Mark
The girl was a wonder. A spirited, vivacious little parcel of devilment. It was in her eyes, shining deep, this need awakened within. Her sweet little soul was dancing with mine, her toes poking mine under the dining table as I spooned baked beans onto her plate.
I uncorked a bottle of red and she tilted her head from side to side. “Me and Lizzie usually have it fizzy.”
I choked back a laugh. “This is a fine vintage. I think you’ll like it.” I poured her a glass and she swirled it around and gave it a sniff as though she knew what she was doing.
“Fruity. Smells nice.”
“A great accompaniment for potato waffles, it comes highly recommended.” Her eyes sparkled. “You’re mocking me.”
“I’m loving you, Helen, I’d never mock you.”
Her cheeks blushed red and her lips parted. Magical.
“I’ve never had candlelight waffles before.” She smiled and held up her glass. “Thank you.” “What are we toasting? Candlelight waffles?” I held up my glass.
“To a beautiful Christmas, Helen and Mark,” she said, and suddenly the girl in her was gone again, and a young woman stared at me through pretty dark eyes.
“I’ll toast to that.”
I’d be a liar if I said the meal was the finest I’d ever tasted. It was bland and processed, and entirely unimaginative, but it was worth it to see the enjoyment on Helen’s face.
“What’s your very favourite food?” she asked.
I had to think. “I’m partial to a really decent calamari. When we go to the seaside, I’ll show you.” “When we go to the seaside?”
“I imagine you do want to go, yes?”
She dazzled me with a smile. “Which beach?”
“Anywhere you want.” I paused. “And Aberystwyth, of course.” She took a breath. “You’ll come and visit?”
“If you want me there.”
“You’ll really come?” Her eyes were glistening, and it amazed me. Something so simple yet it seemed to mean so much. “I’ll really come.”
She reached a hand across the table, and I ran my thumb across her knuckles. And then she whispered, so quietly I could barely hear her. “Come with me… for good.”
I nearly choked on my baked beans. “Sorry?”
She regretted it as soon as the words were out of her mouth, I could tell, she shook her head and pulled a face and went back to her dinner. “That was stupid, forget it.”
“We have a deal remember?”
She nodded. “I know. I remember what I promised. I just… I got carried away.”
I squeezed her hand. “I couldn’t leave here. I’ve grown into this place and it’s grown into me.” “And Anna…”
I shook my head. “Not just Anna. It’s the soul of the place, the soul of the land here.” “I understand.”
I hoped so. I took a sip of wine and went for a subject change. “What’s my favourite little artist’s favourite colour?” “No!” she said. “Don’t even make me. That’s like choosing a favourite kid. Not that I’d know.”
I fixed her in a stare. “Maybe you will know, one day. Do you want kids?” She shrugged. “Depends.”
“On what?”
She looked away. “On whether they’re yours.” It sucked the air from my lungs. “Helen…”
She put her cutlery down. “You said to be honest, that I could tell you anything.” “You can.”
“So, that’s my answer.”
“And it’s a beautiful answer, I’m very flattered.”
“I didn’t say it to flatter you. I said it because it’s true. And you aren’t flattered. You’re scared.” “Scared?”
She met my eyes. “Your shoulders are stiff, and your jaw, too.” “And that’s because I’m scared?”
“Isn’t it?”
“Maybe not in the way you assume.”
“Forget it,” she smiled. “It’s another stupid comment. The waffles must be going to my head.”
But I was considering it, and that’s what scared me, not the idea itself, but the fact the idea didn’t seem absurd. I felt ensnared by something out of my control, compelled by some longing stronger than me, stronger than reason and sense and professionalism. It wasn’t loneliness. It wasn’t lust, either. And it wasn’t some fantastical need for escapism, because everything that made my heart pound was all right there, right in front of me.
“I’m not scared that you want that,” I said. “I’m scared because I’m not so sure I don’t.” “What do you mean?”
“I’m over twice your age, Helen. The better man in me still wants to see you leave. That better man wants you to disappear into a better future for yourself.”
“Why is that the better man?” Her eyes quizzed me. “What makes the man who wants to leave me, more noble than the man who cooked me waffles even though he doesn’t like them? Both men are kind, both men want me to be happy, no?”
“Yes, Helen, that’s most definitely the case.”
She shrugged. “Then I like the waffle man much better.” I couldn’t help but smile. “You do, do you?”
She nodded. “So do you. You just seem to want to make yourself feel crappy over it.”
“It’s all for you. I don’t want to see you set your ambitions so low.” My breath was harsh. “You should head for the horizon and chase your dreams and never look back.”
Her pretty eyes darkened. “How do you know my ambitions are low, just because you’re in them? Every dream that’s ever
mattered to me has you in it.” She swigged her wine, and her heel started its tapping. “You don’t understand. Every dream.” “Every dream?”
“I’ve known I wanted you since I was twelve years old.” She looked beyond me to the Christmas tree. “Every place I dreamed of going, you were there. Every future I imagined living, you were there. Every painting I ever displayed in my imagination, I dreamed you would be there, too. Every time I wanted to do well, I imagined you would see me do it. I can’t run far away and chase my dreams, because they are wherever you are. I don’t want to paint if you’re not there to see it. I don’t want to succeed if you’re not there to be proud. And no matter how big my dreams get, or how high the bar gets set, or how big the stage is, none of it means anything to me unless you’re there, too.”
“Helen…”
“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t look at me like that. I get it, I get the one day you’ll know better stuff, and I’m done with it.
People have been telling me my whole life that I don’t know what I want. You’ll get over it, it’s only a stupid crush, that’s fantasy, Helen, fantasy. Get your feet on the ground. Do something other than painting, think about boys your own age, think about real life. And they were wrong, because this is real life, and I’m here with you, and I’m still painting, and I still want the same things I did all those years ago when I first knew I wanted them, so don’t dismiss this as some flaky thing that I’ll grow out of. Because I won’t.” Her eyes were burning hot. “I know what I want. And I’m not a kid anymore.”
“I would never mean to patronise you that way.”
“Nobody ever means to patronise me that way.” She forked waffle into her mouth, and then she sighed. “Do you think I’ll grow out of art?”
I shook my head. “No. Never.”
“Do you think I’ll change my mind about wanting to be an artist?” “No, you have talent, Helen. Real artistic talent.”
“I’ve known I wanted to be an artist since forever. I always just knew.” “I don’t doubt that, Helen.”
“So, I can know what I want to do with the rest of my life, but I can’t know who I want to share it with?” I smiled. “Point taken.”
Her passion flooded my senses, and it was inspiring. She was inspiring. “How old was Anna when you met her?”
The question hit me in the gut harder than I expected. “Anna was nineteen when I met her.” “Do you think she’d still want you now, if she was still here?”
I met her eyes. “Yes.”
“Well, then. Maybe I know what I want, too.” She forked her beans onto her remaining waffle and her hands were shaky. “I can feel how much you loved her, and how talented she was, and how pretty she was.”
“I did love her, and she was talented and beautiful, yes.” “Did you think she should run away and dream bigger?”
The question caught my breath and turned my stomach. “No, Helen, I didn’t think that at all.” “She was only a year older than I am now.”
I laughed a low laugh. “You’re tying me in knots. I’m older than I was when Anna was nineteen, that’s the difference.” “Are you a different man? Do you want different things?”
I weighed up her question. “No. Not in any way that matters.” “So, don’t do it, then.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Don’t do what?”
Her face was so sad. “Don’t cast me away because you think it’s the right thing to do.” She looked at her plate.
“Helen, look at me.” But she didn’t. I waved my fingers until I had her eye. “I’m right here, decorations and waffles and burnt beans. All of it. I’m all in. We’re well beyond the right thing to do.” I held up my hands. “I’ve been reprimanded sufficiently.”
She laughed, but it was nervous. “I didn’t mean to tell you off.”
“You had your points, you made them well. I’m sorry I patronised you. I won’t do it again.” “I’m sorry I ruined your waffles.” She nodded at my plate. “They’ll be cold.”
“I like cold waffles.” I smiled.
“Your nose is getting bigger, Pinocchio.”
“It’s not my nose that’s growing, Helen.” I dropped my cutlery as her eyes widened, and my voice lowered in tone. “Have you finished your dinner?”
She scooped up a final little fork of beans, then nodded. “Thank you, it was lovely.”
I reached for her plate and placed it on mine before I pushed them both to the side. And there was us, in the silence, just a flickering candle between us.
“Show me your breasts, Helen.”
She gave a little gasp, and there was the slightest hesitation, but she slipped off her cardigan and pulled her top off over her head. She unhooked her bra as I watched, and let it drop to the floor beside her chair. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, and she gasped again and couldn’t take her eyes from the candle as I lifted it from its stand. I idled it between my hands, enjoying the way her gaze followed the flame.
“Sit up straight, put your hands behind your head for me.”
She put her hands behind her head and her beautiful little breasts stood proud. I got to my feet, and she gulped, her breasts rising and falling as I made my way around the table. I reached between her legs and she flinched, but my grip was on the chair, turning it to face me.
“Keep your eyes on me.” She nodded.
“Good girl.”
She gave a little whimper as the first splash of wax hit across her breasts. It dripped so beautifully, hardening into a creamy line along the curve of her flesh. And her nipples had hardened too, the sweetest pale pink all puckered and tight. Slowly I decorated her, holding the candle close enough to her skin to make it glow, where the wax would be at its hottest. She squirmed with ragged breaths, but she didn’t move her hands.
“Offer me those sweet tits, Helen. Show me they’re mine.”
And she did. She pulled her shoulders back and stared into my eyes and offered me those gorgeous little tits like a precious gift.
“Ow,” she breathed. “It burns… a nice burn…”
I took her breast in my hand and I squeezed her, pinched until her hard little nipple was rolling between my thumb and forefinger and she was rocking her hips. And then I spilled wax on her, right there as she moaned, and it was beautiful.
I loved the patterns on her skin, the creamy rivers of wax hardening on her soft flesh. Her nipples looked so tender, tight with anticipation of their beautiful punishment, and her face was innocence and devilment in equal measure, nerves and excitement combined. I put the candle aside and unbuttoned her jeans, shimmying them down her legs and onto the floor before I took her knees in my hands and parted them wide.
Her cute little panties were bunched into her slit, and the fabric was damp and cloying. I ran my thumb between the folds and she let out a beautiful moan.
“Such a pretty wet pussy.”
She gasped as my thumb found her clit.
“So sensitive… it’s going to look so beautiful.”
A tiny murmur as she registered my intentions, but her hips rose so willingly for me to pull down her panties. I held them to my nose and took a breath before discarding them, and her scent made my cock jerk in my trousers. I reached for her waist and shunted her forward in her seat, so her ass was balanced on the edge, her feet braced on the floor. I licked my fingers slowly as she watched, then pushed two inside in one strong push. She took them, and groaned, and I fucked her like that, slowly and deeply. Her excitement made my fingers so slick, my movements solid as I angled them to find the right spot. Her breath turned shallow at the sensation, and once she was drifting into the pleasure I picked up the candle.
She flinched as wax splashed the tender skin of her thighs. “Ow…”
“Good girl.”