David Russell writes

An Ecstatic Rendezvous 
(Part 3)

The big day arrived. I was aflutter throughout its earlier part. True to the fashions of the future, I decided to have a body shave before my shower. This took me a delicate, sensual hour, the buzz of the razor feeling like a prelude to the touch of the hands. The shower mirror was a little narrower than the one in the bedroom, but it gave me a foretaste, in subdued light of course. I relished my smooth, dried form in the mirror, then splashed myself liberally all over with aftershave and deodorant. Still naked from the shower, I ironed my white shirt and underwear, fresh from the washing machine and dryer. The clothes made a beautifully laundered fit.  

I got to her place at the dot of 3 p.m. It was in an apartment block, eight storeys high, I think. She told me that she was on the third floor. I could have walked to the place from the bus stop, but my heart was so aflutter that I took a taxi just around the block so as not to lose my way. We’d worked out the complete wardrobe over the phone -- mini-skirt, elastic-topped stockings over crisp white linen underwear, and beach change at the ready -- her one-piece for the dramatic entry of the bathing belle. Of course, I had trunks, shorts, and a loose singlet, good to sway and suggest the underlying figure to be delicately unwrapped. Don’t ask me why, but suspenders never work for me. They seem to obstruct the aesthetics of revelation, off-the-shoulder blouse and slip.

Her luxury apartment was in a leafy, secluded part of town, interspersed with plaques of great artists’ and writers’ past sojourns. The area’s overall sense of accumulated history added to my sense of initiating a unique, transcendental occasion. Passing a church or two en route added further spice to the anticipation. A couple of nuns passed me, and I pondered on their possible secret thoughts. A sense of sin perfects all sensual contents. 

There was a porter’s lodge at the vestibule. The attendant was a tall, lean, grey-haired man, crisply uniformed. On noticing me, he gave a nonchalant half-smile and a half-knowing nod. I only needed to follow the directions for the flat numbers. The motor of the lift was in the deepest bass register I had ever encountered. After leaving it, and negotiating what felt like a labyrinth of thickly carpeted corridors, I found her flat door and gave three rings on the brassy doorbell. There were ten seconds of breathy silence, which was finally broken, delicately, by the padding footsteps of destiny. A heady blast of perfume greeted me as Sandra opened the door, far exceeding my own lotion and gels. 

Then, we became truly face to face, like two legends now in the flesh, having a mutual eye feast! That brow, those cheekbones, that aquiline chin, that graceful neck, those azure, deep-lashed eyes, that fine, loose, lovingly kept shoulder-length hair! As she looked into my eyes, there was almost the touch of an optician giving me a test. 

The stage lighting was just right, with embroidered shades all around the lamps -- soft, dark, and red, deeper and richer by far than anything at my home. The mirror was full-length, at a perfect height, hanging flush from the wall. The whole decor, burnished with loving care, radiated old money and old-world courtesy -- yet another condiment for the tryst -- with ample stepping room around each item of furniture. There were stately mahogany bookshelves, not overcrowded but containing some venerable tomes bound in dark-brown and maroon leather. They were literary and philosophical texts—great to have some exotic vocabulary! 

A tasteful array of porcelain and impeccably polished silver graced a medium sized cupboard and her low table. In addition, on the table was a framed photograph of her -- the same print as in her advertisement. So, there the distances were just right for the most carefully studied maneuverings. 

Sandra took me by the hand as if I were her partner in a grand ball, with her being the empress and I the chosen favourite. She ushered me to her purple velvet sofa, and there we chatted for a few minutes about the movies and current affairs. Sandra beamed into my face and moved my hand to the zip of her mini-skirt on her left hip.

I’ve always loved the thought of disrobing women from exotic evening dress. I had asked her on the phone if she had a ball-gown, and she had replied in the negative, so I was happy to go on with the other extreme, but there might always be a future occasion. 

“Would you like to take it off?” she asked. 

“Not yet,” I replied. “I want to save that supreme pleasure for the right moment -- build up a little anticipation.” 

“I congratulate you on your excellent taste, even more so as I sense this is your first time you’ve given this matter some really serious, careful thought. At last, your courage has fused with your admirable circumspection. Now, please tell me, is there anything you really like in a lovely get-together?” 

“I love wearing swimming trunks -- retro ones especially,” I said blushingly. “I feel great in them. I brought some along!”

“So, I’m going to see you in your swimming costume—oh, darling!” 

Although we had pre-discussed this on the phone, the revelation still felt really fresh and daring. 

Her aura, spiced by her exquisite scent, so full and strong, was really driving me wild, my breath heating, my juices simmering. The whole scenario was quite overwhelming. The moment for the grand ceremony had come. I took her by the hand and lifted her to stand facing me. “We’ll have a romantic undress,” I said. 

“The prelude for our symphony,” she said.

“As an impassioned Mozartia -- and I assume you are too -- I just love well-orchestrated sonatas of love! I’ve been yearning for someone with your finesse, dreaming about it for ages!” 

I had chosen non-laced shoes to avoid any possibility of fumbling. My jacket and socks were no trouble, and I placed all the garments aside of the main action area to be. Then, Sandra skilfully thumbed my buttons and peeled off my shirt and vest, feeling the muscles of my torso and my arms as she did so. I stood before her, proud in my tight black bikini briefs. 

Her face lit up. “Oh, darling, you’ve got such a wonderful physique; I’m so proud of my catch!” 

“I’ll do the same for you, so for the next stage of revelation, let me take your blouse off first.” 

It was off-the-shoulder, flimsily, casually, and alluringly worn. The motion of my quivering thumbs echoed the firmness. The three pearl buttons undid with ease to make a gracious parting. Then, my hands went under its top and eased it off to reveal her glorious, firm, sun-tanned shoulders and her willowy back. 

“Okay, part two. Now I’ll undo your skirt.” I peeled the zip along very slowly with my left, feeling her hips as I did, and edged it down, with my hands smoothing her bottom and then squeezing her firm thighs. Sandra gave a knowing smile and a giggle. 

“Is that nice?” This was the next delicious stage of revelation, to see the full shape of her legs. I loved elastic-topped stockings -- so much more alluring without suspenders. I touched their tops and felt her firm flesh beneath them. Her thighs and calves had an absolute sensual iridescence. 

“Now, off with them, darling. I want to see your lovely legs as they really are.” The stockings looked so delicate, I didn’t want to risk laddering them. Sandra had to do that with her faultless, firm but delicate hands. Supremely at ease with her aura, she lowered them with tender, loving care. Now, with matching caresses, we felt each other’s thighs and calves.

“It’s great that we’ve kept up our fitness routines in anticipation of the big day,” she said. “You don’t drink beer either, do you? I really appreciate that.” 

Her silky white briefs gleamed with promise -- their own special luminosity. It felt like a ballerina’s pirouetting, but frozen motionless.

As the tactile sensations built up, my breath was heavy with suspense, laden with the weight of long-repressed desire at last so blissfully released. 

 

“Now, darling, remember all your favourite scenes on film and video. You’re going to re-enact all your star idols’ peak moments when you desperately ached to be there in the middle of the action. Now we’re going to be our own celebrities and super-directors, bringing all those lovely visions beaming into real life. This scene is going to make the perfect fusion of the boudoir and the beach. We’re going to enter the deep embrace of the ocean of love. Our fantasy beach, our fantasy sea, is beckoning us. Let’s put on our bathing costumes now. I’m a turn-on in briefs, and you are in that gorgeous underwear, so let’s go on to the next pieces of costumery.”