Amuse-Bouche

In the culinary arts, an amuse-bouche is a one bite sample of an entire meal, classically served in a spoon. In the literary arts, the relatively new format usually called flash fiction is a blog-length story of 1500 words or less. Liminal Realities Publishing likes to call these works the amuse-bouche of our authors. We hope you enjoy these little tastes of our writers' talents.

A Quick Hello

By BlackMoon Lilith

Published by Liminal Realities

Copyright 2020 BlackMoon Lilith. All rights reserved.

 

No part of this short story may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review. For permission, email AuthorBlackMoon at gmail.com.  This story is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons living in corporeal form in the here and now or in an alternate Universe, dimension, or lifetime, exist mostly in the author’s mind and should not be construed as inhabiting consensual reality.

This amuse-bouche might be a bit spicy for some readers. 

Available until Winter Solstice, maybe.

CELINA SILVERS had one regret in life. She had never let Murphy Duncan know how much she wanted to be his. She craved his hands on her body, but hadn’t wanted him to think her a slut. She had needed him to assertively, even aggressively, pursue her – in a nice way, of course. Did he really want her, or just to get in her pants? Murphy had needed her to tell him her true desires. Was she really interested in him, or just being polite?

Decades of doubting, missed and interrupted opportunities to engage in mutual passions had been their fate. Now, aged 69, she decided there was nothing to lose in sharing her secret. He couldn’t possibly want her now. Each had families, busy lives, were settling into retirement. Confession was safe now. Acting on it was surely out of reach.

“I want to tell you something,” she risked one day on a phone call. “I’ve always thought of you as the unrequited love of my life, and I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am that we never got the chance to make love. You know, each time in our too few and far between meetings over the last 50 years, I had always hoped you would just take me. I wanted you so much.” Then she held her breath. There it was, all tumbled out in a rush, knowing if she filtered the thoughts, her courage would evaporate.

Without hesitation, Murphy surprised her. “I’ve thought of you often, fantasizing what it would have been like to fuck you. I didn’t know you felt the same way.” She didn’t mind his language, nor the raw emotion behind it. It was honest. She considered it a gift. If he said nothing else, Celina knew she could die happy. “One of these days I’ll come by for a quick hello. We should have a talk over a drink,” Murphy suggested.

“How about Friday?” she impulsively pushed. He hesitated. She could almost hear him thinking how to borrow time from the several places he’d committed to be that day. “Or, come over now,” she said, maybe a little too insistently. Just out of the shower, hair was as good as it would ever be, clothes were clean, she could handle an unplanned visit. She knew neither were thirsty. For whiskey.

They hadn’t been alone since the last century. Not since she’d been in his office, aware that one of his colleagues could come in at any moment. A brief, business-like farewell hug had given no hint of any secretly harbored longings. So. It’s over, Celina had told herself. The sexually-charged energy that had been between them most of their lives was gone. He was as kind and friendly as always, but she didn’t feel him wanting her anymore. She was heart-broken.

The previous time in her tiny hypnotherapy office she had wanted him deeply. But it was inappropriate. She was married, and so was he. The sexual tension on that day was thick between them, as it had always been for more than 50 years. She had hoped he would lock the door, take her on the office carpet. He had wanted to push everything off her desk and take her there. Neither trusted their instincts, nor voiced their desires that day.

Now, having finally learned to survive rejection and embarrassment, Celina was determined that she would never again withhold her desire for him.

After all the lost years, the misunderstood desires, she could barely breathe when he walked in, couldn’t believe he was really there. Without greeting or cursory small talk, Murphy pulled her body to his. She pulled his face to her lips. They kissed, and kissed and kissed, eager, hungry, lusting.

 

His hands fondled her breasts, and, snapping her tee-shirt up in a thrillingly aggressive move, he sucked her nipples. The feel of his mouth and tongue on her flesh was exhilarating. His sucking gave her goosebumps, sending tingles to her groin, just like it used to. She had never forgotten these sensations he had initiated in her, and the way it filled her heart with such longing to be at one with him. His touch had always been so electrifying. Her body responded to him like they were still 18.

The more exploratory his hands and tongue, the more nervous she became. She had clung to the illusion that if he didn’t see her naked, he wouldn’t notice she was overweight. She was afraid her extra curves would disgust him, half believing it had been the reason he had never outright claimed her as his in their youth. Yet, after his enthusiasm for her secret, she had almost talked herself into believing that her zaftig form would feel warm and cushy under his own tall, well-muscled body.

 

But when his hand started to reach between her legs, and his forearm encountered her belly, she wasn’t sure if he withdrew before she pulled away. He kept kissing and fondling her breasts. He knew he was on welcomed territory there. She sensed that he sensed her apprehension, not understanding it. She had to fix that. No mixed messages today.  

Not wanting him to feel neglected, she started rubbing his thighs, intuiting he wanted to feel her hand confirm her desire to pleasure him. She wanted to very much. “Do you have time for a cuddle?” she whispered, preferring a less awkward posture than standing at her front door. She wanted to create the new sense-memory of lying with him on a bed.

“Not really,“ he said, but then let her lead him into the bedroom anyway. She failed to specify what she’d meant by cuddle, so he reached between her legs again. This time she luxuriated in his touch. It was vigorously arousing, exquisite, so long dreamed about that she wished she could stop time forever and indulge the sensations of it shooting excitement through her body.

 

She debated removing her jeans, uncertain if he would. He didn’t, so she decided not to use more precious time passively enjoying his stimulation, as wonderful as it was.

Knowing she had implicit permission, she boldly reached into his shorts. No more waiting, fantasizing about the feel of him in her hand. His skin was soft on taut balls, his cock marvelously stiff in her long awaited grip. She couldn’t resist taking him in her mouth, licking, sucking, kissing. If this was the appetizer, she wanted the feast.

 

As remaining minutes dwindled, she could tell he was enjoying it by the way his own hand momentarily paused in pleasuring her. She resisted ripping his clothes all the way off, for she was a Capricornian respecter of time, and they had way too little of it that afternoon. She didn’t want to be a tease, certainly not at this age, but it was in her mind to leave him wanting more of her. If it was remotely within her power, this quick hello would be only the first of many sexual senior moments with the love of her life.

Feeling in his energy that he was torn between wanting more and needing to be elsewhere, she tempered her passions, intending to only be a pleasure to him, not a problem. If it had been up to her, she never would have let him leave, but she knew the emotion of that moment would eventually clash with reality. She really did value her solitude. It gave her freedom to fantasize about next time.

At the door, shoes and shirts back on, she noticed a difference in how he kissed her goodbye, hurriedly, mind already elsewhere, like a long time significant other going off to work. And she noticed something else in it -- his confidence that she was his, and he’d be back.

The Delicious End

 

*~*~*~*

 

THANKS FOR READING this story. If you enjoyed it, I’d love to hear what moved or interested you the most. Taking a moment to leave a post on my Facebook page could help shape the next story I write. And do let your friends know about this story if you think they are also looking for a fast, sensual read. Thanks! ~ BlackMoon Lilith

 

Genre Disclaimer

A QUICK HELLO is classified in the sensual seniors genre. As such it portrays adults aged 60 and up struggling with issues of insecurity and questions of morality in sexy encounters. The evergreen theme of BlackMoon Lilith writings is the feminist conflict between good girl ideology and sacred slut healing. The author and her characters take the position that love relationships have been severely compromised by millennia of repressed female sexuality, and that it is time for real liberation.

© 2016-2020 Deah Curry PhD

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