Waiting For Superman Part Five (Explicit Content)

Henry tells me about his family – his love for them almost tangible, his childhood on Jersey, going away at such a young age to boarding school – which he describes as thoroughly depressing yet one of the most important things he ever did, and about struggling to make it as an actor. He asks about my parents, where I grew up and about my business. We talk about movies we love and laugh at our similar taste in music – from Pearl Jam to The Pearl Fishers and everything in between! He is easy to talk to and I find myself opening up to him; something I haven’t done with anyone apart from Stacey and Craig, since coming to London. I know there are things that I’m hiding, but why burden him with my tale, I think to myself? It wouldn’t be fair for me to unload my baggage that way and it would ruin our day, as surely as a swarm of wasps at a picnic.

We leave the park late, wrapped up in each other. I know I’ve only ever felt this kind of happiness once before and I’m suddenly afraid. I barely know this man, but I’m already far too emotional invested in him for my own good and I’m pretty sure this kind of bliss can’t last. I’ve learned the hard way that this planet can be cruel and damn slippery. It’s hard to stay on your feet and find anything worth fighting for, and if you are one of the lucky ones, then hold on tight as, in an instant, it could all be snatched away from you. I didn’t think I could feel this way again and now, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel. Not wanting the ghosts of the past to mar our perfect day, I push thoughts of Gary and Bettie to the back of my mind, feeling like a traitor to their memories. To be fair, we haven’t got to the “talking about the Exes stage” yet anyway – it would all be a little too morbid for a first date.

I shiver despite the heat and, noticing, Henry pulls me even closer, gently kissing the top of my head.

“You ok?” he asks concerned.

“Sure! Just a little tired from the sun, I suppose. I’ve had a great time. Thank you.”

“Do you want to go home, or, we could go for dinner?” He sounds hopeful; it’s beyond flattering. “I know a great place,” he adds with a grin.

“Dinner sounds good.”

“You sure?”

There really isn’t any need for his puppy dog eyes, but I can’t help the effect they have on me, so I wriggle free of his grip around my shoulders and mock having my arm twisted up behind my back. He laughs, grabbing me swiftly and kisses me again, this time harder and, as he pulls away, he tugs at my bottom lip with his teeth, sending sharp answering wrenches throughout my breasts and groin.

“I seem to recall something about having you on top, Jea,” he murmurs against me, the sensation vibrating through my body, ” I don’t want to be presumptuous but maybe we can discuss it over dinner?”

I mutter something in acquiescence and try to nod and kiss him in return. It’s pointless trying to resist him and the slow anticipation that is mounting is beyond exciting. It seems that Henry feels the same as he grabs my hand and pulls me along with him so that we’re now skipping from the park, both of us grinning and giggling. I have no idea of the time, but the sun has started it’s slow descent in the sky, so I guess it must be early evening. I realise we are taking a different gate out of the park and that Henry is headed toward Greenwich Pier, the imposing twin domes of the Naval College casting impressive architectural shadows on the ground around us. We reach the dock but instead of heading towards the Clipper gangway, Henry pulls me toward a secondary dock that is cordoned off from the other, and I gulp as I see the small but sleek, luxurious yacht moored there. I look at Henry for a second, confused but excited.

“What happened to the bus? I liked the bus.”

“Me too, but, like I said, this is a great place! You’re not scared of water I hope!”

He gives me that shy, lost puppy expression again and I giggle. Are we really heading back to central London on this? I spy the name painted on the stern in cream over navy lettering: “The Rum Diary”. Interesting name for a boat I think. The yacht is bright white and looks to accommodate about forty people, but what do I know? A tall woman in her mid thirties with dark hair steps forward and greets us smartly.

“Hi Henry, Jeanna,” she says shaking hands with us in turn, “Welcome aboard The Rum Diary. I’m Gaynor Trent and I’m your hospitality manager this evening. Our Captain, Harry Andrews, will be taking us out shortly. If there is anything I can do to make your trip more comfortable with us, please, do not hesitate to ask.”

Gaynor is warm, friendly and extremely professional. She leads us up the small steps from the gangway on to the deck and down into the saloon, which is small and panelled with highly-polished cherry wood and navy and cream upholstery. There is music playing softly in the background – Crowded House’s Fall At Your Feet – I think, and on the table are drinks and snacks.

“We have been making our own rum for a little while. It’s pretty good even if I do say so myself and makes for a wicked mojito. Please enjoy with our compliments,” Gaynor says with a smile and leaves the room.

I’m stunned and slightly in awe of all this largesse.

“You certainly know how to show a girl a good time, Mr Cavill. Or should I call you Mr Bond?”

I peek up at him, amused and afraid at once. For all my pretence that we’ve been getting closer over the last so many hours, this yacht, and all it encompasses, only serves as a vivid reminder of the two very different worlds we inhabit. Experiencing a moment of sheer, overwhelmed abandon I blurt out –

“Please don’t tell me this boat is yours!”

“No, it’s not mine. Is it too much? All of this?” Henry looks worried and hurt and I berate myself for my stupid outburst.

“It’s a lot to take in for a first date. But no, it’s not too much. It’s perfect, like everything else.” Like you, I don’t add. Memories of my first date with Gary spring to mind and I push them away. That would be unfair to him, Henry and myself to even try to compare the two.

Henry takes me in his arms and breathes out steadily. He kisses me with a surprising tenderness that leaves me desperate for more. Picking up our mojitos, he takes my hand and we head back up to the deck, just as the engines growl into life beneath our feet. A few minutes later and we are backing out away from the dock and gliding over The Thames. The feeling is exhilarating, and I watch mesmerised as a gull swoops fast and low, skimming gracefully over the water, mirroring the boat’s path through the river. The image of the City before us, shimmering in it’s heat haze and framed by the dying embers of the setting sun is one I’ll never forget. I take a sip of my drink; it’s delicious fruity bite perfectly balanced by the cut of the rum and turn my face up to Henry’s.

“Thank you. This has been the most amazing day.”




The past hour and a half has been magical. We’ve arrived at Chelsea Embankment just as the darkness begins to take hold in that never ending battle for supremacy between night and day and I’m reluctant to say goodbye Gaynor and The Rum Diary. Dinner was the most delicious meal of fillet of beef with a watercress mayonnaise and a leafy green salad, followed by a mango and passion fruit Eton Mess for dessert,  our hunger for something more increasing throughout our meal. By the time we passed under Tower Bridge – spectacularly illuminated and majestic in the night – we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. Leaving the dock, Henry surprises me again by ushering me towards a waiting shiny, black SUV. He speaks quickly to the driver, who I believe is called Steve, and their exchange is mutually respectful and surprisingly friendly.

Steve heads north toward Camden, so I curl up in the back seat and lean into Henry, smelling in his divine scent and wishing this day never had to end. We are both quiet with our thoughts, although Henry’s wandering hands leave me in no doubt as to what is on his mind. Is he going to drop me off at home? What if he asks to come in? Of course I want him to come back with me and a really silly part of me thinks that maybe he has earned it. I snort and Henry looks at me questioningly.

“Nothing. Just thinking about you,” I wink, and he grabs me suddenly, yanking me onto his lap, one hand holding my wrists and the other clasping my jaw. I have a moment to think that maybe Henry doesn’t like to be laughed at, before he kisses my neck leaving all coherent thoughts I may have had to take flight like migrating birds.

“I’ve had a great day, Jea. I’d like to make it a great night too – if you’ll let me.” He nuzzles and bites tenderly and determinedly at my throat and I know I’m going to say yes.

“Uh-huh,” is all I can muster and I feel his answering smile against my skin.

“Do you have anything to drink at home?”

“There’s a can of beer in the fridge, I think.”

“We know where our first stop is then, don’t we?”

He instructs Steve to pull up outside a convenience store and, as it’s only just around the corner from my flat, we decide to walk the rest of the way.

Henry has his arm slung around my shoulders, in his other hand he swings the bag carrying our purchases: popcorn, potato crisps and more beer – the bottles clinking disjointedly. We are laughing and whispering about our day and, as we turn the corner into my street, the night is suddenly ablaze with popping and blinding flashes, shouting and much pushing. Henry is horrified and, shouting my name, grabs my arm pulling me through the mob of photographers. In the ensuing chaos my dress is torn and there is a smash, as the bag Henry is carrying falls to the ground. We reach the doorway and I scramble for my keys, almost fumbling them in the panic, the reporters closing in on us like a pack of rabid dogs. I somehow get the door open and we hurry inside. Henry slams the door emphatically behind us and we’re both panting, the adrenaline and excitement quickly heating my blood and I flatten him against the door. I kiss him like I’ve never kissed anyone before and tug at his hair, his shirt with my hands and his lips with my teeth. Tasting blood I pull away, but Henry is quicker than me. Once again he lifts me up but this time looks at me for where to go.

“Upstairs. First floor,” I say with breathless excitement.

Henry carries me up the stairs quickly, taking two steps at a time. I still have my keys to hand so instruct him to the correct door and somehow manage to put the key in the lock without leaving his arms. He deposits me on my feet and taking the keys from my hand, closes and locks the door behind him. He takes the torn part of my dress between his hands and, with a salacious smile rips it completely from my body, so that I’m standing in my pretty, lacy bra and knickers.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” he says huskily, before dropping to his knees and removing my sandals. He looks up at me, his eyes scorching and overwhelmingly sincere, but there is no hiding from the lust there also, and as he devours me visually, my body responds with answering arousal. I want to savour each second of this life changing experience and try to focus on him and only him.  I am determined to be his everything in this moment and if it is only to be this one time, I will ensure it will be something neither of us will ever forget.

He stands again, careful to not touch me. His hunger is palpable and is makes me feel powerful and unmistakably sexy. To think I could have this effect on him is turning me on immensely. He watches me, almost stalking me with hooded eyes and a slow smile that hints at the slightest of dangers. Two can play at that game Mr Cavill so I purposely give my back to him and gather up my hair.

“Unhook me.”

I smile as I hear his small intake of breath. My body is aching for his touch but at the same time I don’t want it, as I know that it will only cause this to be over too soon. Slow, my mind screams at me. Take it slow.

There is the softest of caresses at the nape of my neck and I almost convulse. His proximity is overwhelming, his scent showering me.  The tenderness with which he strokes me a shock, using just one finger he has me spellbound, softly trailing a perfect path from my hairline down my spine to my shoulder blades and back up again, each time his digit working a little higher into my scalp or along my back. With his other hand, Henry unhooks my bra so that his finger now has complete and unobstructed access to the remainder of my back. His touch travels further, right up through my hair to my crown, causing delicious tremors along my head and shoulders and all the way down through my body to the core of my desire. He follows the shivers down, like tracing raindrops running down a window pane, achingly slowly until he reaches the base of my spine and the erogenous zone above my buttocks. All this time his touch remains tissue soft and my body yearns for more.

As if he comprehends my longing, his single digit becomes fingers and his touch more insistent, yet still gentle, massaging along my spine in long sweeping strokes that send me into paroxysms of desire. With his free hand he tugs at my knickers, softly and slowly easing them over my hips and buttocks so that they drop and spool at my feet. Abruptly the rhythmic torture halts and strong hands take hold of my shoulders.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispers in my left ear.

With his right hand, Henry grasps my chin and tilts my head away so that he has unparalleled vantage to my neck and jaw. He kisses me with tender, trailing nips along my jawline and down my neck making his way leisurely to my nape across the other side and back again. His sweet mouth sketching the same route now that his finger made and every so many kisses he bites gently – not enough to hurt or mark but certainly plenty so that I cry out each time. His lips kiss every inch of my spine, his stubble grazing my over-sensitised skin, each tiny prickle making my nerve endings dance. He works his way down my body, and I close my eyes in the sweet anticipation of what I hope he is about to do, neurons and electrons in mind and body swaying together in a sultry salsa.

The lower down my body his mouth travels, the more I tremble. He is on his knees behind me now and has relinquished my jaw in favour of my wrist. Taking my hand under his he sweeps down quickly over my breasts and I call out again. An unintelligent and involuntary exclamation.

“Tell me where you want me to touch you.”

His head is so close to my backside now that the whisper of his breath across my buttocks has me aflame. The desire I hear in his masculine, sexy voice urging me on to an even higher state of abandon.

I grasp his hands tightly in mine and place both on my breasts.

“My nipples.” I gasp, “Hard.”

He tugs sharply at both of my nipples, massaging and fingering them expertly and I melt, like the last of the winter snow in the February sun, magically and slowly drifting away. He breathes me in deeply, making my knees weak. Oh please!

Without warning his hot and greedy mouth and tongue are hungry at my wetness as he licks me from tailbone to clitoris and back. He lingers at my most intimate parts and laps rhythmically at that powerhouse of nerves at the join of my legs, whilst intermittently flicking his tongue in and out, in and out. I throw my head back and moan and feel the rigidity seep from my knees. Sensations energise me from within, synapses splintering in cosmic confusion, the organised chaos building inside me, as I struggle to control my body’s inevitable reaction. Sensing I am close, he stills, shushing me and massages my breasts slowly. He bites my left cheek and kisses every inch of my exposed derriere. He pushes my back forward firmly so that I am bent over, giving his tongue unparalleled access to my sex and thrusting my breasts in to his Svengali hands. I hear and feel his moan of appreciation and grind myself against him. He responds with even more enthusiastic licking, sucking and biting than before and I am climbing again, yearning for a release that I know will soon come crashing down on me, like a lone surfer about to drop off a devastating, giant wave at the edge of the earth. His tongue flexes generously, adding to my substantial wetness and he gently slides a finger in and out of me. One digit becomes two, his thumb slipping gently into my most private and taboo part and I come gloriously, wetly and loudly, over and over again into his avaricious mouth.

My shoulders sag and as I slowly come back to reality, I start to giggle. Oh please, not now, I think desperately. The more I try to get myself under control, the more the mirth overcomes me. I clamp a hand to my mouth and nervously look at Henry. He’s still on his knees, looking rather pleased with himself, yet confused at my hilarity. I’m drawn to the glisten on his lips, a shining wet and proud trophy of my arousal. Still trying to get a grip on myself, I lean down and kiss him roughly, tasting me and it only makes me giggle even harder.

“I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you, honest.” I say between kisses and, grabbing him by the hair and shoulders, drag him to his feet.

“You laugh when you come?” Henry asks me incredulously.

“Err, yeah. Sometimes. Only when it’s really nice,” I answer, haltingly. I’m suddenly and unaccountably shy, which is ridiculous considering what he’s just done to me.

“Really?” His eyes are wide and disbelieving. There is something else there too that suggests he is enjoying watching me squirm.

“Yes. Really.”

He grabs me again, his assault on my lips almost violent and disarming. He cups my face in both hands, his kiss exploring my mouth with his lips, teeth and tongue, and we move from the door further into the room. I lift the hem of his t-shirt up and over and in one smooth motion exposing his bare chest, the muscles defined and sculpted, the dense, curly hair forming an almost perfect v down toward his groin. I take a step back to fully appreciate him and moan softly at his perfection. Smoothing my hand down through the curls and over the planes and valleys of his chest and hard stomach, I stop as I reach the waistband of his jeans. Taking his hand, I lead him through the flat into my bedroom and, once inside, I push him roughly on to the bed. He smiles in surprise I think and leans back as I sink to my knees next to the bed. I crawl towards him and slowly make my way up his jeans until I reach his belt buckle. Taking it between teeth and hands, I make short work of this last obstacle to my eventual goal and kiss him again before returning to his jeans.

He brings his hands down to my shoulders and breasts, but I shrug them off.

“No touching,” I say removing his hands and placing them up above his head.

I undo the button fly and slowly, achingly slowly, tug his jeans down his hard body. He lifts his buttocks off the bed to assist me and soon I am down to his feet. It appears that Henry favours tight trunks and looking at him now, I’m surprised he doesn’t do himself an injury – he really should choose looser underwear or just go commando. The thick outline of him strains at the tight material and I walk my fingers gently over and up his long shaft. It’s like unwrapping Christmas presents, I think delightedly and watch his face as I lean forward and slowly lick him from balls to tip. His eyes close and I can’t stand it anymore and set him free. I sit back and gaze at his magnificent glory. If Darwin is correct about his theories of Natural Selection, then Henry has nothing to worry about. I’m reminded of those illustrations of early man and the progression from the earliest known forms of Bipedals right through to present day Homo Sapiens and think there really should be another entry at the end of timeline – Henry Cavill. Survival of the fittest indeed!

I’m not ashamed to admit that I’ve dreamt about Henry’s manhood too many times to count. Seeing it for real now makes me realise how wrong my fantasies were. He is not just big – he’s huge! I have a moment of panic when I wonder if I can actually get it in my mouth and I know I’m staring but I just can’t help it. It stands tall, and proud, and for a second I could swear it’s wearing it’s own superman costume. Henry sees me looking and flexes it impressively and that’s all it takes to have him in my mouth. He tastes divine, and I suck him like a porn star on a bet, moving my head up and down his long shaft, slowly then swiftly, taking as much of him as I possibly can. I have always enjoyed giving head, but with Henry it’s an altogether different ball game, to pardon the pun. He is truly beautiful in everyway humanly possible and is built like a Greek god – complete with his own version of Poseidon’s trident! I resist a crazy urge to laugh and redouble my efforts, relishing the hard, yet, soft feel of him in my mouth. He tenses beneath me so I suck harder and faster, knowing he is close.

“Jea. I don’t want to come in your mouth. Not the first time.” He warns me but I don’t care and with wild abandon, take him further still, cupping and massaging his balls with my hand.

“Please, Jea. I want to fuck you. I want to make love to you. Please.”

The tone of his pleading causes me to halt and I look up through my dishevelled hair that is splayed over his belly and thighs. His expression disarms me and taking my face in his hands, he pulls me to him, kissing me deeply.

“Christ, that was good, but I want to be inside you. And I want you on top so I can see your face.”

I position myself over him and wait as he rolls on a condom. Hovering above him, I take his hands in mine to steady myself and slowly, gently lower myself down onto the full length of him. Sinking onto him is like sinking into a dream, that blissful state between wakefulness and sleep, where you don’t quite know what is real or fantasy. He jerks his hips and I’m wide awake again. We start to move together, finding an easy and smooth rhythm. I can feel him deep inside me and he presses a hand against my belly, so that he’s massaging me from outside and in. His hands move up, smoothing a delicious path over my skin to my breasts and he takes one nipple, then the other, between his fingers, rolling the hard point steadily, with just the right amount of pinch. He pulls me forward so that my breasts swing heavy into his face and cups each one, moulding them gently together and, as his lips close over my nipples, I whimper in appreciation. Our pace increases as we both start to lose control, the tempo rising like a symphony reaching it’s dramatic crescendo. I lean back and push harder onto him, gasping and panting, my breasts rising and falling like oversize twin yo-yos. He grabs my buttocks and slams further into me, lifting me off the bed altogether and moves a hand down into the soft flesh between us, circling my clit expertly with his fingers. I feel my orgasm building quickly, far quicker than ever before, and I lose awareness of everything but him.

“Open your eyes. I want to see you when you come. I want to watch you giggle,” he commands.

His words are my unravelling and, as I look at him, I scream his name as the orgasm is ripped from my body, like a beautiful, devastating tornado tearing through a house. A force of nature that should be destructive, yet leaves only a path of bright, bubbling ecstasy in it’s wake. Henry gasps and pushes into me one last time and then stills, as he finds his own release. I’m realise I’m sobbing and giggling and I collapse onto his chest with exquisite, gratifying relief.











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