Authors: Annie Carroll
Friday at noo
n I race off to Macy’s and buy white jeans. Snug fit. Perfect. Then upstairs to the lingerie department but they don’t have any French bras. The upscale store I. Magnin is at the next corner and, of course, they have beautiful French lingerie. I try on three peachy-pink bras and decide on one of them. It has matching silk panties that are tissue thin and soft. I look at the price tags. Oh my god, I’ll have to live on bread and water for two weeks. I buy them anyway.
Back at the office my phone rings: “I’ll pick you up at 5 in front of your office.”
“Okay, but I have to go back to the cottage to pick up some things.”
* * *
As we head south out of San Francisco, it is a perfect California summer evening: warm, balmy air, blue sky. The convertible top is down. I have tied a scarf around my head the way Grace Kelly wears one in a movie, so my hair doesn’t whip around me face. I am wearing the white jeans, a black blouse and sandals with thin black straps. Underneath, my new bra and panties feel silky.
The sun has
just set when he turns off Pacific Coast Highway and drives up a narrow road toward the hills. I can hear the murmur of the ocean rolling up on a rocky beach not far away. He parks the Mustang outside a rustic country inn. Warm lights shine from within. A few white cottages are scattered around behind it. The air is mild and filled with the fragrances of eucalyptus and pine trees.
As we go inside
, I see that the inn is far more polished than rustic. The dining room adjacent to the reception area has pink linen table cloths, gleaming glassware and flowers on every table. At about half the tables people, mostly couples, are seated, eating dinner.
Austen picks up the keys from the front desk.
“Do you want to have dinner? I hear their steaks are good.”
“No,” I answer
, smiling up shyly at him. “I want you.”
A smile spreads slowly across his face. “Okay.”
In the room I suddenly lose every drop of confidence I had. He goes over to the window and closes the striped drapes. Then smiles that honey smile at me and walks across the room. He pulls me into his arms and kisses me, softly first, then intensely. I slide my arms around his neck, and run my fingers up into his soft black hair and return his kiss. His tongue searches my mouth. My tongue dances with his. I dissolve into him. Oh, this feels so good. I can feel how hard he is. My body tightens deep down.
“Oh
god, Julia, I want you so much.” His breathing is rapid and raw. “So much.”
Then we are both stripping off clothes.
His hands run over my shoulders and slide the straps of my pink bra down my arms. He kisses me on my throat as he reaches around to unsnap the bra. He drops my bra on the floor. My hands are shaking as I unbutton his shirt and pull it off him. It falls to the floor. He tugs at the zipper on my jeans.
He tilts my chin u
p and kisses me again. I know he can feel my bare breasts brushing against his chest. I can barely breathe. His hands are on my breasts again, caressing them, circling around and around. I feel my body tightening, aching between my legs.
I try to loosen his belt, but
my trembling fingers are too clumsy.
“I’ll do it, baby.
” His voice is thick. He lifts my face to his and kisses me softly. “First take your jeans off. I want to see you just in those panties.”
I
step back and as gracefully as I can unzip my jeans and slide them down over my hips and legs and step out of them. He watches me, desire for me written all over his face, as I stand in the middle of the room wearing pink silk panties and nothing else.
“Beautiful Julia. So beautiful.”
He steps out of his shoes, then pulls off his jeans and briefs, looking at me the whole time, our eyes locked to each other. Then he is naked and very erect.
“Come here
, baby.”
I walk into his arms
. Oh yes. Oh yes.
He tilts my face up to his again and kisses
me then picks me up and puts me down on the bed on my back. Our arms circle each other and I feel skin against skin all the way down our bodies. Only a wisp of silk is between us. I surrender to the sensation; I surrender to him.
He kisses my breasts
, then his tongue circles around and around one nipple, tenderly. My nipples get harder. I feel his erection at my hip—he is so hard, like steel. His fingers circle my other nipple. I can feel it deep down in my groin. I run my hands down his back. I love the feel of his skin. He licks my nipples. My hips begin to move up and down slowly. I can’t control it.
O
ne of his hands glides down my body and slides inside the silk panties. I sigh. I love the feel of his hands on my body.
“
I’ve wanted you for so long, Julia. You feel so good.” His voice is raw with desire.
I gasp as h
is hand slides down even further through my pubic hair and I hear a sharp intake of breath from him as his fingers begin to circle me down there. Around and around. Oh god, I never thought I could feel like this.
“
Already so warm. So wet and juicy.”
My
hips move in rhythm to his hand as I become more and more aroused. My body is screaming for him.
“I want you, Austen. I want you now,” I beg. “Please Austen.”
“
Oh, babygirl, you don’t have to ask.”
He peels off my panties and tosses them beside the bed.
He rolls between my legs and slowly enters me. I gasp, then sigh. His erection stretches me, fills me entirely. Oh yes, this is what I want. Him inside me—it feels so right. Then he eases back, pauses, and into me again.
I
catch my breath at the sensation.
He is on his elbow
s, his body pins me down, his face is above mine. His voice is like dark honey. “How does this feel, babygirl? Is this what you want?”
“
Yes,” I whisper, my breathing shallow. “Yes. I want you.”
“You have me, Julia.
I’m yours.”
He begins to move
in and out, slowly at first, then gradually faster and harder. I can feel him deep inside me, filling me. I didn’t know it could feel like this—that it could feel so good. My hips match his thrust for thrust. My pulse speeds up. He goes faster, relentlessly, driving into me again and again and again. Then I lose all sense of anything but the two of us, moving together. Now I know—this is how it should be.
I know he can hear my
shallow breaths, panting, faster. His breathing is heavier and faster as he drives into me over and over. I feel an urgency building inside. My legs are growing stiff. I tilt my hips upward and spread my bent legs even wider. He goes deeper into me again and again.
“Oh. Oh. Oh.” I gasp.
My hips are moving faster and faster. I feel him deep inside and I can feel my orgasm coming and I can’t stop it. I can’t slow it. I can only give into it. He thrusts into me harder.
“Com
e for me, babygirl. Come now.”
I arch my back and convulse
, my body tightening inside around him as I climax. I feel like I am shattering into a thousand beams of light. Release—oh yes…it feels so good…oh yes…oh yes…ohh yes. Two more thrusts into me and his body arches and he comes. “Oh Julia,” he gasps and he sinks down onto me.
I feel his face next to mine
on the pillow, his skin smooth and prickly rough. He lifts himself up on his elbows, his body still weighing me down into the mattress, and kisses me lightly on the lips. My legs, my body are limp. I am smiling, my eyes closed. I feel sated. I never knew anything could make my body feel this good.
“Happy?” He asks in his honey voice.
He is still breathing heavily.
“Very
happy.” I open my eyes and smile up at him. I reach up to his face and run my fingers along his cheek. I love the feel of his smooth, pale skin with a stubble of dark whiskers. I kiss him lightly on his lips. We lay quietly like this as our breathing returns to normal.
Then he pushes his groin into mine. I realize he has not pulled out of me and he is getting harder again.
“Want more?” He asks, with a devilish smile on his face. His blue eyes twinkle.
“Now?
”
“Yes, now,” he whispers in my ear. “It’ll be even better, Julia.”
He pushes deeper into me. Then pulls back just a little. Oh. I am surprised. I feel myself aroused again, wanting more of him again, instantly, by this slight movement. Again, he pushes into me; he is harder this time. I push back softly. Inside, I am super sensitive and responding to his growing erection. Once again, he goes in, pauses, then back. He is even firmer this time.
Then he begins to move,
gradually thrusting into me harder, again and again. My body responds, moving with his. He drives into me over and over. Oh my god, I can feel the tension building deep down inside me so quickly. It is happening so fast and it feels so good. My breathing is ragged. He is breathing deeply and plunging his erection deeper into me.
“Babygirl, just let it happen
.” His voice is dark with emotion. “It’s going to be fast.”
O
nce again, I can feel an orgasm coming. My body, my hips move faster, matching him thrust for thrust.
“Oh god, Austen
. Ohh. Ohh.” I gasp as I come. The tension in my body and legs is released explosively. It is even more powerful than before.
His climax follows mine in seconds. “Julia
, baby,” he gasps as he thrusts deeply into me. Then again, I become aware of the weight of his body on mine, as he clasps the sides of my face, his long fingers in my hair and kisses me tenderly. I am utterly limp. We lay like this, together, as our breathing slows, our hearts slow their rapid pounding.
“
I told you it was going to be good, Julia.” He is smiling again.
“Better than good
. I didn’t know…” And, it’s so true. Until now, I didn’t know sex could be like this and it is wonderful and amazing. He is amazing.
He pulls out of me and lies by my side.
We are still, quiet, smiling at each other.
“You’re a quiet one. You let your body say it all.” He leans over and kisses me
softly.
Then
he sits up. “I still want that steak dinner. I wonder if the kitchen is open.”
He picks up the phone
, calls the front desk and grins at the answer he gets.
“Get up. Get dressed,” he says to me
as he reaches for his jeans.
“I have to shower. I’m a mess.”
“Shower later. Get dressed now. We can still have dinner if we get out there right away.”
I find my
peachy-pink bra and silk panties on the floor. When I put them on he stops and looks at me. “Very tempting—but not right now,” he grins.
My black blouse, tossed onto the floor earlier, is not too wrinkled. I slip into my
new white jeans and quickly step into the bathroom to see I how I look. Oh dear—whisker burn, but not too much. I brush my hair and put on some lipstick. This will have to do.
I discover that I am hungrier than I thought
and eat every last bite of the steak. The wine is excellent. Austen tells me about Carmel and how it has been an artists’ haven for decades. We’ll go see the village tomorrow, sometime.
Then we go back to the room and
make love again, this time slowly. At the end I fall asleep in his arms, exhausted and happier than I have ever been.
A thin band of
sunlight falls across the room and onto the blue comforter we must have kicked to the foot of the bed. The blue and green striped drapes are open just a sliver. Austen, still sleeping, is wrapped around me—warmer than any comforter. I could stay like this forever, but I need to take a shower. I feel sticky all over. I don’t want to wake him, so I lie still and think about last night. He was amazing. The whole experience was astonishing. I have never felt like that ever in my life. I never in my wildest dreams imagined that my body could feel that good, that satisfied, that relaxed—and all because of him. And I want more.
Then his breathing changes and
I realize he is awake. He nuzzles my hair.
“
Morning, baby.”
“Good morning.”
“How do you feel?”
“Sticky.
Good, but very sticky. I need to take a shower.” I slip out of his arms, get out of bed, lean over and give him a chaste kiss. With my toothbrush and tooth paste in hand I go to the bathroom. The sun is shining through a small, high window onto the pale blue tiles that go up to the ceiling.
The
turn on the shower and the water warms up rapidly as I brush my teeth. Better. My mouth tastes much fresher now. I step under the warm, almost hot, water and it cascades all over my hair and body. It feels heavenly. The soap I take out of the white paper wrapper is scented lightly, citrus and floral. I rub some on a washcloth and begin to wash my face and neck.
Then I realize Austen is leaning against the doorway to the bathroom watching me
with a honey smile on his face.
“You are so beautiful, Julia.”
He walks across the bathroom and steps into the shower with me.
“Let me wash you, baby. Turn around and stand still.”
He rubs some more soap into the washcloth and starts rubbing my shoulders and my neck. I feel my muscles relax even more. He washes one arm, then lifts it and washes underneath and down my side to my hip. Then he washes the other arm and my other side. With a circular motion, he scrubs my back slowly down to my behind. His hand and washcloth are caressing me as he circles around one cheek, then the other. Then he reaches between my legs and circles round and round.
I gasp.
“Are you sore?”
“A bit.”
“I’ll try to be gentle.”
But he doesn’t stop massaging m
e, probing into me. My hips begin to move with his hand. I am so aroused, just by being in the shower with him, just by seeing how erect he is already.
“Not yet
, baby. Not yet. Be still.”
His hand
moves the washcloth down my legs to my feet, cleaning every inch. The warm water pours over us, washing the soapy lather off my body.
“Turn around now.”
He whispers, his voice thick.
I do as he says. Again he takes
the little bar of soap and lathers it in the washcloth. He starts washing my skin gently at my neck, then across my chest to my shoulders. He kisses me lightly on the lips.
“Are your breasts tender?”
I nod my head. He lightly circles once around each breast—not touching my now hard nipples—then washes down across my stomach and through my pubic hair. Again, his hand enclosed in the washcloth circles around and around between my legs, arousing me even more. My legs begin to feel weak; I am trembling. I don’t know how much longer I can just stand here while he does this to me. Then, suddenly, he drops the washcloth.
“Put your legs around me, babygirl.”
He puts his arms around me, lifts me up as I wrap my legs around him and he slowly eases me onto his erection.
“
Oh yes,” I sigh as he fills me.
My back is against the tile wall as he begins to
move in and out of me, gently at first. Then he drives into me harder and harder. I want to move my hips but I am pinned against the wall as he rams into me again and again. My arms are around his neck, my head against his rough cheek. We are both breathing faster, panting. He thrusts again and again.
“Oh
h. Ohh. Ohh,” I gasp as I feel my orgasm building inside me. It is happening fast again. My legs tighten around him. He drives into me over and over. Then I climax, my hips thrusting forward, the tension inside me suddenly becoming pure release. He comes at almost the same moment, calling my name as he does.
My legs, my body go limp.
With me still in his arms, we slide to the floor, the warm water from the shower still pouring over us. I ease off his lap and onto the tile floor beside him. My eyes are closed and I am smiling as I let the water wash away the last of the stickiness.
“
Did you like that?” He smiles.
“Y
es,” I say, opening my eyes. I lean over and kiss him, lightly on his lips. “Very much. It was a wonderful way to start the day.”
He s
tands up, turns off the shower, then reaches down and pulls me to my feet. “I’m hungry. Let’s go have breakfast or brunch or whatever they are serving now.”
Warm sunshine bathes the
flagstone terrace outside the inn where there are a dozen round, glass-topped, wrought-iron tables with chairs. In daylight I can see the shimmering blue-gray ocean not far away and hear it too, but the terrace is sheltered from the ocean breeze. The crisp scent of nearby eucalyptus trees fills the air.
Austen is disappointed that they don’t have steak and eggs on the
brunch menu, but we decide on omelets with ham and avocado. And Mimosas.
The
waitress brings a glass pitcher of Mimosas to our table immediately and fills the champagne flutes.
“You really love steaks, don’t you? Do you come from a ranching family?”
“Nope. It’s a Texas thing, I guess. My daddy is a Baptist preacher.”
“You’re the son of a preacher? Isn’t there a song about that? Is it about you?”
I take a sip of the Mimosa. The combination of orange juice and champagne tastes very refreshing. I take another sip.
He laughs. “I don’t think so. Dusty Springfield sings it. I never met her.”
“There was a minister’s son in my homeroom in high school. He was always in some kind of trouble or the other.”
He takes a drink of the M
imosa.
“I was
, too. I thought I was really hot stuff when I was 17. Got drunk as often as I could with some rowdy friends, a bunch of small town nobodies I realize now. But we drove around in souped-up cars and raced on back roads late at night. And I screwed every girl I could get my hands on. I almost didn’t graduate from high school because I missed classes so often that last semester. My grades were good, though. Then I refused to follow my brother Matt into college.”
I am surprised by this revelation. Well, maybe not entirely surprised. It fits with
his comments about Tommy being as bad at 22 as he was at 17.
The waitress brings our omelets with home fries
, slices of fruit and buttered English muffins. She tops up our Mimosas from the glass pitcher.
He takes a bite of the omelet. “Good. Not steak, but good.”
“What did your parents think about all this?”
“They were furious. I think the Reverend John Raneley was embarrassed as much as anything. He couldn’t tolerate the idea that
everyone knew that one of his sons was a guitar player, singing in run-down bars across the county. My mother was very disappointed in me and made a point of telling me that—often. She told me I was setting a bad example for Mike. I didn’t care.”
The omelet is delicious
: in addition to the ham and avocado, the cook has stirred in some herbs into the eggs. It lifts this omelet out of the ordinary. I eat it all and empty my drink. The waitress refills both our glasses again.
“So you packed up your guitar and came to California?”
“No.” He pauses, pensive. He seems to be thinking about the past.
“If you don’t want to talk about this, that’s okay
. I didn’t mean to pry.” I say, taking another sip of my drink.
“No
, I’ll tell you, Julia. Let’s finish lunch first and go back to the room.”
Housekeeping has been to our room, made the bed and hung fresh towels in the shower. Room service has also been there. Beside the bed is a
small rolling table with a bowl of red ripe strawberries, a bowl of fluffy white whipped cream, a bottle of champagne and two champagne flutes.
“Oh, I love strawberries,” I say.
“I hoped you did.” He smiles at me, as he piles the pillows against the headboard. “Come sit by me, Julia, and I will tell you the story of my life.”
I crawl onto the bed beside him. He takes one strawberry and dips it into the cream and feeds it to me. The berry is sweet and very juicy.
I run my tongue over my lips, licking away the cream.
“Delicious.”
He eats a berry dipped in the cream, and opens the bottle of chilled champagne. He pours it into the flutes, not spilling a drop.
“To the future.” He toasts.
“The future.” I echo.
Another berry for me.
Another for him. A drop of cream is on his face by his mouth. I lean over and lick it off. He grins at me as I sit back and wait for him to continue.
“
So,” I ask, “there you were in No-Where Texas being a bad boy guitar player. What happened next?”
“This story now takes a turn for the worse. Or maybe the better—depending on
how you look at it. The Reverend Raneley came up with a solution—I found out about it a couple of years later. He went to the local draft board—a bunch of small-town big wigs, most of them were members of his church—and told them to put me Number One on the next draft.”
“Your father did that?” I
gasp, shocked. “Most fathers try to keep their sons out of the draft. But yours deliberately got you drafted?”
“
He sure did. Six months later I was marching to the Army’s tune. After Basic I was shipped off to Germany.”
“At least you didn’t get sent to Viet Nam. That would have been horrible.”
“In ’61 Viet Nam was nothing, Julia. A few Special Forces were there in those days. The Soviet Union was the big threat—maybe still is.”
He empties his
champagne flute, refills it and tops up mine.
“It turned out Army life wasn’t all that bad. We had plenty of time
and a little money so I drank buckets of beer, screwed every Fraulein I could get my hands on—pretty much continued what I had been doing back home. The big difference was that the Army didn’t give a damn. All I had to do to keep them happy was show up at roll call, march straight and shoot a rifle.”
He feeds another strawberry to me. The cream drips on
to my chin. He wipes it off with his fingers then leans back against the headboard and pillows, smiling at me.
“My NCO noticed that I could shoot better than most. Shooting was no big deal for me
—I’d been bird hunting with my uncle Will since I was 11. So the Army decided to give me some sniper training. Then they issued me a sniper rifle. I never had to kill anyone, though.”
He pauses, thinking.
“Since Viet Nam has blown up I’ve wondered if the Army was going to come get me again because of that training. They haven’t—so far.”
“You could be drafted back into the Army?”
I am dismayed.
“Y
ep, although I am close to being too old for them now. Anyway, one day I met an American girl who told me she had saved for three years so she could travel around Europe for the summer. She really chewed me out for ‘wasting an opportunity’—that’s what she called it. She pointed out that the Army gave me free travel to Europe, free room and board and even some spending money. In her opinion I was throwing away what she had to work so hard for. I realized she was right. I never saw her again, but after that I began to visit places—mostly in Northern Europe. I’ve kept on doing that ever since. Go places. Meet new people. It was good advice.”
Another strawberry for me. More champagne for him.
“What was your favorite place in Europe?”
“Paris,” he grins. “Everyone loves Paris.
”
“What did you do there?”
“I went to the Louvre—that place is huge—and saw Venus de Milo and the Mona Lisa. Looking at miles of pictures didn’t interest me, though. Saw Saint Chapelle—an old old church built by one of the French kings back in the 1200s. All stained glass windows, no solid walls. Then I went over to the Left Bank and drank wine at Les Deux Magot—it’s a bar, a bistro—a famous hangout for French intellectuals. I hoped I could see Jean Paul Sartre, but I didn’t. I bought one of his books in English and one by Albert Camus, too. Then it was back to the base in Germany. I was only in Paris a few days.”
“So after the army, did you come to California?”