Fonding and Permission Ch. 01

"I think she knows a thing or two about joy", said Fernando. "Seriously, I could look at her all night, if she were that generous."

I am lying here listening to two young men admiring my form in Spanish, she thought. To think I'd have expected to hate this ... She couldn't stop the thrill or the laugh that welled up in her throat.

The voice of protest in her had almost died down, but there was still a last serious charge left. Wasn't she being utterly insane, irresponsible? Suppose they took pictures? What about her dignity? She was listening to creepy, objectifying compliments. She should reject any judgement of her body regardless of its flavour. Feminists around the world would be disgusted. But this is my choice, she thought. There's no-one hoodwinking or forcing me. My dignity is untouched ... And so, I notice, is the rest of me ...

"You know, David ... "

"What?"

"Last night, when we were downstairs I wanted to, well ..."

"What?" She thought she could hear the grin in David's voice. Why wasn't he lowering it?

"Ask her, you know, if she felt like a musical evening out or something."

She heard his embarrassed laugh and gasped. Something ballooned in her, swelled until it was almost painful, and she was suddenly worried. Fun or earnest? Light or grave? What do we want? She had seen several mundane traps for her plan to fall into: no-one being there, other balconies being occupied, someone calling at her door, or simply herself chickening out. Luck had steered her clear of them all, but this was off the radar.

"Well, it's not over yet. You've got until tomorrow, Fernando!"

"Well, the evening's pretty much over."

"There's still the night, of course ..."

The other laughed and paused a moment before answering. "I'm not sure she'd be too happy about me knocking on her door right now."

She pictured it at once, his hand moving, the sound of his knuckles rapping on the wood. The film tried to play on, but the tape seemed to split several ways and fizzle out, the ends crackling, sparking. She lay there, wondering what to want and what to do, her body still reeling from what she had just heard, smoky images flaring and fading in the hot darkness behind her eyes.

"You think she's busy?"

"Well ... no" He sounded defensive. "But ... you wouldn't want to be whipped up out of your siesta by some stranger."

She was sure her laugh had been audible this time. "This is not a siesta", she muttered. Her arms were moving impatiently now.

Fuck this fear of being an object --I'm both! The thought raised the hairs on her skin and she trembled, the first word echoing about her mind. She felt herself contract hungrily, her arms moving up across her, found herself stroking her raised thigh and her stomach, then further up, just below where the nightie ended.

"Look."

"Wow ... look at her."

She smiled at the words, and closed her eyes, feeling her hands move, aware of their full power and quivering at the thought of letting them use it. Her. Dare she let it happen, give other presents to their eyes? Let herself go where she had never been? The quiet hum in her had risen to a hornet's buzz, waiting for the next step ... and she lay there, heart thumping, afraid of herself, waiting for her own resolve ...

She knew it had come, when her fingers moved to the shoulder laces, undoing the half-hearted bow knots with delicate purpose, and beginning to pull the covers away ever so softly. Yes, she was really doing this. They found no resistance from her body. When it did move, it was only to help ... arching her back to release the thin material gathered beneath it. She let her arms lay her bare right down to the navel, drawing irregular breaths. She felt her shaking knees rise and the caress of the nightie's hem flowing up her thighs and collecting densely between her legs and her belly.

"Oh my love ..." It was almost a whisper across the atrium.

"Maybe she does like you, Fernando ..."

"Bingo, David", she murmured, still just to herself.

It was working. It really was. She was breathing deeply now, her skin a playground of ants, and she let her fingers wander about it, sending them swarming away in all directions, drawn to their favourite places, begging her hands to follow. She found herself stroking her bare flanks, then exploring upwards, cupping her twin mounds and squeezing their shapes, finding the summits, teasing and pinching and letting them go again ...

"She's really loving it ..."

Yes, I am, she thought. I am loving lying here, half-stripped for you, being my own intimate friend ... And her hands moved back to her navel, sweetly asking to do more, to push the nightie even further down, if you please, waiting for another piece of resolve from her.

Silence rang across the atrium, but she knew they were watching her every move.

Dare she? She shivered and writhed, and finally lifted her torso, let her hands free the nightie from underneath it, and lay back down. Breathing fast, she felt it as a weightless, crumpled heap collected at the top of her angled legs, reaching just far enough towards her stomach to still protect her most sensitive, secret ... the very same one that most ached to be revealed ... and explored ... the anthill ...

"Just watch her ..."

She shook violently, as her arms took hold of the nightie and guided it upwards. She knew the moment when it rose off her sweetest spot with a gentle parting touch to it. She raised it over her knees, let it slither off her shins and feet and heard it land with a little flump on the balcony floor. She was expecting the quiet wolf-whistle this time, and relished it when it came, just as she was opening her legs. Yes, this is all of me. For your eyes, Fernando. David, you need not look away.

"Oh wow ... and look at her chocho ..."

She held out for all of three seconds, then her legs drew together involuntarily. But the damage was done wasn't it, so why not do more of it? And she felt the tension leave them, felt them spread once more, felt the chill and throb of every second that they stayed spread ... You've been wishing my clothes away all week, she thought. It was unmistakable. But you had the decency to keep your distance and silence. So please accept my gratitude. This if for you, gentlemen. Enjoy my gift, while we are undisturbed ...

"She's left it black."

"You didn't see that before?"

"I couldn't get a proper look ... I just love a little hair."

"She's super-hot either way."

"I love it, when it's kept short like this. It's like ... It's like a cute little arrow that says open here ... and it's another thing to touch and kiss. I never get why some men don't like it. She's not a kid any more. That's the whole point, in a way ..."

She thrilled and gaped at the words. She had never expected to learn anything from them. And she couldn't remember feeling this good. A free generosity had taken hold of her. She wanted to give herself to him, them, all the world. Dimly, she wondered whether she'd feel wretched and stupid after this, but she gave that a resounding NO, half ordering herself not to. She would simply refuse to be ashamed. She was out of bounds and not going to let fear spoil this precious chance to explore the wilderness inside her. She knew she stood at the dark, heavy gates to a place of ecstasy she had dreamed about many times. She had often glanced that way during her well-behaved hours, seen the sultry, green hill in the distance, prominent, but shrouded in mist, and wondered whether she'd ever have the courage to find her way there. She had at times wandered in that general direction, but always stopped a few turnings short, undressing by the window for imagined eyes. Well, not just undressing.

But she had known she was heading there tonight, had summoned her courage while alone in her room, had fended off the warnings of a certain, narrow kind of feminism and so much else that was good advice most of the time. All she had to do now was reach out, push the entrance wide open, and go inside ... and a moment later, her right hand had reached out to do just that.

"Can you believe this? ... We've got to stay here."

"I'm not going anywhere ..."

"You think she knows we're watching?"

"She keeps looking this way, doesn't she? And you'd think she'd turn her light off ... it's so bright!"

The brighter the better. Watch me. Keep watching me. She was deep in wonderland now. Her mind had half left her head, slipping away from behind her closed eyes, flowing downwards and spreading into her rarely acknowledged lowlands, collecting in her nylon-teased nipples and all around the waiting cave at the bottom of the valley between her thighs that her fingers were trying to invade.

She was no longer her day-self, a proud head on well-dressed shoulders, noble and presentable. She was a raw animal soul buried in thrust-out breasts and a welcoming pussy. She wanted to offer the sumptuous, naked statue of flesh she lived in to Fernando, be the queen of his pleasure as David looked on. She was ready for him, and opened her eyes to face him.

Look at me ... Keep watching me play. It's all that matters now ... And she heard her own voice, hoarse, breathy and loud. "Mirame ... Mirame!"

"Did you hear that?"

"What did she say?"

"Watch me! Look, she's looking our way now!"

"Your way, I think ... "

"She's getting up --why's she getting up already? ... Hey, what --no, look! She's turning the chair to face us! Look, she's lying down again ... oh my god ..."

"She's facing us full on ..."

"Look, she's letting them spread wide ... she really wants us to see ... God this is so bad and cute."

"I love that foot on the banisters ..."

"I love everything about her ... this is the hottest thing ever."

"Hey --the light's on in the next room. Someone's going to come out!"

"What? Damn it, she's got to get inside! Go inside! GO IN!"

The words had barely registered with her when she heard sound of a handle being turned and the click of the neighbouring balcony door being pulled open roughly. There was a split second of disbelief, panic's wave rearing up. Then it broke all over her and she erupted off the chair, flew inside through her own balcony door, across her room and slammed off the light.

She slumped down on her bed in darkness and swore amply, fighting the shock of the moment, waiting for it to subside. She was safe now, wasn't she? Safe? Shit ... Only a minute ago she hadn't even cared about safety. She had been so free ... she had got so close! That was something at least ... she'd have to make the best of this mess now.

Damn whoever was staying in the next room! Couldn't they have waited another five minutes? She'd been so far up the green hill and they'd just blasted the summit right off ... She thought of Fernando up on the balcony. He'd told her to go in, hadn't he? At least she could be sure he had been a gentleman. Or could she? Maybe they were both high fiving and laughing about her now. She'd probably better laugh it off as a bad job herself. What a ridiculous thing to have attempted. She managed a snort. Something else was trying to get out and she realised she was close to tears. Hell, what a fool she had made of herself!

NO, she thought fiercely. Anyone would have reacted that way. Only an idiot would have kept going ... or someone even more carefree ... well, at least she had been carefree enough to try it. Or idiotic enough. She couldn't have it both ways. Her head was spinning. I did well, she told herself. It's OK. I'm not insane. She felt a single tear in her right eye and reached up to wipe it away with her sleeve, found only the back of her hand and realised she was still naked. Damn, I'm confused, she thought. She laughed, then felt relieved that she was still able to. Naked she was? Well, she would not get dressed just yet.

She looked out of the window, but the light on her balcony made it hard to see beyond it. Surprised at the calm that was now settling on her again, she walked to the balcony door and peeked out through it. Silence all round. Fernando's balcony was deserted, but at least so was the one right next to hers. She stepped to the deckchair without haste, turned off the light and picked the nightie off the balcony. It was just as she walked back inside that she heard the ringing from near her bedside table. Her room telephone had not spoken all week and she needed a moment to understand what she was hearing.

She hurried across the room, her pulse rising, then slowed before picking up the receiver and saying her name. Her heart leaped as she heard him greet her by it.

"This is Fernando ... from room 913."

"Hi Fernando," she said, simply happy to be speaking to him, hoping he could tell.

"There's, er ... something in our room that I think belongs in yours." He sounded tense, doubtful.

"Oh ... what is it?"

"I wanted to show you, if that's OK ...?"

"That's perfect ... perfect."

"Should I come to your room?"

"Er ..." She was suddenly uncertain. "OK. Just give me ten minutes. I'm not quite presentable." She laughed awkwardly, waiting for his reply.

"Oh ... OK. Of course ..." She could hear the disappointment in his voice and his efforts to disguise it. She felt a pang of guilt. "Or would you rather call me back when you're ready?"

"No, no, don't worry" she said. "You can come in ten minutes. If you want to. Room 835."

"OK. Well, see you in a moment."

"See you, Fernando!"

He hung up the receiver frowning. Well, he'd have to go through with it now. Had he been stupid to phone her? It had been a snap decision. Perhaps he should have waited a little longer, given her a little more time to calm down ... He could hardly have expected her to be any more welcoming, yet he couldn't quite block out what she had just implied: that she wanted to face him dressed. Well, of course she did. Anything else would have been staggering. He had no right to expect the amazing just because she had dared to deliver it just now. He could already hardly believe it had happened. Perhaps it was actually better to turn down the heat now, remember what normality was ... But that left the question just what he was meeting her for ... it was going to be difficult. If only there had been more time ...

He looked at the socks and scarf in his hands. It had cost him the best part of two weeks to knit the latter and he was loath to let it go. It was impossible to put so much thought into a thing and then give it away without pain. But he could tell her so, couldn't he? It had a repeating pattern: a bright red band snaking in waves along the middle, separated by cable-stitch from darker violet strips on either side. The outer edges were an intense ultramarine blue. He thought in all his great modesty that it looked spectacular: a river of magma framed by the cold of the ocean. He had made it in the hope that he would one day find someone to give it to.

David had excused himself for a shower, so he left the room without a word. He met no-one as he tiptoed along the dark corridor to the nearest stairwell. His bare feet whispered on the cool tiles of the steps as he descended, before the carpet one floor beneath deadened the sound of their further progress. He counted the room numbers to his left. 833 ... 834 ... 835.

He took a deep breath and rang the bell. An innocent tinkle sounded beyond the door and he waited, his heartbeat throbbing in his ears, the scarf in his hands.

He imagined he could feel her footfall as she approached the door from within, but he could not hear her shoes. Then the light behind the spyhole dimmed, and he stood still to her attention, trying to smile and to guess at her thoughts as she scrutinized his face. Then the door opened, and he gasped.

"Hello, Fernando. Come in ... I hope you had an easy journey?"

She seemed to be steadying her voice with effort. She wore a trembling smile and a deep, radiant blush, through which her eyes shone, but very little beyond that. A transparent piece of nylon hung about her naked body like the ghost of a dress that had long left the Earth. The toes of her bare feet were clenching and unclenching nervously on the sand-coloured carpet. They were back by the ice van.

"Hi ..." he said slowly, awestruck, closing the door. "Oh my goodness, you are beautiful."

"Thank you, Fernando. You are too." She seemed to relax a little and laughed, looking him in the face. He was sure he'd never heard anything sweeter. "I'm so glad you've come ... What did you want to show me?"

"Well ..." he said, spreading the scarf across his hands, trying to deliver his line through the grin that was stretching his cheeks to breaking point. "I saw you out in the cold, so I thought, you know, something to keep you warm ..." And he reached inside his pocket and pulled out the socks. "Including these."

"Hey ..." her voice was soft and slow, as she took the scarf from his hands. "You didn't make that yourself?"

"It took me two weeks ... I've been waiting for the lady to give it to."

"It's wonderful," she said, genuinely touched. "Thank you! That's really nice of you."

"Thank you!" he said. "And these," he added, giving her the socks.

"Oh, yes ..." She smiled. "Maybe you can try them on."

"Me try your socks?"

"Well, not on yourself, obviously ..." And she sat down on her bed, put the scarf at her side, cocked her head and raised her right foot. "Go ahead," she said, smiling.

Slowly, cautiously, as though trying not to wake from his dream, he knelt at her feet, then cradled the one she had lifted for him in his hands and, without thinking, planted a soft kiss on the instep, before withdrawing and pulling the sock gently over it. She offered him the other with a laugh and he gave it the same attention with more patience, watching it shiver and clench under his lips, noticing how she had raised the nightgown's hem to waist height.

"Where do you want to put the scarf?"

"Further up?"

"OK," she whispered, her voice and trembling heavily now. And she lay back on the bed, lifting the nightie's hem well beyond her navel as she did so.

Stunned at her trust in him, he took the scarf and draped it across her naked front, beginning to caress her through it, stroking her stomach with his creation, her flanks, reaching up under the nightie to treat her breasts, feeling her nipples hardening through the cotton. And he bowed his head until his smile was touching hers.

And she parted her lips to respond, kissing, kissing and never telling him that the kiss was her first.

"Keep stroking them," she said eventually, when he raised his head, her voice adrift, eyes closed. "Keep kissing ... it's just ... you're missing somewhere."

"You mean ...?"

"Yes," she said, taking his hand and guiding it downwards. "Open here, Fernando."

And two wondrous hours later her door opened and closed again, leaving her lying in a dizzy peace. And eventually, when it felt easy, she reached for her diary, propped herself up, and began to write.