Room with a View
by Mark Aster

I was sitting on a couch in a room somewhere high up in the
Malinovs' big old castle, slowly becoming aroused.  The
Solstice Orgy was heating up, and sounds of humor and
passion came in through the walls.  In this room, a dozen
or so people sat on the floor or the big couches, talking
and laughing, exchanging meaningful glances, exploring
the borders of each other's desire.  In one corner,
someone with a guitar was leading a group in old bawdy
songs.  On a couch across the room, a tall woman in a
long gown was being undressed by a shaggy brown man
with large hands.  As I watched, he slowly unbuttoned
the front of her dress and pushed it back.  Her body
was long and bare, her skin creamy white.  He squeezed
her breasts in his fingers and she spread her legs.

I got up and walked to the glass doors that led outside.
The night was dark.  I went out onto the balcony.  The air
was surprisingly warm, perhaps from the day's sun-heat
seeping back out of the old stone.  I sat down on a long
wooden bench by the railing and looked out over the quiet
sea.  I was surprised by a breath, and turned, and there
she was at the other end of the seat.

"Oh, hello," I said, "I hope I'm not intruding."

"No, no."  She was small, dark-haired, pretty, in a short
skirt and a sweater that zipped down the front.  Her eyes
were uncertain, shy, but amused.

"Are you enjoying the party?" I asked.

"Yeah, it's great.  I mean..."  We each moved sociably a little
closer on the bench.  "I don't know."

"Your first?" I guessed.

"Mm-hm."  She nodded.  "It's strange, isn't it?  That any of
those people, you could just -- just ask, or just have a dance
or whatever, and then..."

"Go off somewhere and make love?"  I looked where she was
looking, in through the windows into the lighted room.  A
small woman with waist-length blonde hair walked past, her
halter loose over large bobbing breasts.  Beyond her, a couple
stood in each other's arms, pressed tightly together, dancing
to some private music.

"Have sex, anyway," she said.  Her hand was on the railing of
the balcony.  I put out my hand and gently touched the backs of
her fingers.  She sighed.

"Not sure about the love part?" I asked.  She took a deep breath
and put her other hand over my hand, twining her fingers between
mine and now looking out over the ocean.

"Maybe we could pretend?" she said quiety.  I touched her hair
with my other hand and she turned her face to me.  Her eyes were
wide and uncertain, her legs not crossed, feet on the ground,
knees slightly parted.  The sweater was tight across her chest,
and her breasts moved as she breathed.

"I know this girl --" I started.  Her fingers stopped moving in
mine, and she frowned.

"That you do love?"

"I think she loves everyone in the world," I said.

"Oh."  The light from the windows made a deep shadow on her
neck.  "Where is she now?"

I said nothing for a minute, and the sounds of the castle came
out to us as we sat, touching but still, on the seat.

"She's nearby," I said, "Have you heard that little scream,
coming through the walls, that sounds like a tiny perfect
piece of the sky falling down and breaking?"

Her forehead creased.  She said nothing.

"That's her," I finished, "That's her when she comes."

"I'm sorry," the girl said, and her fingers caressed my hand
again, "I'm sorry she's not with you."

"But you're with me," and I brought her face very gently to
mine and kissed her small soft mouth.  She made a low sound
in her throat.  Her breath was sweet and warm.  On the bench,
the sides of our legs touched.  I kissed her again.

"I'm not beautiful," she whispered, her eyes closed.

"You're very beautiful," I said.  I took her head in my hands
and laid it on my shoulder, drawing her into my arms and holding
her.

"Are we pretending?" she asked.  I stroked her back.  Inside,
someone began to groan loudly and rhythmically.  I could hear
my blood in my ears.

She raised her head and, eyes wide open, kissed me hard on the
mouth.  Her lips closed over mine at an odd angle for a moment,
and she licked my teeth uncertainly with her tongue.  Then the
awkwardness dissolved, and our mouths pressed warmly together,
and our tongues met smoothly and wonderfully.  She moaned and
moved one leg up, her thigh over my mine.  I touched her leg;
her skin was cool.  She kissed me again, kissed my mouth,
my cheeks, slow soft kisses like angels; I caressed her head
and breathed her scent.

"You should tell me what you want," I said, my face by her
cheek.  She kissed my ear.

"I want you to tell me what you want," she said.  Her hands
tentatively touched my chest, my sides.

I grinned and bit her neck, holding her body, the outer slopes
of her breasts against my plams.  "Tell me about yourself," I
said, "tell me your dreams and fears, tell me your people, maybe
even your name."

Another silent moment, the surf rolling below, the sounds of
ecstasy from inside.  Then she took me by the ears and kissed
my mouth again, eyes closed, and she spread her legs and came
up into my lap, and as she kissed me she pressed herself against
me, rocking her hips so that her crotch rubbed my swelling penis
and her breasts pushed into my chest.  Her tongue was strong
and insistent, and I wanted very much to have her.

"Did you mean it?" she whispered hotly in my ear, still writhing
in my lap.

"Mean it?" I asked.  Without orders, my hands had slipped down
her body to her thighs, and I stroked her hips and her rear
through her skirt.

"That you -- that I'm beautiful."

"So beautiful," I said, and kissed her, and hugged her body to
me, "so beautiful."  And she moaned and kissed me again, her
fingers twined in my hair.  Then she lifted herself out of my
lap and back onto the bench.

"What I want you to do," she said, one hand toying with the
zipper of her sweater, "what I want you to do is take me into
one of Malinov's little rooms with the bed and the mirror, and
take off all my clothes, and -- and then tell me I'm still
beautiful."

I did.  She was.


Room with a View
by Mark Aster
The End