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The Man In The Window - II

Tags: diana
Love discovered; love discarded
Nick and Di were the last two diners in Luigi's trattoria, though the patron seemed unconcerned about them remaining so late. He wandered across to their corner table, placed two small glasses in front of them and poured a colourless liquid into each.

"Compliments of the house signora e signore!"

"You always know it's going-home time when Luigi offers you a free Grappa," Di said with a chuckle.

Nick nodded his thanks and took some coins from his pocket to leave as a tip in the saucer with the receipted bill. After downing their Grappa, they said goodnight to Luigi and wandered out. Di linked her arm into Nick's as they sauntered down the cobbled roadway. The lobby of their apartment block was deserted and the elevator door stood open. They stepped inside and the door slid closed silently. Neither of them moved to press the button to ascend. Nick leaned forward, taking Di's head gently between his hands and kissed her tentatively, without passion.

She smiled up at him demurely. "Your place or mine?"

"Yeah, I'd been pondering about that over supper. I suppose, by rights, the correct thing to do - as the man - would be to invite the lady back to my place, wouldn't it? Except, of course, it's not my place."

Di stroked his cheek affectionately. "Let's go to mine, sweetie. It'll be so much easier in the morning with me having to go off to work. You can have a nice lie-in - you'll probably be exhausted." They rode up in the elevator to the fifth floor.

Di's apartment was identical in size to her neighbour Tina's (which Nick had been staying in while its owner was abroad), though altogether differently decorated. The lighting was subdued and colours were all muted shades of grey, with occasional vivid splashes of red or blue from cushions or curtains. The long black leather sofa in the centre of the room faced a wall on which hung a print of Mark Rothko's 'Untitled (Black on Grey)'. Nick approached it with reverence.

"D'you like Rothko?"

"Love him, especially the ones he donated to Tate Modern. I went to see them today. But I've never seen the original of this one."

"Did you know he killed himself soon after he finished this?" Di had now approached Nick and once again slipped her arm through his, resting her head on his shoulder as they studied the picture together.

"Yes, I did."

Di broke the long silence. "Right, sweetie, fix yourself a drink or a coffee and go and read the evening paper while I get out of these things. I'll be back in ten minutes."

The ten minutes turned into twenty. They she re-entered the room, rather hesitantly, and stood in front of the Rothko picture.

In place of her ruched pink dress in the trattoria, Di was now in a striking pink bustier, decorated with clusters of tiny white daisies beneath its padded bust line, red fishnet stockings and pink fluffy slippers. She wore freshly-applied pink gloss lipstick and jade green glitter eye shadow. Her semi-erect cock swung provocatively below her red frilly suspender belt.

"How do I look?"

"Even more amazing than when I first saw you in Luigi's! Can I take you picture?"


Nick clicked his i-phone. Di moved round to the back of the sofa and kissed him softly on the neck. She leaned over and began slowly unbuttoning his shirt, humming to herself as she did so. Then she unzipped his trousers, which he wriggled out of and kicked to the floor. Still crouching behind him, she slid her hand inside the opening of his boxers and withdrew his erect penis.

Looking down from above at his knobhead she exclaimed: "My, my: what have we got here? A most beautiful circumcised cock! You never told me you were cut!"

"I don't think the subject ever came up over supper."

"But that's wonderful. Sweetie, this is our lucky night!"

"How so?"

"Ever tried 'docking'?"

"Can't say I have."

"It's amazing! I promise you it'll blow your mind. Docking, sweetie, is gaydom's 'scissoring'. Know about scissoring?"

"Lesbian fucking. Yes."

She moved onto the sofa beside him, curling up her legs and snuggling close she whispered in his ear: "Well, as you'll no doubt have noticed, Di has a rather broad hood over her knobhead, while you, my sweet, have your foreskin stretched way below your bell end. Soooo, we slip Di's hood over Nick's cock - like a sort of mini-condom - then wank each other off. Always works best with a cut/uncut combination."

Nick silently gazed up at the Rothko, trying to visualise their conjoined penises.

"Only trouble is, it can be pretty messy - loads of jizz everywhere - so we can't do it here on the sofa." She stood up purposefully, holding out her two hands. "Come on, we'll do it in the shower!"

The term' shower' was something of a misnomer as her large bathroom was divided into a conventional space for washbasin, toilet and bidet and an enormous mosaic-tiled showering area, protected by a floor-to-ceiling glass wall. Several showheads projected at angles from the wall and ceiling. Stripping off her undergarments, Di stepped into the showering space and adjusted several chrome control levers, creating fine warm swirling mists of water. She held out her arms, beckoning him in.

"Come and soap me down, darling?"

For several minutes they massaged liquid soap over each others bodies, tenderly exploring the most secret parts. Soon they both had rigid erections and gently touched the tips of their cocks together. Then after rinsing her hands, Di bunched up her foreskin before slipping it over the tip of Nick's throbbing cock, carefully clutching it with the palm of one hand. With her free hand she began to masturbate him with slow regular movements. She nodded down at her penis, inviting him to follow her example. Still she clasped their two cockheads firmly together.

She kissed him open-mouthed, letting her tongue explore the inside of his mouth for the first time. She inhaled his warm breath. Her masturbating movement began to increase in speed and Nick followed suit, sensing that their joint climax was fast approaching.

"Cum for me babe! Shoot your lovely spunk onto my hard cock!"

The words had the desired effect and Nick ejaculated glorious ropes of warm spunk into her hood and onto her hand as she released her grip. Then she followed, cumming equally copiously, their two bodies flooded with streams of warm semen, which washed over their balls and ran down their thighs as they embraced. Di moved her hands down, sensuously smearing their spunk onto their inner thighs. Then their two cocks nuzzled together, like two spent bodies curling up in bed.


Nick cautiously opened one eye, to be confronted by the silhouette of a tall suited man framed against the bright morning light entering the apartment.

"I've left you a cafetier of coffee on the table. And there are croissants in the top cupboard. Just warm them in the microwave."

"What time is it?"

"Nearly 8. 'Fraid I've got to dash, sweetie. Busy day at work today: we're stocktaking."

Nick reached out to take Dae's hand. "You were right. It was mind-blowing, wasn't it?"

Dae leant forward and whispered: "Best ever". He kissed him on the forehead. "Ring me when you get home, won't you?"

Slipping his hand free, Dae straightened up, scooped up his leather satchel and left without even turning round. As the door to the apartment slammed shut, Nick - though still only half-awake - was confused by his lover's abrupt leave-taking.

Four hours later, he was seated in the corner of an empty train carriage as it slowly trundled out of London's drab concrete-grey Euston Station, heading northwards through grey London suburbs. A fine rain brushed the carriage window, distorting images of the dull grey terraced houses, the grey rain-soaked roads and the empty grey pavements.

He plugged his earpieces into his i-phone and scrolled through the music menu in search of an album which matched his melancholic mood. He clicked on Purcell's opera 'Dido & Aeneas' and scrolled down to the final aria: the mournful 'Dido's Lament'. Just as the aria's introduction had finished, he inadvertently brought up the picture of Di, standing alongside the Rothko painting.

When I am laid,
Am laid in earth,
May my wrongs create
No trouble, no trouble in my breast.
Remember me, remember me,
But ah! Forget my fate.

Nick slowly tilted his head forward and began sobbing softly.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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