Girls, Interupted

Author's Note: This story supports my previous longer work, The Patagonian Affair. While this story can be read as a one off, it is part of a larger series. Enjoy.

Canberra - March 2003

It was close to midnight when Camilla's car drove into the visitor's spot in Jeremy's apartment's parking garage. He said that he would stay awake until she arrived, even though she'd told him not to wait. But even if he had already fallen asleep, she would still come and spend the night.

She hadn't intended to leave it so late, but, try as she might, she could not leave the office any earlier. Her impending international conference had been a nightmare to prepare for and, if truth be told, she didn't think she was as ready as she could be. Weeks of preparation were constantly interrupted by minor crises that always seemed to fall disproportionately in her lap. She had once worn her problem-solving skills as a badge of honour, but no longer. She knew now that her ability to get things done was a poison chalice.

And the conference preparation had been more difficult than the last. As always, the stakes of international diplomacy seemed to raise to ever greater heights despite the success of previous meetings. The next one was always the most important; ever. In her more cynical moments, she wondered why people bothered. The world never seemed to become happier or safer, no matter how many agreements were signed.

But that was not her concern. Her job was to support her boss at the conference and be on call 24/7. She would be gone for weeks, the conference only one stop on her worldwide itinerary. She knew that her only chance to relax would be on the flights between destinations. She hadn't said it to anyone else, but she knew that, at the ripe old age of twenty-seven, she was getting too old for her lifestyle.

When she left the office at ten o'clock that night, she still had to go home first and pack. Suits and blouses, knickers and bras, toiletries and medicine, laptops and notebooks. By the time it was all done, her cases were fit to burst, and she hadn't even packed a swimming costume. She'd learnt that international affairs were not the glamour career that Hollywood tried to portray.

When she looked at the clock, it was past eleven and she sighed and slumped her shoulders. A sensible person would call it a night and rest for what she knew would be yet another gruelling ordeal. Multiple time zones, airports, cars, hotels, names to remember, customs and protocols to follow, speeches and presentations to sit though and never a decent night's sleep in between. But Camilla couldn't sleep. She couldn't go to bed and rest until she had said goodbye. Goodbye to Jeremy.

With her suitcases packed, she picked up her go bag and walked out her door. The same bag she'd been taking to Jeremy's flat for the last three something years, replete with everything she needed. Toothbrush, change of clothes, hairdryer, medicine, etc. but with one omission; a nightie. Since they had been together, she had never worn one. Even on the coldest Canberra nights, she had only needed the warmth from his naked body to comfort her. If she felt a chill, she wriggled into his space and he wilfully obliged her with a spooning roll and his arm across her chest. Sometimes she would wake with his warm stiffness pressing into her from behind. She would either smile, then fall back to sleep or turn and let it press into her belly. On those occasions, more often than not, a kiss or a touch would end in drowsy, willing abandon.

But her mission tonight was not just about sex and intimacy. Camilla had not slept well for weeks. She knew she was stressed from work but that something else was disrupting her calm. Her life hadn't changed in any unexpected direction, so she knew it must be part of her routine that was making her unhappy. She audited herself and assessed her well-being, but couldn't understand what might bring her down. When she got to the last item on her list, she paused; reluctant to proceed. The last thing she wanted to do was question her relationship with Jeremy.

Eventually, she bit the bullet and wrote a list of his pros and cons. Unsurprisingly, his list of good points was long: loyal, handsome, understanding, strong, kind, fantastic fuck, etc. On the downside, there was little. Just a few words of frustration, not being able to tell the world about them. But that wasn't it. She stared at the ceiling of her bedroom until the answer hit her. In a word, it was love.

Not an absence of love, for he had proved to her over the years that he did indeed care for her. The problem was that, because of their situation, neither of them had ever asked the other about the future; their future. Did they have one? If not, then what were they doing? Were they just together for convenience and either of them could disappear without a moment's warning? She admitted their situation must be the catalyst for her restlessness. It was no one's fault, but they never had to ask each other; what was next?

It took another restless night for Camilla to realise the answer. She knew the source of her anxiety, but the remedy opened up a new front for her unease. She was in love with him, but was he with her?

Declaring it now was fraught with danger. He was the answer to her prayers, but if he did not reciprocate, then they would have to end it. Three years of friendship, support and compatible body parts would go down the drain in an instant. Yet, if he didn't love her, then what was she doing with him? She would have to start from scratch. And it was the fear of loneliness along with losing him that was driving her to despair.

Yet, she knew that leaving it longer was just as bad as ending it. She needed to know his mind. She wouldn't be able to concentrate on anything else until she knew, so she needed to know before she boarded her flight the next day. She needed to know now.

Climbing the stairs to his floor, Camilla took out his spare key from her bag and unlocked his door. They had agreed to never leave personal items at each other's apartments, lest unexpected eyes accidentally find it and join the dots. It would only take one slip, and their clever deception would come undone. Never a toothbrush, t-shirt or photo remained behind after a visit. But they had made one exception; they traded keys.

With a key, as now, they could easily access each other's apartments. No one else had the same privilege. As long as they kept each other abreast of their plans, they were unlikely to blunder into an unexpected party in each other's flat. The one time either had come close was when Camilla had forgotten about the football finals and almost walked into Jeremy's friend filled apartment. However, the noise coming from inside told her he had company, and she departed without incident.

But she knew that there wasn't any chance of that tonight. The football season was still a few weeks away from beginning and after that she would lose him once a week if his team were on the tv.

As she entered, she could detect a light coming from his bedroom off to her right. She locked the door behind her and announcing her presence, which he acknowledged.

Navigating the table in the centre of the living space, she could see him in bed, sitting upright, bare chested and reading a book. It was still warm enough that he would not wear a t-shirt in bed, nor was it warm enough to require air-conditioning.

She noticed his book was the same one he had been reading occasionally for the last several weeks. It was full of erotic short stories by the same female author. She had been surprised when she first saw the book, as she didn't think he was into that. She didn't kid herself that he was above porn; what man was? But she had never found a magazine or video in his flat the whole time she had known him, so she supposed this was his kink.

"Good story?" She asked as she entered his room.

Looking up, he put the book down and, smiling, said, "Yes, this one is interesting. I think I can guess the outcome, but I'm enjoying the build-up."

Rounding his bed to the far side, Camilla placed her bag on the ground and stepped out of her shoes. He asked her about her day, to which she apologised for taking so long and turning up late. Pulling down her shorts, she grinned as she saw his focus remain on her body.

She wriggled out of her undies next, then lifted her t-shirt above her head. She knew her torso would be on full display as she momentarily lost sight of his eyes, but was not self-conscious. There wasn't an inch of each other's bodies they hadn't seen and explored in their three years together.

With her shirt gone, she was naked, and she raised the doona cover before settling into bed and letting it fall over her. She hadn't bothered with a bra that night. She knew she could get away without one if she really wanted to, but modest and vanity compelled her to wear one in most settings. It used to bother her a little that most women had a larger bust than her, but Jeremy's attention and compliments cured her of that worry. Despite their size, they were perfectly shaped and completed her. At least in his eyes.

They kissed, then she snuggled up to his warmth. Tuning the conversation back to his book, she asked, "Why is the build-up to the story so important? Surely, the end is what you are interested in."

"I used to think so, but in books I've found that the anticipation outweighs the action. It's like going on a date with someone and not knowing if you are going to get lucky. The waiting can be intoxicating."

"But don't you still get a happy ending?" she asked.

"Not with this writer. Rarely is there any sex or implied sex."

Camilla was confused and said so. Jeremy explained that the author's stories were about women becoming unwillingly naked in unexpected ways. They all voluntarily undressed despite their vulnerably and location. None of them were under duress, so the author's skill was coming up with plausible ways to have them become naked.

"Sounds a little far-fetched," Camilla said.

"I suppose, but with any sort of fantasy, there must be some suspension of disbelief. Take science-fiction for example. There is no way for what happens in most of those stories, but we accept it because it is necessary for the story. As long as the author is consistent in their application of the story rules, the mind will accept it."

"And what makes this one so fascinating?" She asked, craning her next to read over his shoulder.

"It's a meta story about an erotic author who is talked into becoming naked herself. She wants a writing contract, but the agent isn't sure she knows what she is writing about. She offers her the contact if she will experience public nudity the way her characters do."

"And does she?"

"I suspect she will," Jeremy replied. "That's what I paid for!"

"And that sort of thing excites you?" She asked. He was about to respond when she cut him off, saying, "Wait, I have a better idea."

Reaching down to his legs, she felt for his shaft to find it was bar tight and standing upright. He closed his eyes and inhaled through his nose at her touch. With a satisfied smile on her face, she pressed her index finger against his tip and slowly stroked him. She ran her finger down the length of his shaft, twirling it around his balls, then back up again. She held him lightly even though she knew that in his hardened state that her tightest squeeze wouldn't even make a dent. The idea of his stiff cock filling her up filled her with desire, and she bit her lip at the thought.

As she continued to stroke him up and down, he rolled his head back and sighed.

She was glad that after so long, such a tiny gesture still made him putty in her hands. Forgetting her own fulfilment, she increased her tempo. The crease on his forehead told her he was close, so she released him and pulled the doona down. His purple head was throbbing, and his shaft twitched in rhythm with his heart, giving the illusion that his cock had a will of its own.

Resuming her task, Camilla felt his lava like heat, wishing it was between her thighs. He gripped the bedsheets as a drop of pre-cum issued forth, signalling his end. As his breathing stopped, she turned from the pained expression on his face to see his scrotum disappear into itself. Just a few tugs more and ropes of hot white seaman spurted onto his stomach and dribbled down onto her fingers and thumb.

She loosed her grip and slowed her stroke as he signed and moaned; the last of his cum dribbling onto her digits and around his cock. Sliding over, she took his head between her lips and licked and squeezed his dying erection. Her attention caused one last hot sticky spurt to fill her mouth that she swallowed before she left him alone. Rolling onto her back, he heard his panting slowing as she placed one sticky finger in her mouth at a time and licked them dry. He kissed her salty lips and, turning off the light; put his arm around her and they fell into a deep and blissful sleep.