The Mauritshuis

Steven hasn’t said another word about SL (Secret Love), so I am safe for now. In the shower I soap up and let my thoughts wander to Mark. A cloud of energy hums through my pelvis, for the first time I will hear, see and feel him. My senses have been on high alert lately and I am enjoying it thoroughly.

In the afternoon I stand in front of the mirror in full costume, minus the panties. I look beautiful with my hair up and my grandma’s long earrings. A classic look with no unnecessary frills. I know Mark will like it, but my stomach is dancing in all directions. What the hell am I doing? I am sure I’ll start blushing and stammering. Or worse, we’ll probably run into someone we know. Or will I be seduced by a handsome man? My mind is racing with random scenarios. I cling to the thought that we have not promised each other anything, that I am going without baggage or obligations.

I cycle cheerfully along the Denneweg, where a few ladies in fur coats venture out into the spring sunshine. The gentleman at the Biesieklette winks at me and I smile back generously. I sway my hips as I cross the Plein, here we go.

Mark is the most handsome man in the room, dressed in a sharp suit with his coat draped over his arm. He is tall, slim and draws my gaze to his like a magnet. His smile widens with every step I take. His charm is intoxicating, but I manage to reach him without stumbling. Silently we kiss each other three times on the cheek. On the second, I feel his hand on my hip. On the third, one of his curls brushes my nose. He is as spicy as I hoped, as if he has just rolled through a field of rosemary and thyme. I hear his voice for the first time as he lifts my cloak from my shoulders.
‘Shall I call you Marise? I am Mark, of course.’
He pronounces my name so beautifully that I can’t help but giggle.

Talking quietly we shuffle through the halls, as he asks me about my experiences on Secret Love. Whispering I describe my masturbation urges and his competition. Mark, who is obviously familiar with the subject, smiles like an understanding GP. In between conversations we admire the paintings and embrace the quiet time. These are the moments when our bodies search for each other, I am really enjoying our naughty excursion.

In the room with Paulus Potter’s The Bull, we sit close together on a bench. We pretend to peer at the bovine scrotum while Mark puts his hand on my knee and slowly moves it upwards. He gently squeezes my thigh, his face is close to mine.
‘I’ll show you my favourite painting and then I want to check if you’ve kept your end of the bargain.’
He kisses me on the cheek and the bench melts away beneath me. Not for long, Mark gets up and takes my hand. With some haste we walk on until he stops at an inconspicuous painting of a boy blowing bubbles. He stands right behind me and whispers in my ear.
‘This little painting by Caspar Netscher is my favourite here. See how satisfied he looks? Yet the bubble represents life passing quickly. Seize the day, Marise.’
I press myself against him, there is no one around. He moans softly and pulls me closer by my hips. I tilt my head and offer him my neck. I hear a growl and then feel his full lips land.
‘Mmm…’
‘Are you ready for inspection?’
He sounds compelling, but the smile around his mouth is reassuring. Swiftly he leads me to a dark corner near the lift. As I realise he must have done this before, he kisses me full on the mouth and grabs my buttocks with both hands. It is animalistic and romantic at the same time. Our carefully built-up energy is finally released, and I eagerly kiss him back. His left hand leaves my buttocks to search for the edge of my dress. Not by chance have I chosen one with a flared skirt. He can easily slip his hand under it and caress the lace of my stocking. Our kissing intensifies as he moves further up.

I let my hands slide down his back to grasp his buttocks and he flexes them for me. We are a bundle of lust now, his hand turns inwards to complete the inspection. Our eyes meet, our senses are with his fingers. I spread my legs so he can easily get his hand between them. His fingers undulate along my lips, and I squeeze my legs around his hand. Our mouths meet again in a joint moan. He has enough room to explore my pussy and make sure there isn’t a thong hidden there. He slides his wet fingers inside and I move my hips rhythmically over them. Suddenly we both hear a civilised but loud ‘ahum’. Mark just manages to get his hand out from under my skirt before the attendant’s head appears around the corner. He looks quite amused, but also determined to maintain order in the museum.
‘Would you mind doing that somewhere else?’
‘Yes, of course, sir, nothing to worry about.’
I laugh nervously as Mark completes the scene with a feral look on his face. The attendant will no doubt be telling his colleagues about ‘the amorous couple in their forties, he black hair in a suit, she brown hair in a green dress’, we’d better get out of here.

We have another drink, hidden in the back of an empty bar on the Plein. Mark challenges me to make what he calls a ‘List of Longings’. This secret world contains all the ingredients for a great adventure. According to Mark, anything resembling infatuation or love is the death knell for any affair, it makes the eternal distance unbearable or endangers the first love. He does not expect me to be faithful in infidelity, only to be trustworthy. He leans towards me conspiratorially.
‘We’re going to do lots of fun things together, so I’d like to know your real name. And I want your number.’
He looks at me expectantly, I don’t hesitate and tell him my name. He enters my number in his mobile phone and calls me. I hear the ringtone in my bag.
On the way to my bike we say goodbye, hidden in a doorway, with a lengthy French kiss that will probably have to last a long time.

I arrive home on the verge of being late, there’s no time to change clothes or put on panties. Steven is not amused and we drive in silence to his colleague’s house, who has invited us for dinner. The evening is going well, the lady of the house has done her utmost and the conversation is civilised. I join in as usual, my thoughts wandering to Mark and the Mauritshuis.

Back at home Steven’s mood is back to normal, and in our tracksuits we have another glass of red wine, each with a mobile phone in hand. Steven’s probably watching the stock market or sports, I throw Mark’s phone number into Google, but it doesn’t yield anything. Simon has responded to my erotic photos and asks how the date with Mark went. I send him a short message, the rest will come tomorrow.

I want to have sex with Steven, he is my alpha male, so I crawl onto the sofa next to him. He looks up from his screen with a questioning look, I smile and kiss him. Exploratory at first, but soon we are kissing like we do too little. I whisper that I am in the mood and let my hand slide down his trousers. He lifts his bum and slides out in one go, his hard-on jumping up like a liberated spring. I get on my knees in front of him and take his cock between my lips. Slowly I lower my mouth over him, I am happy to have such a hot guy. After a long blow job, I take off the last of my clothes and crawl on top of him. I linger with my pussy just above his glans, my breasts pressed against him and my arms around him. Steven has had enough and grabs me by the waist. He sits me down on his cock with a strength that betrays he has something to affirm. We haven’t done it outside of bed for years.

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