The Lover's Children

Chapter 120 – Autumn’s Fury – Part 12

GEORGIE

I’ll buy him the gift.

And I know what he’d like. He told me himself.

Stockings.

Yes, I’ll buy them.

And I’ll wear them for him. Tonight.

A surprise.

Not just the stockings, but the things that go with it: belt and suspenders, bra and panties.

Nothing too gross…

Something pretty…

Tasteful, but sexy.

In the city centre, I head for the store where Borje and I fell out that awful day, but when I get there, I

halt at the window display… Wicked Whispers - 18 Only

It’s so… tacky…

Can I help you, Madam?

Trying things on…

Sniggering behind their hands…

I walk to the door. Walk away again. Walk back.

I can't bring myself to go inside.

Does it matter where I buy it?

No…

Maybe another day…

Little steps…

And I flee for the safety of the nearest department store.

In the lingerie section, I browse acres of satin and lace. At least, the floor display area seems acres

wide. The items of lingerie grow skimpier the more I look at them, obeying some unwritten law that the

less material needed in the manufacture of the item, the higher the price.

Other women roam the aisles with me, some single like me, but often in pairs or with a husband or a

boyfriend in the background, looking bored. One group of young women work as a pack, prowling the

racks and shelving, exchanging laughter and comments.

Some of the colours blister the eye. A girl, barely out of her teens, holds up a teddy in pale peach and

cream against herself. The boyfriend wrinkles his nose, rocking his open hand to and fro. She tries

another, this time in fire-alarm scarlet, edged in black. He flashes brows, giving an enthusiastic nod.

Hmmm…

Not red…

A set in jade green satin, trimmed gold, is very pretty, but wouldn't suit my colouring. Another in blue…

Hmmm…

No.

Stay classic.

Plain black.

There’s plenty to choose from. A bra, lacy and tasteful, matches the belt and panties, laced at the side.

Stockings, again in a sheer charcoal, with a line up the back to suit any Parisian fashion icon, make a

good match.

In the dressing room between those take-you-to-infinity mirrors, I try on the bra and belt, struggling a

little with the catches on the stocking tops. When I decide it's a decent fit, I try the panties too,

struggling a little as I loop the laces into bows.

Then, I take a good look at myself. Sliding hands over my own silhouette.

Hmmm…

Wish I had a bit more at the hip…

And on the boobs…

Still, the under-wiring makes a bit more of what I don't truly have.

Maybe I should try the corset?

The curtain whips aside… "Oh, sorry!” The coat-hanger-laden woman backs off… “Thought you were Content © copyrighted by NôvelDrama.Org.

my daughter. Wrong cubical…" She pauses, looking me up and down. "Looks great. Really suits you."

She winks. "He won't know what's hit him." And she's gone.

Suits me?

Really?

I was doing this for Borje.

But…

As I survey my reflection, something flutters inside. Something warm and…

… and I realize, my breathing has quickened.

Oh… Wow!

*****

BORJE

I turn the key in the lock and push the door open. “Hi…”

Stepping inside, “Georgie?”

My apartment stands empty.

Damn…

Check my messages…

But tapping through, nothing’s come in. Not from her anyway.

Fishing out a bottle of bourbon, I splash into a glass, then, drink in hand, stand by the window, staring

out over the park.

Will she come?

I have to assume she will…

… hope she will…

In the kitchen, I chop onions, drop them into butter in the pan and set them to soften.

She seemed happy enough this morning…

Was it because I had to dash for work?

As the onions turn golden and translucent, I add minced beef, turning the heat up high. Then, laying out

the table, I set soft music playing…

Angle the blinds to filter the light…

Light the candles…

Plump the cushions…

Then, I stand back to judge the effect.

Flames flicker in small glass jars, their light glinting against ice in the wine chiller. The music is a trifle

loud…

Got to be able to talk…

As I turn it down, from the kitchen, the bubble of a heating pan turns to the pop and sizzle of browning

meat. A quickstep back to the hob, and I turn the beef, adding garlic, tomato puree and herbs, stirring

until the mixture blups and burps. Popping on the lid, I delve into my groceries cupboard.

Penne or linguine?

Penne’s easier to eat…

Less of a distraction…

While the sauce simmers, I mix a dressing for the salad, tossing it through green leaves.

Cherry tomatoes…

Cucumber…

Sunflower seeds…

Will she come?

I eye the clock.

She’d have finished an hour ago…

Should be here by now…

… if she’s coming…

… and I hold, ear cocked.

At last…

The sound I was hoping for…

A key turning…

And the click of the lock.

*****

GEORGIE

Borje smiles up from where he’s grinding something onto a salad. The tang of Parmesan zips up my

nose. Garlic and something savoury keep it company.

Setting down the grinder, he swills his hands under the tap, then wiping them on a cloth, ambles

across. A hand on my arm, he kisses me lightly on the cheek. “How are you? You’re later than I

expected. Long day at work?”

“I’m good. And I didn’t go to work.”

“No?” He steps back, looking me up and down. “Nice dress. It suits you well.” He cocks his head. “So…

No work? What have you been doing with your day?”

“I… went shopping. I have something for you. A present.”

Borje arches brows. “Oh? Really?” The smile grows, glowing over his face as he glances around me,

looking for a bag or a package perhaps. "For me?" He glances at my purse. "Ummm?"

"It's not in my purse. It's my outfit."

He looks me up and down, brow furrowed. "It's a lovely outfit, Georgie. A good choice. And you look

lovely in it too. Thank you.”

"Not the dress. It’s um… underneath…" My cheeks heat. But I'm heating inside too.

Still, my mouth and tongue feel fluffy as I hitch up the hem of my skirt, just a little. Enough to reveal the

dark edge of a stocking top.

Borje ducks down, looks… "Georgie? Stockings?"

He moves closer, sliding his palm over my hip, feeling through the fabric of the dress. "Not just

stockings. You’re wearing the belt too."

He cups my cheeks. Stares me in the face. "You did that for me?"

"Yes, when you said… When we quarrelled that time…" The words fall out in a tumble. "I know it's me.

Everyone says the same thing. I don't want to live like I've been. I don't want to lose you."

He rests his forehead against mine. "Nor I, you." His arms fold around me and he presses lips to my

face. “Come and eat.”

*****

In the bedroom, I angle my face to his. Borje opens his mouth over mine, his fingers sliding over my

scalp, tangling into my hair. I’m warm inside. Glowing. But still…

Don’t let me screw it up again…

He breaks from the kiss. "Undress for me," he murmurs, then backs away, perching on the edge of the

bed, eyes crinkling as he watches me.

Sucking moisture into my mouth, I slip open the top button of my blouse, then the next.

Slipping the blouse back from my shoulders, revealing the black satin bra, chosen to make a little more

of my spare breasts. My mouth is still dry, but between my thighs, I'm growing warm and wet.

And it comes to me. The realization.

What I’m doing…

I'm here…

…undressing for…

… exhibiting myself to…

… this man…

The Man I Love…

But he regards me with warmth, and with pleasure, and with that love reflected in his glacial eyes.

Slipping open the clasp of the waistband, I Click-Click the zipper down. The skirt glides over my hips,

then my thighs, before falling to my ankles and I step free. In bra and panties and stockings,

involuntarily, I hunch a little…

Don’t be so damn stupid…

… then lift my chin, pull my shoulders back and look Borje in the eye.

He’s lost the smile, instead, settling into a kind of calm. But his pupils are huge and black, edged by

silver. His chest rises and falls. A fine sheen overlies his skin. He flings his head back, scraping a hand

through his hair.

I hesitate. “Is something wrong?”

His breathing is heavy. “Nothing at all. But your gift is having an effect on me." He gives me a cock-

eyed smile, eye-pointing downward.

"Ah… that kind of an effect?"

"Yes, that kind."

"Would you… like to do something about it?"

"Oh, you have no idea…” He struggles to stand… “But I need to get out of these pants before I strangle

something I shouldn't."

I burst into giggles as, grimacing, he unravels his belt and unbuttons his jeans. He levels a finger at

me… “Don’t go away…” … then vanishes out of the room.

Returning only a minute or so later. He’s wearing a bathrobe and, so far as I can see, nothing else.

Certainly, the robe billows at groin level in a way that suggests my lover is ready for me.

I strike a pose, tilting up my chin. "You like it?"

"I do like it, yes.” He wraps arms around me, reeling me in at the waist. “You look amazing. But I like

even more that you chose to do this for me."

My heart thumps.

He nuzzles into my neck, nibbling and mouthing at me. "Why don't I give you the benefits it brings?"

He's close, very close. Not pressing against me, but even so his groin is hard against my thighs.

“You really like it? I wasn’t sure. The thing is, it doesn’t matter to me what you’re wearing. You always

look good.”

He shrugs. “I’m pleased you think so, but men are visual creatures. I’m no different. I enjoy seeing you

dressed like that.”

“Women are visual too.”

“Of course they are. But to a lesser extent. A man can be ugly, physically speaking, and yet still be

attractive to women. It’s much harder for a woman to achieve that. Not impossible, but much, much

harder.”

He sighs. “Sad but true. We are not only more visual creatures than women. Perhaps we are more

shallow too.”

“I don’t think you’re shallow. Not at all. Some men are, yes. But you can say the same for some

women. I don’t believe that… depth… is defined by gender.”

Borje blinks. “Um… I’d like to continue that discussion sometime, but…” He takes my hand, kissing the

fingers… “… not right now. Come…”

He leads me to the bed and together we lie, our heads resting on the pillow, our faces all but touching.

He cups my cheeks, one side and the other, his lips sliding over mine in the softest of kisses. He barely

even presses, his skin drifting over mine.

Cradling me as we kiss, he caresses me, exploring my body… My waist… My hips… My breasts…

It’s slow and easy. There’s no hurry for anything…

… for anything at all.