ANNE BROOKE
Connections
She became aware of the rhythm of her breath as he was kissing her and fucking her gently. This was an easy process - nothing passionate or frantic about it. She leaned back on the printer and he filled the warm space inside her. He stayed there, hardly moving, his body against hers. They weren’t naked though his trousers and pants were round his knees, and her skirt and knickers lay in a heap on the floor. Every now and then she would open her mouth and move forward and he would fill it with his tongue, fixing her at both points of her body so she was anchored at last to something more than herself.
They breathed in unison. In between kissing, they remained silent. She felt as if they were expressing an acceptance, an appreciation of each other. In a simple and practical way. It didn’t feel like sex. Nor did it feel like adultery. Though of course that was what it was for both of them. It was funny too that before this evening she hadn’t felt any particular connection with the man. He was the IT Manager at the medium-sized consultancy where she’d worked as a secretary for nearly a year. Not at all handsome, he was small, stocky and bearded. He could be very abrupt. People in the office tended to be wary of him. She remained neutral, though she admired his bullish determination and logic.
Tonight, however, at the annual office summer party, she’d had a conversation with him. Nothing special: their families; his wife’s love of cashmere; her own worries about her mother. But he’d listened to her and his answers had been thoughtful. In turn, she’d paid him the same measure of respect. Then he’d spoken her name and the two of them had moved calmly through the softly talking groups with their champagne glasses and bright eyes and vanished back into the deserted building together.
There, in the privacy of the secure room archive, they’d removed as much of their clothing as necessary and he’d entered her. She had been surprised to find how receptive she was; she’d been easily able to take him in, even so early in their encounter. It had been the first time she’d experienced this for many years. And so they’d stayed like that for several minutes, the only sound their quiet breathing. Now, she slowly moved her hand until it rested on his bottom, almost afraid even then to chance something so intimate that they would never do in their everyday lives. She smiled to herself. Hadn’t they gone too far already? Odd how it didn’t feel like that.
He gasped but made no reciprocating move. She was glad; she didn’t want him to touch her breasts or caress her in any way with his hands; that was something only her husband did. This was different. More peaceful. Less permanent.
As he kissed her again, she felt him twist inside her and then his harsh panting told her he’d come. She didn’t expect to do so herself so was surprised when, as he slid out of her, her whole body began to shake and a great wave of crimson and gold and green rolled over and through her. She rolled with it, travelling a river all the way to the sea. He held her until her body was still.
Afterwards, they tidied themselves up as best they could and reclaimed their clothing. She congratulated herself on being on the pill even though for her the need for it was waning. He hadn’t used a condom. She hadn’t wanted him to. Besides, it hadn’t been sex, not the way she understood sex to be. It had been a transaction on another level, a different kind of connection.
As they made their way back to the party, she knew it wouldn’t happen again. Something in her had the grace to note a passing sadness, but that was how it should be.
author retains all rights
© 2009
Anne Brooke writes both poetry and prose and is a reviewer for Vulpes Libris. She has an MA in Medieval English and Latin and currently works in Student Care Services at Surrey University.
