These are the songs that Evetta plays in this chapter:
Prokofiev's Romeo and Juliet - Montagues and Capulets
Concerto in B Minor op. 35 - Oskar Rieding
***
I didn't twist my foot this time; secretly, I'm very proud of that fact.
It's been a few weeks since we went to Trafalgar Square, and Evetta and I spend almost every afternoon together. Usually, she'll come by my house afterwork and just stay with me. Sometimes, she'll spend the night; other times, I'll spend the night at her house.
One thing keeps bothering me, though; I haven't gone back to work. I'm almost afraid to go back, to face it again. I'm afraid of the looks of pity, or disgust, or derision; I'm afraid of the treatment that I'll receive there. What will my secretary think? The groundskeeper? My colleagues? I have no idea what to expect from them, and it scares me more than it should.
More than anything, I feel like a coward; here I have a girlfriend who is as close to perfection as they come, going to work every day to earn a living, and I won't go to work because I'm afraid that the big kids will pick on me.
I'm such a pussy.
I want to be more than that for Evetta. She deserves more than a wuss who can't go back to work and face possible hostility because he misplaced hisfigurative balls somewhere along the line during his fourteen month coma; she deserves a man with a spine, and for her, I'm determined to grow one.
***
I'm at Evetta's house today, and I prefer being here with her; she lives here alone, and it's nice to know that there are no intruders.
Sitting up in her bed, I hear a sound coming from downstairs.
It sounds as if she's... playing the violin. The song sounds familiar; I swear I've heard it somewhere before.
Curiously, I clamber down the stairs to watch her; shes wearing a long, baggy t-shirt, and she's playing in the lounge, her hair wet from being washed, the turquoise ends looking deep aquamarine.
Everything about her is pulling me in; the sound of the violin, her natural scent, the smell of her deodorant, cocoa butter, her body wash and her hair.
Just many different smells combining to form one beautiful, harmonious perfume.
I don't think I'll ever stop saying this; I'm whipped.
On the topic of her hair...
She seems to be very proud of her hair. Thinking back, I can't think of a time at which she wore a wig, or weave, or straightened her hair in any way. The most she ever did in terms of changing the texture, was styling her hair in a fashion she called "chiney bumps", then wearing her hair curly the next day.
Another thing; she doesn't use hair oil, she uses this yellow shit that has the consistency of chocolate pudding, and and some natural "leave in" conditioner (someone needs to start explaining these things to me; if it's conditioner, why thehell would you leave it in?). On the cover, of the yellow pudding-y thing, it says "For Natural Hair". I'm guessing that it's for Afrocentric hair.
I walk up to her, and with a swell of warmth in my heart, I realise that she's using the violin that I bought her.
"What piece was that?" I ask curiously once she's done playing.
"Prokofiev's Romeo and Juliet - Montagues and Capulets."
"Oh. Well, it was amazing."
"Well, I try," she says, giving me a grin, and then turning around to place the violin back in its case. It's only when she turns around to put the violin in it's case on the floor, that I realise that she isn't wearing any shorts under her baggy t-shirt.
She bends over, not bothering to crouch, and I stare, my hard-on growing by the second. Unexpectedly, she looks at me from between her legs, and grins.
"Enjoying the view, Mr. Winters?" she asks casually.
She's teasing me.
"I love it," I reply.
Showing her just how much I love it, I stretch out my hand, and caress her pussy through her panties. She gasps, and then leans back onto my hand.
Well, this escalated really quickly.
I pull back my hand; she turns her head to give me a death glare, but I smile back at her, even though my balls are as blue as the eyeliner she boughtyesterday.
"Next time, if you want more, don't tease me."
And with that, I remove my hand walk off, leaving her just as horny as I am.
***
Evetta has been grovelling for my dick.
She put on jogging pants; not shorts, not yoga pants, butjogging pants.
She's cooked for me, even though I didn't ask; made me her pumpkin soup along with some kind of pasta.
She knows that I don't mind cheese sandwiches.
She baked us brownies; that's just too funny. They probably have weed in them. I giggle at the memory of us getting fucked up over weed brownies.
Then again, Evetta once told me that she wanted to lose her virginity sober.
"Here," she said, handing me a plate of chocolate perfection made from scratch by her, and I was right; no weed. She intends on fuckíng me today.
"Do you want to hear a duet?" asks, her hand over her mouth as she chews a brownie.
"There's only one of us who can play," I state.
"I have the Disklavier, remember? It can record the stuff you play; I'll just use one of my old performances, and play the violin with it," she states, finishing her brownie and going into the en suite bathroom to wash her hands.
"Okay," I say, following her as she leaves the bathroom and walks downstairs, with my plate in my hand.
Once in the lounge, I sit on the piano bench in front of the Disklavier, and she goes for her violin — the one that I bought her — and opens her violin case — stooping this time. She puts the rosin on the bow, then picks up the violin, testing it out to see if it's still tuned.
Then, she goes up to the Disklavier, and presses some buttons on the back; it starts to play a song by itself, the keys moving on their own accord.
Now that I have my memories back, I do remember this happening before; it never stops being both amazing and creepy.
She starts playing the violin, and it sounds beautiful with the piano. It's amazing.
Listening to the piano play, I remember her playing the piano section of this song for me; it's some sort of concerto by Oskar something-another.
Suddenly, I realise that she wants me to remember; that was the day that we shared our first kiss; I swooped in and kissed her as soon as she was done, while she was still sitting on the bench that I am now on.
She's taking this shít too far. That just isn't fair; of course I'm gonna want to cave if she does that.
"Okay, Eve; I get it," I say once she's done, standing up from the piano bench.
"What do you get?" she asks curiously.
"I get it. You're grovelling," I state.
There's this stereotype that claims that people with a skin colour darker than "tan" cannot blush. Well, the people who believe this haven't met Evetta.When Evetta laughs, her entire face turns pink; when she blushes, it's impossible to hide it.
Therefore, when She realises that she's been caught, caramel face becomes tinted with pink.
"What do you mean?" she asks nervously.
"Let me elaborate: you're grovelling for my dick."
Her face becomes deep red, and I have to sink my teeth into my bottom lip to keep myself from laughing.
"I-I-I-you—" she stutters, before I cut her off.
"Why don't you just apologise, and ask for it?" I ask her. I know Evetta, I know exactly what she's doing; I can read her.
I know that she is the kind of person to just come out and ask for something, but she won't do it if she's embarrassed, or feels as if she doesn't have the the upper hand. It's a power thing; Evetta likes power, she likes to feel as if she's in control. If she doesn't, she's not going to ask for it; she's going to get you to offer it.
Suddenly, she looks very uncomfortable.
She puts up her violin and bow, and closes the piano; she's drawing this out.
Finally, she speaks.
"Um... I..."
I look at her expectantly, waiting.
"I'm... sorry for teasing you earlier, and..."
"And?" I ask moving towards her.
"And..." she says, leaning against the piano.
When I'm right in front of her, I put my hand under her shirt and into her pants, and feel her through her panties.
"Just ask, Eve," I whisper in her ear.
"Please..." she whispers back.
"Please what?" I ask.
She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. When she exhales again, I'm surprised to hear her say it so calmly; her voice doesn't shake.
"Please, fùck me, Caleb," she says, looking me dead in the eye. As soon as the words are out of her mouth, her entire body is covered in goosebumps.
My dick is trying to tear through my pants now; it's begging to be released.
It's going to have to wait.
I take off her clothes; first her shirt, then her pants, leaving her only in her panties.
I stick my hand in them, and pinch her clit.
"BOMBOCLAAT! What the fuck, Caleb!" she screams, pushing her hips towards me.
I have to admit, the fact that I made her scream in her native dialect — patois, that's what she calls it — by a simple motion with two fingers pleases me. A lot.
After that I start rubbing her, quickly, and she just starts swearing in both English and patois.
"Fuck. Rass. Fuckín' bomboclaatrassclaat! Bombohole!Bloodclaat! Rass! Shít house! Rass! Shít! Fùck, fück, fúck!Rasshole!"
Goddamn.
I had no idea she'd be such a potty mouth when turned on.
I stop and drag down her panties, and make her sit on the piano bench. She actually looks scared, as if she's completely aware of what I'm about to donext.
I spread her legs, and kneel in front of her.
Not wanting her to fall back, I say to her, "Hold on to my head."
Then, I wrap my lips around her clit.
At first, she just freezes, as if she doesn't know what to do with herself. Then, after the first two seconds, she screams.
She doesn't stop screaming; she just keeps screaming and screaming, and moaning and cursing while thrusting her cunt into my face, as I take turns licking, sucking, and thrusting my tongue into her pussy.
"Oh, rass!" she bawls, the sob breaking from her chest, as her body tenses up... then explodes, her cunt clenching, contracting over and over again. She's holding on to my head for dear life, on the verge of collapsing.
I reach up and put my hand behind her head, and give her a long, sweet kiss.
When I pull back, she's gasping, and she's regained her strength, squirming under my hands on the piano bench.
"You good?"
"Yeah. That was..."
I grin to myself.
"Caleb... I want to fúck you," she whispers, almost sounding desperate.
"Babe, I don't have any condoms."
"I'm using birth control."
How convenient.
"Please Caleb."
I take of my shirt, and she gets up from the stool. I finish stripping, and I turn to look at her.
During that second in which our eyes meet something must be passing through us, because the next thing I know, her legs are around my waist, and she'sup against the wall beside a little section where her guitars are all sitting upright on guitar stands.
"You sure you want to do this?" I ask her.
She looks at me as if I'm an idiot.
"Yes, Caleb," she hisses at me.
Since she's a virgin, I'm sensitive to the fact that this might hurt a little.
"Fast or slow?" I ask her.
She grins at me.
"Fast. My B.O.B. trained me well."
I smile back.
"Well, I hope I'll be able to out-perform him."
She giggles.
"You can certainly try."
Her grin turns into a face of pleasure once I sink the head of my dick into her. I pull it back out, teasing her,
I do it again. And again.
"Caleb," she growls.
"Do you like being teased, Evetta?"
"I'm sorry," she moans when I put the head in again, and growls when I pull it back out.
"Are you really?" I ask her, teasing her again.
"Yes! Yes, I'm sorry! Please, stop teasing me! Please! Ple—"
I sink balls deep into her pussy, and she screams.
"Oh, gad! Oh, gad! Oh, Jesas!"
I keep going, holding her by the waist, giving her firm, solid thrusts that have her losing her shit, squirming, calling out for Jesus, which is funny because last time I checked, Evetta was a heathen.
"Oh, Jesas! 'Sas Crise! Fùck, yes! Oh, bomboclaat, fuck rass."
This feels so... amazing.
After years and years of fucking my fist with baby oil (it actually feels a lot better than lotion; try it) I'm actually getting the real thing.
She's so... wet, and soft, andtight; it feels as if she's sucking me in, as if her pussy is pulling on my cock.
And the way that she'sbehaving; she's so wild. Goddamn.
I look down, and I see her swollen clit, begging for attention; I can almost hear it talking to me.
Caleb, play with me, please!
So I do.
I reach down, and pull it, rolling it between my fingers. She tenses then clenches around my cock and explodes.
"FUCK! Oh fuck, Caleb! Oh,rass!"
I explode too, feeling the familiar experience of an orgasm, but at the same time, it's so different; this is ten times as powerful as any orgasm I'veever had; it makes every other sexual experience meaningless.
I come so hard that, like the pussy I am, I collapse with my girlfriend, almost dropping her and breaking my dïck in the process.
Well, this is embarrassing.
I'm blushing; I know it. At least I can blame it on the fact that I just had sex—
"Your face is so red, you look like a cherry. Don't be embarrassed; it could happen to anyone."
I only feel my face get hotter, and I continue to look down, suddenly finding a birthmark on my abdomen very interesting.
"Hey, Caleb. Cal, baby? Look at me."
I look up and meet her chocolate brown eyes.
"There's nothing wrong with what you just did; it just means that you really enjoyed yourself; my pussy is bomb," she says, giggling.
I have to smile a little at that.
"Besides," she says, "you outperformed my B.O.B. by far."
When she says that, my smile turns into a Cheshire Cat grin.