15 comments/ 45148 views/ 35 favorites I Know Where Your Tongue Has Been By: bi_cathy Author note: As one reader pointed out to me in an email following my first story, I cater to the "fine dining" clientele of Literotica, not the "fast-food" one. This is smart eroticism not raunchy porn, so if you're looking for a quick and easy fix, you're better off skipping my stories. Otherwise, enjoy, and don't forget to leave any positive or negative comments! Heads-up: The story is written chronologically backwards. I advise you to read it as is, and if you like it, re-read it from the bottom to the top, it might shed a light on some subtleties. * * * * * "I know where your tongue has been," I wrote on the card, my fingers trembling of their own accord as the memories of the past ten days flickered in my mind and the prospect of what lies ahead slapped me magnificently on both cheeks, clearing my head of any other thought, dream or desire. I smiled to myself, considering the schism between where I had been, one and a half weeks ago, and what I was doing now, on Valentine's day of all days. And yet, it didn't feel sudden or improbable. No. It just felt daring and unbelievably... right. Here I was, at a florist shop, buying a dozen red roses for the most gorgeous, witty, sensual and lovable person I had met. Nothing unusual there, right? Except the details of who she was _ because yes, she was a woman too _ how we met, and why writing her that sentence on the card felt more sincere than "I'll miss working with you," or "I love you." I drew a small heart, smiled at the teenage impulses she triggered in me, closed the card, tugged it in the bouquet, and made sure the florist had the correct address again. It was supposed to be a surprise for her. To be completely honest with you, it was also meant as a thrilling yet careless gesture, like seducing a partner under the table of a packed restaurant, or fondling them on a dance-floor with all eyes riveted on you. I smiled again, knowing I had already done those, with her. And for a brief moment, I wondered what was to come, now that the ties that were holding us back were gone. I looked up to see the florist fixing me, a glimpse of sympathy on his wrinkled face. "I said that'll be thirty dollars." "Oh, I'm sorry," I answered, quite embarrassed by my distraction. I handed him the money and was about to turn and leave when he added, "you're quite lucky". I stopped and stared at him, expecting an explanation. "A lot of people come buy roses here, especially today, but not many have that..." he gestured to my face, "the look of true love." He sighed then continued, "I tell them when I see it, because you, young people, don't recognize it anymore until it's too late." I knew I recognized it all too well, but it somehow felt more powerful, almost overwhelming, now that it was validated by that old man in a tweed jacket with a wrinkled face. "I know," I whispered, and he grinned then turned away to his register, politely dismissing my presence. I walked out of the shop, little sparkles flowing inside me as I recalled the way she had mouthed the word "tomorrow" the day before, like a promise of better things to come. But it wasn't until one hundred and seventy three minutes later, when I stared at her face, the moment she opened my card, and saw the genuine surprise, the joy, the overpowering sense of adoration flooding it, that I eventually felt the promise of better things turn into a reality. She stood, surrounded by coworkers with celebratory champagne, hundreds of red roses spread on the ground or arranged in vases around her, and yet she clung tightly to my tiny excuse of a bouquet. She raised her eyes and through the crowded room, I saw the flicker in them that said, "you know where my tongue will be." That was all I needed. For I was aware, that every time that sentence was shared between us, the sparks had flown increasingly passionate, to have reached a supreme state. Right then. Right there. --- "I know where your tongue has been," I shouted to her, defying the accepted norms a woman's voice should observe. She was now standing next to the door, in that red shirt I had grown to adore, her tousled short hair dancing with the wind and playfully caressing her face with a few dawn rays shimmering on the blonde strands. She shrugged and smiled, "you know too much about me." "I do not," I quickly retorted and stood on the ledge. For a brief second she was terrified, then she seemed to understand that I was only enjoying the view and not planning something stupid. "What else do you want to know?" She seductively and slowly walked towards me. She had asked me that same question, when we first met. Nine days now separated us from that, and the situation had completely changed. I couldn't help but wonder, what else do you want to know when you have already seen the most intimate secrets of a person's physique? When you've kissed them, had your fingers delve deep into them, explored the mysterious lands within them that few were privileged to enjoy, tasted them and seen their face as their body exploded in rapture? When you reach that level of familiarity with someone, what else could you possibly want to know? The ridiculousness of the situation surprised me, and I smiled as I lowered myself and sat down. Everything else. I wanted to know every other tiny or major detail. "I want to know the smell of your hair when you get out of the shower, the taste of your mouth when you wake up in the morning. I want to know if you snore at night, if you cook as well as you eat," I winked at her, "if you can sing, whistle or ride a bicycle, and most importantly, I want to know if you look as good in a dress as you do without it." "Tomorrow," she whispered, too low for me to hear her, but enough for me to guess the word as it formed on her lovely lips. "Is there anything you want to know about me?" She blushed and looked down. "The nine others, before," she eventually admitted, the jealousy making her more adorable. "They didn't mean anything, just a part of the job. They didn't exist. Trust me, no one exists before you." She sat next to me, on the edge of the roof, balanced her feet in the air for a few seconds as I stared, tantalized by the dark pink of her lips, tempted to taste them more than I'd be tempted by a bowl of strawberry ice cream. She moved her left hand, slid it between my right one and torso, hooked her fingers with mine, then turned her face towards the rising sun. I recalled the first time we had held hands, right after she had showed me cloud number nine, and how intimate and fulfilling it was. Somehow, it felt as if we were there again, and yet we had gone through a multitude of changes in the one week that separated that moment from this one. Well, maybe it was there all along, all these emotions and all this infatuation, but we had to take the long journey to discover and accept them. "You do know though," she emphasized the verb, "really, how much I lo..." She fell silent then turned her head towards me. Our eyes met and I instinctively tilted forward less than an inch before reality hit me and I remembered we had decided not to kiss. Not for real. Not yet at least. "Love my guacamole," I joked to appease our erupting sensations, then I touched my forehead to hers, keeping our mouths at a respectable distance. Her lips parted to release the breath she was holding, and I heard a tiny whimper escape with it. As cruel as it was, to not be able to savor her again, I treasured that whimper as it revealed more about her feelings toward me than any kiss, hug or unending session of love making could. "We've lasted a day, we can make it another." Her resolve seemed so fragile it was pathetically sweet. The temptation of pushing her, and me, over this virtual edge was unnerving but luckily I pulled the shreds of my self-control and one by one, I glued them together. I had to be strong for both of us. I raised my left hand to caress her face and sighed with resignation. "Yes we can." --- "You know where my tongue has been," she groaned in my ear, pushing me against the wall. The audacity of her, using that sentence against me! She was breathless, from chasing me. I was breathless, from running away. I was a fast runner, but she was better it seems, as she had caught my arm and flipped me to face her. Her mouth was instantly on me. That same mouth I had possessed, relinquished, ogled and desired. That same mouth I had been staring at for fifteen minutes, as it opened and closed, releasing jokes, casual chatter and banter. That same mouth I had thought was destined for grand things, but that had just uttered the most hurtful of comments. "Two more days and it'll be back to men, Honey," Karl had said, and what had she answered? "Amen!" in a tone which joy and relief were unbearably obvious and... alarmingly spontaneous. I pushed her mouth away and asked mockingly: "Amen?!" Hadn't these eight days meant anything to her? Was it all a lie? Just yesterday she... I stopped myself as I felt my heart melt again at the memory of what had happened under the restaurant's table. Did none of our chemistry and attraction touch her? How could she not have felt it? Felt ... us? "Shut up!" she almost screamed, with what seemed like hurt and indignation in her voice. "It's two more days, please. Let's pretend, and forget about this," she basically begged while gesturing to both our faces in the empty space between us, "for two more days." How dare she be outraged, how dare she beg? I looked at her, at the sweet surrender spreading over her face, at the tiny tear struggling against the corner of her eye, at the hopeful wrinkle in her cheek as it held back a shy smile, I began to speak, but that's when I grasped it. She wanted me?! Finally, that was the answer to my hanging "and?..." from the day before. She wanted this. Just not now. Not until we were finished, in two days. I nodded, not exactly sure what I was agreeing to, but the happiness I saw in her reaction was a sign that I'd made the right decision. She pushed me further against the wall, got closer, her whole body eager to remove any shred of empty space between us, a look of pure lust in her eyes. I shivered. There was something so erotically primal about being pinned against a wall, a mixture of being desired so ferociously, feeling dominated with a total invasion of my being, trusting enough to cede control, growing intoxicated between her smell and the little breathing room left for my lungs, all while anticipating the upcoming thrill. After making sure she had me completely at her mercy, she leaned into my neck and began whispering, in a soothing yet wonderfully mischievous voice. "You know where my tongue has been. But I, I know a lot more." She kissed my neck, right behind my ear, to validate that statement. Tiny consecutive kisses, growing deeper, sparking a fire in every nerve inside me, starting from my secret soft spot. "I know the smell of every inch of your body," she continued while snuggling her nose right between my hair and my skin and drawing in a large breath of air, making sure my nearby ear heard it. "The location of every freckle on your skin," she went on while letting the air out, slowly, agonizingly close to my skin without touching it, tracing a virtual line between the freckles on the back of my neck and the front. "The taste of the tiny droplets of sweat that adorn your chest when you're heaving beneath me," she murmured, closing in on the said area. I looked down, waiting, wanting, expecting, despairing over the move she was about to make. Then I saw it. A glimpse of it. Of that enthralling red muscle. Bit by bit, leave its refuge and come out. For me. My tiny droplets of sweat. I saw it plunge for one, pick it up. I saw my liquid dissolve with her saliva, melt into one fascinating transparent mix. And I remembered what it felt like, to see my other liquids mingle with hers. I saw her tongue leave me, retreat back, savor its prize. I saw the lips open again and I ached for another touch. I involuntarily arched my back, my head thumping against the wall, my torso pushing against her face. Starving. "The exact strength to tug at your hair without pulling it out." Her hand reached up for my head, grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled it, pushing my face down again to see her nuzzled against my navel, my other soft spot. Our eyes met and I saw in hers the need, nay, the order, to keep watching as she decimated my defenses and asserted herself as the sole governor of my will, body and mind. "I know the whimper you make when you're about to get what you want," she went on, just as I heard myself mewl, seeing her tongue approach my navel, steadily, knowingly. It twirled, played, explored, danced within every nanometer of that small hole, making me suspect that its size was closer to a soccer field than a coin. Every nerve tingled, every cell twitched, as I felt my pleasure rise to a new extreme without rupturing. Hold on, didn't she just say she wanted us to wait? "And the sigh you release when you get it," she let out, in sync with my own sigh of relief? annoyance? desperation? Ah, I'd given up on trying to understand my reactions to her. My own body was a foreign land to me, an enigma she seemed to decipher much better than I did. "Tell me more," I begged, with an agitation that I could only blame on the terrible debate between wanting her to continue and fearing the imminent loss of control she could provoke in me. How was it possible for someone to wreck this much havoc in my armor? But damn, how I was willing to shatter it with my own hands for her! "I know the slight tremble in your voice when you feel more impish than usual," she replied, while stopping and starting to raise herself. I watched her, in agony, revert from the track she had drawn for my nerves, as my pleasure coursed downwards and she went upwards, and I implored my heart to stop beating so my blood wouldn't pulse so hungrily fast against every capillary inside my intimacy. Her hands roamed across my arms, her eyes locked with mine, and she continued in a terribly sweet voice, "I know the waves of your muscles when you're too drunk to notice how erotically charged your dancing has become, and the sweetness of your embarrassment when you realize you've gone too far. I know the rhythm your heels click on the floor when you're happy, the slight flicker in your eyes when you're daring, the temperature of your cheeks when you lie, and the twitch in your nose when the whispers in your head start confusing you." She playfully tapped my eyelids, cheeks and nose consecutively to each of those last three statements. The wave of excitement was slowly fading, to a more serene surrender of the senses. We stood in silence, smiling, aware of the sanctity of what we had just shared. Aware of the love we both felt but didn't express aloud. And aware of the untimely ties that kept us apart. "Two more days?" I asked, pointing out the obvious and not expecting an answer. She smiled again, tore herself away from me and left the room. I stood frozen, as my body slowly calmed and stopped quivering from the memory of her closeness and all the lovely words she had spoken. Breath by breath, I regained my composure and my heartbeats returned to their normal rhythm, but I still couldn't leave the wall where she had pinned me. --- "I know where your tongue has been," I typed in a message to her. After what had happened two days ago, I knew I was pushing the limits and dangerously flirting with her breaking point. But I had to try and I had to know. It was hard to believe that I had only known her for seven days, let alone that I felt so completely at loss now that she had ignored me for the past one. What's the worse that could happen? I reasoned with myself. She refuses and it would only be three more days of obligatory work with her, then she would disappear from my life forever. I raised my eyes, saw her chewing her fries happily and for a brief moment I had the urge to wipe that grin off her face. She shouldn't be allowed to feel joy while I was tearing down and rotting inside. I clicked "Send" and almost instantly regretted it. What if she snaps again, like she did, two days ago? The few seconds it took for the message to arrive, her phone to vibrate, her hand to pick it up and her eyes to read it, played in front of me like a slow-motion movie. Until she smiled and started typing. She smiled. That's how it began. The worst and best ten minutes of any dinner in my life. The most torturing, spontaneous, crazy minutes, with the woman that captured my breath, and her two best friends. My phone vibrated and I picked it up, expecting a slew of swear words. What did I get instead? "Then you know I can still taste you, even in my steak." I almost choked on my ... wait, I wasn't chewing anything then to choke on it, and yet it still felt like I couldn't breathe or swallow. I raised my eyes and sure enough, she was opening her lips to gobble down a sizable chunk of meat. I watched her lick the fork, as I imagined the subtle taste of me in there. I heaved, the wetness she had left on my skin still tickling me as a reminder of every inch of my body that now belonged to her. My toes clamped, my eyes bore into hers, pleading for her mercy, and failing. I reached for my glass of water and drank half of it while desperately trying to follow her friends' conversation to keep my mind off our own private exchange. What was it again? Ah yes, some J Lo gossip. I could feel her eyes linger possessively on me. She craved attention, and her little ongoing show couldn't move on without its main spectator. But I needed a few seconds away, to breathe normally. She started typing again and I wondered what debauchery her twisted mind was preparing. She knew I had put myself in a weak position, two days ago when I confronted her with the true nature of my emotions, and she was taking advantage of the situation, getting her revenge over every second I had teased her in public. The payback however was far greater than the original offense. I smiled. It occurred to me that I would have done the same thing, if I was her. Ah, the sweet torture. "But it's starting to fade now," she sent and I immediately replied, mostly to avoid over thinking it, "what are you going to do about it?" I should have over thought it. Because the next thing she did was drop her phone on the floor, excuse herself, and then go under the table to pick it up. That harmless move didn't alarm me, until I felt her lips on my knee and hardly managed to stop myself from jolting at the electricity of her contact. For the few brief seconds that she was hidden from view, she took the opportunity to kiss my knee, drag her tongue across my skin almost to my thigh, then bite me. I had experienced the delectable sensation of her on my skin many times, but never in a public, real world, context. And despite the fact that she didn't get anywhere near my sensitive sanctum, I was craving her so much, it felt as though my nerves were betraying me, carrying the pleasure of her touch from its physical point all the way to my yearning core. I was the worst poker player in the world so I lowered my head to avoid showing my gaping mouth and wide eyes to her friends. And through the sheer madness of what was happening secretly, I kept wondering in what world was it acceptable to kiss, taste and bite someone under the table while your best friend was discussing Jennifer Lopez and Marc Anthony's divorce. "Ah, I can't reach it. Can you get it for me, please?" I was still feeling the sting of her bite on my thigh and struggling not to let it show when she came back up. I took her request as an opportunity to control my emotions away from her and her friends' eyes and went down. What I saw, though, was anything but calming. I Know Where Your Tongue Has Been She had her hand between her legs. I stared, mesmerized, at the junction between her palm and thighs where the parcels of flesh mixed and disappeared. I had seen all of it yet somehow, I was now more excited by the hidden treasures than I had been by the open chest box for the past few days. As one of her digits retreated a bit then dove back in, my blood rushed like a mad race driver between my cheeks and my lower abdomen, thumping against my ear and heart on the way. I silently let out a sigh, frustrated to be unable to see more, then resurfaced to hand her the phone. Her eyes shone with a wickedness I had never seen before. What game was she playing now? "You should taste this blue cheese dipping," she said, as she raised her hand from under the table and put a finger in the sauce. "It's dee-li-cious, here try it," she continued while stretching her finger at me. Was she seriously offering me that? In front of her friends? In a packed restaurant? "Oh yeah darling, try it, it's the best in town," Jimmy, one of her friends, concurred. You wouldn't believe, I mentally joked. Well, if she wanted to play, we might as well have fun. I was starting to gain my composure and I had to have the upper hand. I leaned in and grabbed her whole index in my mouth. My tongued played with every bit of it and I reveled as her tantalizing musky flavor subtly let itself out through the blue cheese. I felt a moan build in my throat and barely caught it before it escaped. "Best in town?" I shrugged at Jimmy after reluctantly letting the finger go. "I've had better." I could feel her eyes shooting daggers at me. Oh well, we were playing, right? "Better?" she scoffed. "Where is that exactly?" she asked in a tone that easily betrayed how offended she was at me liking other ... blue cheese dipping. "Well, several other places, like nine maybe. Not that I remember their names. I tend to be a bit forgetful with this kind of thing." I could see her anger as it rose to her cheeks and I smiled inwardly. Little did she know that I was preparing a similar surprise for her. "But this guacamole," I pointed at my quesadillas dish, "now this, I'd say is the best in town." I offered her my finger, coated with guacamole and a little free bonus I had just collected from my very threatening arousal. She raised one eyebrow, inaudibly asking if I had treated the guacamole the same way she had the dipping. I smirked. She grabbed my finger with her teeth while she cleaned the sauce off it. "Meh, had better," she tried to shrug nonchalantly. "What?" her other friend, Carmen, exclaimed. "You love their guacamole here!" "No I don't," she lied. This was turning out better than I had anticipated. "You once said it gave you a foodgasm," Jimmy added, as I held back a chuckle at the clueless comment. I knew for a fact a different kind of gasm that my guacamole could provoke in her. "Haha, admit it, you love this guacamole," I teased her, while stretching out the O in love. "OK, I do, I love it," she blurted, her cheeks reddening, her eyes lowering yet still glancing at me several times. I stared at her embarrassment, unable to understand for a few seconds until the idea started blossoming in my mind. She loved my guacamole. She had said, almost ashamedly, that she loved my guacamole. Loved. As I gaped questioningly at her, she excused herself to the ladies room and a few seconds later, called me. "I've thought about it," she said. I asked, "and?" then repeated, "and?" then heard the click as she hung up. I wanted to run after her, harass her for that answer, but instead, I sat in silence and waited for her to get back. I also sat in silence as she picked up the dinner, slightly taken aback, but yet as if nothing had happened. I still sat in silence as I fought to hold my promise that I'd give her some time and space. And I kept sitting in silence as the woman I loved in her resurfaced and she joked, talked, smiled, laughed, while her foot gently played with mine under the table. And every time I looked at her, I dreamt in silence of a near future where we wouldn't need a table to hide underneath, although, I had to admit, this was a lot more fun than I ever imagined. --- "I know where your tongue has been," I stammered in a half drunken state, letting the lift door close behind me. She stopped suddenly, "why do you keep saying that sentence?" She leaned against the door, trying to keep her calm but with a frown on her eyebrows that easily betrayed her anger. "What?" I fully understood the question, but needed a few seconds to wipe the inebriation out of my mind and focus on the situation. She repeated herself then added, "it's part of the deal, it's not like I would do it if it was my choice." That sentence totally slapped me out of my happy drunken state. Here I was, starting to consider altering all my previous life choices for her, and here she was, regretting it and willing to completely drop me if she had a choice. That fact stung, like a million snakes releasing their venom inside me. "So why do you keep saying that sentence? Is it blackmail, is it..." her angry tone was rising, but I couldn't take it any more. "Sorry. I didn't know you've hated these five days this much," I was about to turn away and leave when I saw her loosen up the frown and rush to hug me. I grabbed her hands before she could put them around me and dropped them. Her sympathy was the last thing I needed. "You know me better than to accuse me of that," I flipped the guilt ball back in her court. "I didn't mean to say it like this. I'm tipsy and not thinking straight." I saw this as my opening, and the alcohol, her smell, her closeness, and my gut helping, I finally admitted, "I haven't been thinking straight ever since I met you," gesturing air quotes while pronouncing "straight". "And I know you enough to say that neither have you," I let out in a low husky voice as I got closer to her. She looked up at me and asked what I meant, in a mumble, too shy to let the words go louder or clearer than necessary. "I've seen the way you look at me." I paused and took a step back to let her assess that statement. I then continued, in an almost didactic tone, "there are two categories of women who look at me. The first, the majority, they eye me because they're envious of my looks, and they eye my clothes to take notes for their future wardrobe." "The second," I stared intently in her eyes, "they eye me because they're envious of my lovers, and they eye my clothes because they want to rip them off and have their way with me in twenty five different positions." "And you think that I," she began to ask, with a little assurance and a hint of anger making their way back to her tone. "I don't think, I know. Just like I know that you have already had your way with me, in twenty five different positions." I grabbed her head and leaned in, my mouth playfully hanging as close to hers as I could without touching it. Her eyes shut, her lips parted, she inhaled sharply as if trying to suck me closer. In that half inch that showed her white teeth, I could see all her defenses begin to crumble. I could see her hurtful words being erased. I could see her anger dissolving into a beautiful surrender. Try as she might, that brief moment of utter abandon, between my arms, told me all the details of the story that she desperately struggled to hide from herself, and me. I did not kiss her. I couldn't take advantage of her momentary weakness. No. I wanted our real kiss to happen with the strong, witty, beautiful, self-assured woman that I fell in love with. I needed her to be completely agreeing and aware of her feelings. And right then, she was just beginning to grasp the impact we had on each other. I leaned away from her lips, into her ear, and confessed, "the one position though, that I crave with you, is looking into your eyes, kissing you, passionately entangling my flesh with yours, and giving you a pure, unadulterated, unscripted and uncontrolled pleasure." I felt her heartbeats quicken against my skin, synchronized with my last words. She was still holding her breath, and I stifled again the impulse of temptation. "I'll give you some space and time, think about it." I walked away. It wasn't until I started climbing down the stairs that I heard her breathe out. I smiled as I remembered that five minutes ago, she was convinced she could avoid me, if she had a choice. --- "I know where your tongue has been," I stated, matter-of-factly, "but I don't know much else about you. Tell me." She chuckled at my comment as she sipped her coffee. It was a calm morning, a few hours before work, and we were enjoying a brunch after the crazy night we had the day before. She was wearing a white blouse, carefully unbuttoned to the most decent extent, and tight jeans. I trembled, recalling how she had opened her shirt a lot more in front of me in the pub's ladies room, while plotting our devious lesbian pretend act. Her hair was still fixed, the way she had it, save for the few rebellious strands that had broken loose from the sweat and movement. "It is my first time, if that's what you want to know," she slowly let out, while chewing her doughnut. I shrugged, pretending I didn't care, although I was more than ecstatic. As weird as it sounds, I felt relieved, as if I had needed her image to remain untainted in my mind. "Why now?" I secretly hoped she had a grand reason, a logic I couldn't argue with, maybe like mine. "I needed the cash, and I thought it would be a crazy thing to do. I've always wanted to have a deep dark secret," she winked at me. "Can I ask about you?" I twitched in my seat. I preferred if we didn't talk about me. What would she think if she knew I had done this for almost a year now? I considered dismissing the answer, but a voice deep within me told me that I had better be honest with her. "It'll be a year in a few weeks. This is my tenth job, but also my last." "Why?" "Why did I start, or why am I stopping?" "Both." "I started because, much like you, I needed the money." I stopped, hesitating for a brief moment, wondering if I should tell her about my real life, outside the job. "I'm going to med school," I finally decided to admit, happily seeing her eyes sparkle with a new found respect for me. "I didn't get a scholarship, and seeing my friends struggle with countless shifts as waitresses, baristas or bartenders for a meager pay, then attend classes in a sleep-deprived state and barely find time to study for exams, was a wake-up call. I looked for something that would pay better and leave me with more time for my degree." I paused, assessing her silent gaze. "And I'm stopping because with this one, I'll have saved enough for all my studies and should even have some left for my internship." "Impressive," she finally said, after taking a long sip from her coffee. "I didn't expect that." We exchanged a smile and I found the courage to ask her, "What about you? Is it a one-time thing or do you plan on doing more?" I silently wished she was stopping, because the jealousy of picturing her in the throws of passion with another woman was overbearing. "One-time, definitely." I beamed, unconsciously. "You're happy?" she raised her eyebrows at me. I felt myself blush then leaned in and held her hand across the table. "This line of work, well, let's just say that it's not made for you." I half stuttered. "Am I that bad?" She retreated back, adorably offended. "No, no, that's not what I meant. You're quite good," I affirmed as the memory of every tingle she had made me feel resurfaced. "You're really good." "Then what is it?" I hooked my gaze with hers and disclosed, "you're better than all of this." She began to speak but stopped, taking another sip of coffee and retreating to her own thoughts. I finished my croissant calmly, while my mind roamed across the hundreds of possibilities, analyzing the wide range of emotions and desires that she triggered in me. What I suddenly became conscious of, though, was that despite how much I had adored being with her the past three days, despite the sheer insanity of last night, it was this relaxed morning, sharing a brunch and a conversation, that I enjoyed the most. That's when I acknowledged that I was starting to fall in love with her. "Do you wonder though, what would happen, if someone you know came across your work? How would they react?" she asked, a few minutes later. "I used to. Until a friend of mine once saw it and started gushing over the art and beauty of it. He didn't recognize me." "That's what I thought. I mean, before agreeing to the job, I had researched his work. He focuses on the hedonism and complicity, with tiny, intimate details, which makes it impossible to identify a full face or body." "Exactly. Why do you think I consented to work with him, and ten times at that? I'm going to be a surgeon, I need to keep a clean reputation. Besides, you have seen how rigorous he is. The controlled atmosphere, the rules, the professionalism, that's what keeps it all from turning into the vile garbage you find elsewhere." She nodded. "How do you think ours will turn out?" I fell silent, struggling to swallow. Oddly, I hadn't considered it before. That no matter what happens between us, there would be a constant reminder of the time we had shared, a burned memory of where her tongue had been and what it had done. I tried to picture it, through someone else's eye. Would the genuine connection between us shine through the carnality of it all? And what if the physical proof ends up spoiling my mind's beautiful impression of it? She saw me stumbling in my own reflections. "I'm pretty convinced it will be gorgeous. I mean, look at you and look at me. There's no way it doesn't end up spectacular. Plus, you know, there's a reason he picked us for the Valentine's special," she winked again. "You're right," I admitted while slapping myself internally, "and we did experience yesterday, first hand, what effect we have together on outside spectators." Just as she giggled, I sensed the tinge in my heart that convinced me of an inner spectator who was feeling that effect more than anyone else. And through the awkward silence that suddenly followed and the exchanged gaze that lingered with unspoken words, I figured the need to loosen up my tongue and let that inner spectator's honesty flow. --- "I know where your tongue has been," I kept repeating in my head, the words desperate to get out, rolling over my throat then getting cowardly swallowed back with each shot of vodka and strawberry. The way she sat on the bar stool with her legs crossed and her arms floating and gesturing freely, the way she spoke with class and maturity even when tipsy, the way she joked with a slight lack of inhibition that grew with every drop of alcohol ingested, there was no escaping being engulfed in her presence. Have you ever found yourself staring at someone's fingers or mouth, in public, and wondering about all the wonderful places they have been and thrilling things they have done? Once this thought occurs to you, it's the kind that taunts and haunts you, never fading away. And I fell prey to it. Gazing at her fingers, thinking that instead of holding a glass of scotch, they were buried within me an hour and a half ago. Gazing at her mouth and envying the air around it, because I knew exactly what it felt like, to "be" around it. And gazing at her face thinking that it was a lot more beautiful framed by my thighs than it was, just by itself. Gazing at every part of her and flashing mental images of how they had transformed to please me, to accommodate me, to tease me. However, there they were now, parts that had unconditionally belonged to me mere minutes ago, but now parts of a human who retracted back to the confines of society and expected behaviors, and with whom my only connection was this invisible thread I was carefully knitting between our eyes, as our glances became more frequent and our smiles more talkative and suggestive. "They're coming over," Jimmy whispered, without even trying to hide his discontent, "again." From the corner of my eye, I saw the two men, who had been hitting on both me and her all night, rise from their booth. I liked their attention, but seeing them flirt with her as well was starting to get on my nerves, and I caught myself wondering whether my jealousy was logically directed towards her or, more accurately and awkwardly, them. Her eyes snuck up a quick glance in their direction, and I could barely perceive her rolling them in disapproval before she lowered her head and started saying, "here we go, I wish I could be rude and tell them to..." "Well, there is a way to get rid of them." As she and her two friends looked at me questioningly, I added, "simply tell them we're both more interested in women than men." I fixed my eyes on her while finishing that sentence and saw, even in the darkness of the pub, her pupils dilate to double their size. She had asked me to keep the details of our work secret from Carmen and Jimmy, but I assumed this was a fair game of pretending. Her friends giggled then Carmen said dismissively, "there's no way you can convince them of that," and Jimmy added, "no way, you two have been sitting and checking out every man ever since we got here." "Bet?" I was feeling equally impish to the rising level of alcohol in my blood. Jimmy was right, we had ogled the men on display for almost an hour, but what he hadn't noticed, was that we had also been ogling each other for just as long. "Sure, loser gets the tab," Jimmy agreed, and Carmen nodded along. I turned my head towards her, lifting my eyebrow, letting the desire of my gaze speak for me and my crazy idea. It took a brief second for her to fully understand what I was planning to do, and her face slightly began transforming into a frown in an attempt to draw boundaries for my behavior. I prayed that she wouldn't have the time nor the will to stop me. I was craving her touch, her closeness, the exquisite feel of her skin beneath my fingers, the mixed scent of her perfume and innermost nectar in my nostrils. But most of all, I was lusting after the savor of her tongue in my mouth. I needed that pretend game to work. "Ladies," the tall blond bellowed behind me. I jolted and as much as I hated everything about him, I was so grateful he came right then and not a few seconds later or earlier. His friend, the slightly shorter dark-haired one, stood next to him, a grin on his face as he assessed me again from head to toes. "We were hoping you could join us for this dance," the blond continued, his eyes travelling back and forth between her face and her chest. "Sorry, but we're not interested," she blurted. "What, don't you like grinding to Akon's songs?" He mimicked a grind and let his stare linger lower on her. His unwanted presence, offensive words and invasive looks were simultaneously raising my blood pressure and her irritation. That was my moment, her vulnerability basically gave me a free card to do whatever was necessary to get rid of them. "It's grinding to you that we're not interested in," I finally stepped in, setting the wheels in motion. "May I ask why?" the brown-haired friend intervened. I smiled at him, the cluelessness in his attitude transforming him momentarily into an adorably sweet man. For a brief moment, it occurred to me that just three days ago, I would have been quite attracted to him. Now, however, all my desire was directed towards the apprehensive woman, sitting three feet away from me, and eying me with an unnerving mix of dread and eagerness. I got off my stool, made a step towards her, grabbed her hand, making a show out of it all, then smiled, "because we're together." I Know Where Your Tongue Has Been I sensed the laugh build up in the two men's throats and avoided looking at Carmen and Jimmy, afraid of losing my audacity at their surprised, scared or snickering faces. The blond guy began to chuckle and speak, but I couldn't hear him as I turned towards her and everything and everyone else vanished. It probably took a tenth of a second, for me to grab her face and plunge in for her kiss, but I saw it play in front of me, frame by frame. The yearning in her eyes, the twitch in her nose, the slight tremble in her lips as the gate between them opened and her defenses collapsed. She tasted of scotch, peanuts, and me. There was still a hint of my musky tang in her mouth and I couldn't help but moan as I realized that she hadn't brushed her teeth. At my momentary weakness, her tongue attacked me back, her hand snaked to my side, grabbing my buttocks to bring me closer. Our bodies molded, as my fingers danced between her hair and her cheeks while hers fondled me from behind. A million butterflies fluttered in my stomach, at the sheer joy of finally caressing, savoring and smelling her again. But that was nothing compared to the jubilation that gripped me when I heard her groan as I caught her tongue before it left my mouth, and dragged my teeth across it, then closed my lips on it and slurped slowly while letting it retreat, bit by bit. When it finally left me, I opened my eyes and saw her gaping into mine with all the hunger and all the confusion that a woman's face could express. A simultaneous gasp escaped us, the imminence of the real world's reaction looming dangerously above us. I grabbed her hand and managed a half smile as a weak reassurance that things were going to be all right, once we stepped out of that hazy bubble. Then I forced myself to turn away. The stillness of the four of them was priceless. She strongly squeezed my hand, probably scared of that silence and the disbelief her two friends were showing. The blond spoke first, with a short "Damn!" to express all of his amazement and arousal, then he and his friend turned away and left. I let her hand go and moved to sit back on my stool. It was Jimmy who finally broke the silence, "Damn?! That was damn alright." "That was hot," Carmen continued, her face flushed a deep red. "Hot," she repeated, letting the t slightly echo and hang in mid-air. "Well, it did get rid of them, lose you two a bet and buy us free drinks, so I'm guessing it wasn't that bad," I joked to ease the tension and try to convince them of the innocence and insignificance of that kiss. "Not that bad. Are you kidding me? If I didn't know any better, I'd completely believe that you two are together," Jimmy interjected. The three of us chuckled, but she remained silent, failing to even feign a slight smirk. I looked at her, begging and praying that she wasn't angry at me. A minute later, she excused herself to the ladies room and called me on the phone. "What was that?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Nothing, just a joke," I answered, knowing fully well that it was much more. "Do you think that was a funny prank to play in front of my real friends and those two guys?" She hung up, the hurt in her tone resonating in my ears, gripping my chest and lungs, making it impossible to breathe. I instantly ran after her, mentally smacking, punching and slapping myself. How stupid could I be, to think that it would be acceptable to toy with her emotions in public like that? For heaven's sake, I had only known the woman for a few days, and here I was making a fool out of myself and an idiot out of her in front of friends she had known for years! I opened the door to see her leaning on the opposite wall, heaving with anger, tears beginning to fill her eyes. I ran to her, trying to hug her, but she stopped me. "Don't. Just don't." "It was a joke, believe me, it was just a joke, a game." "You ... No ... My friends," she stuttered as I inwardly kicked myself again and again. "I know. Now I know how stupid that was. But I wasn't thinking. It just sounded fun. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it." I grabbed her chin and raised her face to look at me. I saw a glimmer of hope since she was no longer tearing up. "I'm sorry," I repeated. "I wish I could take it back. I wouldn't do it." "Yes you would," she replied with a lot of subtext in her voice, "and you'd enjoy it just as much." "What's that supposed to mean?" "Never mind," she said dismissively. Her respiration was calming down. "Tell me that it's OK," I begged. "Tell me that I didn't just ruin our friendship." "I've known you for three days and you already consider me a friend?" she snickered. "Forget the days, I know that there's a connection, an affinity between us that you can't measure up in time. We are friends." "Just that? Just friends?" she questioned, with doubt and cynicism on her face. "Yeah, just that." "I can't be more. You know that. You need to know that. I'm not..." "Neither am I," I affirmed with as much fake honesty as I could muster. I had never considered it earlier in my life, but the last three days with her were dismantling all my previous certainties about myself and scattering them on the floor, one by one. "You of all people should know. I couldn't sign the contract or work with him unless I was straight." "Right," she conceded, a faint reassurance coming back to her and starting to erase the distrust. "So, are we OK?" "Yes, we are," she finally let out. I leaned in and gently kissed her forehead, thanking her. Her arms wrapped around me and hugged me tightly. That shared moment of tenderness snaked through my heart and I found myself at peace for the first time in years. I battled the urge to hug her back and managed not to, for fear of confusing her, and myself, again. "That was hilarious though," she chuckled in my ear, while slowly loosening her grip. "You saw how the blond one was looking at us, afterwards? He was so excited and bothered." "Damn!" I imitated him, making her giggle. "And his friend was so stunned he kept gaping at us and didn't say a word." "It was good. And with the free drinks, I'd say it was worth it." I sighed in relief at her last words. "Come on, let's go back before they start wondering what we're doing in here." "Wait," she held my hand, "as long as you started this, we might as well go with it." She grabbed my hair and jumbled it, then picked a few of her own strands that were held back and pulled them out. She proceeded to unbutton her blouse and let the collar hang down, revealing more of her white bust than was socially acceptable. She tucked a part of the blouse out of her jeans and ruffled it. "What are you waiting for?" she stared at me. I was starting to understand yet wondering if I had it right. Wasn't she furiously offended by the idea, two minutes earlier? How did she go from that to wanting to continue the game? She brought me closer and lifted my top's left shoulder strap to glide it down my upper arm, then slid my skirt downwards a couple of inches. I felt cheated, looking at her meticulously undressing me. It wasn't the first time she had taken my clothes off and it wouldn't be the last, but it was the first away from any spectators, and still, she was doing it to please some strangers. I yearned for a time where she would do it for my eyes only, and not someone else's. For a time where she would honestly gasp at my naked figure and genuinely writhe at my first contact. "Here," she finally said, quite pleased with herself. "How long have we been in here?" "Five, six minutes," I answered while slowly trying to pull myself together. "Too short?" she asked, doubtingly. "Yes." "Ok then, let's stay a bit more." We leaned together on the wall, in silence. Suddenly, she chuckled again and I couldn't help but contagiously join her. We stayed there for another five minutes, the giggles slowly fading away, leaving me to struggle with every muscle in my body that longed for her and every salacious thought that secretly roared in my mind. I couldn't understand why I desired a woman so badly, and why her of all people, a woman I met at a job. I had already worked with nine others, before her, yet none of them felt that way, none of them disturbed my emotions so much. None of them left me confused, still craving them even after a full day's work. She was the first. The first to make me regret having burned the steps, to make me want to go back to the start and enjoy slowly meeting her, getting to know her, desiring her, and then eventually possessing her. "Come on, this should be fun," she grabbed my hand and led me out of my dark thoughts and the ladies room. Once we reached an area where the two men could spot us from their booth, I saw them staring and whispered, "quick, pretend you're rearranging your clothes." We both did, and I moved on, perplexed between the satisfaction from the men's aroused stare and the sadness of knowing none of our act was real. "Oh my God! What..." Jimmy started yelling when he saw us approach. "Shush," she stopped him. "We're just making the lie more believable." "If we were really together, after that kiss, they would expect us to take it further, right? Hence, all of this," I added, frantically gesturing to our disheveled looks, and making Carmen and Jimmy laugh. She ordered another glass of scotch, downed it in one take, and just as I was going through my second consecutive vodka shot, she got up and pulled me to my feet. "Come on, let's show them how grinding to a song works," she declared suggestively. "What? Can't a woman dance with her girlfriend in peace?" she snickered at the baffled expression on her friends' faces. "It's not every day that I get to be a lesbian and I plan on making the most of it." I followed her, hand in hand, to the dance floor, my breathing weak in anticipation of the minutes ahead, my limbs almost failing me, my flesh quivering at the prospect of touching her again. She could have led me anywhere and I would have followed, just for a chance to keep her hand in mine longer and feel her warmth spread through my chest, like a secret vow from my heart to beat for no one but her. Still, I struggled to control myself, afraid of enjoying her too much and then being thrown away when she reaches her goal of seducing the two men, terrified of feeling like the wrapping of a chocolate bar, good as long as it hides the sweets inside, but useless once unwrapped. And yet, she was making it impossible not to let myself go at the illusion that she only belonged to me at that moment. To say that she threw herself at me would be an understatement. No, she didn't just dance with me, she didn't just mold her body with mine, she didn't just hold my hips and sway seductively at every beat, she didn't just turn around and smash her backside to me while throwing her head back on my shoulder. She did all of those, while never taking her eyes off me, not even to glance at the two men. Soon, I had forgotten my reticence and joined her in the pure ecstasy of the melody and our movements. I let myself treasure those minutes, enjoy every second that I was the sole possessor of her body and eyes. My hands started roaming closer to her femininity when she had her back to me, and just as I was about to touch her, she placed her hand on top of mine, stopped it and spun to face me. "That's a bit too far." I blushed and began apologizing, but she asked, "are they still looking?" I lyingly nodded because I couldn't bring myself to look in their direction to check. My eyes were mesmerized by her and her only. She raised my hands and placed them near her breasts, "it's OK, here it's OK." I noticed she had left my hands there, free to play with her rounded wonders and hate the fabric that separated them from her bare skin. Did she just give me a green light to fondle her chest in public? She brought her hands to my hips and pulled me closer, somehow managing to place herself on top of my right thigh, then began sliding higher and lower with the melody, rubbing on me. Her breathing quickened, she moaned a few times, her skin glistened with more sweat under the low lights, her eyes fixed mine but seemed lost in a vision beyond. A minute later, her head dropped on my right shoulder and she bit me as I felt a shudder course through her body. I almost stopped in surprise. Was that a climax? She slightly raised her head to whisper in my ear, "I'm sorry, I just... needed this." As the realization that she had just ruptured in public in my arms hit me, I grew happy and immensely empowered, to have been the one who brought her that pleasure. I lovingly kissed the back of her neck. "I can't believe I just did this, with you, here. We barely know each other," she continued while still nuzzled in, probably scared of backing away and having to face me. I kissed her neck again and wondered what to say to show her that it was fine by me, that she shouldn't be ashamed of what just happened. "Oh don't say that, we sure are not strangers. I know where your tongue has been," I finally joked and felt her torso contract in a laugh. --- "Honey, stop your tongue." I jolted, as if someone had poured ten thousand ice cubes on me while I was lying naked in scorching heat. However, unlike the ice cubes, there was nothing enjoyable about that voice and it brought everything but relief. My eyes fluttered open, roamed, and in the blurriness of the vision ahead, stopped on a face staring back at me. I couldn't tell if it was male or female, the traits were all mixed up, the hair tousled, the forehead sweaty, the expression painful, but what petrified me was the look in the eyes. It was the kind you wouldn't want to see scrutinizing you in any circumstance. Murderous. I tried not to react as I heavily breathed in while a hand crept up from its neck to cover its cheek. For a brief moment, I didn't understand. I could feel a hand on my face too. The female scent emanating from the fingers was directly heading to my nostrils, too raw, too wonderful, and way too perfect for my brain's gears to still be spinning. I beamed in approval of the aroma. It smiled too. Then it registered. That face glaring at me? It was my own reflection on the big screen. I stared at the hand covering my cheek in it. The fingers lied gracefully on my skin, as if they knew the exact curvature, as if they had done this countless times before, as if it was a natural place for them to linger. Then I looked down, following the path from those wonderful digits, through the arm, to the neck and finally the face. Her face. "Darling, can you hear me? Is everything OK?" Karl asked again while approaching us, invading the beautiful sight in front of me with his big black camera. She finally stopped and winced, looking up at me, with an annoyed expression. Then she took back her tongue from within. It wasn't the loss of the sensation or the void it left in me afterwards that destroyed me, but the fact that she spoke. That tongue, that vibrating titillating red muscle, was meant for far more incredible things than the ephemeral act of speaking. "I think she's just tired," she replied, and as she closed her jaws, I found myself staring at them, envying her teeth for being able to keep contact with her lips and tongue all day long. What is it they say? No one appreciates what they have until it's gone? Yeah, that. The full meaning of that saying virtually punched me as I kept examining her and thinking that I knew exactly where her tongue had been a few seconds ago and where I desperately needed it to be, right then. "Darling," Karl looked at me again, "if you need a break, please take it, because you're wasting our time." "I'm OK," I replied, my voice hoarse from the dryness of my mouth. "Alright then, but we can't work with this face of yours. It's switching between blank, pained and annoyed. I know this sweet little thing here isn't exactly your cup of tea," he briefly pointed at her, "but I need you to look like you're enjoying it." He was almost right. I was annoyed and in pain, but the reason wasn't that I preferred a male lover to this new female coworker. Quite the contrary, I was enjoying her a bit too much and struggling to stay in control of my body and emotions since the job's rules clearly stipulated that this was all acting, forbidding any real pleasure. That was how Karl kept things professional, and why he only hired straight women to do erotic lesbian photography. However, she was making it hard, nay, impossible to stay professional. The contrast between the sweetness of her eyes and wickedness of her tongue, the eagerness to please, the smoothness of her skin, the toxic aroma of her arousal, the intuitiveness of her moves and touches, everything about her was pushing me over the edge. I breathed out, I had to claim back some conceded territory over my instincts. After all, I had only met this woman the day before. There was no way she could have this much impact over me. "I will. I'll look like I'm enjoying it," I answered, thinking that pure masochism was probably more delightful than having to endure this again. "Alright then Darling." He turned towards her and continued, "Honey, raise yourself again and let's try going down a bit later." I rolled her hair around my fingers and was about to pull her head back to me when I noticed her grin deviously after Karl asked another question that I was surely all too busy to hear. "Oh, I've never done that but I'll try," she answered. Wait, was she talking about me? Did Karl ask her to do something with me? I looked, terrified, at her. Her smile widened and for a brief second, her mind was so lucid to me, I could easily read her thought flashing in her brain, "you know where my tongue will be." "OK, don't worry if you can't do it, it just has to look like you are," Karl then took a few steps back and repositioned with his camera. I was still staring down at her, my fingers in her hair, her head so close to my aching intimacy, her hand reaching up to cover my cheek, and her eyes boring into mine, trying to apologize for getting me so close without giving me a release. Her tongue darted out one more time, to my fluttering depths. I lost control again and gasped. "One touch, one touch," my mind kept thinking, like a broken record. "Please. Just one." The words echoed in the hollowness of my head, unable to find a way to escape to the open. So incredibly close. So unbelievably bothered. However, instead of that touch, the tongue started sweeping higher in one continuous lick, through my lower abdomen and the hundreds of erogenous spots in my navel, then my higher abdomen and tickling all the little freckles right in the middle of my chest. I desperately wished for her to move to either side, and when she didn't, I thought I would die. But she brought me to heaven when she reached that wonderful female hollow spot right below the neck, the suprasternal notch, that Almasy so aptly fantasizes about in "The English Patient". And down to earth again I crawled when she left the notch and raised higher to my neck and chin until she stopped on my lower lip. Her body had followed her and was clinging onto mine thanks to the mix of sweat, and other fluids, gracing our skins. She circled my lower lip a few times with her tongue, then her mouth came and trapped me in the middle. As she kissed me, the mixed trail of my arousal and her saliva that she had left on my skin while moving up acted like a short-circuit between my brain and my innermost elements. The heightened sensations coursed up and down through it like on an open highway of exposed skin and vulnerable nerve ends. Her hand caressed my arm in a downward motion, then she snaked it between us. I couldn't restrain myself anymore nor lay inactive as she toyed with every part of my being. I bit her tongue and was about to grab and flip her but she somehow managed to immobilize me again while her hand found its way into my secret sanctum. She bit me back just as her finger pressed the pleasure switch within me. I writhed, I pleaded, I glanced at myself again on the big screen and found my expression had darkened even more. I Know Where Your Tongue Has Been "Oh stop, just stop," Karl shouted in exasperation as I felt her retreat back, with an awkward expression on her face. Was she angry at me for not cooperating, or dare I think that she was angry at him for stopping us again? "Look at yourself on the screen Darling and tell me: is this a face that shows pleasure and ecstasy?" Oh Karl, oh Karl. If only I could explain to you that it's exactly because of the screen, and the camera, that I'm looking so pained. If you'd leave the room, or at least give me the freedom to let my emotions run, I'd show you true ecstasy, like you've never seen or captured before. "No." That was all I could get out. "Darling, we've done this hundreds of times before. You should be able to give me the perfect orgasmic face in your sleep by now." She had raised herself and was now straddling my right thigh. Despite the absolute gorgeousness of her naked figure sitting on top of my leg, the slightly erotic make-up on her sweaty face, and the vivid knowledge of where we were and what we were doing, she looked cute, in a disarming way. She turned her head towards Karl, waiting for further instructions, yet she left her right hand laying nonchalantly high between my thighs, that marvelous finger still innocently touching the perfect spot that it had found a few seconds earlier. She didn't seem to be aware of it, but she absentmindedly moved it in slow circles as she kept looking at Karl. It was in that moment of neglect, watching her beautiful body above me, thinking that even during a pause between shoots, she felt comfortable enough to leave her finger inside me, that I understood why this one was so different. Why she made me feel something new. And why, as weird as it sounds, I absolutely loved her inadvertent finger more than her conscious tongue. "Give me an erotic face now and then a fake orgasm. No cameras, no stress, no action, just you." Karl turned off the camera, which made the screen go black. He lowered it, took a step to the side and stared at my face. He hadn't spotted her hand, focused as he was on my expressions. "OK." It wasn't difficult to feign it, since I was really feeling it. I closed my eyes and pictured a parallel universe where she was intentionally seducing me. The bliss grew with every stroke of her digit, and when I opened my eyes and they locked on hers, I saw the fascination with which she was staring back at me. I figured out that it was her first time seeing another woman's pleasure explode. The sheepish smile on her lips and chaste intrigue in her gaze contrasted with the liquid arousal trickling from her core onto my thigh where she was rather imperceptibly grinding: she was enjoying it too. Whatever her previous sexual preferences were, subconsciously, she was enjoying this as much as I was. That sudden thought propelled me further and I knew that it was just a matter of seconds before I hit my ecstasy. I kept staring at her, then briefly and repeatedly, glanced at her hand, in the juncture between my thighs where it was hidden. For whatever dark amusement of mine, I needed her to be aware that it was her finger that was causing my orgasm, and not my crude acting skills, as formidable as they were. After a few glances, she grasped that I was sending her a signal and followed my eyes. She startled at the realization that she was inadvertently stroking me and withdrew her finger. No, no, no. No. Life was sure having a blast with all this cruelty. A few minutes ago, I was struggling to stop myself from feeling the pleasure because Karl didn't want us to show an orgasm yet, but now that he needed me to act it out, the idiot in me had to ruin it and cause her to stop. In both cases, in less than ten minutes, I had managed to find myself bothered and desperately needing one touch to take me over the edge. I couldn't let her do this again, carry me so far then drop me one foot away from the finish line. I clinched my teeth and channelled all my inner emotions then pleaded with my eyes, with every ounce of feeling I could concentrate into one glare. However, I would like to believe that what made her change her mind wasn't my vulnerability, but her innermost instinct to help me, her deep attraction towards me, or her veiled desire to satisfy me. In my head, when I recall the story of us, this is the moment she became aware of all the latent charisma between us. She tentatively moved her finger again, surprisingly joined by another, the two digits reaching slowly to where I yearned for them to be. Her smile had transformed from a shy one to an adorable conniving grin. But there was also a sense of serenity in her face, as if she had finally come to peace with what we were doing. I smiled back at her, and for the first time in my life, I understood what it meant to make love to someone. Inner spiritual happiness mixed with sexual pleasure from her digits wrapping around my button, pinching and twisting, and I sensed the flood gates open into pure euphoria. It was a short, rather motionless climax, but it felt more powerful than any and every previous experience in my life. "That's it, that's it!" Karl gleefully squealed at me. "See? You can do this in your sleep!" I smiled at him, wondering whether insomnia would be cured if people could enjoy "sleep" as much as I just did. I turned back towards her, she was staring at the two glistening fingers she had just retreated from me. I reached my hand and squeezed hers, in a non-verbal grateful gesture. She squeezed back and the slick remnants of my climax rubbed between our grips, like a secret and unbreakable bond. Her smile faded slowly, and in the long gaze that followed, I felt something transcending all the carnal joy we had just shared, reaching beyond the cameras and acting sets, to a surreal vision of spending the rest of my life with her. Was that love? "Let's go back, from the top." Karl turned his camera back on, the screen buzzed to life with our reflections and everything became professional and rehearsed again. I reluctantly released her hand and manually shifted all the gears in my head into work-mode. I had eight more days to enjoy her presence and either convince myself that it was an imaginary affair, either convince her that it wasn't. --- "Darling, Honey. Honey, Darling." Karl's version of an introduction to a new co-worker was hilarious. He always picked an endearing name for each of us. I think it allowed him to detach himself from us as human beings with personalities and emotions, and only regard us as distant art objects that he can contort and command with his every whim. I finished taking off my shoes and raised my head to greet the new girl. Despite having done this several times before, the first contact never ceased to be awkward. You see this young, rather innocent, woman but there's a lingering thought in the back of your mind that in less than an hour, she will be devoid of clothing, like you, with her face, her hands, her tongue, her whole body actually touching yours and exploring it. She's a stranger, yet you will caress her, kiss her and taste her. But slowly, throughout the five to ten days of shooting that follow, you will grow accustomed to her, almost to a point where you feel intricately intimate with her. Then she'll go her way, you'll go yours, and apart from the internet photographs, where no one could even recognize either of you, it's as if none of it happened, none of it was real. All of these thoughts flashed in my mind while I smiled to the "Honey" that Karl had chosen along with me for the Valentine's special. However, I was briefly surprised, feeling sad about the story's ending this time. This woman, this specific woman, seemed to be someone worth knowing, beyond the few days on the job. "OK then, I'll leave you two to get a bit comfortable together." Karl then took my hand and stopped me from unzipping my pants. "No need to get undressed, Darling. There's a problem with the equipment, we won't start until tomorrow." He swiftly turned away and left the changing room. She sighed of relief almost inaudibly and I wondered if it was her first time. I remembered being this flustered when I met Sweetie the first time I worked with Karl. Just like her name, she was very sweet and she instantly put me at ease. I briefly pondered if in the grand scheme of the universe, our arbitrary endearing names somehow fit with our person, and how I, as a Darling, should then behave. I looked at Honey again, and stopped myself right when the thought of her taste crept into my mind. "So tell me about yourself." That was definitely the worst icebreaker I could think of. "What do you want to know?" she asked, as she caressed a blond strand back and sat on the chair opposite mine. "Oh, I have no idea. What's the protocol in this kind of situation?" We both chuckled and that broke the tension. "If you must know," she eventually said, "I tickle easily, there's always music in my head when I'm naked, rock music specifically, my left leg cramps a bit when there's too much pressure on it, and I keep everything clean down there." She stopped for a second to let me assess the unusual mix of information she had just divulged. Then she smiled and continued, "well, now you know everything you need to know about me, aside from where my tongue has been." I started to laugh then I anxiously realized that in less than twenty four hours, I knew exactly where her tongue would be.