This short story I wrote before I did Redefined.  It was available for free at various sites and now, I’m including it here.  The piece is F/F and isn’t totally short (just shy of 7,000 words).  I’m including it on the site just for fun.  I hope you enjoy it!

A Change of Pace

By Caitlin West

©Copyright 2006 Caitlin West

All Rights Reserved

 

There’s a common misconception that I have to contend with all the time concerning musicians.  A vast majority of people seem to believe that we’re all free spirited artistes with some kind of chip on our shoulder against everything and anyone that represents social order.  They find out that I’m a musician and it’s immediately assumed that I have some kind of radical beliefs or that I hope to one day leave some kind of mark.

 

I guess that all this comes from reality television or things like MTV showing pop stars in their wild homes crooning out songs that have the lasting value of a cat litter tray.  The fads keep things fresh and exciting for a few moments but then the repetition kills it as radios bleed a piece for all that it’s worth.

 

When people find out that I’m a violinist for a touring orchestra, their opinion completely changes.  I’m viewed as someone that they can’t possibly understand; an outsider to their world.  The next question that I typically endure tends to be the simple ‘oh, so you’re snooty?’.  It’s not the meanest thing I’ve been called when I relate my opinions but I do try to keep them to myself unless asked.

 

For my part, I’ve always been strongly against modern pop music and I lump them all together.  Rock, R&B, country, whatever other cute title they’ve decided to label themselves… it doesn’t really matter what it’s called the end result is nothing more than a momentary salve for an attention deficit disorder society.  The average person can’t seem to focus on one thing long enough to take anything more away from it than what they’d get out of the first fifteen seconds.  Longevity and artistic beauty are not created within a few blinks of an eye.

 

Modern music is as rarely gorgeous as it is interesting.  Radios cram noise through the air waves and most of it grates on the nerves to the point of agitation.  And people wonder why children are out of control.  If someone would take five minutes to pay attention to the constant barrage of irritating crap that is thrown at us, there would be no question.

 

Everywhere we go we’re assaulted by constant sound.  Cars belch toxins, radios blast monotonous rhythms without the benefit of melody or artistry, people yell at one another, construction workers pound, airplanes fly over head… if a person came forward in time from even a hundred years ago they would assume that we blissfully mill about in a constant state of war.

 

Does this point of view make me snooty?  Maybe it does.  People tend to view classical musicians with this sort of disdain; that we have no respect for anything outside our cliquish and rather exclusive club.  The pieces we learn have complicating titles never mind the arrangements and mechanical structures.  I think that people believe artistry should be simple to understand; that they feel like they shouldn’t have to think to enjoy it. 

 

Really, art that doesn’t make a person think isn’t really performing the purpose of it’s creation.  When walking through the Louvre, I heard someone very obviously from the south behind me say ‘That’s got some perty colors’ and then they immediately moved on.  Now I’m far from an expert at art appreciation but the point is not to simply dazzle the eyes nor is the point of music to merely spend five minutes with something that catches one from a marketing perspective.

 

Music really can get one into trouble.  It’s one of the three volatile subjects (the other two being religion and politics).  If you express your opinion concerning any of the three, you can guarantee to be in a debate, sometimes even when both people totally agree with one another!  Opinions in general have always been a fascinating source of irritation for me.

 

I never have really gone out of my way to express my dislike of what other people enjoy.  It’s none of my business if people want to spend time watching strangers make fools of themselves on TV, however sad such ‘entertainment’ might be.  Even in college, I mostly kept quiet unless provoked with a direct question. 

 

One thing that I’ve never understood about people (and maybe a psychologist can help me out with this one) is why people want everyone to share their exact thoughts on a subject?  Why ask someone if they like something if one is not prepared to hear that the person doesn’t in fact like it?  Is not the point of an opinion to express personal preference with a side of conversation starter? 

 

I can’t say how many times someone’s been offended by me when I didn’t just say ‘yeah, that was damn cool’ or some other conformist drivel.  I’m not even sure that I want to understand now that I really put some thought into it.  I believe that it might be one of those situations where it’s just human behavior; unpredictable, unreasonable and totally oblivious without being the other person.

 

The world I live in has the same kind of people of course but we tend to be a bit more open minded (at least, I like to think so but I admit that I could be biased).  In any event, I have my best conversations with the other musicians in the orchestra.  Music, travel, politics… it feels easier to be myself when around those that I know mostly feel the same way I do about the state of our world mired in cacophony.  I’m sure this is how it is for most people really; hence the concept of social subdivisions.

 

Yet, this story isn’t really about that.  The build up was required to give a taste of who I am and why these events mattered.  My point A to B if you will.

 

A year ago, we were on a tour of the west coast.  It was my first trip to that part of the US and until then, my travel had been largely limited to Europe.  Some of the others had been to California, Oregon and Washington so they were mostly bored with the prospect of seeing it all again but I on the other hand was rather excited.

 

I had heard that the Pacific Northwest could be a quiet place.  Mountains, forests, huge national parks… for a girl primarily raised in one of the biggest cities in the world, I was looking forward to taking in some nature that had not been planned nor tamed before I ventured home.

 

“It’s not all that interesting, Mel,” John was a cellist and carried the concept of curmudgeon to a new level of professionalism.  “We visited the mountain the last time I came through.  It was just… snow and trees.  We’ve got plenty of both back home.”

 

“I won’t ask you to come along then,” I offered him a sweet smile and turned to my other companions.  Only two were present for breakfast and both shook their heads before I could speak.

 

“Fine, I’ll just go alone then,” I spoke with my haughtiest, most confident voice but none of them seemed effected.  Likely because they didn’t believe me but John should have known better.  I wasn’t the type to shrink from an opportunity and visiting such a fascinating place was nothing if not an opportunity.

 

We were performing four nights in Seattle and then three more nights in a new hall that opened in a small city several miles south.  Our hotel was centrally located so there would be no need to relocate between the shows.  This suited me just fine as it saved us the necessity to pack everything up more than was necessary.

 

Our first night was pretty standard fare.  The crowd was impressively large and seemed entertained.  The after show party saw a wide range of people including university professors, a few low level politicians, students and fellow musicians from local troupes.  I personally love the parties because the soul topic (at least with musicians like me) seems to be the music.

 

I was milling near the bar for a second glass of champagne when I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder.

 

The woman responsible smiled as I turned and extended her hand.  She was about my age, mid twenties with auburn hair tied back from pale, thin features.  The charcoal suit she wore was fairly nice but made her look severe with the fairness of her skin and her pale blue eyes.

 

“Hi,” She said as we shook hands.  “My name is Camille Davidson.  I loved your performance tonight.”

 

“Thank you,” I smiled brightly back at her; it was my standard polite expression that I had perfected after countless functions.  “My name’s Melanie Estinbrook; violin.”

 

“Oh, I know, I know!” Camille blushed and held up the program.  “I mean… I know that you played the violin and I saw your name in here.  It’s a lovely last name.  Is it English?”

 

“I’m told it’s Welsh but heritage was never really a strong point for my parents,” I shrugged.  “I really should find out though.  I get asked about it all the time.”

 

“Are you in the Northwest for long?”

 

“Just over a week,” I replied.  “Staying near the airport.”

 

“You going to be able to catch any sites?” Camille had an expression that was different than the typical ‘I need to pretend to be interested in you so I can talk to someone semi-famous’.  Her tone said she might actually care about the answers to her questions. 

 

“I hope so,” I frowned and gestured around to the other guests.  “The others have been here before so they’re not so excited about heading out to wander again.”

 

“I’m a native,” Camille pulled out a card from her purse and offered it to me.  “So if you’re interested, I’d love to show you around.”

 

“Oh, that’s very nice of you but I—“

 

“Say no more,” Camille held up her hand and smiled.  “I understand your hesitation.  If you change your mind, give me a call.  Anytime, really.”

 

We parted ways and I didn’t think much else about her; at least not right then.  I didn’t make many friends abroad.  This wasn’t because I was too good for that but rather I never knew how long it would be before I’d make my way through places again.  I didn’t want to leave behind people I’d feel guilty for never contacting again.  I was terrible about picking up the phone or writing e mail.

 

It was mostly a point of view I was alone in.  Others in the orchestra had friends and family all over the country.  Hell, all over the world for that matter.  Maybe this concept was what got me thinking.  Why was I such a loner?  And did it gain me to always turn down opportunities and hospitality?  I was robbing myself of experience.

 

The next performance was another success and the result was two days off for us to do whatever we wanted.  It was Thursday night when I found myself pacing my hotel room trying to figure out what to do with the time and how to spend it most wisely.  Camille’s offer seemed more tempting than I would’ve thought possible considering my previous hesitation but I really did want to expand my horizons.  She had certainly seemed nice enough.

 

I dialed her number and winced as I saw the clock.  The green numbers read 11:30 PM; about an hour after I had retired from hanging out with the others in the lounge.

 

As the phone rang a second time, I read her card finally: Camille Davidson, fashion consultant.  I had met a lot of people with a wide variety of professions but surprisingly never any in the clothing industry.  My theory was that usually such people who had to maintain a fast paced modern lifestyle would be too far into that cutting edge to care about classical music performances.  My view was, of course, a gross generalization and I was glad to be proven wrong.

 

On the third ring, I started to figure she had to be sleeping.  I was on the verge of hanging up when I heard the receiver lift from the cradle.

 

“Hello?” Camille’s voice was bright and chipper with no hint of sleep to it at all.  I cleared my throat.

 

“Hi, this is Mel… Melanie Estinbrook?  We met the other night at the concert?”

 

“Oh, hi, hi!” Camille spoke excitedly.  “I didn’t think you would call!  How’re you?  Everything okay?”

 

“Yeah, things are fine,” I wasn’t accustomed to such exuberance.  Even my mother was more subdued when I called her.  In a way, it was flattering.  “I was wondering about the offer you made… about site seeing and such?  I have the next two days totally free…”

 

“Of course!” I could hear the smile in Camille’s voice.  “What time works for you?”

 

“Early is always nice… make the most use of daylight.”

 

“Would 9:00 AM be too late?”

 

“No, that sounds fine,” I replied. 

 

“Great!  I’ll come by your hotel and give you the grand tour then!”

 

I gave her all the necessary info and sprawled out on the bed, staring at the ceiling.  My conservative side stammered on about how crazy I was planning a day with a total stranger.  That was the same side that reveled in my always being alone and maintaining a safe distance from all people.

 

I was tired of safe.  Safe was boring; it forced me to stagnate rather than grow.  Besides, how much trouble could one get into with a little tourist style site seeing anyway?  Not much was my first thought.  Of course, naivety always creates a safe place for ignorance to fester unchecked.

 

I managed to stop arguing with myself by midnight and got some sleep.  It was a heavy sort of dreamless night and I woke up without the alarm going off around 8:00AM; perfect timing.  For some reason, my body’s internal clock was rarely off.  It was a gift I was grateful for.

 

At nine, I was in the hotel lobby flipping through a brochure on the Seattle ‘must see’ list.  There were a few attractions that everyone knew about of course: the Space Needle, Pike Place Market, the Seattle Art museum… the latter two I wasn’t entirely sure why they were considered so special but still, everything was so close together I expected that they could easily be explored in one day.

 

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Camille came up behind me and her voice gave me a start.  “Parking at this place can be a real pain.”

 

“That’s alright,” I stood up and stretched.  “It’s only a few minutes.  I had figured I’d meet you down here.  Seemed like it would be easier.”

 

Camille was dressed in low riding jeans and a sweater.  Her shoes were dark and looked comfortable; made for walking.  She had her hair tied back in a tail.

 

By contrast, I was more formal.  Black slacks, dark sweater, polished boots… my leather jacket was tailored specifically for me by a place in Manhattan.   She definitely gave me a once over but there was no indication she felt the contrast as obviously as I did.  Besides, she was a fashion consultant.  Eyeing me was exactly the same as how I scrutinize antique violins.

 

“Shall we then?” Camille gestured for the door.

 

Her car was midway back in a small lot off the side of the hotel.  It was a fairly new sedan that still had that car lot gleam to the paint.  I couldn’t fathom driving most places.  My daily routine at home rarely pulled me away from the subway let alone toward my car.

 

“Is there anything that you want to see first?” Camille asked as we got in.  “Anything you’ve read about or whatever?”

 

I told her what I had been looking at that morning and off we went toward the freeway.

 

Camille was surprisingly patient with my lengthy pauses here and there as we walked around various hot spots of Seattle.  She seemed to enjoy the company and I have to admit that she was a fun person to be with.  She knew the area intimately and we had more in common than I would’ve guessed at based on our quick, limited conversation of just two days earlier.

 

“You seem a little uptight,” Camille said as we finished up lunch.  “Or maybe I’m trying to say… repressed.  I’m not sure.  Don’t take this the wrong way but… are you happy?”

 

“That’s an odd observation,” I considered the question over a sip of coffee.  “Yeah… yeah, I think I’m happy.  Happy enough at least.  I mean, I’m not laughing all the time but you know…”

 

“Happy enough?” Camille echoed with a frown.  “What’s that mean?”
            “What do you mean?”

 

“Is it ‘yes I’m happy’ or ‘I’m really so-so but that sounds lame to say out loud’?”

 

“Oh,” I shrugged, looking thoughtful.  “I don’t know.  The latter I guess.”

 

“What do you do to let loose?  What’s fun when you’re at home?”

 

“Let loose… well…” My mind scrambled through my days and I finally settled on my most frequent, relaxing activity.  “I unwind at home to a hot bath with wine and a quiet CD; Meldelssohn or Brahams typically.”

 

“That’s unwinding, yes,” Camille agreed. “But what’s fun?  You’re from New York.  There has to be tons to do there.”

 

“I suppose,” I lifted my hands helplessly.  “I… go shopping?  I… occasionally go out to a foreign film?”

 

Camille stared at me as if waiting for more.  When nothing was forthcoming, she pursed her lips.  “You don’t go dancing?  What about a boyfriend?”

 

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” And for the first time, that sounded weird to me.  “And I’m really not a fan of modern music.”

 

“You’re not… hmm…” Camille glanced out the window with a far away look in her eyes.  “There are some modern songs that I would really appeal to your classical sensibilities… but aside from that, do you like this?  Seeing new places and traveling?  Hanging out?”

 

“Yeah, it’s fun and really, this place is much quieter than home—just generally I mean.  I like that most of all.  In fact, I had hoped to make it out to one of those huge parks here.  Somewhere that you’d be hard pressed to hear a car you know?”

 

“Oh, I know just the place for that,” She looked me up and down again, evaluating the clothes.  “It’s not too dirty on the path… but do you think you’d want to get changed first?”

 

“We could go now?”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Okay, then…”  We got moving back to the car.  “Will I be warm enough with this stuff?  I heard about snow and trees.”

 

“You’ll be fine,” She answered with a quick grin.  “We’re not going to the mountain and weather in early spring here is not too hot, not too cold.  The worst threat is rain but it looks clear enough.”

 

The drive took not quite an hour and she drove me through a small suburb to a tremendous national park that was comprised of a vast forest looming over the beach to a small sea.  Standing near a wooden rail and staring down on the rocks below, we were in the perfect spot for what I had longed for: no unnatural sounds.  The waves lapped the shore, the wind rustled the trees, birds chirped… it was honest peace and quiet and I reveled in it.

 

Camille seemed to sense what I felt.  She made no noise watching me take in my surroundings with deep breaths.  I’m not sure how long we were there before I turned to her but I was smiling so broadly my cheeks hurt.

 

“This place is wonderful,” I kept my voice low as if speaking too loudly would shatter the serenity we’d found.  “Exactly what I wanted.  Thank you so much.”

 

“You’re quite welcome,” Camille moved up and leaned on the railing beside me.  “Does this help you unwind?  Or is this fun?”

 

“I think this is a rare moment that does both,” I said.  “Can we get down to that beach without too much difficulty?”

 

“No difficulty,” Camille motioned to her left.  “There’s a path that leads down.  Just watch your step for patches of mud.”

 

Path was more accurate than I would’ve thought.  It wasn’t treacherous but required slow going not to sink in the mud she had warned about.  Camille assured me that we could take the stairs back up to the car when we were finished but that they were on the other side of the beach some half a mile down. 

 

The sun shimmered off the surface of the water as we left the mouth of the forest and the hill we had traversed behind.  There were islands off the coast that looked close enough to easily swim to though the distances were made obvious by the huge ferry that looked like a small toy.  I could have stared out at those land masses all day and not gotten tired of the trees and homes that dotted the surface before sweeping back like a great sand dune of dark green. 

 

We strolled the length of the beach on a sidewalk until we came to a little boat house with a shop catering to fishermen.  People were milling about in the late afternoon; children eating candy and throwing rocks into the water near the docks and birds flying overhead screaming out their high pitched wail while vying for food left in trash cans.

 

The winding stairs back to the car were a bit steeper than I had hoped, climbing up with more than eight flights before we reached the relatively flat surface that ultimately led back to the car.  When we arrived, I flopped into my seat and by the time we got back to the hotel, I was a cross between exhausted and elated.

 

I couldn’t remember the last time that I had had quite so much fun—just an outright good time.  In a way, such a confession was lame; how could I be so pathetic that fun was a foreign concept and how could I have evaded it for such a lengthy period of time?

 

“Do you want to come up for a drink?” I really didn’t want the day to end.  Camille had proven to be wonderful company.  I was glad I didn’t convince myself to hang up the phone that night.

 

“Sure,” Camille smiled at me.  “Truth be told, I wasn’t looking forward to the day ending.” 

 

Her confession mirroring my thoughts didn’t really catch me off guard but there was definitely a reaction.  I don’t know how to explain it really beyond that.  I suppose that I felt as though I understood her… that there was something that bound us as friends.  Perhaps it was this… thing that brought us together in the first place. 

 

“Did you have fun today?” She asked on the way up and I nodded while unlocking the door to the room.

 

“It was all lovely, thank you.”

 

We kicked off our shoes before I tapped the mini-bar for some scotch.  “I’m not sure how good this will be,” I warned while pouring us both one.  “But there’s some tonic to cut it if it’s too foul.”

 

“So this is straight?” Camille peered at the glass as I handed it to her, tilting it left and right to make the ice clink around.

 

“As straight as hotel scotch gets, I guess,” I looked at mine with the same curiosity.  “We can always try the wine instead if you’d like.”

 

“I was under the impression you were more of a wine type actually,” Camille sniffed the scotch.  “Are you just teasing me with this stuff?”

 

“No,” I chuckled.  “My mother loved it.  She was from Scotland and I’m sure this sounds like a horrible stereotype but she absolutely loved Scotch.  On my twenty first birthday, she brought out a bottle of it from her father that was ancient and we had a toast.  I think it’s an acquired taste but not a bad one.”

 

“Well,” Camille held her glass up to me.  “Bottom’s up?”

 

I tapped my glass against hers and there was a wincing from each of us as we downed the cheap crap.  Before I could even stop sneering, I was off to get the wine.  “Cheap wine is infinitely preferable to cheap scotch apparently.”

 

“Agreed,” Camille rasped as she continued to try and acclimate to the shot.  “Your company sprang for nice accommodations.”

 

“Truth be told I would’ve paid extra if it would’ve been necessary,” I brought her back a glass of wine and put the bottle on the floor between us.  “I enjoy my comfort when I’m traveling.”

 

“I’m with you there but I don’t really get to do a whole lot of traveling myself.”

 

“I would’ve thought from your profession that you’d be all over the world,” I sipped the wine.  It was too bitter but the scotch had deadened my tongue to the flavor.  At that point, I probably could have consumed two bottles without noticing the negative parts.  “Fashion consultant was it?”

 

“Yeah, that sounds a lot more glamorous than it really is though,” Camille took a heavy drink from her wine.  “Consulting for anything can be tricky to find clients and for me, most of mine has taken place via correspondence and even then, mainly just for friends.”

 

“So does it make a living?” I asked.

 

“Nah,” She smirked at the question.  “I received a trust fund from my parents though.  It’s enough to live comfortably while I pursue my professional hobby.”

 

“Are your parents—“

 

“Yeah,” Camille nodded slowly.  “A few years ago now.  Stupid car accident… of all the senseless ways to go… but yeah, that’s where I’m at.  Mostly alone now.”

 

“No siblings?  Boyfriend?”

 

“Only child,” Camille finished off her wine before refilling the glass.  “And I’ve never had all that much luck with boyfriends… finding them I should say.”

 

I can’t explain why her answer made me happy.  It was like I’d be jealous if she had said ‘yes’ concerning the boyfriend thing. 

 

“I can’t imagine why,” I hid my slight smile with a drink.  “You’re a beautiful person… fun to be with… I guess the right person hasn’t met you yet.”

 

“Maybe so,” Our eyes met as she said that and an oddly comfortable silence fell between us.  “So did you have fun today?  Wait… I… I already asked you that.”

 

“It’s okay,” I shrugged a shoulder.  I was feeling warm from the scotch and the wine.  “I did have fun.  Did you?  Carting the out of town girl all over the place?”

 

“Nah, you’re neat.  You kind of seemed like you’d appreciate some company.  I was just hoping you wouldn’t think I was annoying.”

 

“No, not even a little bit,” I chewed my lower lip and contemplated my feelings.  She was far from annoying.  She was something I had a hard time admitting even to myself in my own thoughts.  I was close to people before; close like friends.  I had intimate conversations and confessed thoughts and opinions otherwise kept private.

 

I knew what this was.  My mind continued to defy it and qualify it as something else.  The alcohol was stronger than I had anticipated or I was just tired from a long day and not thinking clearly,.  A dozen excuses could exist between my brain and my heart but no amount of stubborn denial would quell this sensation of attraction.

 

“Mel,” Camille broke my reverie and I turned a smile to her.  “You seemed to space out there.  Are you okay?”

 

My eyes drifted to her hand and neither of us had moved for a good minute.  I took a deep breath to find some resolve when she reached out and ran her finger tips over my wrist before clasping my hand.

 

The feeling was electric and I had to close my eyes to fully appreciate the contact.  I could never have anticipated how desperately I wanted to touch her nor how intoxicating it would be.  Her first step broke down my inhibitions.  I lifted my free hand and caressed her cheek.

 

“I didn’t expect this,” Camille whispered as we pressed our foreheads together.  “To feel this way I mean.”

 

“Neither did I,” We were so close that my words made our lips brush together.  I could feel her breath and the proximity made my heart pound in my chest.

 

Our first kiss was subtle and tickling; a soft exploration as if testing the waters.  Neither of us could breathe while our lips became intimately familiar.  I don’t know which of us escalated the moment but I felt her tongue coax mine to mingle half way.  We broke it off a moment later, gasping as our eyes met; each one darkened with passion.

 

“That was stunning,” I rasped, unable to compel myself away from her.  “You… that was just… wow.”

 

“I couldn’t have put it better myself,” Camille let her fingers trace the side of my neck.  It tickled but in that sort of erotic way that makes a person tremble with desire as opposed to laughter.  “It may seem strange but… I think I adore you.”

 

“Maybe it is strange,” I shrugged my shoulders and nuzzled her hand when it drew close enough to my face.  “But I adore you too… it’s crazy!  We’ve only known each other a day!”

 

“No,” Camille shook her head and kissed my forehead.  “We’ve known each other far longer than that… at least, that’s how I feel.  We just took some time to find one another again.  That’s all.”

 

I had never really been one to believe in much beyond what I could see and feel.  Religion wasn’t really pushed on me as a kid and the absence stuck with me to adulthood.  The concept of past lives made sense to me despite what I felt was improbability taken to a higher level though and that could be the only thing that she was talking about.

 

Here, despite all my skepticism her words spoke to me on a truly spiritual level.  I honestly did feel like I had known her before.  Another time, another place but not one in this memory.  It was the same sort of recognition as one finds from a close relative or good friend or déjà vu… elevated… and more passionate.

 

My mind was bubbling with talk I would’ve called crazy twenty four hours earlier.  Now I couldn’t’ deny it without forsaking the beat of my heart.  People talk flippantly about love at first sight and they swear that such a thing could never happen.  Our world makes people bitter and jaded so that any happiness they find, whether it’s for themselves or others, must be tainted at all costs.

 

I was tired of that terrible game.

 

“What now?” I asked, hoping beyond hope that she might have a clue.

 

“That depends,” She leaned back and looked me over with a soft, happy sigh.  “Do you… want to stay together tonight?”

 

“Tonight?” My eyes were wide at her question.  “How about always?”

 

“In that case, I can stop holding back?”  I could see the hunger in her eyes as she asked the question; a slight tremble was noticeable in her shoulders.

 

“Please don’t hold back with me,” I barely finished the sentence before she caught me in the most passionate kiss I had ever experienced in my life.  We were devouring one another’s excitement with mingling tongues and quiet hums that were filled with affection upon their unbidden arrival. 

 

Her taste was glorious as the softness of our lips pressed hard against one another.  Breathing came quick through the nose and my eyes were closed tightly as I met every ounce of her passion with my own reserves.

 

Clothing became restrictive.  We were holding each other but even the thin layer of cloth between us felt like a thousand mile gap.  Without breaking the kiss, we drew back and I let her unbutton my blouse.  When her warm hands found my bare sides, I shivered and turned my head away to let out a sigh.

 

I recovered quickly and urged her to let me take off her sweater.  With her arms over her head, I pulled the shirt off and tossed it on the floor, wrapping my arms about her and pulling her close.

 

Skin to skin with only our bras in the way, it was one step closer to the comfort we were after.  She nibbled my neck as I rested my head on her shoulder; a feeling that teased down my side and stirred a knot that began forming in my abdomen.  I felt my muscles contract in my thighs—my pants made my legs hot and uncomfortable.

 

Camille drew back and urged me to my feet.  She paced slowly around until she was directly behind me, wrapping arms about my body in a warm embrace.  The hug was temporary and her fingers went to work on my pants, drawing down the zipper deliberately slow.

 

When she let them go, the pants fell to the floor and I kicked them away.  Her hands explored my body starting at the black satin panties and sliding all the way my taut stomach to rest on my satin covered breasts.  The attention made my body jerk in reaction; my excitement heating my sex to the point that I wished she would touch me there.  Not that I wanted the teasing to end.

 

Her lips pressed to the back of my neck and she took a step away, lick kissing along my spine.  The bra was unsecured and she continued down, leaving me to strip it off on my own.

 

At my lower back, Camille was on her knees and drew back, hooking her fingers in my panties.  She pulled them down maddeningly slow, letting her fingertips tickle the length of my legs.  When they reached my ankles, both of her hands gave my ass a quick squeeze.

 

“You’re absolutely beautiful,” Camille breathed as she rose back to her feet.  My heart was pounding a mile a second.  I had never been so aroused in my entire life and by something so simple as being undressed; by the act of getting close to another person… it was mind boggling.

 

“You…” I couldn’t even speak without stuttering and kept my voice to a harsh whisper.  “You are too… your hands… your lips… My God!”

 

“You should lie down on the bed, hon,” I glanced over my shoulder and she was removing her pants.  “Go on, I’ll join you in half a second.”

 

I sat down and flopped back on the bed with my knees hanging over so my feet touched the floor.  My body thanked me; I hadn’t realized how shaky I actually was.  Lying there allowed me to bask in my euphoria instead of struggling against it.

 

Camille planted a hand on either side of my head and let her naked body rest gently against mine.  Her hair was partially free from its tail, hanging down to tickle my cheeks.  When our eyes locked, I began to tremble again in earnest.  She was straddling me, a knee on either side of my hips and the closeness of our situation made me feel safe.  How could such a strong emotion build in such a short period of time?

 

She kissed my nose, my forehead, my cheeks… our lips lingered together before she traced my jaw line and began to nibble her way down my neck.  Her descent didn’t stop but maintained a slow, steady pace.

 

My eyes closed and as I felt her tongue create a circle around my nipple, my back arched.  The thrill was such that I couldn’t decide where it was feeling good.  My nerves were on fire and I caressed the back of her head, fingers entwining hair and massaging without any motivation from my scattered mind.

 

Camille gave equal attention to my other breast, and it finally proved too much.  I began to moan; quietly at first but as my whole body responded with an uncontrollable writhing, I felt myself letting go.  All of my thoughts and concerns and stresses about life were on a standstill as if I had suddenly learned to live solely in the moment.  Future, past… nothing mattered but her and how we made each other feel.

 

I received a momentary reprieve as she began kissing my stomach.  The anticipation of what was about to happen forced the breath to catch in my throat.  Her tongue teased my skin down my abdomen along the top of my leg… my inner thigh… I spread my legs unbidden and an instant later, I sucked in a harsh gasp.

 

Without preamble or warning, she plunged her tongue into me.  My eyes shot open and the out of focus ceiling came into a stark view of gray and white.  I was a being of tension, my held breath creating additional rigidity.  Camille remained motionless for a long while and when she did withdraw, her tongue tickle/teased my clit, driving me absolutely wild.

 

I didn’t think that I could be any more aroused when she started but then a finger slipped in and began to massage the walls of my sex.  I gripped her head with my left hand and moaned with abandon; control or concern for decency had fled along with my inhibitions.

 

The orgasm that swept through me was swift, consuming every part of my body from head to toe.  Everything tingled as if nerve endings had just been hit with a special current meant solely for me.  My other senses were deadened; hearing was like being underwater, vision was darkened to a perfect tunnel… all I had was a wildly enhanced tactile experience that refused to end and sent wave after wave of euphoric rapture through every pore. 

 

It all ended as abruptly as it began and I was left gasping for air in post coital bliss. 

 

For the longest moment, I just had to sit and recovery, shaking at anything that so much as thought about touching my skin.  When Camille pushed up from her position on the floor and moved up along side me, I finally found the strength to turn and look at her.  What I saw in her eyes filled me with a second wind and before she could even speak, I leaned up and kissed her.

 

I could taste myself on her lips still but it only seemed to add to our collective excitement.  I took a bit of control and pushed her down onto her back.  Arching my fingers, I ran my fingertips down her chest and teased each of her nipples with the lightest touch I could manage.

 

Her brow furrowed in reaction and she bit her lip in physical frustration to the teasing.  I nuzzled against her as my fingers continued their teasing ballet down her stomach and further down to gently tap her clit one at a time.  Each contact made her shoulders jerk in response.

 

Her eyes opened and we smiled at one another.  “Are you ready?” I asked in my most seductive voice.

 

“More than,” Camille replied, her hunger even more apparent than before.  “Feeling you explode like that was one of the most erotic things I’ve seen in my li—“

 

 I interrupted by a firm massage of her clit with my middle finger, the contact drawing a moan out of her instead of the final word.  Her hand moved up and cupped my cheek as I found a circular, steady rhythm that was not too slow but certainly not the frantic pace one might take if they were in control.  I looked her up and down as she began to squirm, her toes curling and muscles tensing and releasing with each pass of my fingers.

 

I brought all of my fingers into play, assaulting her with gentle teasing and firm massages in no particular pattern or order.  The act caused her to grip the bedding in her free hand firmly until her knuckles were white and to take her a bit further, I started to tease the entrance of her sex.  Her texture was soft and silken, growing more and more wet the longer I attended her.

 

Her breathing became heavier and she opened her eyes wide.  “Oh my God…” She breathed the words without giving them any voice then nearly helped before pulling my head down to a deep kiss.  We road out her orgasm together and at some point, I had stopped with my teasing and was just rubbing her with as perfect of timing as I could muster against her hips thrusting into me.

 

When it was said and done, we curled into one another in another hug, neither of us letting go for what seemed like hours.  She convinced me to move so we were under the covers, cuddled beneath the warmth until we were both soundly sleeping.

 

That was a year ago today.  I find myself reminded of this as I prepare for my day and rehearsals that will dominate most of my afternoon. 

 

Camille came back to New York with me and we’ve not been apart since.  All of my concerns and fears and thoughts that kept everyone at arm’s length seemed to go away when I met her.  I’m sure it’s more than sappy to say, but I firmly believe that sometimes, people complete one another.  We were both lost in this world and upon finding each other, we found ourselves. 

 

 

No Comments »

No comments yet.

RSS feed for comments on this post. TrackBack URL

Leave a comment

Name (required)

Mail (will not be published) (required)

Website