Spontaneity
resulting from a natural impulse or tendency; unconstrained; unplanned: (of a person) give to acting upon sudden impulses.

For the past two months I have shut myself away at home.  Facing each day has been a challenge and some days I have barely been able to muster enough enthusiasm to even lift my head off the pillow.  Due to my lugubrious state of mind, on the days I have gotten out of bed I have spent most of the time lazing around in track pants or not even bothering to get dressed and staying in my PJs.

I have over indulged my diet excessively with carbs, mainly consisting of toast by the loaf load spread with enough butter to fur and clog my arteries and finished off with plenty of jam and peanut butter just to add a few more inches to my hips.  The sugary tea to wash it all down hasn't helped much either in that respect. My slovenly body is heading the same way as my listless mind, my dispirited heart and my wayward emotions.  I am in the doldrums and I have had no desire to pull myself together.

Fortunately, my European book tour was just about complete when the reason for my current demise occurred.  That hasn't prevented my ever the slave driver agent from constantly being on my back demanding that I email the next chapters of the sequel.  At my grieving, she set out her stall immediately by apologising but confirming that she doesn't 'do' emotions.  My first novel was such a huge success that the demand for the second means 'we' must strike whilst the iron is hot.

Her constant texting turned into relentless emails that developed into longer ranting emails that resulted in a barrage of daily telephone calls.  However, I ignored them all. The shameless voicemails that followed were expletive loaded as she yelled at me that 'our' publishing house would not hesitate to pull the plug if I didn't get writing pronto.  That is a lie and she knows it. She's frustrated and I get that. But, I don't need her negativity in my life right now because I have plenty enough of my own filling up my headspace without hers taking up residency in there as well.

The truth is I have been unable to face anyone or anything since my father died.  My imagination and creativity have dried-up and cracked along with everything else around me that I used to enjoy.  My councilor says I am being too hard on myself and need to give myself more time.  Her words are heartfelt and evidently in my best interests, however the invoice currently sat on top of the pile of my ever growing 'must look at' paperwork states I owe her $350, so she would say that wouldn't she.

But here's a thing, today is the first day I have woken up refreshed after managing to sleep through an entire night uninterrupted.  I also feel slightly human this morning because last night I decided not to take anything to aid my period of sleep.

As I roll over onto my back, my fingers snake through my tangled long auburn hair and scratch excessively at my scalp.  The result is that they whiff of dirty hair, all greasy and musky where I haven't washed it this week.  The waft from my armpits gags an unpleasant sound from the back of my throat and propels me out of bed and into the shower without even giving it a second thought.  Whilst scrubbing myself clean I surmise that this is a better start to the day than recent days and I must grab it with both hands.  After all, who knows what else I can achieve today if I take advantage of the momentum.  

The washing away of dirt and grime from the body should never be underestimated because the feeling of cleanliness extends further than purely to my skin and hair.  It has woken up my mind and my senses; it has woken up the whole of me. 

Rather than my big comfy pants with the hole in, I opt for white lace matching bra and panties.  The panties are just a smidgen tighter than the last time I wore them but as I squeeze into them I mentally blame the jam and baggy track pants for lulling my stomach into a false sense of security.  I am now on a roll of rejuvenation as I launch my PJs into the wash-basket from the other side of the room. I opt for a cream silk blouse, dark blue skinnies and my navy suede high-heeled ankle boots.  I rough dry my hair, then straighten it and loosely tie it back in a low ponytail.  The wisps of my long side bangs frame my lightly made-up face.  With beautiful diamond ear studs, watch and silver bangle adding a final touch to my outfit I face the mirror feeling like a completely new woman.

Venturing downstairs and into the kitchen, I am greeted with two breakfast options left for me on the side.  There is a scrawled handwritten note in between them that states 'Good' with a smiley face and an arrow pointing to the box of muesli and the fruit bowl and 'Not Very Good' with a sad face and another arrow pointing to the side where the loaf of bread and jam temptingly reside.  I select the 'good' option as my unforgiving jeans are also reminding that my carb holiday is well and truly over.

I am now on a roll of exploration and decide to go into town.  The fifteen-minute drive along the winding country roads is relaxing.  The bright cerulean sky is blindingly obscured by the aureate sunbeams that radiate streaks through the gaps in the canopy of trees.  Their coruscating light bounces off the tarmac in front of me, almost guiding me along. The new green leaves of spring camouflage the boughs and wave in the gentle breeze, reflecting dancing shadows down onto the windscreen.

I switch the air-con to off and open all the windows right down to allow the crisp, clean air to immerse the car and invigorate my senses further.  'Love Song' by Sara Bareilles blasts through the car speakers.  As I cruise along, I burst the vocals out of me as though I am having an internal spring clean, expunging all my frustrations relating to everyone who is on my back out through the lyrics of the song.
As I near the small town, I turn the volume down and put the windows up to cocoon myself once more.  It has been a while since I have been anywhere let alone here and although I am a little apprehensive because small town gossip equals untrue assumptions, the friendly visual familiarity of the place settles my nervousness.

I pass the first of two coffee shops but drive straight by.  It is a franchise of a major chain that is unmistakable.  The systematic décor and fake pictures of Italy adorn every wall of every establishment in every small town and city up and down the country.  It has no personality and this one only employs young college students with pert derrieres and fake white smiles.  They wear their uniform shirts two sizes too small and the cotton can barely contain their perky breasts as the buttons strain to practically pinging off or popping undone which they very often do.  The manager is a renowned sleaze and his wayward hands result in a turnover of staff not dissimilar to a turnstile stuck on a continuous revolving cycle.

I carry on along the full length of the street to the far end and pull up outside the other coffee shop in the town.  There are never usually any free spaces outside but today my luck is in as I grab one right opposite the door.
I love this place.  The independent one. I always come here.  It feels familiar like a comfy pair of slippers.  Harry's is situated on the corner of the street. It has a large royal blue canopy pulled down today to shield its huge glass windows from the glare of the sun.  The owner of the establishment is not surprisingly a guy named Harry.

His father, Des Styles, is CEO of 93°C , a coffee organisation that unusually manages the whole of their coffee supply chain from tree to cup.  He is passionate that every person in the supply chain is treated fairly and every step from harvesting to processing, exporting to tasting, blending and roasting through to grinding and brewing uses only the best and environmentally friendly techniques to ensure a premium quality product when it reaches the consumer.  He is an exceptionally astute business man and very wealthy one as a consequence.

He has often stated in interviews that when his four children were old enough to understand he made it very clear that none of them will inherit a penny of his fortune.  His attitude is that if he can build a business from scratch so can they.  Saying that, he is a loving family man with a wonderful wife.  The whole family is extremely close.  It is for this reason that none of the children believe him but took the challenge head-on nonetheless.  For the most part they have been successful and this includes the youngest, Harry.
He had always shown an interest in coffee and business so for his graduation gift his father gave him $100k and bought him a premises and told him to get on with it.  Five years later he still owns the original coffee shop I am standing outside today and has added two more to his portfolio in neighbouring towns, with a fourth premises being sought.  When Harry turned over his first $1m profit last year at the age of 28, he added a tattoo to his collection of many saying 'Silver Spoon'.  It was very much a dig at his father but luckily a proud Des saw the funny side.

Harry's is very popular mainly because of Harry.  He is a handsome and tall guy who looks after himself and just has one of those faces that draws people in.  He has the most beautiful lush green eyes that shine such happiness and a chiseled jaw that top male models would be envious of.  I imagine every woman in town from eight to eighty likes Harry and it does his business no harm because his coffeehouses are always busy.

College girls like him because he has the look of a rocker, all dangerous and intriguing.  His skinny jeans cling tightly to his long lean legs and his dark brown curls tease glossily on his shoulders.  They have refined the art of making one cup last for hours to indulge their infatuation with him as they sit and stare longingly at him working behind the counter.  His sexy smirk alone is enough to keep their panties wetter than the coffee on their lips.
Young mothers like him because of his rasp that echoes from the back of his throat when he speaks and his long ring clad fingers.  Both do things to their vaginas that they haven't experienced in a while due to the exhaustion of crying babies and late night feeds.

Middle aged women like him because he represents everything their husbands were before mortgages, bills, the stress of teenage kids and too much beer in front of the football took its toll on their bodies.  His broad shoulders, muscle defined inked arms and toned thighs make their hot flushes flare hotter imagining their fantasies of all of him wrapped around them.

And finally the older generation of ladies like him because of his cheeky smile and dimply dimples that makes them feel young at heart again. When he delivers their coffee direct to the table they usually pinch his bum but he simply laughs and friendly winks at them that only encourages them further.

However, there is so much more to Harry than a model face and a gorgeous body.  He has inherited his father's competitive streak in business but also his ideals for fairness and positivity.  He is humble and I would almost describe him as humanitarian.

He talks to his customers, no I mean really takes an interest in them, to the extent of remembering little details so next time they come in for coffee he is sure to ask them about their recent holiday, the baptism last weekend, how the wedding preparations are coming along or how the poorly relative in hospital is feeling.  

He ensures he employs a wide section of society not just the slim good-looking baristas that make his shop appear a trendy place to be seen. He is also considerate about where the ingredients of his food comes from, preferring organic options whenever possible. 
Recently he became something of a town hero. The chain coffee shop asked a breastfeeding mother to leave as they deemed she was offending other customers as she sat quietly in the corner with a muslin over her shoulder covering her chest and her baby as it fed.  The owner was blasted in the local newspaper and what ensued was uproar in the community at how awfully this new mother had been treated and made to feel inadequate about something that is quite natural.  The next day Harry's had a board outside welcoming breastfeeding mothers from the community to enjoy a free cup of regular tea or coffee whilst they took the weight off their feet and fed their babies.

So this is why I like this place and this is why I picked it today. I feel safe here, it feels like a friend where I will be welcomed and not judged.

I push on the long brass handle that runs down the entire length of the door and step inside the chic coffeehouse.  The ambience is very much two-fold.  Part says a gathering place for friends and family to slouch on brightly coloured sofas and relax and chat, the other says a little piece of private alone time to grab one of the variety of reference or fiction books off the bookshelves and indulge in peaceful reading.  Chat and quiet shouldn't work but here it just does.  

"Hello Roman, long time no see.  How are you?"  Cedric, the barista working today, brings me out of my thoughts.

"I'm ok thank you Cedric and you?"  I answer him thoughtfully.

"Always good when I'm here, you know me."  His broad smile greets me from behind the counter.  "I was sorry to hear about your father.  We've missed you, it's great to see you."

"I appreciate that Cedric, thank you."  Cedric is in his late fifties.  His wife died of breast cancer a year ago and in desperation of not being lonely he asked Harry if he could volunteer at the coffeehouse two days a week, just to get out and about and have some conversation and company.  Of course Harry agreed but only on the condition that Cedric was paid for him time.

"Your usual?

"Yes please, espresso con panna."

"Coming right up.  I'll bring it over."

There is a free table tucked away in the corner so I settle my belongings down and sink back into the comfy striped tub chair.  Opening my laptop and journal, I know I have reached a crucial part of my latest novel which is why my publisher wants the latest chapters like yesterday.  Having made it this far today I think I am ready to revisit my writing.

Jonas kindly brings my coffee over.  He is nineteen years old but a young nineteen because he has learning difficulties. I know him well because his mum Elizabeth is a good friend of mine.  He is a sweet sweet boy but he will never be able to fully live independently and that has put immense strain on Liz and the rest of her family.  She spoke to Harry at length at a business charity fundraiser they both attended about six months ago and Harry offered Jonas a job.  It has been excellent for his social skills and enables him to earn some of his own money, not to mention the fact that he looks up to Harry and Harry treats him more like a brother than an employee.

"Thank you Jonas, how much do I owe you?"

"Oh it's on the house today Roman, compliments of the boss." Jonas turns his head over to the counter where Harry has appeared and stands looking across at me. I nod my head and smile, mouthing a 'thank you' at him and he returns my gesture with a 'you're welcome'.

I look down at my coffee and notice it has a cocoa heart shape melting a darker brown against the creamy top.  A smile graces my lips at the sentiment of whoever made my coffee.  I knew coming to this place for my first outing in months was the right thing to do. 

I sip on my drink and attempt to refocus and visualise in my mind my story.  Closing my eyes, I sink my head back trying to reconnect with the characters and ascertain a semblance of order with the plot.  There is a glimmer of reawakening of my creative senses so I open the navy blue leather bound journal that has my initials embossed in the bottom corner, to read the notes I jotted down a while ago. I fire up my laptop and begin to type.  My way of writing is to let it flow out of me unconsidered then revisit and polish afterwards.

I have an ability to work almost anywhere and I am able to block out the background noise of a beautiful baby giggling and the group of school mums chatting but with half a cup of coffee gone and a page of words typed I suddenly sense there is a commotion by the entrance.  I glance up and look across to see a deliveryman lurking.  He clears his throat before speaking very loudly to the entire establishment like a priest addressing his congregation at Sunday Mass.

"Can I have your attention please, the back entrance of the shop is blocked so I need to make my delivery through the front way. Whosever car is the Red Discovery I would be most grateful if you could move it." Everyone naturally looks around to see whose car it is.
For some bizarre reason I raise my hand like I am at school.  "Umm, it's mine."  I grab my keys off the table and stand but I hesitate because my laptop and journal are here.  If I leave them I am at risk that someone may take them, not that Harry's is that sort of place but you never know, and if I take them I will lose my seat. I hesitate moving from one foot to another until I hear the familiar deep rasp behind me.

"Don't worry, I'll look out for your belongings whilst you move your car, it's the least I can do."  As I turn, my dull mocha browns meet his sparkling forest greens.  Harry.  He beams at me, his dimples pulling into his cheeks.
"Thanks Harry I won't be a minute." I offer a tight lipped smile and point my finger and intention towards the door before walking towards it.

I reverse my car out of the space to enable the delivery cage to be wheeled through it and into the shop then with a thanking way of his hand the deliveryman and his truck pull away allowing me to pull back into the parking space.  It must have taken all of five minutes and when I re-enter the coffeehouse I see Harry lounging in the seat I have recently vacated.

He gets up when I approach him and has with a strange smirk slightly turned up one one side of his plump pink lips. "Let me get you another coffee, yours is cold, espresso con panna isn't it?"

"Yes please that's kind and thanks for minding my stuff."

"It's my pleasure."  He briefly stares at me whilst he runs the cloth he is holding in one hand through the palm of his other as though he is going to say something but thinks better of it.

His black boots click across the rustic wooden planks on the floor and my eyes follow up his slender legs, the muscles in his thighs straining to keep confined within the tightness of his black skinny jeans.  His green paisley shirt hugs snuggly across his broad shoulders.  God, close up he is a specimen of sheer handsomeness.

I resume my position at my table but notice out the corner of my eye that he is personally making my coffee. He returns and placing the drink down beside my laptop, leans over the table.  A masculine mix of musk and sweet scent invades my senses causing me to slow blink as I inhale sharply the perfume of his cologne that stirs waves of fluttering in my stomach.  He remains bent over the table and looks around at me.  His face is inches from mine and I can see light stubble from where he clearly hasn't shaved this morning.  He is even more breathtaking this close than from a distance and my mouth parts slightly at his close proximity.  He looks surreptitiously at me, hesitating before perching on the arm of the tub chair, despite there being two other available chairs to sit on, and clasping his hands together in between his legs.

"So how's your new novel coming along?"  His bright eyes wander to my laptop then slide back to capture my gaze.

"It wasn't but today feels like a good day to start writing again."  I hold his glow with a thankful smile.

"Well that's great to hear, I'm glad.  You know your writing is very interesting Roman."  He pulls his lips into his mouth then his tongue pokes out to glaze them with moisture.
I glance up at him and respond cordially. 

"Really, well I am honoured that you have read my work."

"Oh, I haven't, not all of it just a page or two if you know what I mean."  He then proceeds to wink suggestively at me and glances again towards my laptop.

Catching onto his drift, I smirk at him pulling my cheeks into my mouth to stifle my laugh.  "You know you really should know better than to pry." 

He looks down at his clasped hands. "Sorry, I couldn't help myself.  It was there and well....." His eyes flick up to meet mine and there is a complete change in their appearance from embarrassed to a glint of lust.  He leans closer to me and whispers into the shell of my ear.  "I thought perhaps you wanted me to read your fictional words."  I feel his hot breath fan across my face and I suck in a quick gasp at the way the word fictional falls of his lips.

"Perhaps." Is all I can say as I am fixated by his mouth.  I can literally feel my heart beating so frenziedly in my chest that it is echoing throbs through my ears.

"Do you sometimes wish your fictional words were a reality?"  He whispers in an even lower tone.

"Maybe!" I titter slightly at his playfulness and he straightens up echoing a deep breath in up his nose.

Then he then leans forward and gently pushes the lid of my laptop down to close it.  "I noticed your laptop is out of charge, I think I have a cable that will fit it up in the office."
I am enjoying this flirting game very much.

"Oh you must have been mistaken I only charged it this morning."  I reach to reopen the lip but his hand reaches over mine to stop me.

"No, not mistaken it was definitely out of charge." His thumb caresses the back of my hand making my mind go dizzy in delirium and my breath hitch in my throat.  He now stands facing me and I glance up at him from under my eyelashes.  He is now the one sucking in the deep breath. He extends his hand out of me and says three enticing words.  "Come with me."

As I stand, he reaches down behind me to pick up my laptop whilst I gather all my other belongings.  My mind is totally reeling as we approach the counter.

"Cedric Roman's laptop needs a power cable so we'll be in the office if you need us."  Harry states confidently.

"OK Harry no problem." Cedric doesn't bat an eyelid.

I glance around the coffeehouse to see if anyone else is looking our way but everyone is clearly minding their own business and getting on with their day. 

I follow Harry up the narrow staircase to what was originally his flat.  He no longer lives here and the space is used as an office, storage room and kitchen-cum-rest area for the staff.  The outline of his thigh muscles move fluidly under the stretched fabric as he ascends in front of me.  He extends his hand backwards and wiggles his fingers indicating for me to clasp my hand into his.  At my touch, his hand wraps around mine and feels comforting and warm.

When we reach the first floor, he opens the door to his office, drops my hand and swiftly walks over to the window to close the blinds.  He moves some clothes off the couch onto the floor then places my laptop down onto a small table.

He hesitates for a second with his back to me then spins around and saunters over pushing my back against the door.  He stands in front of me but not so that any part of him is touching me then he reaches around me to lock the door.  The hot wisps of his breath whip over my face and when he returns to standing over me he wastes no time in grazing his lips lustfully against mine.

My eyes automatically shut at his touch.  "Open your eyes Roman and tell me what do you want?"

My chest is heaving at his seductive words as his lips continue to skim over mine that are completely dry.  The tip of his tongue pokes between his lips as he moistens his lips then coats mine.

"All of it." I gasp then he pecks my lips ever so gently sucking my bottom lip in between both of his and tugging on it.  A moan escapes my mouth as my tongue pokes out to meet his and we dance our tongues around each other slowly.

He breaks away and raises an eyebrow.  "Is that so?"  I am totally suspended unable to move with my breath held.  I am face to face with his chest, the wings of the two swallow tattoo birds that adorn each peck poke out the top of his shirt.  I rest my palms flat against the patterned shirt, so soft under my fingertips.

He leans into me and unleashes his lips on mine as his long fingers nimbly undo each button on my silk blouse.  When he reaches the last one his hands reach under the material and follow the curves of my skin up my back.  He pulls me into him and my breasts squash into his chest as he looks down on them. 

"These tits are amazing tits." Then he kisses me hard on the mouth nudging his already tigid dick against my core.  I tilt my head as he ducks down and his needy mouth sucks on my earlobe, nipping and pulling gently shooting desire like electricity through me.  He grazes his teeth hard down my neck and along my collar bones biting at the skin on the bone causing me to gasp out.  He smiles knowing full well he has found a tender spot sweet and after causing more satisfying pain his licks and kisses the area delicately to soothe it.

"Talk to me Roman, tell me exactly what you want to do?" He gravels deeply.

"I want you."

He shakes his head. "That's not what was written but how do you want me."

"Inside of me, I want you inside of me."

In a change of pace, he falls to his knees, pulls off both my boots, unbuttons my jeans and pulls then down my legs until I am stood in just my panties, bra and undone blouse. He looks up at me through his long eyelashes with look of sheer sex in his eyes.

"Your breasts look even more magnificent from down here."  I rest my head back on the door and chuckle as my fingers tangle into his curls pulling at the roots and earning a bark from the back of his throat.

He kneels up and rests his mouth and nose against the white lace of my panties, inhaling sharply and then blowing out a huge puff of hot air that seeps in through the fabric and into my smattering of hair that lies behind the material.  I instantly slam my legs together at the exquisite feeling of his breath on me, there.

His hands run up the front of my thighs, his thumbs reach the top of each leg and he hooks them through and eases my panties down my legs.  His nose nudges in between my thighs for my legs to part and I oblige him because that is exactly where I am pantingly craving him. My palms slam back against the door as his middle finger swipes along my core in one chaste sweep, the silver ring cold against my clit, eliciting a gasp to fall from my lips.

Smirking he rises onto his feet, throws his arms around me and easily lifting  me, walks over and sits me down gently on the edge of the desk. My legs hang over the side and his large hands splay on my knees to pull them apart, spreading my legs. He rests his forehand against mine creating a closeness like we are gazing directly into each other's souls.  He finds my hand and guides it between my legs. His long middle finger is over mine pushing into my folds and gently stroking against the warmth there. "You are so wet, it's beautiful, is that all for me? I can barely breath let alone answer him so simply smile into my kiss against his lips.

Suddenly, he pulls away and slumps down into his office chair, one knee bent, one leg outstretched.  His elbow rests on the low arm of the chair and he leans on his hand putting his middle finger in his mouth. He looks fucking hot. The dark green of his patterned silk shirt enhances the sparkle of his beautiful eyes. The hints of yellow reflect off their surface like specs of golddust.

His stare is directly level with my crotch. "You won't admit it but you want to make your fiction a reality.  I want you to touch yourself Roman."

I lean back on the palm of one hand and sink my fingers of my other in between my legs and begin to explore myself.  Stroking up and down with two fingers moans slip from my mouth at the pleasure I am giving myself.  Harry eyes are hooded as he watches me. "You look sexy as fuck, tell me how it feels Roman."

"It feels good Harry, so good."

I continue, my fingers working deftly as the intensity increases and my moans become louder.

"Baby, look at me, don't even think about taking yourself there, your final pleasure is reserved for me."

"Come on then Harry, you finish what I started."  I boldly reply removing my soaking fingers from myself.

He rises up and grabs my wrist. "Oh I fully intend to."

Grasping my two pleasuring fingers he brings them up to his mouth and skims them along his full lips before sucking both into his mouth. My core pulses needily at his actions. "You taste so good but my taste buds are hungry for the real thing."

With one swipe of his forearm the contents on the surface of the desk behind me litter across the floor. My legs hang over the side of the desk and he stands in between them.  He cups one hand at the base of my neck and the other in the small curve of my back and eases me back to lay down, resting his entire body over mine. He kisses my lips lightly then blows cool air from my neck down my chest through the valley of my breasts pecking small kisses down my tummy through my hairs.  He blows onto my core causing my hips to buck off the desk.  His hands soon see to holding them down so I am unable to move as his tongue plunges into me.  He draws a figure of eight repeatedly over and over again, alternating the pressure from hard to light then sucking on my sensitive bundle of nerves.  He repeats the pattern over and over until I am clawing at the side of the desk as whimpers of delight spill from my mouth.

"Oh my god Harry I'm so close."

At my words, he doesn't let up, he speeds up.  I know I am dripping in pleasure for him then he hits that spot.  My whole body tightens and ignites as I begin to quiver as my toes point and I scream out with pleasure as I hit my high.  My back arches off the desk and I come crashing down shaking uncontrollably.

He retraces his kissing steps up my naval, over my breasts and along  my neck before wrapping his arms around me and pulling me up to sitting and into his embrace. I slump sated against his shoulder.

"My god that was amazing."  I gasp still unable to steady my breaths.

Harry palms my cheek and smirks at me. "My cock is suffocating in these jeans listening to you come for me.  It cannot breath because of you."

"Nothing to do with me." I answer cheekily. "I haven't touched it.

"Oh believe me it is, very much so"  He yanks me off the edge of the desk and sits back down, pulling me to stand in between his legs.

I rest my hands on each arm of the office chair and lean over him, my mouth inches from his. I poke my tongue suggestively out of my mouth as though preparing for the taste of something delicious but he is too quick and grabs it in between his teeth pulling on it in painful pleasure.

My hands move onto his shoulders then run down his body as I unbutton his shirt and skimmy fingertips over his every ridge and bump.  The silk of my shirt teasingly brushes against this skin and his nipples are protruding as hard as mine.  My fingers tickle along his V line feeling prominence of the outline of his toned physique and this turns me on, soaking my already dripping core with even more desire for him.

I spin his office chair around. Undoing the button, I pull his zipper down carefully as it seems he is commando underneath today and then hook my fingers inside his jeans and peel them down his legs.  He raises his hips to assist in their removal. With one final tug they are off but I fly backwards falling back on my arse as it hits the black leather couch with a squeak.  Harry throws his head back letting out the most cute hyena like chuckle whilst I simply sit there pouting with his jeans held aloft in my hand. He is off the chair as fast a whippet out the stalls and straddling me before I know it, tickling my sides and laughing through light puckered kisses as his smiles that cover my skin raise goosebumps from his teasing amusement.

He slides my blouse off my shoulders and down my arms and unclasps my bra then wraps his arms around me and lifts and turns me to lay down on the couch.  He hovers over me as his tongue explores downwards.  His teeth nip and suck at one nipple whilst rubbing the other through his thumb and index finger.

"Your nipples are as erect as my cock."  He juts his pelvis purposesly into me and I feel his engorged hardness against my thigh.  "This is your wonderful doing but it's all for you."  A deep suggestive growl emanates from his throat.

"I need you inside me Harry."  I wrap my legs around his torso crossing my feet at the back.
He holds my head in between his hands and rubs his nose against mine.  "You are so beautiful Roman."

I can feel his huge cock eager now rubbing up against my entrance as he begins to rock over me.

"Inside of me Harry, please now." I pant in anticipation.

He looks intensely at me and skims his lips over mine then he stops and pushes gently into me holding himself there unmoving.  The delicious stretch is incredible as his soft skin grazes against my walls. I cry out as he begins to move, slowly at first then gradually thrusting harder.  He never takes his eyes from mine.  My hands lay flat on his back at his shoulders as I regulate his movements over me.  I can feel his muscles flexing in my hands and he ducks down to suck and kiss on my lips and neck.

"You feel so good to me baby, so tight and so wet, are you ok?"

"Yes, yes it feels amazing, so amazing."

I throw my head back and dig my nails into his skin pulling on his shoulders and he knows I am close.  As he pushes further into me he raises himself up on one hand for better leverage and with one final massive thrust he pushes me over the edge with him and we both spiral down into our ecstasy mumbling unintelligible words against each other's open mouths. 

-*-

Two Days Later......

"Welcome, come in and take a seat.  How are you?

"Hello, yes okay thanks."  I twiddle with my fingers because the blandness of this room makes me nervous.  You would think charging the hourly rate they do to reveal your inner most private thoughts they could at least make the environment aesthetically calming.
"Well we normally start with a recap of what we discussed last week and then talk about your week and move on from there."

"Yes ok, that's right."  So in other words you are double charging me because a quarter of our session will be to recap last week.  Jeez, I am in the wrong business here.

"You told me that before you were born your brother drowned when he was two years old.  When your mother fell pregnant with you your father wanted her to get an abortion but your mother refused.  Consequently your father never really accepted you and made no bones about hiding it from you or anyone else."

"Yes, that's right. I mean he gave me a boys name for God's sake."

"He was strict, almost rigid in your upbringing. Your words were 'everything has a place and everything in its place.' There was never a time you remember when anything wasn't planned to the minutest detail and that bothered you. You left home at sixteen or to use your words you ran away. You rebelled. You never saw him again but after you father died two months ago you feel guilty for not seeing him and you regret not confronting him."

"Yes."  Wow it took her two sessions to get all that out of me and five minutes to sum it all up. Great.

"Roman, I understand your regret at not having had a conversation with your father to find the closure you so desperately need but he is gone and so that time has now passed."
"Indeed it has." There isn't really anything else to say on the matter.

"Perhaps you need to turn your attention to the positive role models in your life. You spoke so fondly about your mother who I sense is a strong and encouraging influence for you. You said she made up with double love what your father lacked. You also stated that your Uncle was like a surrogate father to you and thought his brother's behaviour towards you was despicable and told him so on numerous occasions. Your English master was the one who saw your literary potential and encouraged you to write, he saw your creativity. These are all positive influences in your life Roman, don't underestimate the importance of them."

"No, no I shouldn't you are right." She is right and I've never looked at it that way before.
"You said you often feel your life is unhappy and uneventful and nothing seems to give you pleasure or joy."

"Yes and I feel guilty about that because I lead a great life.  I get to spend time alone and be creative with writing then I get to take that creativity around the world and share it with new and interesting people.  I feel selfish to say my life is a drudge."  I answer honestly.
"Everyone goes through periods of turmoil Roman whatever their lifestyle but we spoke last week about the importance of bringing spontaneity back into your life to keep things alive and fresh and to counterbalance the drudge.  We came up with a list didn't we, perhaps last-minute tickets to the theatre or impromptu meal out, something totally unplanned.  How did you get on?"

I don't answer her, I just smile.

"Ok, well you are smiling which is something I haven't seen you do since we started our sessions.  You don't have to tell me what it was but just tell me how it made you feel."
"Naughty, alive, rebellious, dirty, free, happy, loved."

"Well those are an incredible array of feelings.  Positive feelings."

She turns away from me to address the other person in the room.  The one person who has always loved me, is always there for me and always has been. The person whose loving hand clasps mine.

"It must be wonderful to see your wife smile again Harry."

"Yes, yes it is, absolutely!"