Quiver

Once outside, the view is spectacular, revealing the whole panorama of the city of Sydney. Church spirals butted up against the skyscrapers set in stark relief against the horizon. To the north looms the Bridge, the Opera House nestling like a jewel in a belly button, at its base. Beyond them the harbor shimmers, tantalizing in the summer heat.

“It’s beautiful, like heaven,” he whispers as if he is in church. She smiles and traces a bead of sweat running from his cheek to his lips. As her fingers caress the soft young skin he catches her between his lips, drawing her into his mouth with his teeth and pulling her toward him. He wraps his legs around her. Her heartbeat quickens as she feels the shape of his erection pressing into her skirt. This moment of discovery never fails to astound her.

They roll gently down the slope of the roof. He holds on to her as they turn slowly, the spinning azure sky blending with the red of his shirt, the soft gray of the roof as they turn over and over, arriving at the shallow base of the roofline. He takes his jacket off and spreads it on the tarmac surface. The heat rises up and she can smell the hot tar mixed in with the scent of flowers floating up from the botanical gardens.

He is kneeling—waiting for her. She stands by him, bending slightly in the warm wind, her eyes closed. Without thought. Just the music of the city and the anticipation of his touch. She feels his hands running up her legs, up to her center. With her eyes still closed, she focuses on this sensation, the roar of the cars below and the sound of a plane passing overhead all melting into the tips of his fingers. He strokes the softest part of her skin, the inside of her thighs, drawing tiny circles with his fingertips. She can hardly stand for the sheer pleasure. Slowly he runs his fingers around the edge of her pants, caressing her outer lips and pulling them back a little so that her clitoris is pushed hard against the cloth. She wants him to slip one, two, three fingers into her. She wants his cock. Without saying a word he pushes her tights and pants down to her ankles.

“Please, just stand there for a moment.” She stands exposed, the wind blowing up her skirt, on top of the world, on top of this blind city. To be naked and so close to the thousands of workers hidden behind a multitude of mirrored windows. Prisms of intrigue. A thousand afternoons. A thousand moments like these.

She wonders if they are being watched. She hopes so. The idea empowers her, the danger of it excites her. He lifts her skirt up over her head and helps her out of the rest of her clothes. She is now completely naked.

He takes a rose and traces it across her face, trailing the heavy perfume over her nose and lips, the petals catching the surface of her skin and sending a tingling right down to her groin. He kneels in front of her and runs the rose down the whole length of her body, crushing the juice of the petals as he does so, anointing her with the scent. The aroma, pungent and sweet, rises and overwhelms her for a second. He peels

her open, revealing the mouth of her sex, her clit, which stands erect like a tiny stamen. He touches her, running his fingers across and around, over and over. She quivers, wanting the man, wanting the cock. She sinks to her knees and frantically struggles to free him. He springs, long and erect. She lowers her head and takes him into her mouth. She wants all of him, now.

He pulls away from her and lowers her gently onto his jacket. She lies there pinned, waiting, wanting. He grabs a handful of the roses and showers the petals onto her. They float down falling across her breasts and belly. Watching her face he plays with her, making her gasp with each new caress. Leaning over her, teasing her with his cock, he weaves a path with the tip through the layers of rose petals which fall across her hair, her eyes. She wants him so badly, she’s burning, but still he holds her down, strumming her clit softly, excruciating pleasure. Unable to contain herself she pulls him toward her, kissing him deeply, taking his tongue deeply into her mouth. The rose petals crushed become a slippery layer between them. Her urgency inflames his own as she guides him. Diving into her, skin on skin, the consummation, the ecstasy of him in her, filling her, releasing her. His lips are everywhere, kissing and licking her breasts, biting her ears, her neck. She is lost in her own passion, wanting to take him, to be in control. She throws him over onto his back and rides him, the length of him making her gasp. Disturbed, a flock of pigeons scatter up into the warm air currents, cooing in approval. He quickens his tempo in response to hers until she is unable to discern where her flesh ends and his begins. A ball of pleasure rolls up from the base of her womb and like an avalanche rips through her body. A moment later, triggered by her frenzy, he comes too, his whole body involuntarily jolting as his seed bolts through her.

* * *

“Pretty adventurous for a senior executive,” Edward’s voice booms across the roof. Deidre lifts herself up onto her elbows and scrambles to cover herself. “But not acceptable to company policy. I’ll see you in my office.”

Edward squints in the sun, trying unsuccessfully to retain his dignity as he stumbles across the roof before disappearing onto the fire escape.

“Who was that?”

“My boss. How long do you think he’d been standing there?”

“I don’t know. I was a little distracted.” He kisses her mouth and her damp nipples. She lets herself be lulled for a moment, but, remembering the look on Edward’s face, she stands up and starts pulling on her clothes.

“Go down the fire exit, it will take you directly out onto the street.”

“When do I see you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Tonight. I will be at your house at nine, okay?” He doesn’t wait for her answer, and kisses her before disappearing through the trapdoor. She slips on her shoes and dusts the back of her skirt. A sudden silence engulfs her as a startled pigeon flaps chaotically up toward the sky. Nothing will be the same, she knows that now. Her world, the constructs she has so carefully built around herself, are now rendered irrelevant. Inside the cool, shadowy stairwell she leans against the wall and starts to laugh.

Later that day Edward fired her, claiming that her behavior was untenable and too morally undermining for the company to sustain. Deidre suffered his hypocrisy silently. It was a well-publicized fact that he’d had regular liaisons with his secretary on the very same roof.

Many found it inconceivable that Deidre would suddenly break out sexually like that. Muttering quietly amongst themselves, they put it down to stress or menopause. But, as the weeks passed, her absence grew like a tumor.

Two weeks later Mischa arrived at her house carrying three cheap suitcases and four cartons of old Russian paperbacks. Deidre was amazed at the ease with which she gave up her territory: his guitar was propped up against her desk, his few toiletries balanced against her own on top of the bathroom cabinet, his old leather coat made an unnoticed entry beside her own linen jacket. Even holding his shaving brush gave her a secret thrill.

Time took on its natural cycles. Just before dawn she would wake and watch as Mischa slept, his long lashes curled over his cheeks, the vulnerability of his hands and arms as she lay spooned around him, her hands wrapped around his soft cock.

Three generations of his life shifted and flitted across his face. Child, boy, young man.

She couldn’t believe that he was still in her bed, that this could happen to her so easily after all these years. She kept thinking that at any minute a disaster would occur that would destroy her rapture. If he was late she would sit by the phone terrified that he’d been killed in a car accident or detained under some immigration law he’d contravened without telling her.

Zoe was initially incredulous that Deidre had not only managed to find a boyfriend but had then kept the relationship going. As days became weeks, the initial awe turned to envy. She kept finding fault with Mischa: he’s too young, too foreign, not ambitious enough…the litany went on. As for Mischa, he found Zoe’s attempts at flirtation distasteful and disloyal. But, ever discreet, he maintained a diplomatic silence.

Mischa also understood the importance of seducing the mother as well as the daughter. Ethel found the young man cosmopolitan and dedicated to Deidre, and being an amateur gardener herself would try Mischa’s patience by engaging him in long soliloquies about the correct way to grow magnolias, or how to get rid of black spot on roses. She didn’t care about the age difference between them, herself being of that age where time gives you the benefit of wisdom and tolerance.

“Happiness is so transitory, dear,” she told Deidre. “When you have it, grab it with both hands and hold on tightly.”

Deidre would spend hours in the small walled garden that Mischa had now planted with exotic purple and magenta blossoms. Under his guidance she read the contemporary philosophers and began to explore some of the more recent theories of physics and spirituality.

Sitting there in the shade, the roar of the traffic a distant hum, she’d fall into a reverie watching a caterpillar climbing painstakingly up the stem of a plant. She felt as if the vegetation around her was ripening, swelling in preparation for something. A seed had been sown, but what fruit it was to bear she abandoned to destiny.