Today was the day.

Bleary eyes focussed on the halo of light around the curtains. He stretched out from a foetal position. Scratching a day’s growth, cotton-mouthed, anticipation pushed away the lethargy.

It was platonic, and should always be platonic.

Washed clean, he towelled himself, accompanied by birdsong from the ajar window. Light and alert, his body illuminated by bright sunlight through the frosted glass.

He spied the aftershave on the shelf, too much effort, too overt.

They were friends, for months, it had to be that way.

He dressed, shorts, pressed, a polo shirt, new. Descending the stairs, there it was. The plywood case, between new and used, sharp-edged and brass-buckled. She said nine-on-the-dot, enough time for breakfast, and lunch cooled in the fridge.

Peering through the window, it inspired a smile: an acid azure sky.

The doorbell rattled like a marble in a tin can. The bite of ice-cold apple juice salved his nerves.

Each footstep elevated the thumping in his chest; through the mottled glass, she was there.

Face-to-face for the first time at the weekend, “Morning Amy.”

“Morning!” Effervescent as always and her bright eyes twinkled for him. Her lustrous brown hair dappled by the morning sun, “Ready?”

“Absolutely,” and Jack reciprocated her welcoming smile.

“Amy? You’ve done something with your hair, it looks great. Really suits you.”

“Aw, thank you.”

Lunch in the coolbag, he grabbed the case. The letterbox clattered when the front door shut.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

He snored; he always snored after a heavy night at the pub. Amy always gravitated towards the dip in the bed he made.

Caught between dreams and awake, a single thought was all it took. The curdling heat rose, today was the day. He held her close, silent, with determination in his eyes. Embraced in his strong arms, the graze of her lips onto his stoked the inferno. Taken in hand, so rigid and primed for her. She would guide him in.

A loud snuffle and the coarse exhalation of stale breath yanked her daydream away.

She could do it now, and have him just like this. A furtive caress stirred her viscous juices. The vibrancy of her imagination compelled her. Wake the sleeping lump, pretend it was him, and alleviate this ache.

Something to placate the physical need, not her emotions. It had been like this for months.

Morality scorched her design, a moment of lust for a permanent memory of regret. She knew the words his friends used behind her back: doormat, plain, boring, arty-farty.

Procrastination was something she did tomorrow, that changed, not that he noticed.

Months of gym work and countless hours of aerobic classes, not that he noticed.

She substituted glasses for contact lenses, a makeover consultation and new clothes.

Not that he noticed.

Yesterday, her hair coloured, expensive, not that he noticed.

She yearned for more and craved fulfilment.

Not that he noticed. Snuffling like a pig, he snored.

Propped against the kettle, Amy left a note. The letterbox clattered when the front door closed.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Dabbing at three colours on the palette, Jack huffed, and reached for another tube of oil.

Amy peered over, “Yes, that one, the empty square mark on the tube is a transparent colour. It’s perfect for the sky and those faint wisps of cloud.”

He looked towards her, “Oils are tricky, I should stick to watercolour.”

She saw the child in his eyes, “Oils are more expressive. They have a texture that entertains the eye. It will be worth it, promise.”

Glancing back at her car, parked under the broad canopy of the solitary oak tree, she felt his gaze upon her. Turning back, Jack averted his eyes.

“How’s Rosheen?”

He shrugged, “I wouldn’t know, we split up last week.”

“Aw Jack, I’m sorry to hear that.”

Still dabbing at his palette, “It’s okay, I did the splitting up. We wanted different things.”

“Different things?” Her nonchalant tone just right, “If you don’t mind me asking…”

“I don’t mind. There’s a bit more to me than rugby and drinking songs. I know I’m more complicated. I think she thought I was being difficult.”

“Oh, I see.”

He gave a weak smile, “I’m sorry, I know she’s your friend. I hope I didn’t hurt her feelings, it wasn’t a row or anything.”

“No need to apologise. Rosheen is capable of looking after herself, she’ll be fine.”

“That’s good to know.” His smile broadened, “We were hardly star-crossed lovers. A few dates, nothing more.”

Amy already knew.

Seriously, when your Mammy says it’s th’ strong silent types you have to be lookin’ out for… that’s fair enough. I just wish me Ma told me about some’at else. Yer know? Jack’s fuckin’ blessed. A big lad downstairs. I only wanted a bit of fun. He’s such a taciturn soul, pity he’s too serious for me.

Lost in concentration, Jack did not notice Amy’s admiring gaze.

He was not the pallid tortured soul attracted to art. In profile, smooth skin kissed by the sun. His enigmatic congeniality rested easily on handsome features. Those piercing eyes cut through her self-restraint. In those dimpled smiles of delight, she lost her train of thought. A perfect blend of athleticism and muscle, baser thoughts lingered on the bulge in his shorts.

This afternoon together was torture. Amy wanted to be different, Jack thought she was the same.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Last night in the pub, Rosheen told her everything, blow-by-blow, graphic and colourful. Amy tried not to fidget. Her legs clamped shut, she felt the heat within. What was it with Jack? What had he done to her? She was demure, a wallflower, someone that never spoke up, or out of turn.

Her panties were sodden.

Alone in bed, wide-awake, her inhibitions dissolved by wine. Naked skin caressed by fresh cotton sheets, her imagination made it his touch upon her. An idle hand roamed. Would he touch her like this? How would he make love to her? Gently, probably, and butterflies stirred in her stomach. Relenting, she wanted him to fuck her with all his might. Take her until her eyes rolled back in their sockets.

The half-forgotten item in her pedestal seized her. Rummaging through her panties, she found it. The thrum, alive in her grasp, an unknown quantity from old batteries, it would do.

She would undress him. Laid on the bed naked, his muscular body taut. She would approach, naked too. A visual temptation until she knelt beside him. Meandering fingers traced over the definition of his body. Haughty eyes tempted and her touch beguiled his hunger into words.

The vibrating tip circled the sensitive hood of her clit. The fire raged, automatic hips joined the clamour.

“Not yet,” she muttered, “Not yet.”

It would fill with blood and she would ogle the thick chord of his erection, ominous, caught between dread and lust. His balls tight, their contents were hers. Holding it, stroking it, she stared into his pleading eyes.

She rested between his legs. Taken in hand, his rigid shaft pressed to her cheek. A wandering caress ranged over his defined torso, and his urgent words pleaded. Eye-to-eye, her tongue traced around the juicy corpulent head. Into her mouth, his deep groans were her reward.

Her body raced faster than her mind, “Fuck!”

Pressing the toy into her folds, she moved on the rise and fall of the thrum.

He took control and the heft of his girth made her into a woman. Clinging to his body, he would discover all of her desires. If he stuttered or stalled, she would take over, and show him more.

The fluidity of her body accelerated and she mimicked the motion.

“More,” she whispered, “more.”

They moved with the grace of swallows, they swooped and rose as one. Inextinguishable, consumed by his power, she had to relent. The bulk of his body against hers, yet she clung on and matched his every move.

Orgasm after orgasm, lost in the ebb and flow of sexual congress. Until she implored him for it, and he filled her with his essence.

Buried deep in her sex, toes pointed, she shook in rising tremors. For a moment, disconnected from reality, a kaleidoscope of colour exploded behind her eyelids. The pillow muffled her anguished cries. Trembling, she endured its savagery, until her abdominals tightened for another. Shoulders down, her hips raised off the bed, heels dug in, she thrashed as it rattled through her.

The toy withdrawn, her torpid body glowed. She opened the drawer, threw it in and slammed it shut.

Lost in the dreamy haze of soporific warmth; she succumbed.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

In the midst of the coastline, a promontory stuck out as a fat finger to the defiant sea: still and asleep. Vales of pasture, rolled towards them, clipped into parcels by hedgerows. A copse of trees punctured the vista. An occasional seagull competed with hedgehoppers and cried to break the tranquillity.

“Amy, how do you know about this place?”

“Through friends, it’s farmland. Don’t worry we have permission. Beautiful isn’t it?”

“It’s so peaceful.” He snorted, “Last year, if you told me I would be doing this, I really wouldn’t believe you.”

“Why do you, Jack?”

“The sense of calm,” it shot from him like a bolt of lightning, “I always liked to draw, I had no idea how difficult this was though.”

She giggled, “I could not bear to see you struggle in class. Besides, I like helping you.”

Looking at her, he grinned, “I like it too. I think I got the better deal though.”

“You did. You helped me in the gym, I helped you paint.”

He sniggered with her.

The simple things mattered so much, these easy conversations, no tongue-tied moments. The gym work emboldened her. From baggy t-shirts and shorts to her lissom figure revealed in body-hugging lycra. It was for his benefit.

Peering at his canvas, short jabs of paint forced a sigh of relief.

“Yes, Jack, that’s it, you got it, light on top of colour. They are wisps of cloud, delicate, transitory.”

“Thanks. Amy, do you think we’ll get this down in one go?”

“Maybe,” she surmised, “Depends on how much you want to finish it. Take a photo now, just in case, the mid-day light is perfect.”

Reaching for his camera, he captured the image. Turning to face her, she laughed as a mild protest. Fighting through the metallic nervousness, she swallowed it down and struck a pose.

Waves of crimson hair, loose tresses caught a sea breeze. Wide eyes smiled and matched the curl of contentment on full painted lips. The speckled dress pushed taut by the wind. Amy knew it revealed the outline of her lithe figure and unfettered full breasts.

The frisson of the shutter added to the clamour that swelled within. A sudden pang rose, instinctively, she suppressed it. She forced it and relented, the fantasy rattled through her body. So remote here, she could pose for him naked.

“Hungry, Jack?”

Comely eyes fixed on his, an expression to lure him. Amy left it there as a double entendre. She had never been so overt: a plea for attention.

A wistful smile followed, “Yes, let’s eat.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

It sloshed into the plastic cup, “It stayed chilled just long enough to enjoy it properly.”

“We shouldn’t really,” opined Jack, “you need to drive us back.”

He held out his cup too.

“By the time we are finished here, I’ll have sobered up. The light will be good for hours yet.”

“Fair enough, so if we have the time, I could use a walk later, stretch my legs. You?”

She nodded, “Yes, we have plenty of time.”

They laid on the blanket with all the decadence of a languid feast. He made her favourite things to eat as a picnic and let her talk about her favourite subjects.

“You look so relaxed, Jack, it suits you.”

“Thanks.”

Summoning all her courage, the wine helped, and loosened her inhibitions. A lilt to her head, hair draped as a curtain, she swept it from her face. Narrowed eyes burned for him, her glance flickered to his lips, and met his concerned eyes. The caress of her fingers from his forearm to sturdy bicep meant he fumbled his words.

“Amy, you shouldn’t…”

What were flames of lust all morning raged as a furnace. Listening to her body, instinct took over.

Tender and enticing, those fingers caressed his brawny shoulder; a gentle hand cradled the back of his head. Simpering lips homed in on his. As their focus blurred, his eyes closed first. Into the void, a sense deprived, placed softly onto his lips, they tasted of wine. Its delicate vacuum spoke for her. His denial conquered, he reciprocated. The realisation rocketed through her body.

“Amy… I…”

She pressed forward, he rolled prone. The yin and yang of their bodies slotted together. Her leg looped over his thigh, he would feel her heat now. He reared up, scrabbled for words, and she captured his lips again. The caress of tongue against tongue and his moan of need thrummed through her.

A temptress kiss followed, full and unbridled. His gentle strength relented, the outline of his ardour pressed against her abdomen. She ached for weeks and it flooded from her. Taking his hand, she pressed it to her breast.

He recoiled, fighting the pleasure with a last redoubt of decency.

“Amy…”

Hushing him, she placed a solitary finger on his lips, “I left him this morning. I should have done it months ago. I cannot bear this any longer. I want you and I… I can’t help myself.”

She watched the realisation dawn on him.

“Tell me you want me, Jack.”

“I do, God, I do…”

He lunged for her, wanton, lip-locked, they snorted for air. His broad hand, a shovel, surprised her with its deft touch. Kneading her breast, he tantalised its hardened nub. She would show him everything, guide him and tutor him. A first, she would assert herself.

She took his hand, and led it between her thighs, it cupped her sex. Only flimsy damp satin left to conquer. Her hand pulled them aside, the seconds felt like hours. His first touch signalled with a soft whimper and an urgent kiss. Finding her clitoris, she melted as their tongues danced.

The motive force of her desire compelled her. Legs straddled his body, and swift hands pulled the dress up over her head. Kneeling, she unhooked her panties from each leg. Nostrils filled with ozone, Amy swept her hair to one side, and the breeze tingled the nape of her neck. She quivered before him, bared in body and soul.

“You are beautiful,” he gasped.

“You are too.”

Her upturned eyes pleaded, she took his hand. Pressed to her springy breast, the alacrity in his eyes completed the rout.

“Let me do this, Jack.”

“Amy… this isn’t like you…”

“It is,” she purred, “this is what you do to me.”

For weeks, her flirtation incensed him. Spellbound now, beyond his comprehension, Amy the dormouse roared.

Watching him, curled lips leered with permission; her restless hands rattled the sturdy belt buckle. The rasp of the metal fly broke the silence and seagulls cried. His internalised alarm written on his face, she giggled, and pulled on his hips.

He tried to find words that might reduce her determination. When she held him in hand, and stroked it, she witnessed his need on those handsome features. Rigid and hot, she could not close her fingers around its girth.

Exchanging a glance, hope in his eyes, and the promise of a carnal act in hers.

“You were going to say something, Jack.”

“No… no I wasn’t.”

“You don’t need to.”

She let him enjoy her body, strong hands swooped over every curve. Over her breasts, along her waist, thumbs tickled her abdomen. Down to the confluence of her thighs, and a solitary digit penetrated her.

Amy showed him its pleasure. Seizing his wrist, she took the finger to her lips. Sucking it, his gaze weakened. Distracted, she took his girth in hand and eased down.

“Amy… Oh God…”

Just the first inch or so, she fought the need for more, and savoured his capitulation.

“Tell me you want this?”

“Yes… yes I want this so much.”

Easing down, she braced against his body. Gratifying her instantly, the delicate movement of careful hips fed in more. Inch by delicious inch, the ecstasy soared through her.

“How long… fuck…” and she gasped, “how long have you wanted this?”

“Since I first saw you…”

“Why did you deny yourself?”

“Because… because you were with someone.”

“Not anymore, I am with you now, and I want us to be together.”

He groaned, “Yes, yes, I want that so much.”

Alone, in the open field, the tall hedgerow hid them from the farm track. The smear of her hips sent peals of syrupy bliss through her core. She showed him with her eyes. The delicious friction boiled her blood and compelled her for more.

She took the tender kiss, perfect in the moment, “Be gentle with me, Jack.”

“Always.”

Tugging at his polo shirt, she freed it from his body. His shorts and underwear kicked free. Pressing down, she swirled her hips, and ground her throbbing clit against his pubic bone. The heft of hot thick muscle made her taut sex pulse. Steering her body between the fine line of pleasure and pain, she drove down, pitched up and he responded to fill her again.

“Mmmm…” she purred. “You are hungry aren’t you?”

Groaning, he had to swallow, “I can’t help it.”

A consoling hand caressed his face, “Then don’t fight it, I’ve watched you… I’ve watched you struggle. Give in, let me take you.”

She took his hands, pulled them aloft, and interlaced her fingers with his.

Fully impaled, her knuckles whitened, “Fuck, you feel so good.”

Adapted to his girth, she drove down, it made her breasts quiver. Lowering a hardened nipple to his mouth, his velvet tongue flicked it. Hardwired to her sex, the clash of their bodies raised her first moans. Clattering down upon him, he reared up and met her at its apex. As windows to the soul, they stared into each other’s. She steered and soft words guided him. The clash of bodies rose against thrill birdsong; every gasp matched the animation of her body.

“Jesus, this feels incredible.”

He growled, “You are amazing, please… don’t stop.”

She slowed, he was there for her, she took him harder, and he was there too. He strove to match her, caress for caress, thrust for thrust. The walls of muscle tensed, it seized her effortless movements.

“I can’t sit up like this… I… I…”

He lent up to meet her, “Like this.”

Pulling her body into a lotus position, an outstretched arm cantilevered her body against his. Eyelids weighted by desire, their unbroken stare for each other propelled her hips. The ratchet tightened with croaky gasps and urgent yelps. Pawing her breast, rolling that sensitive nipple, her restraint crumbled. Panting louder, the vice-grip of her sex tightened and the ecstasy pushed her to the brink.

“Oh God… I can’t hold back.”

He swept a hand over her fevered brow, and held her close. Her arms wrapped around his neck, she had it, all of him. Breasts mashed to his torso, nostrils filled with his scent.

A cry, her first, and she plunged for it. Gruff words of encouragement provoked an outpouring of emotion. Her sex grasped against unyielding muscle; his strong embrace held her firm. Safe and wanted, she relented. Sobbing for air, the tremors rattled through her, the crashing waves came next. She quivered and flailed and his lips pressed to hers.

“Oh God, oh God…” endlessly repeated until she stilled.

Scooped up in his arms, Jack rolled her onto the blanket. Flushed, apple-cheeked, those bee-stung lips deserved this loving kiss. He moved as effortless quicksilver. A languid rhythm whilst she fought for breath. Driven by an elusive sensation, rich and rewarding, it reanimated her desire. Another stolen kiss, filled with tenderness, he rose above her.

Legs opened wide to receive him, slender hands roamed over his muscular body.

“Like this, Jack, I want to feel you when you come.”

“Inside you?”

“Yes… yes… it’s yours now.”

She bore down on his shaft and they writhed loins-to-loins. Amy watched how he laboured, the next breath shallower than the last. His muscles tied as he fought to expel it.

A hand caressed his face, in a silent exchange, he nodded.

“I’m close.”

She joined in with undulating hips to tempt his deliverance. The swell of his girth grew, the symbiosis of their bodies: the birth of a loving bond.

“It’s okay, let go, cum for me…”

Pressed to her lips, the dance of their tongues stifled his clamour. Desperate shoves followed and she pulled on his behind. Teasing his nipple, the moment came. The spasms inside her sex raced faster than his thumping chest. Taking it deep, she felt every pulse.

The caress of her fingers through his damp hair eased him to a halt.

Breathless, they shared a feverish smile.

His helpless expression consoled with a gentle kiss, “Hello, boyfriend.”

“Hello, girlfriend.”

And they laughed.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

On brilliant white walls, vignettes of oil on canvas were mounted for the appraisal of others. Amy smiled at him from afar. Jack dealt with another journalist, just the local newspaper this time. Time had not aged him and he stood proud as he always did. They shook hands, his warm smile, it still made her body sing.

It did not waver as he made his way to her. She saw it in his eyes. Every day he told her and they rode the rollercoaster of life together, side-by-side.

“Hello, my silver fox, had enough adulation for one day?”

“Hello, my beautiful lady, your love is all that matters.”

Amy sniggered, “Silver Fox?  Silver-tongued devil more like.”

“He wanted to know who the woman in the picture is, the vivacious beauty in the speckled dress. He wondered what that twinkle in her eye meant.”

“Oh, he did, did he?”

Jack nodded, “It’s our secret, always will be.”

And with a kiss, they would be forever young.

 

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than Lushstories.com with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © © 2021 by The Travelling Man. All rights reserved. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of The Travelling Man.





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