Back at the hotel, I only mean to have a quick nap but the travel and time difference catches up with me and I sleep till quite late before getting up to shower and change. I'm running late so I grab the bottle of Highland Park single malt that I bought at the airport and head for the lift.
I make the 15 minute drive to your apartment block in twelve minutes and ring your bell just before ten. You buzz me in and, ignoring the elevator, I take the stairs three at a time up to the fourth floor.
You open the door just as I arrive. I see you dressed in a short, thin black dress with a single strand of white beads around your neck. As you turn I see that you are not wearing a bra and your breasts move unrestricted under the dress. The sight of you takes away the little breath I had left from the ascent of the stairs.
"Come on in," you say. I slip off my shoes and follow you into the apartment. The ceiling is high but the room is quite small. The lounge has a small sofa facing a large flatscreen TV, an old, possibly antique, chest with a portable CD player and 6 books sitting on it and a small square table with three chairs around it. The kitchen area is through a square archway to the right and there are doors to the bedroom and bathroom to the left.
It's a hot, sultry evening and your air-conditioning hasn't been working properly for weeks. The tall but narrow window is wide open, looking out over the street. Despite this, there is a sweet, slightly spicy odour emanating from the kitchen. You have a take-away from the local Chinese restaurant keeping warm in the oven. We sit opposite each other at the small table to eat, accompanying the food with a couple of beers and good conversation.
After the meal you walk to the window and stand looking out at the buildings opposite. I come up behind you and wrap my arms around your waist. I use my face to brush your hair out of the way and kiss you on the neck. I cup your breasts in my hands and gently bite on your earlobe. We stand for quite a while in silence staring out of the window, while I caress your nipples through the thin material of your dress with my thumbs.
Suddenly you break away and say "Let's go up to the roof."
It's a great idea to get out into the evening air. We gather up a few candles, a blanket from the bedroom, the CD player, my bottle of Highland Park and two non-matching glasses. We head out of the door and up to the roof. You skip up the stairs like a child on her way out to play.
You push through the large, heavy door onto the flat roof of the apartment block, propping it open with an empty stone planter. The air is still quite hot and humid, but there is a slight breeze developing. I know from our previous on-line conversations that this is one of your favourite places and that you are often to be found sitting up here in the early hours of the morning, when the weather allows it. You see it as your place because, in the two years you have lived here, you have never seen anyone else using the space.
We set our stuff down on a bench table and I light the candles. The breeze is increasing such that I have to carefully position the CD player on the bench to shield them. I pour two large measures of the whisky and sit down in one of the large wooden seats.
You press the play button on the stereo and adjust the sound level as the music starts. You take your whisky and down it in one - not the way to enjoy a fine malt! The music is a live album by Portishead, an english band I introduced you to. The strained and haunting voice of Beth Gibbons begins to sing and you start to dance slowly around my chair. I sit back and savour my whisky as I watch you. Your breasts are slowly swaying under your dress as you dance rhythmically, your eyes gently closed, your hands roaming sensually across your own body.
By the third track, and after our second whisky, you are standing over me in the chair, holding my head in your hands, pulling it to your chest. You turn and sit down lightly in my lap, making circles with your ass like an amateur lap dancer, bringing the blood rushing to my dick. I unzip the back or your dress and run my fingertips down either side of your spine.
We stand and I pull you close to me. I have always thought there is no better music to make love to than Portishead. Together we sway slowly and gyrate to the sound of the music, our bodies pressed close, sharing long passionate kisses.
