Author’s Note
I know exactly what I was thinking when I wrote this. So will you, soon.
Listening Notes
Romanticise by Chela
The story
She was tiny. He had always known this, of course. It wasn’t as if she had gone around on stilts. But in the reality of walking behind her this night, the immensity of her smallness was as much of a shock as the cold air in his face as they emerged from the bar into Dublin’s cold night.
Tiny, but big enough and old enough to know her own mind – she’d been very clear on that point as their idle flirting had developed. She was old enough to make her own informed decisions, she had pointed out at length. She was far too old to be asked for ID He had accepted this happily and diverted his attentions to seeking to inform those decisions.
Had she eyes in the back of her head she might have enjoyed his eyes narrowing as he watched her walk just ahead of him. She may have been pleased to catch him gazing with predatory satisfaction at her ass. If she had the ability to read his mind, she might have squirmed delightedly at how he imagined his hands tightly gripping her hips and pulling her featherlight frame onto him. Or she might not. She was lost in her own imaginings.
They walked towards the bus stop. As luck would have it, they headed for the same bus- she a few stops further than him away from the city centre. As they ambled through the thronged Temple Bar toward Nassau Street, she took his arm and vouchsafed one of her imaginings.
“You really like me being small, don’t you?” She asked.
He coughed out a laugh.
“You are tiny. Never had that before. You’re unique.”
“You could lift me up, you know.”
“I’m sure plenty of guys have tried that trick,” he submitted.
“Normally they don’t ask. It’s just something a tall guy tends to do to a small guy, I guess.”
“Does it work?”
“Not so much. I always had a thing about being small so I always resisted. It always seemed like a power thing to me. I’m not Jane and I’ve never felt the need to date Tarzan.”
“I guess it is a power thing. So yes, I could lift you, but if you don’t like it…”
She gathered him in by the elbow.
“I just said you could. I just gave you permission.”
“Jesus. Permission? You have been paying attention.”
“Yes I have. I do hope you have.”
“In what way?”
“I’m coming in to yours for coffee.”
He wanted to laugh, but his pulse quickened and he remembered the conversation from a month or two back. She didn’t drink coffee.
As they approached the end of Temple Bar, he turned to her. “Are you certain?”
“Just decaf. Why not?”
His turn to gather her in a little tighter.
“Right. Nice. By decaf, what do you mean, precisely?”
She didn’t respond. His mind raced ahead of them both.
They walked towards the bus stop and were essentially silent until the 46A arrived to whisk them away to coffee. They both now had the look of the predator – the slightly sinister gaze into the distance, the eyes moving about as they pictured the rest of the night.
They sat on the top deck of the bus, each to their own degree simply contemplating the night ahead. He would have been surprised by the difference in the tone of their thoughts, had he realised how tame he was being.
While he visualised the two of them having sex, she had a clear vision: not exactly being thrown about like a rag doll, but not a million miles distant. While he imagined sliding into her, with a few additional fun extras, she had the clearer vision of how they would take and use one another – and it was neither pretty nor particularly dignified, though it was fun.
He would begin, she thought, rather too slowly. He would be surprised by her determination to eke out of him every jot of satisfaction she could. She thought deeply about how he would undress her- whether she would let him take it all off or whether she’d insist on starting with a no-nonsense urgent fuck. She smiled to herself as she imagined it- her boots still on, her plaid pants and knickers around her ankles, raised over her head, just to work some of the nervous sexual anxiety out of him and make sure round two was a longer stretch. She nodded to herself. Yes, that was a nice idea and a nice surprise. She could be nicely aggressive and shock him a little.
After that, she wouldn’t let him rest. Enough to catch his breath, of course, because he’d need it down there. She trailed off her thoughts as she noticed the strength of her arousal.
“What you thinking about?” She asked.
He turned to her with a mischievous smile. “You don’t want to know,” her replied.
She did.
“Well,” he began, “I was just imagining me picking you up like you’d suggested. I may have a better idea.”
She smirked.
“A better idea than lifting me up against a wall and fucking me until I can’t breathe?”
He flushed at hearing her say it, then tried to regain his composure.
“I wonder what balance we could work out, with me standing up, your legs wrapped around my neck.”
“Ah. You mean something like a sixty-nine while standing? It looks awesome, but it’s nowhere near as comfortable or actually stimulating as you’d think.”
“You’ve tried it?”
“Three times. I’m not five feet tall. Guys think this will work, but it’s very hard work. Also, there’s no view.”
“In the mirror?”
“Oh, in the mirror I agree there’s a great view. But by definition, when you see it in the mirror, nothing’s happening. Just a girl wrapped around a boy.”
“Could be worse.”
“Could be better. Could have better views.”
“Such as?”
“Such as the view of her body bouncing with every thrust of you into her,” she offered. She adopted an embarrassed little smile and looked out the window.
“Or the view of your fingers stroking your nipples as you lick the head of my cock,” he replied, looking straight ahead.
“Hmm. That would be a good view,” she agreed, nodding enthusiastically. A smirk developed between them both.
He indicated that they should prepare to get off the bus, so they snapped out of their own imaginations, stood and walked towards the stairway. As she went ahead of him she told him it was perfectly feasible for them to see both views by the end of the night.
Into the cold night air again, they hurried to his apartment block and into the lobby. While he took his mail from the pigeonhole and called the lift to the second floor, Mary shivered by the lift.
“I hope your heating’s on,” she pleaded, as he rummaged through the small bundle of letters.
“It is. Fucking better be,” he laughed, as the lift arrived. She got in first and they rode the lift to the second floor – he emerged first and unlocked the door to the apartment, to discover that the heating was in fact on, but far too warm.
He directed her to the sitting room and slipped off to do battle with the thermostats. When he arrived to join her, she had opened a bottle of prosecco and was already very efficiently attacking her first glass.
“No need to tell you to make yourself comfortable,” he laughed, as he made his way to the bottle.
“Would you prefer me to be uncomfortable?”
“Not at all. Are you? Should warm up now.” He poured himself a large glass and sat down on the couch laid at a right angle to hers.
“I’m fine. I presume you’re going to take me to bed?”
He sipped his Italian bubbles and nodded. “I want to.” His voice was a low growl and he impressed himself with its tone of certainty.
“Well then. That’s the back end of the timetable sorted. Between then and now, we should probably build up to that.”
He reached on to the table between their sofas and found the remote control for the hifi. With a prayer to the gods of shuffle, he pressed play and his heart fell to hear the opening bars of something dreadfully pretentious she would probably hate.
He needn’t have worried. In truth, her eyes cut holes through her glass as she fixated on the space just ahead of him, lost in her rapidly warming imagination. There was no elegant way to frame it – she had no interest in being wooed, in being won or lowered gently into the warmth of a soft bed. She had that any time she desired it. What she wanted in that moment was much more prosaic.
He watched her sip from the glass and briefly envied the wine as it washed over her tongue and into her throat. He considered switching sofas when she did just that- she stood and moved to sit on his lap. She drained her glass as she draped her left arm over his shoulder. She leaned in and kissed him – a small but firmly pressed kiss, inviting him to kiss her back. Their lips opened and, as their tongues met she emitted a sound which was half laugh, half sigh. She melted into the kiss as he rose to it- toying with her tongue, thrilling in the sensation of her lips against his.
His kissing, she thought, betrayed a welcome anxious hunger, hopefully to be reflected when she finally moved his head to between her legs. They kissed for minutes before she began to feel too much arousal to remain fully clothed. She unbuttoned his shirt without haste and he took the cue, slipping off her cardigan and releasing a button on the neckline of her dress, liberating a zip. As her hands moved slowly across his chest inside his shirt, he lowered the fastener and with one studied fingers-to-thumbs grip undid her black bra. Now she laughed out loud, breaking off the kiss.
“Bloody hell, that was…” she struggled for the word.
“Deft,” he replied, easing the dress from her shoulders and helping her with the straps of the bra. He sat back and drank the sight of her in.
She leaned back too, as much to see his reaction to her curves as to indulge him. A boyish smile in sresponse to her curves gave way to the same just-perceptible smirk of lust – ‘fuck-lust’ she would have called it, as he fixated on her stiff, reddened nipples. She felt a flush of anticipation she normally associated with the seconds before penetration, as he leaned back towards her- taking one breast in his hand, he sucked proprietorially on the almost cherry red nub, his tongue emerging to encompass her areola with soft, lingering licks which moved her to press her chest further into him, in case there was some sensation she was missing.
“The other will get jealous,” she sighed; he switched to the other by way of a string of kisses across her whole chest. He was lost, or so it seemed to her, until he seemed to rediscover his way- sucking hard on her tits in turn, he slipped his free hand down behind the pulled-down dress towards her ass.
She withdrew from his kisses and stood, allowing her dress to fall serendipitously to the floor. Reaching out, he took her by the hips and pulled her close, then slid her tights and her knickers down to her knees- in one further movement he gathered her in, to kiss the upper extremity of the small dark patch of pubic hair. The hair felt soft against his lips, and a scent reminiscent of baby powder mixed amiably with a delicate but certain feminine musk he had often remembered since his teenage years but never replicated since. He gathered her in closer and kissed her mound, straying lower towards her groin. Placing a further string of kisses, he delighted in the sensation when finally his lower lip glanced across a definite wetness.
He must have given out a sigh, but neither of them heard it over hers. She rotated her hips to ease his way towards her most sensitive parts- he pressed his mouth into her and extended his tongue, locating her clit and fixating on it. Even tighter he now pulled her, with eager little flicks across the nub, hearing and feeling with delight her reaction to this opening salvo.
‘Enough of this awkwardness’, he thought, entirely releasing her. He stood beside her and pointed to the sofa.
“Sit down,” he commanded, “and spread your legs wide.”
She could have argued about orders, but when they were so rare and so obviously what she wanted to do anyway, it didn’t seem to matter. She threw herself to the seat and moved her ass to the edge. He dropped to his knees and placed his hands on hers, keeping them apart. Lowering his face to hers for one brief kiss, he felt her tongue sharp as her clit- either a signal or happy coincidence. She had said she didn’t really believe in coincidence, he reminded himself, preferring to believe in the of all things. he determined to test the theory. He linked a series of kisses down her chest briefly and again reacquainted himself with the taste of her lips, which if anything seemed more inviting than before.
Without warning he was in position, his mouth engulfing the stiffened peak of her clitoris, his lips forming a warm wet haven for his tongue and her cunt. Kissing her here and listening to the beginning of her quickening breath, he went to work with almost obsessive aplomb, at once sparing no effort in the stimulation of her moans and whispers- he was entirely selfish in his need to hear her react to him. He would emerge a few times from the soaking centre to slide his tongue down along her slit- but that was for his own satisfaction and did little to deepen her breathing.
One thing which seemed to stop her breathing altogether was this: he placed his hands under her knees and lifted her ass off the sofa, then buried his tongue deep into her, licking as best he could at the walls of her. The second time he delved he was delighted to discover her hands, one holding herself open for him, one frantically rubbing at her clit. He ascended the now soaking face of her cunt to lick her fingers as she did so, half in a gesture of uncontrolled lust, half in a gesture of dismissal. That was his clit to play with for the time being- she could have it back when he was done making her cum.
To that task he set again in earnest. Her pants and agonised whines, along with the movement of her hips bucking into and fucking his mouth, told him all he needed to know about where they were headed. He gripped the tops of her thighs and shook his head against her, transmitting the movement of his whole body through his committed kissing, lapping and wet sucking of her. She continued to grow wetter and he continued to gather up the wetness to gulp the sweet musky juices down. Breathing through his nose, completely seized of every noise, every shift, every vulgar, dirty little move she made, he dismissed the strain and pain on his neck and held his pace until the sound in the room changed.
She wasn’t panting now, nor breathing deeply. She was simply exhaling a low, beautifully toned ‘ohh’. She was still against his mouth, so he continued, almost french-kissing her clit, feeling her tremble now, rather than pressing up against her. She continued with her phrase for a long time, longer than he suspected of her lung capacity. He slowed and responded to her sound, just kissing around her lips, loving the certain knowledge of her orgasm now abating. With one last gentle kiss on her clit, he pulled back and stroked the short but now soaked mass of pubic hair with the back of his left hand, watching her breathe. Her face was a glare at first- as if he’d slapped her rather than licked her to orgasm, but it soon gave way to the wicked little smile he’d been hoping for. She sat up, took his face in her hands and kissed all around his mouth, licking his lips and whispering again and again ‘thank you.’
His neck felt as if it had been disassembled and thrown back together by an amateur torturer. Sitting up fully straight, he rolled it to try straighten out the creases and banish the pain. When the futility of the exercise proved itself, he stood to see her, lying back on the leather sofa, her legs still spread, still in the business of catching her breath. He brought her left leg to her right and sat down beside her.
“Fun?” He asked, ignoring the temptation to wipe his face with his hand. She nodded slowly and said nothing, looking straight ahead. They sat silently for minutes against a background of something powerfully banal the stereo had again picked out, whereupon she suddenly turned to him.
“Be honest,” she said. “That was perfect, wasn’t it?”
He readily agreed.
“I mean – can it actually get any better?” She asked.
He picked up the stereo remote and flicked through some songs.
“I guess the soundtrack could be better,” he replied as he began rolling his neck again.
She put her hand on the remote.
“Honey, there comes a point where you could have the band of the Grenadier and Welsh guards in a play-off with Metallica on the other sofa and I wouldn’t have noticed it. I do hope I wasn’t too loud!.” She looked horrified for a second and slipped back into her post-orgasmic loll. “Fuck it, I don’t care. Perfect.”
He thought for a beat, then turned to face her.
“I think it can be better. I enjoyed that a lot, but I want more.”
“Fully caffeinated?” She grinned.
“Fully caffeinated.”
She exploded in bemused laughter.
“If you consider what you just did to me to be decaf, I worry what you think fully caffeinated is. Did you not just hear me cum?”
He took her by both hands and stood up, urging her to assume the perpendicular. She did, and he bent down to kiss her, whereupon she completed the removal of her dress. That done, she reached forward and undid his belt and with some concentration, his trousers.
They broke off the kiss as she reached out to take hold of his cock, straining slightly against the soft cotton of his trunks. She glided her fingers softly over the contours of his erection towards the head, finding the slippery signs of arousal had penetrated the cloth at his tip.
He pulled her in tight to him, partially to urge her onward, partially to maximise the contrast between tall him and tiny her. She gripped his cock through his trunks and he luxuriated in the sensation.
“Put your arms round my neck,” he whispered, “and hold on.” He leaned forward to enable her: she released his stiffening cock and did as she was asked. He stood up to his full height and took her with him- she dangled briefly until he slipped off his trunks and took a hold of her under around her behind. Hoisting her up, he had time to enjoy the further satisfaction of her legs wrapped around him. He turned and walked them both to the nearest wall, pressing her against it and kissing her much more passionately.
As he lodged her between him and the wall, he dropped his right hand to under her ass, holding her in position. As they continued to kiss, he took hold of his now utterly stiff, pulsing dick and sought to line himself up to thrust finally into her. The position in which she now found herself – firmly held between him and the cold wall, filled her with a sense of happy release. She felt encapsulated, taken, but utterly in control, knowing he was wrapt in her as she was wrapped around him. She felt exposed – if anyone found out about this liaison, she would be the gossip for a month. Her sense of exposure was amplified by the physical sense of openness- her legs wrapped around him had her lips and vulva splayed open in an obscene and hungry gape – the stuff of a pornographer’s dreams. She let go of his shoulders with one arm and dismissed his hand from his shaft- gripping it tightly she placed the head against her entrance and whispered ‘get in me’.
He slightly bent his knees and rotated his hips- the feeling of slight cold and wet on his cock was replaced with the tight hot seal of her cunt. He slid into her slowly, enjoying the sensation of strain as his now enraged head gradually but surely buried inside her. When he was fully inside up to the hilt, he felt the still soaking mound of her hair against him and he dared to open his eyes to look at her face. She seemed to be concentrating as hard as he, until he began to draw himself out- then her expression became a smile.
“Again,” she whispered, closing her eyes. He pulled entirely out, enjoying the feeling of wetness on him- but this time thrust faster, firmer into her. After a few of these tentative, probing thrusts, she again put both her arms around his neck and released slightly her leg-grip, allowing him to increase the speed and depth of his penetration.
He responded as desired, rotating his hips to plunge into and out of her until the sheer effort required began to take its toll and slowed him down.
‘I told you’, she laughed, and unwrapped her legs from him. She walked over to the sofa again and without any prompting, bent over the end, exposing her rear to him and preparing to be filled again. He wasn’t likely to make her wait too long. He approached her from behind and bent his knees to line up with her – he bent entirely over her body and without the encumbrance of his hands, simply thrust hard and fast into her.
Now that was a rush – suddenly, being freed of the load of her round his body, he was entirely released from strain. The lack of resistance and the effete submission to him spurred him to drive himself deeper and more assuredly into her than he had suspected he had capacity for. Her whole body shifted with each drive- it was as much as he could do not to take advantage with jackhammer crashes into her. He wanted her to feel his physical dominance and how he enjoyed it, but not to slip a disk.
That said, the height difference proved an invaluable boon – as he pistoned into her, leaning over her, he was able to bend down to kiss her shoulders and bid her turn her face to him. He whispered to her, into her ear “You like that?”, and she responded with a moaned affirmative. He kissed the corner of her mouth and she responded with a twist of her neck and her tongue made available for him. As they kissed and she lay there exposed to him, allowing him to fuck her, she moaned answers to almost every question he asked.
“Is it sore?”
“No.”
“Can you feel me in you?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want it harder?”
“Harder”
“You like me using your pussy like this?”
No response. He ran his hands down her arms and took her firmly by the wrists, then leaned back, tensing her body into him, her arms like the cables on a bridge. He slowed his thrusts but drove each one home – she turned her head to look back over her body to him.
“I love it”.
“Dirty girl,” he responded. She shook on her wrists to free them – he relinquished his grip and she placed her hands under her breasts.
“But I really like it from the front,” she said. He instantly agreed – he wanted to see her properly. He pulled out and she turned round, positioning herself on the edge of the sofa again- he pointed out that their relative altitudes dictated that wouldn’t work and bade her shift herself back to the table. He followed her across the room with kisses to her shoulder, when suddenly she announced she had a great idea and hopped up on the table, pulling her legs up over her body and exposing herself again, this time if anything more wickedly than before.
He marvelled at her, her pretty face, her petite but perfectly formed body, but particularly the look of challenge in her eyes. It was as if she was daring him again – he hoped it wasn’t daring him to last much longer. He moved up towards her and took her ankles in his hands, holding her legs together. He slipped without guidance gently inside and saw her pretty face in an expression of relaxation he had seen earlier. He watched his cock slide between her dark pink lips and finally let himself go – her legs pressed against his chest, he followed his own rhythm and allowed his instinctive need to fill her govern his movements. He had seen her, studied her, and now he watched her feel him. Her eyes now locked on his, sensing him edge closer to his point of no return – she studied his face and enjoyed the look of concentration.
She moaned for him, urging him onward. She told him to look at her, and she glared at him –
“You better not be holding out on me,” she hissed. “You better be ready to cum for me.”
He immediately developed the anxious expression of a man exactly on the edge of the end – she didn’t feel particularly sorry for him, and she knew he didn’t deserve her pity. Reef ore, no mercy.
“You need to cum in me now,” she said, matter-of-factly, and couldn’t conceal her delight in both his pained look and the sudden uncontrolled shuddering quality to his thrusts. He cried out, a strangled ‘ahh’ followed by the customary groans and shudders of his body as his orgasm shocked its way through his body, through his cock and eventually, powerfully, blasted its way into her. He came in fits and suddenly stopped, breathily withdrawing his slippy shaft from her. She immediately placed her hand under her ass to catch anything seeping from her.
“Good boy. Right inside me. I’ve a bus to catch.”
He stood up in a daze, ensured in his clumsy way that she was alright and went to the kitchen to fetch her some tissues, before disappearing himself to the bathroom. Staring into the mirror, he saw his own age, his lack of shape, the look of exhaustion in his face – and then he heard the door to his apartment open and close. The post-coital tristesse mixed itself with the more solid disappointment of loneliness.
He walked, dejected, back to the living room and sat down, to find a tissue she really should have thrown in the bin and his phone flashing, indicating a text message. He picked it up and smiled again.
‘I had to go to prevent the stupid post coital conversation. And to shower you off me before he gets home. Get another date when she’s away and we can go again. X.’
He opened his calendar.