Arthur Alexander - Emily_s Lips

"Adrian."

"And call me Laura."

"Well, thank you. That's very kind of you. But I couldn't, honestly. You don't even know me, and-"

"Now, now. We'll speak of it again in the morning. Perhaps if the weather has cleared, you'll at least allow me to show you over the grounds?"

"I'd be delighted. But please don't go out of your way."

"Nonsense, my dear. No trouble at all. Do you ride?"

"Well, I used to a little, as a girl… "

"Then it's settled. We'll have a lovely time."

"But I'm sure-"

"You mustn't argue, Emily," Laura interjected. "You have to understand that Adrian enjoys nothing better than showing off."

"Well, yes, it will be ever so nice," and she smiled quite sweetly at her host.

He, in turn, drained his cup, smiled back, and said, "Now, perhaps, I'll show you to your room. You must be tired."

"Yes, I am really. I'd like to go to bed." But on the contrary, she felt quite alive. She seemed light and very warm to herself, floaty almost. Maybe there had been something unusual about the tea. Or more likely it was something about the indolence of the big, quiet house. And the kindness, and the relief. She stood up with a sensation of complete contentment.

"I'll leave y ou in Adrian's hands then," said Laura, rising, "and bid you good night here."

"Thank you so much for the nightgown, and the tea, and, oh, just everything! You've been so kind."

"Enjoy your rest, sweet Emily." The woman kissed her lightly upon the cheek and turned to walk away.

Adrian and Emily followed her out into a dim, imposing entrance hall at the base of the wide stairs where they made their last good nights. Emily watched Laura then open a small door under the staircase, one clearly leading to a basement, and descend. And when the door had opened, the music had swelled in volume.

The size of the house was accentuated by the shadows which waited in the corners.

Emily climbed behind her host, treading silently upon the carpeted steps. Faint illumination only came from small, shaded wall lamps. Adrian offered no communication as they rose, and they encountered no other people. Emily was happy to fall into his mood and employ herself in staring at the dark faces and other reliefs which were carved everywhere into the woodwork.

On the third floor, Adrian led the way down a corridor past several shut doors. He stopped outside one such, pushed it open, reached inside for a light switch, and handed her through into her bedroom. Her heart turned over inside her. It was like walking into a bedroom in a fairy tale. A high, ancient, canopy bed dominated the scene. The floor was thickly carpeted.

A fire was laid ready for the match in a white marble fireplace. Dresser, vanity, writing desk and chair, bed table, armchair before the fire, everything was perfect!

One entire wall was made of a mirror which had dark, golden veins within its depths and gilt chasing across its face. The color scheme was cream and blue, and this was picked out by an admirably chosen Renoir, a portrait of Madam e Monet, which hung in an ornate frame over the mantle. The hot, dusty air of a summer Parisian afternoon seemed to waft through the painting, flowing over the lounging, exquisite creature in her long, blue gown.

Adrian first drew gauzy white curtains across the rain-dark windows and touched a match to the fire. Then he showed Emily the connecting bathroom. "I think you'll find everything you need."

"Oh, Mr. Black! How perfect it all is!"

He smiled at her. "Remember: Adrian."

"Adrian. Yes, I'm sure I'll be very comfortable." She skipped across the room and sat happily upon the bed. "A canopied bed!"

"Only the best for our waif from the rain."

She ran up to him again, flushed and excited by it all, and took his hand in both her own. "Thank you for being so kind."

"It's nothing. Now, don't forget our date for tomorrow. Anytime you wake up."

"I never would forget."

He leaned forward and, rather to her surprise, kissed her quite sensuously upon the mouth. She was too startled to react at first, but then a second later she recognized that she didn't care to stop him after all. It was all so sumptuous. The room, the kiss, everything! She closed her eyes and kissed him back, her hands coming somewhat tentatively to rest on his hips. She leaned further toward him so that the points of her breasts might brush against his jacket. And then he was wishing her goodnight and shutting the door.

She stood bereft for a moment in the middle of the room, not quite knowing what to do. She wasn't certain just what she had expected from kissing him, but this wasn't it. But she was, after all, just a guest here, a chance stranger in trouble upon the road. Ah well. She turned to explore the room.

And what a room it was! If one had to be stranded, this was certainly the place to be stranded in. She had a chance now to look at Mme. Monet and at the several other Impressionist painters who were represented. Their luscious Mediterranean visions seemed to make the room all the, more luminous. Too, the bedside books were that splendid, eclectic accumulation typical of guest rooms and summer homes. And all the while, as she tried each chair, she was conscious of her reflection in the mirror wall. She found it a warm and absorbing narcissism. One eye always looked back upon herself, as she moved about the room, and her gestures grew increasingly deliberate.

She gave the bathroom a functional exam ination. As she sat upon the toilet, she realized that the force of rain and the skin of wind had diminished considerably. A silence began to grow around her. Such an enormous house, yet so still! The flushing toilet was an intrusion. As she walked upon the thick pile back into her bedroom and saw the flickering lights of the fire upon the white ceiling, so deliciously was she cut off from the storm, from the ground, that she was nearly overcome by a swoon. No one knew where she was! She had escaped.

She felt a tendency to weep coming closer. Here, she might surrender herself to despair. It had all come to an end, and still she did not know just why she had driven away so furiously. Poor Arthur. What must he think? Oh, God! But as she began to be overcome by her grief, she noticed herself again in the mirror. A rather tall and quite slim girl with a head of perpetually disarrayed, dark honey hair. And a handsome face. Hardly beautiful, no, no matter how she angled it, not beautiful. But handsome. Unique. And, coming closer to the mirror, she caught a glint of amusement in her eye. Handsome eyes, and a very wide mouth, which now she twitched with a practiced, ironic grin. After all, it was just herself. What point was there in recrimination? She had done it, and she was here, and that was all there was to it. By God. And she grinned at herself again. Way up atop this silent house, alone with a fire. She angled her torso so that, apparently by accident, her astounding breasts were clearly visible. Here she was, all by herself, in this wonderful room, with a cheerful fire and the rain dying outside. Here she was, surrounded by the silence and the luxury, safe, alone. And she winked at herself in the mirror. Already there was a slight hollow in her belly. Perhaps she ought to go and look at the fire. Yes, indeed. How she did adore a fire. Ho hum. Now, let's see.

Let's just stand before the fire and-oh, a stretch! She thrust her arms over her head and raised herself vibrantly upon her tiptoes. But as she did it, she swung slightly so that her reflection might be caught from the corner of one eye. Ah! There's that girl again. And what enormous tits she does have. Yes sir. Quite wonderfully massive breasts. How proud she must be of them! Her emblem, her extraordinary feminity.

And again she chuckled at her audience. Strange, how a fire made her feel. Strange that breasts which were too big, far too big to be aesthetic, could suddenly appear so terrifically erotic. If the truth were known, they were far more a problem than an asset. They made it hard to buy clothes. She had to wear terribly tight bras to enjoy any sort of athletic activity. Until Arthur had bought a waterbed, she had found it too painful to sleep on her stomach. They elicited quite unwanted and usually unpleasant comments from passing men. But now, and she turned back toward the fire, now they hung from her chest with a song. As he raised her hands shyly to cup their weight.