled my kitchen tidy…if I hadn’t gone to the bins downstairs…if it hadn’t been raining that day when I met Colin…
I think of the random sequence of events that lead to this moment but I do not share my thoughts with Evie. This is not the time for cold logic.
“Evie.” I break the silence. I am trying to choose my words carefully. “I have been thinking about you – about us – all the time. I wanted so much to see you again. I was going to go to Colin and ask him to give me your number but I didn’t know if that was OK.”
“He knows I came to see you,” she says. She is quiet for a few seconds. “He knows how I look after him. Warning people if I think he is going to be a nuisance.”
Would Evie ever understand why I had actively encouraged Colin to peep at me? I change the subject.
“Evie,” I say, “We really do both want to meet again.”
“Oh Katie! That’s all I want.”
“Where are you?” I ask. “I don’t want to wait any longer.”
“Balmain”, she says. That’s only twenty minutes away. She could come here, or I could go there. Before I can voice my thoughts, she goes on. “But – tonight – not really.” A sigh. “I’m at my sister’s place.”
Why should a sister stop her from meeting me tonight? I wonder what this third Burgess would be like.
“She is all right,” says Evie, confirming my belief that she can hear my thoughts. “I’m only there till I get my own place. It’s a bit of a long story.”
“We all have long stories,” I say meaninglessly, just to break the silence.
“She’s all right”, she repeats. “It’s her husband. He doesn’t like me being there.”
Not to worry, I say in my mind. You will come to live here, with me. Close to your brother. With me.
If she senses those thoughts, she makes no sign of it. “I’ve only been here for about ten days”, she says, “and my sister said I could stay for a month.”
“Evie,” I say, “we both have a lot of questions, but we don’t have to ask them tonight. We might never have to ask them. All I want –“ I feel my voice faltering. I am the elder, the woman of experience. I shouldn’t be saying this. But I say it. “”All I want is to be with you.”
Why are there tears in my eyes?
A whisper comes down the line. “Katie. I wish – I want –yes, to be together.”
“Tomorrow, “I say. “Early. In the morning. We can meet – somewhere.” I am thinking, come here my love, and we will share breakfast and then we will share our bodies. But I am also thinking: no, we must be in a place where we can talk, where I won’t be able to offer my breasts to your mouth, where I won’t be able go on my knees to worship your naked body.
I finish my sentence. “You know…somewhere we won’t be distracted.”
“I am going for a job interview,” she says. So much to learn about Evie. “At ten. In Darlinghurst.”
This is good. “My shop - where I work, is in Darlinghurst,” I tell her. No need at this stage to tell her that I own the shop. “We can meet, maybe seven thirty?”
She does not answer straight away then says, “Katie, can we meet somewhere – not your place? Somewhere we can talk, where we won’t, um, be tempted.”
I can’t help giving a little laugh. “Oh, Evie,” I say. “Wherever we are = wherever we go, we will be tempted.”
She laughs too. “Oh Katie, Katie,” she says. “I have been tempted all day.”
Her laugh. I remember her smile. I so much need to see it again. Just to see her face again, those big expressive eyes, those lips, so sweet on mine, the eager parting of her lips, the meeting of our tongues.
I am losing myself in a fantasy of her arms, her legs, her breasts…oh God, those nipples…
I can feel her hand exploring me, her fingers tracing my lower lips…no, they are my own fingers. I am sprawled on the bed, one hand holding the phone to my ear, the other between my legs.
I can hear Evie breathing on the phone.
“Evie.” My voice is husky. “Are you…tempted now? Touching?”
“Yes.” Her breathing is loud but her voice is soft. “I can’t help it. I wish it was you.”
Somehow my shorts and panties have migrated down around my knees. My sex is exposed, and it is moist and hot and swollen.
My free hand is caressing my hungry flesh while the other has the phone glued to my ear.
“Evie,” I whisper. “My body needs your touch.”
“And mine needs you. Katie, I need you.”
“We know it will happen again,” I say, “but for now, we can have this.”
She is moaning softly.
“I can feel you,” I tell her. “My fingers are touching you – caressing…there.”
“Yes…”
My finger moves to my clit. I remember how hers felt under my fingers, then under my tongue.
“I am touching where I have tasted you”, I whisper.
“Oh…yes…Katie…”
The memory of her cunt pushing against my mouth is so vivid that I can smell and taste her juices, feel the quivering of her thighs.
My own body is shaking as the frustrations I have been feeling all day gather like a storm to overwhelm me. Now two fingers are in my vagina now and they slide easily in the wetness, in and out, in and out.
“I want to taste you, too”, she says. I open my legs as if she is there, her head between my thighs, kissing, lucking, sucking.
“Evie.” I say her name. Other words are difficult to find. “Evie – inside – deep in you –“
I hear a whimper. I remember the sounds she made during her orgasm, and that memory together with her moans on the phone push me towards the brink. I remember the little cries she made when she came, and the expectation of hearing them again heightens the sensations spreading through my body.
I hear my name. “Katie…Katie…”
I know she is coming’ My hips are thrusting up and down. Three fingers now, filling me, moving, in, out, in, out, faster, harder.
I feel her in my arms, breasts crushed together, fingers working in each other…
“Oh Evie, Evie.” Am I screaming? All my muscles are tense. My fingers are gripped tightly by my cunt. It is almost painful. It IS painful. My orgasm won’t come. I strain. I relax. It won’t come. I need the release. I want to put my other hand down to touch my clit while my other hand works deep inside my vagina but I want to keep the phone to my ear.
Her voice. “Oh, Katie, Katie.” Urgent. She is coming, I can feel her intensity as surely as if she is on the bed with me. I feel the heat of her body, taste the sweat on her skin, feel her cunt opening and closing around my fingers..
I climax. It is over in a single moment. A hard, violent, vicious explosion. I feel relief, but no pleasure. My mind is drifting. Drifting…
The pain of the phone pushing against my ear helps bring me back to reality. The phone seems silent. Did one of us cut it off during our passion?
“Evie?” I whisper. “Are you still there?”
I can hear her breathing now, then her voice, so soft that I can barely hear her.
“Yes, Katie,” she is saying. “I – I’m so sorry.”
Whatever for? I want to ask, but not sure quite how to say it. My fingers are still inside me but there is no afterglow. Now I hear…tears?
“Evie, what is it? Are you okay?” My arms ache to hold her. I know she is crying, but why? I slide my fingers out of my vagina, which now feels cold and clammy and totally inert.
“Katie…I couldn’t…I didn’t…I’m not right for you.”
Now it hits me. My orgasm had been just for me. I had not helped, hadn’t tried to empathise with her needs, hadn’t said things to carry her along with me. My own hungry cunt, that’s all I’d cared about. I am feeling shame and guilt, shame at my selfishness, guilt at the way I have used her as a fantasy object.
“Oh, Evie,” I say at last. “You didn’t come. It doesn’t mean anything. And it’s my fault. I got carried away. I didn’t wait for you. I didn’t help you at all.”
There is a long silence before she says: “I couldn’t do it. I tried to imagine you, Katie, I imagined how it feels in your arms, and your breasts, Katie, the way you comfort me with your breasts, and how we kissed, and how you…with your mouth…down there.”
Another pause. I am surprised at the effect her words are having on me. Not just the words, but the need they were betraying, and the need which was re-awakening inside me.
“I’m very tired, Katie,” she says, her voice even fainter. “I want to go to sleep now. Goodnight.”
A click, and I know she has hung up. My first instinct is to find and press the redial button, to tell her that it is all right, to tell her – what? That I love her? Or that I want to use her body? I know that in my own emotional heart I do not understand what I feel for her. There was no denying that I wanted her body and her caresses, but there is something else: I want HER, all of her.
Suddenly I realise that we have made no firm arrangements for the morning, other than that we would meet at 7:30. I want so much to speak to her again but I am not sure if that would help her gather her own emotions. I would probably blurt out some romantic nonsense and she would start crying again.
I thought for a moment and decided on a café on the cliff-top road between the beaches. I knew it opened early and served good coffee (did she drink coffee?) and it is away from the busy beachside areas.
I tap a message on my phone: “7:30 Blue Sky Café Tasman Street just north of Coogee” and press “send”. I wait for a response. I take the phone with me to the bathroom to start preparing for bed. I undress and avoid looking at myself in the mirror, fearing that I might see what Evie sees, a middle aged woman with breasts beginning to sag and too much flesh where her own body is taut and trim. I admonish myself: she has already seen my unclothed body and gladly came into my naked embrace.
The thought makes my vagina pulse, just once. My recent orgasm, violent as it was, has satisfied neither my body nor my mind, yet I do not want to masturbate again. I want Evie, I need to come with her, I need to feel her body responding to my touch. To taste and explore again the mysteries of her beautiful cunt and then to be with her in the peace that would follow the climax of our passion.
But what if I have pushed her away by my selfish rush to my own satisfaction? Have I made her unhappy, made her doubt the reality of our fledgling relationship?
Then my phone pings. I almost drop it to the tiled floor in my haste to read it. The caller ID says “EB”. The message has only a single word: “Yes”.
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