Can We Start Again?

Where was I?

Fælled Park, in Copenhagen, in the sunshine, is where I let the time glide by. Long, calm, warm days stretched before me. The wide, grassy slopes, surrounded by lakes, and lime groves, where the locals come to play or soak up the rays and where golden, long-striding sylphs have sneaked from offices to sunbathe topless during their lunch hour.

You wouldn’t think I would want to come back, but, still, I came back.

Out of the blue I got a text from Anna. Not saying much just a how-you-do. It must mean she wants us to get back together because she wants us to meet up in our old local back home, the Swan, the next night.

Dawn the next day and I’m on a train that is typically Scandinavian: pristine, spacious - and empty. The train crosses on the impressive Øresund bridge over the great stretch of water that divides Denmark and Sweden. The view is amazing. The sun creeping over the water’s distant horizon colours the sky in vivid orange, yellow and red, all bleeding together. So vibrant if you saw it on a painting it would look kind overdone and not at all realistic. I stare at the painted, prehistoric sky in wonder for some time, watching the colours slowly pale as the gradually ascending sun heats up, and the train speeds on to Malmö.
Technically I’m travelling further away, but I’m on my way home.

Back in my old city. Back to thick summer air, and on a slim promise. Fit to drop but I only stop to shower and change and eat and catch up on the tennis. Lack of sleep and the heat has left me drowsy, but I force myself to make a move. No confirmation about tonight has been received but we live in hope.

So, I’m in the Swan. First time in a long time. Used to be not bad in a spit ‘n’ sawdust kinda way, but now crooked beams seeped in whiskey and beer and smoke, and the irregular regulars propped up in slant corners has given way to polished wood and post-work, braying office drones perched on chrome stools.
I grab a drink from the seven-foot tall eighteen year old at the bar and look around for Anna. I miss her at first, but then realise she’s at a crowded table with what I presume are her work-mates. Oh great. So anyway, I go over and say hello and she gets up and we hug and it’s all very nice and how’ve you been and everything and blah blah blah. And then I’m like; well, here I am! Who’re these lot? Just wondering what’s going on, like.
Oh sorry, she says, and introduces me to her work colleagues, as if that’s what I was waiting for. Going round the table, she points out each person saying this is so-and-so and I smile and nod and instantly forget all their names, and then she goes, and this is Marcus, my new boyfriend.

Oh, right.

They’re all pretty tightly crowded around the table but two of them shift their chairs a little so I can sort of squeeze in, but even so, I’m a fair distance to the table and have to lean right forward to put my glass down. It’s all very awkward for me, not least because I‘m wondering just what I‘m doing here. Anna holds court and all the talk is either work-related or about house prices, and I’m sat on the outside, bored, embarrassed and a bit angry.

I eventually pull myself away and order another gin from the cocky streak of piss behind the bar. Stood next to me is a girl from Anna’s gang, I don’t recognise her at first but once we get talking I realise she’s Kate, an old girlfriend of someone I sort of knew. I remember flirting outrageously with her once, really trying it on and getting nowhere. She seems more amenable this time. She’s ordered a big, livid red cocktail, probably not her first either as she’s a little tipsy and eyes me with a flirty smile. We have a nice chat about whatsisname who she used to go out with, she rolls her eyes in a what-was-I-thinking way and we laugh.

I finally get a few words with Anna. Anna is stunning looking, but she has a strong personality and sharp wit to match. It’s a devastating combination which she uses to her advantage. Everyone gets caught up in her slipstream, which is giddy fun when you’re riding it, but soon you’re sent tumbling to the ground as she forever races away from you.
I tell her I feel a bit of a fifth wheel here but she ignores this and introduces me again to the new man on her arm. Despite being a shortarse, Marcus, it turns out, is a rugby playing fireman, and he’s very keen on climbing the property ladder. I can’t stand the man one bit but I make an effort to be civil for Anna and politeness’ sake.

Shouldn’t have bothered.

I’ve finally had enough of Anna’s self-centred short span of attention, and decide he can fucking keep that fickle tart.

Later they all decide to move on into town, maybe go clubbing. That’s my cue to slope off home, I think. But Kate, now even more giggly and flirty, snakes an arm around my waist and tells me to come with them. I say no but she insists and says in her flirty way ‘will you be my boyfriend tonight?’.

Somewhere round the back of the pub, against a wall out of view from the road, Kate kneels and unzips my fly. She puts her face against the open hole around my crotch and licks with a determined, probing tongue. My cock hasn’t even awoken yet but is quickly taken into her mouth to be sucked and licked into life. As it steadily grows Kate slides her lips rhythmically up and down it’s shaft. I push my fingers into her hair and guide her bobbing head. Then she stops what she is doing to lick the full length of the flat of her tongue against the very tip of my cock. It is startling. I can feel every taste bud. It sends my mind to the moon on a hovercraft.

The others are leaving and she goes with them, but not before she takes my address. Which is where I head.

I have a late night and sleep in late the next day. Apart from a quick trip down to the co-op to buy some bottles of wine, I don’t do anything all day, just lounge around. Dark clouds begin to creep across the sky as I watch M@r1a Sh@rap0va lose the semi-final to that bitch Am3l1e M@ur3smo. I’m so pissed off at this I feel like smashing something.

Kate turns up wearing a mischievous smile and a strange and fetching sixties-style egg-shell blue summer dress with buttons down the front.

For some time we sit on the couch kissing and lightly fondling through clothes. Eventually, I turn my attentions to that dress of hers. With great deliberation I slowly undo one button at a time. Starting with the top one and moving down. One… after the other. She watches me, and fiery dragons swim in her eyes. I watch her watching me, her breast falling and rising to her slow, deep breathing. The lower my hand goes, the slower I take it. Her body begins to shift now with burgeoning desire. Buttons undone, job done. I leave the dress hanging just slightly open. I kiss her deeply again and calm her. The trail some fingertips just under the dress opening, gliding, grazing over her breast, her ribs, her belly… pausing… then back up. I want her body to beg for me, I want her hips to ache for my weight on them.
I slip my shirt off and undo my jeans. She helps me off with them, then I finish undressing her. I stand her up and scoop the dress from her shoulders and let it fall. She is naked underneath, her body at the peak of desire. I lay her down on the couch and arrange her body and limbs to my liking.
Then I give her one.

Summer rains falls on the hot city. The sky breaks with thunder as the huge mass of grey cloud rolls overhead. Naked and entwined on the couch, we sit and watch the storm build outside the window. There’s a terrific crack of lightning. Electricity is in the air and we realise our fragile place in the universe. Our small bodies ready to be ripped open by the elements.

I remain seated and watch as Kate wanders the room, checking out all the books and CDs and DVDs and things on the shelves. My eyes wander over her body. The furrow of her spine, her shoulder blades moving under her skin, the spellbinding curvature of her buttocks, the entrancing roll of her hips as she moves. My cock stands in salute.
There’s something about a naked woman pulling a cork from a bottle. Most of it to do with the fact that she’s naked, I suppose, but it’s a sight to savour. I sit with my legs open and my cock standing tall; rigid and proud as you like. Kate takes notice of this and gives me a look. There’s no disguising male arousal and I don’t want to. I want her to see, I want her to know. I want her to feel my gaze on her body. She pours the wine with a sly smile.

Kate gently massages the same pair of balls she so recently emptied. They’ve been milked dry but my excitable cock has a mind of it’s own. I’ve not that long come and it aches a little to be fully erect so soon, but the attentions of Kate’s mouth on it are irresistible. She carefully pours a tiny bit of her wine onto the tip and then quickly runs after it with her tongue, slurping it up as it runs down the shaft. And so it goes.

By the time of the second glass Kate is stretched out on the couch and I’ve got her naked breasts in my hands. Everything’s certainly all right with the world when a woman lets you touch her tits. Kissing her mouth deeply, I let my hand wander down her body. My fingers graze in her tidy little patch of pubic hair. I stroke her there, softly with the backs of my fingers. Her legs open and she allows them to now explore and then touch her tender skin hidden in the crease of her mound. My kisses are now on her white throat as two fingers work quickly in and out of her vagina.

The rain in the summer storm has become torrential, and as I have her bending over the couch with my hands all over her glorious arse, the sultry air prickles with a pure, ancient, animalistic carnal desire. Kate’s insatiable pussy hangs drooling with hunger, and so I fuck her as wildly as the rain hammering against the windows.
There is nothing but this.

The next day I have voicemail. It’s from Anna, sounding down. She’s dumped thingy and wonders if I want to come over and see her. She wants for us to ‘give it another go, maybe’. And then things get complicated…


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