Strange Taste - 10. The Giving

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic

Featured Review on this writing by Celtic-Scribe63

Deep inside her heart, she felt an inner compulsion to be with him. She wondered if this was what real love felt like.

The more Georgie soaped her breasts and lathered her penny, as she fondly called ‘her’, the more the delicious tingling sensation of arousal spread through her body. Just as the red light of anticipation lit her mind. She had tried to use the young man lying on the bed next door for her own personal gratification and failed. He was at best an inept, awkward, and inexperienced lover, but he held a fascination, a mystique, that she found intriguing. His V-shaped torso, the muscular physique, the smoothness of his skin, his warm-curly hair, demanded her caress. There was no doubt in her mind: she had lost control of herself, and taken an incredible risk, making love to him. Deep inside her heart, she felt an inner compulsion to be with him. She wondered if this was what real love felt like.

Georgie shampooed her hair with Lyndsey’s mother’s Silvikrin as she tried to bring her strained emotions, the intensity of her feelings, under control. She attempted to rationalize her thoughts.

Tonight, she would tell Alyn how much she had loved sharing her precious moments with him, bid him a tearful farewell, kiss and embrace, then say goodbye. Tomorrow, if she managed to get out of bed, she would spend her final full day sightseeing in London. On Sunday, Georgie would simply pack her bags, and take the long flight home.

Except that the time for rational thinking was over.

She rinsed her hair, turned off the shower, drew back the curtain, and climbed out of the bath. Some of her hairs were, annoyingly, stuck in the plughole.

‘Always leave the toilet, sink and bath as clean as you’d expect to find them,’ her finicky mother once said.

She bent down, plucked out her hair-ball, wrapped it in a tissue, and threw it in the toilet. Georgie rough-towelled her hair, dabbing her eyes, drying herself, as she took in the array of lady’s cosmetics on the vanity shelf. There was a Mum-rollette deodorant. She rubbed it over her hairy armpits. A few hairs caught in the roll-on; she picked them off and flicked them into the lavatory.

The mirror had steamed up. Georgie opened the bathroom window and stared out at the starry night sky, suddenly feeling very small and lonely. On the shelf she found a phial of perfume. She took the atomiser and sprayed scent onto the back of her hand: the heady aroma of roses. Feeling slightly ashamed for using a mature woman’s fragrance, she quickly sprayed her fingers, dabbing her love potion behind each ear, fluffed her hair, wrapped a towel around her waist, and entered the bedroom. The music stopped playing.

Alyn was lying flat on his back, sound asleep, making stertorous nasal noises. Georgie sealed his mouth with hers, dangling her tongue inside, teasing him delicately, savouring his strange taste, kissing him awake with a start. He smelled her rose fragrance. His head span. Their lips parted. She murmured,

‘I have to go. Come and say goodbye to me.’

Georgie switched on the light. Alyn blinked in utter astonishment. She looked sensational. They stood on the plush crimson deep-pile carpet, embracing. He ran his fingers through her damp hair, down her neck, along her spine, as far the small of her back. She felt him, stirring against her belly through the towel, enthralling her. She wanted to know his name.

‘Alyn,’ he mumbled, smothering his face with her clean, fresh hair, nuzzling her neck, behind her ears, loving the scent of her, kissing her soft earlobes. She sighed contentedly: this was the love, the tenderness, the intimacy, she so desired of him. She felt him tear off her towel, his hands grasping her soft-fleshy bum, drawing her roughly into him. His rigid flesh, proud, upstanding for her, pressing into the slight round of her belly, his carnal roar,

‘I want to please you, Georgie.’

She started to cry, to vent her frustration, ‘You can’t, Alyn. I don’t have any protection.’

‘Wait!’ she added, after one-minute’s silence, ‘I think I have an idea.’


Submitted: January 03, 2021

© Copyright 2021 HJFURL. All rights reserved.

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Comments

Celtic-Scribe63

I know why these little vignettes resonate so well with me. They mirror parts of my youth with stark microscopic detail.

Oh, to meet Georgi, again, only with this wizened old mind transplanted into my more, youthful body. Now that would be a dream come true! What a different path my awkward fumblings would take, this time around!
Ha! what a thought!
Lustful, immersive, erotic, soulful, just a few words to describe your wonderful writing.

Mon, January 4th, 2021 9:02am

Author
Reply

Thank you so much Celtic Scribe, I'm so glad that I've stirred, your memories! Yes, they were different times, the 70's, yes there were wrongful inequalities, but boys and girls had so much fun together and, if that happiness so resonates with you and other readers, then it justifies explaining the wonderfully permissive society, in a truthful and candid way. More fun, today!
Happy New Year!
HJ x

Tue, January 5th, 2021 12:24pm

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