I take Kristof’s hand as we exit the opera house, the soaring beauty of the final aria of Norma still running through my mind. I’ve always loved the opera. The passion, the drama, the sexy story and the exquisite voices of the singers never fail to leave me breathless and, I must be honest, also a little horny. I’ve always found a trip to the theatre or the opera to be romantically old-fashioned, something to be savoured, with the glamour of the women dressed in beautiful silks and taffetas, covered in beads and sequins and dripping in diamonds and pearls. I love how the men are old school, dressed to impress with crisp white shirts and impeccably tailored suits. It smells expensive, oozes sophistication and makes me feel like I have stepped back in time. I adore the whispered chit-chat before it starts, sipping a martini in our box and the pin-drop silence during the performance as the audience immerses themselves in the beauty, followed by the standing ovations at the finale. I like a show; as I said, it turns me on.
I squeeze Kristof’s hand, and we exchange a secret smile as we follow the rest of the audience out into the cool of the evening. I shiver as we stand on the steps, waiting for everyone to disperse. In part, from the chill of the evening; earlier, it had been unseasonably warm, so I left my jacket at home, but mainly from the anticipation of being alone with Kristof. Always the gentleman, Kristof shucks off his dinner jacket and wraps it around my shoulders. The heat of his fingers against my skin as he does so ignites the fire in me further, and I look up and down the street, wondering where Beau, our driver, has gone.
“He’ll be here...
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Read all about the wonderful author: Lexie Bay
Absolutely love this classy story from Lexie! New to FrolicMe – just adore her style!