The Birthday Present

By: Anni Re

Earlier in the week, he received a letter, written in her small elegant script, and scented with her perfume. It told him that on Saturday night he should drive out to the address that was written at the bottom of the stationary paper. As he read it he wondered why she didn't just send him a text message, or better yet, come and see him in person. The idea of writing a letter, especially on stationary, seemed archaic and curious for her to do, especially since she grew up in the era of e-mail and cell phones. Never the less, the letter was folded up on his dash as he drove his car to the place she desired. With a twist of his fingers, the air-conditioning circulated her perfume about the interior. He breathed it in, as well as the scent that hid under it: the faux fruity smell of her conditioner that caught sometimes underneath her fingernails, the compact powder of the pad of her thumb, and the general aroma of a dusty old bedroom, and sweet tea.

He flipped on his headlights because the law required him and the street lamps that were few and far between had completely disappeared. In the twin beams of light he saw a billboard advertising beach houses for rent at the end of a drive on beach that he had just driven onto. For a moment, his lips turned down into a scowl as he imagined the gritty, wet sand being spat up from his tires onto his car, but the drive was short and smooth. It ended with him rounding a dune and seeing a bungalow hugging the ocean, its surf lapping against its wooden foundation. By day, the house would have had a shell pink color, but at night, it was stained with the colors of midnight and moonbeams reflecting off the tide, a blush in the dark. The large bay windows were thrown wide, edges of sheer white curtains periodically poking out. The door was also open, held there by a chunk of dead coral for a doorstop.

Smoothly he stepped out of the car. With the clap of his door closing there came an accompanying clap of thunder. He tilted his head skyward and saw the thunderheads roll amongst themselves. The sea swelled with anticipation. He didn't mind though thunder excited him. Over his shoulder he clicked the button on his key, the lights flashing as the door locked. In that brief moment he saw illuminated on the sand an arrow made out of stones and seashells pointing in the direction of the stairs that lead up to the house. He smiled to himself, slipping the keys into his pocket, before stepping up to his marker and onto the porch.

The piece of coral grinded across the wood drawing a thin line in the paint when he closed the door. He pulled his shoes off with his toes to quiet his entrance and padded across the floorboards. Peony petals were scattered in the front hall with small candles decorating the tables. They brushed about his ankles as he walked over the wooden floor through the sitting room and to the bedroom in the back of the house. The white, windowed, double doors to the bedroom were closed, the peony petals collected in a pink puddle at its base. He wrapped his hands around the brass handles and pulled parting the doors smoothly and silently and in a flurry of pink.

The room was dark, save for the candles that dotted its perimeter. The windows were thrown open, the sheer curtains gathering wind. Outside he could see the tempestuous ocean playing with moonbeams and lightning bolts.

"Hello, my lover."

He turned his head. To his left, framed between two end tables, was a bed. The bed had dark posts of wood spiraling towards the ceiling and ending in a pear shaped knob. The sheets were stripped and stowed out of sight, leaving the crisp white mattress sheet and the woman that lay on top of that. He swallowed. His lover was nude, her clothes sent away with the sheets. Her blonde hair was curled; he could smell the burnt ends. Yet, it was gelled to keep the humidity in check, and the substance added a tangy, tropical flavor to her scent. Her arms were extended above her, exposing her breasts, wrists crossed, her French tipped fingers slightly curled. Her index finger curled more, then uncurled, beckoning him forward.

He walked over to the bed and, smiling softly as he did, sat down on it. He noticed now that there were two things on her body before concealed in the shadows: the necklace of pink sapphires he gave her last Christmas, and a red ribbon wrapped around her hips. The corner of his lip turned up, exposing a portion of his teeth.

She reached up and laced her fingers into his hair, stroking it. "Happy Birthday."

He cocked his had a little, "How did you know?" he asked, softly caressing the side of her face.

She smiled coyly up at him. "I have my ways," she said. Placing her hands on his shoulder, her fingers dipping underneath the cotton fibers, she raised herself off the bed, her glossed lips passing its candy colored shine onto his.

He felt her fingers flutter over the stubble on his face. He brought up his hand and in a long stroke caressed her side, drawing her deeper into his jaw. His lover to his lip into her mouth and sucked on it, her tongue flicking out and lapping at the underside of his lip. The hand that was on her hip came up and circled the base of her breast, ascending in slow circles until he reached its rosy summit. She gasped, her jaw dropping so that the tops of her teeth touched his chin, and he pulled away from her mouth, enjoying the face of her pleasure. His fingers straddled the peak of her breast and he bent over and suckled her till it became pert under his ministrations. When he was satisfied he drew himself back up to her mouth, still rolling the pebble under his palm.

She breathed heavily against his skin, falling back into the pillows pulling him completely onto the mattress. She pulled his shirt off and tossed it to the floor. She felt on her own skin his hand traverse from her torso downwards. When his hand reached the silk of the ribbon she wrapped her hand around his wrist. His head snapped to her face, his eyes smoldering with a possessive frustration. She soothed his eyes by caressing his brow. "You must unwrap your present before you can enjoy it."

Her lover let out a long breath as she slowly released his hand, her fingers lingering a little on his skin. He wrapped his fingers in the crimson material, rolling it around his digit until it reached the knot. Then, in a sharp jerk he yanked it off of her, folded it in his hands and pushed his lover into the headboard, tying her hands to the post.

She twisted in her bindings but seemed happy that she couldn't escape. Excitement at his aggressiveness was reflected in her eyes. He hovered over her on his hands and knees and, too impatient to stimulate her, stuck two fingers into his mouth to wet them then dug deep in between her legs. His lover let out a deep moan. Her creamy thighs tensed and soles of her feet pressed into the mattress while her back arched off of it into his chest. He continued to play in her moistened folds, subtly humping her hip, peppering her face as it thrashed about with light kisses. Then his fingers struck the pearl and she convulsed into him as she rolled it in his fingers. With a cry, she came on his hand.

Gingerly, he withdrew from her holding his hand carefully, less he lose the nectar she had given him. He held his hand up to his face, examining the substance in the moonlight before popping it in his mouth and sucking it. Afterwards, he offered his other finger to the woman that rested on his chest, her hazy eyes staring up at him without really seeing. She opened her mouth and accepted his gift. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensation of her lips and her tongue. After a moment, he pulled his finer away, her teeth grazing over his knuckles in an attempt to keep it. "So selfish," he chuckled, grasping the underside of her jaw and turning it upwards so she would look up at him. "I have a better use for your mouth."

He released her and stood up on his knees, unbuckling his belt. With the help of her knees he slipped out of his pants and underwear, throwing them to his shirt of the floor. One hand held her head and the other held his member at the base and he pressed it into her mouth. He held her head at the base of her skull was she bobbed up and down upon him, ran her smooth and talented tongue across him, tightened her lips, red and swollen from his kisses, around him. He bent his arm at the elbow and braced it up against the wall and his head on that, breathing through the torturous pleasure that she face to him, his legs widening on either side of her, his hips instinctively bucking into her face. He groaned and huffed when her tongue slipped from her mouth to touch the secret places her lips could not reach while his fingers curled into fists. He felt himself swell inside her mouth and tighten within himself, like a coiled spring stretching to its brink.

Sharply, he brought his hand to her face to stop her movement before he lost himself. He sat back on his legs still straddling her pelvis, dragging his hand down the wall and cupping the other side of her face. He kissed her once then his hands feeling their way up her arms began untying her hands from the bedpost. The woman beneath him shifted her head so they were cheek to cheek. Her tongue slipped out of her mouth and licked at the sensitive place behind his ear, sucking on his ear as well. He gasped, reflexively jerking his head and bit at her neck, his fingers freeing her from the bed.

But he did not release her entirely. Instead he used the ribbons to, by her wrists, hoist her up from the mattress and then down in front of him on all fours facing the foot of the bed. He released her and the ribbons, the silk hanging about her arms, and he drug her backside to align with his pelvis. With a huff, her pushed himself into her. They bout lost track of how long he pistoned into her and she jockeyed him. The only telling of the passage of time were the moans, grunts and groans that came from both of them as they writhed about the bed. Her arms grew weak, and she rested her face in her hands, her elbows collapsed beside her. Her mouth hung open, emitting continuous sounds of her pleasure. His hips were wet with her and his nails dug into her skin as he began to lose himself again. He slowed to a languid, lazy movement, then stopped and removed himself.

Carefully he slipped his hands under her and laced his fingers across her stomach pressing his front into her back. He kissed the ridges in her spine before he leaned back and picked her up, depositing her at the head of the bed again. He turned over, cradled in her hips, and kissed her once on the forehead, which was beginning to slump into his shoulder.

"No," he breathed, tilting her head back, "I'm not near done with you yet."

With that said, he hoisted her legs onto his shoulders and he plunged into her again with new gusto. He watched her eyes on her wearied face widen, the light within them revitalized and like an infant she pawed at his tightened face hovering above her. Her legs lacked the strength to say where he placed them and he lacked the will to keep them there. He was too far over the edge to have a paced ascent to the edge. He held onto the headboard arching sharply as he plunged into her with increasing urgency. He screwed his eyes shut and felt her fingers hanging onto his neck. With a ragged gasp he came into her and she sighed at the warmth, rubbing her thumb over his pumping jugular.

She slumped back onto the pillows and he on top of her, his forehead resting between her breasts. She began to play with his hair again. Her gentle strokes coaxed him out of his hiding place and he looked at her, his chin resting on her collarbone. They kissed briefly, yet it held such sweetness and fire.

"I love you," she said.

"I love you."

She settled into his chest and drifted away. He felt her heart beat vibrate in her breast. He stroked her sleeping face remembering exactly how old he was.

Finis