Anonymous - Blue Tango

“Do you kiss her?”

“Kiss her?”

I laugh. “Walter, darling, do you kiss Julie? You don't mind if I ask, do you?”

“No, not at all.”

“Then you must tell me.”

“The answer is yes.”

“And what else? If I'm to be your confidante, you must tell me everything.”

He groans. “Everything?”

“Yes, darling, everything. You must tell me everything.”

He finally admits to it. The intimacy that exists between himself and my sister. The kissing. The touching. He blushes as he talks. He stammers. I laugh. “I was right about you. You're a man who mesmerizes women.”

“It's not true.”

“You've mesmerized my sister.”

“Claire, I haven't. It's not like that at all.”

“Do you make her swoon?”

“It's not like that.”

“Then like what? What is it like? Tell me, Walter. Tell me everything. I won't let you refuse. I demand to know everything.”

The truth slowly emerges. The kisses. The fondling of my sister's breasts. She allows him that. Walter stutters. I begin to understand it. She always has him lick her. He licks her until she spends. Then she milks him. She tells him she likes to watch the spurting. She always milks him with her hand.

“Is that enough? Don't you want more than that?”

He groans. How helpless he is. “I… really, Claire, it's not possible to discuss it.”

“Kiss me.”

“What?”

“I said kiss me.”

His eyes are empty. His face moves towards mine. He kisses my lips. The kiss becomes warm. He feels my tongue. I press against him, intrude my tongue between his lips. He murmurs something. His arms enfold me. “Claire, darling…”

“Kiss me again.”

Now the kiss is wet and deep. He groans against my lips. “Good Lord…”

“Don't you like it?”

“I adore it.'

“Poor Walter. You do love Julie, don't you?”

“Yes.”

“Then we should stop this.”

“Claire, please…”

I touch his cheek. I glance down at the front of his trousers and he blushes as I smile. His arousal is evident. He babbles as I gaze at the evidence. How amusing he is. At full stand in his trousers. I tease him. I touch his coat, his waistcoat, the gold chain of his watch.

“Do you like it when Julie touches you?”

He makes a sound of assent.

“Then I shall do it also. You want me to, don't you? You must tell me you want it.”

“Darling…”

I touch him. Tickling touches. My fingers tickling along the length of it through his trousers. He's quite substantial. Substantial enough. Well-proportioned. “Walter, I'm flattered.”

His excitement is intense. “What an amazing woman you are.”

“I think I've astonished you. Have I astonished you, Walter? Yes, I think I have.”

His astonishment is complete in my hand. I feel the heat of it, the throbbing of his tool beneath my fingers. He shudders as I undo the buttons.

“Claire, I…”

“I want to see it.”

“I feel as though I'm betraying Edward.”

“Don't be silly.”

And then I have it. His tool exposed. Pink. Firm. Quivering beneath my fingertips. Walter shudders. I kiss his lips again. I tease him. My fingers tickling. How childish he is. Like a large boy. He takes my free hand and kisses it. His lips upon my fingers. One hand at his lips. The other hand clasping his urgency.

“Tell me about Julie.”

“Julie?”

“What does she do? Does she stroke you like this? Up and down like this?”

I insist that he tell me. I want to know how she fondles him. He mumbles as he tells me. I have him tell me again. He says Julie's caresses drive him mad. He says she teases him until he feels at the brink of madness. When he's with her, it's almost as if she's cast a spell over him. He finds himself completely helpless. I imagine it. I have a complete image of it as I fondle his tool. She strokes him, milks him, toys with him. Then she has him kneeling at her feet. She has him nuzzling, sniffing at her drawers. She has him struggling to get at her. His hands at her drawers. Her sex finally revealed. He cries out as his mouth covers her. He groans as he feeds between her thighs.

“But you like it.”

“I can't help it.”

“Poor darling. My sister is so demanding, isn't she? She ought to be more gentle with you. My poor little darling.”

How sturdy he is. The carriage rolls on. Walter gazes down at my stroking hand.

“It's frightening.”

“Frightening, darling?”

“I keep thinking it's her. But it's not her. It's not Julie.”

Most definitely not. I shall be annoyed at you if you confuse us.”

“Claire, darling…”

“You mustn't think of her. Not now. Oh my, you're almost there, aren't you? Your handkerchief, darling. We don't want to soil your trousers, do we?”

His handkerchief appears. I cover his tool. A moment later he gasps as he spends. A deep groan. My hand continues moving. My fingers gripping him. He calls out as he spurts again. The words are too garbled to make them out.

Julie is uncertain. She sips her tea with a vagueness in her eyes. “I don't know if I want to again. I mean it's not necessary, is it?”

“Not necessary?”

“Well, yes, I suppose it is. I suppose I ought to do what people expect of me.”

“Darling, you must do what makes you happy.”

“I don't have anything. If I had something, I wouldn't. I don't really like it, you know. I don't like being a wife. Not when it's just ordinary. An ordinary marriage. The stupid hours. The dinner parties. I hate dinner parties. John always liked a full calendar of dinner parties.”

“Oh dear.”

“I think you ought to be thankful Edward isn't like that.”

“Yes, I am.”

“I don't know about Walter. Oh yes, I suppose he'd make a decent husband. I suppose I ought to. If he wants me. I suppose I ought to.”

“Julie, he does want you.”

“One wants to be settled.”

“Yes, darling.”

“I should like my own house, my own comforts.”

“Don't you think it would best?”

“I don't know.”

“Darling Julie.”

“You see, I'm not certain of anything. It's awful, isn't it?”

“I do think you ought to marry him.”

“Will I be… happy? There were times when I wasn't quite happy with John. I never told you, did I? Well, one never tells everything. I'm not sure I even knew it. And if I didn't know it, I couldn't tell you, could I?”

“I suppose not.”

“John could be so dull. Men do have the capacity for a monstrous dullness. So completely dull.”

“On occasion.”

“He was so fascinated with the ground as seen from his balloon. But down on the ground, he wasn't much of anything, was he? Is it horrible of me to say that? Down on the ground he wasn't much of anything at all.”

Paris in march was always dreary. I remember the grey afternoons in the drawing room, the clicking of Mother's knitting needles, the rattling of the window panes each time the wind beat against the house. Julie and I liked to sit near the fire and read. One carries the years of habit. Father often had an ill-temper. Mother was snobbish. We relished our silences. Might things have been different under a different spell? One never knows about different spells.

Julie and I often whispered together. We had our confidences. On occasion Mother showed her annoyance with our whispering. Mother refused exclusion from any aspect of life in the house.

Father liked to boast of the important people he knew. Figures in the Assembly. An occasional marquis. He never talked of their indiscretions. Only strangers were guilty of indiscretions. Father did not like to gossip. Mother would press him, but he would maintain his silence. He was a man who kept to his satisfactions. He was a man of long silences.