Coos and Kisses
By Madama Papillon, Jun 10 2018 08:00AM
I had gone out the night before, a friend had just passed her PhD viva and we went and got very tipsy on champagne. I vaguely remember an offer of a threesome with an attractive couple, at the taxi rank at 1am a group of men invite me into their taxi to go to a club and then back to theirs, another guy walking past asks if I’m Russian and is surprised when I can say “no, I’m not, are you?” in Russian.
The morning head hurts as I wake in the knarled wooden 4 poster bed. Sunlight streaming in. An orchid looking happy in the window sill. I have a booking today. A cold shower and strong coffee see me ready to go. I wear a short black summer dress. A knock on the door and his lovely beaming smiling face behind a mass of flowers. We chat for a bit as I try and absorb a little more coffee into the blood stream. Gentle kisses. Today we’re off on an adventure.
We drive for about an hour before I ask where we are going. Chatting about the life and the universe. We go through Callandar then on to Balquhiddir. The sun is out and the weather amazing. I am craving a Scottish breakfast, but we arrive past noon and the menu has changed. Mussels it is! And coffee, lots more coffee! Hands explore up my leg under the table, find wetness.
After breakfast that was lunch, we go to a little country shop with huge Highland coos outside. Scary horns. I start trying on two beautiful pure cashmere shawls. “Which one do you prefer?” he asks. “Both!” I say, without meaning anything by it. He buys me both and I melt a little.
The day smudges and blurs into kisses, hips grabbed, dress pushed up, ears cupped, hair tugged, tongues tasting. It was a good day. I like exploring.
That woman of loneliness and mystery,
scarce seen to smile,
seldom heard to sigh.
She knew herself a villain,
but deemed the rest no better
than the thing she seemed,
and scorned the best as hypocrites
who hid those deeds
the bolder spirit plainly did.
She knew herself detested,
but she knew the hearts that loathed her,
crouched and dreaded too.
Lone wild and strange,
she stood alike exempt from all affection
and from all contempt.
- My edit of Byron!