Kissing Katie

In the lull of a late summer afternoon, in a room with a window to the garden wide open, the light breeze catching in the curtains, and Katie reclining in the cushions of the antique settee. Our glasses, now emptied of wine, rest on the book about cathedrals she was reading, on a nearby occasional table. A dip in our conversation and we share a moment of just looking into each other’s eyes. Slowly I lean over to her, bringing my face closer to hers. Katie lifts her chin a little and readies her mouth to greet my lips. First contact; a soft landing. Our lips kiss and then we kiss again but with open mouths, the very tips of our tongues touch for an instant then retract like snail antennae. Now I’m kissing slowly across her top lip, my fingers slide into the hair behind her ear and eventually our open mouths interlock once more, our tongues more confident now; meshing together, tasting.

I thought it was a joke at first. Kaite dancing with me, for the first time, on that open-air dancefloor. In the sweltering heat of the evening my shirt was already beginning to stick to my back by the time I even got to the club, and though things cooled down as I sipped my gin & tonic, gazing out to sea, into the Ibizan sunset with the melting sun bleeding into the horizon, things soon warmed back up again once I had delved into the throng of people grooving to the shimmering house music. Swaying her hips, her skirt pulled taut against her bottom, arms above her head, the swish of her long honeyed-brown hair; Katie was the sexiest thing I’d seen all night. No, in a year of nights. So you can imagine I could barely believe my luck when the sexiest girl in the place, maybe the whole human race, did not draw away when I began dancing with her. A look is all it took: a glance over her shoulder and an accompanying smile. Her back to me, my hands placed on her undulating hips. Moving together now. My hands slide up to her waist and touch the bare flesh there between her skirt and top. I venture a hand round to place lightly on her soft belly and discover a jewel nestled in her navel. Her behind, her hips now determinedly rolling with me.
Look at us, for all the world we are lovers! This is a fine fiction, I thought. I wondered what if I could leave here with Katie on my arm, a walk across the midnight sand, finding some comfortable place and settling down, the waves breaking against the shore providing our private soundtrack. But I was certain this butterfly would soon flutter off into the night; smiling she would slink away and dance into the arms of some undeserving sort as so many had before. However, when, at the end of the night, she was still by me, I decided to chance my arm and tell Katie of my plans. The way she took it amazed me.

Which all led to here, in the relative cool of an English room. A Saturday afternoon spent kissing Katie. Deeper now, our tongues drunkenly roll over each other; the delicate abrasion of our taste buds rubbing together, then the slick, smooth underside of her tongue; the grazing of her teeth. Stroking the fine hair on the nape of her neck, and down, tracing a finger or two along her collarbone, and down.
The lightness of the fabric of her summer dress, and Katie’s breast held tenderly in my palm. Placing tiny kisses around her lips, and in the corner of her mouth then sliding a tongue gently along her top lip’s wet underside. Now kissing a cheek. Now leaving a trail of slow kisses down her neck. Katie’s breathing now deep and measured as she lays languorously against the cushions. It was the last time we would do this. I couldn’t share her and she made a choice.