Rachel was an enigma, a Yorkshire lass to the core.
Broken, hurting, loving, cruel and kind in equal measure.
She could fuck; she could cook, and so much more.
We spent seven short years together, and this is our story.
Rachel saved my life quite literally. Christmas Eve 2001, and my existence felt as if it no longer had meaning or purpose. I’d lost my business, my home and my wife all within the previous twenty-four months. As I stood on the cliff top near Holyhead in North Wales, all I had to do was take one more step, and my suffering would be over; just one small step. If I had taken it, a very long drop into the stormy Irish Sea awaited, with the almost inevitable consequences.
As I stood there contemplating my last moments on earth, my mobile phone began to ring in my pocket. Should I answer it or not? Curiosity got the better of me; I am so glad it did. Following a feeble hello, I heard a strong woman’s voice on the other end of the line.
“Ow do is that, Harry Gunn?” the voice said.
“No, I am afraid you’ve got the wrong number,” I meekly replied.
“Bloody hell, lad, it’s windy there, I can hardly hear you. Where are you, on a cliff top?” she asked.
“Yes, I am, and I was just about to jump until you interrupted me,” was probably the reply she least expected.
“Do not be so daft, you big soft bugger,” she said. “Typical man taking the easy way out,” became the seventeen words that changed my life.
To cut a long story short, I took two steps back, sat down, and we spoke for about fifteen minutes. Certainly long enough to bring me to my senses and for me to promise a stranger that I’d not do anything silly but instead go home to seek help. During our conversation, Rachel told me she was a registered nurse and that a lot of help was available for anyone in my situation who reached out for it.
I did reach out and got the help I needed. Rachel also called me once per week to give me some much-needed moral support. Week by week, as my mental health improved, our conversations took a deeper dive into each other’s lives. We had both endured bad times and good times and carried the baggage along the way. At least neither of us felt alone now.
In early February 2002, Rachel told me she was coming to Wales the following week for a family holiday. My world was rocked when this lady, who was growing on me day by day, offered to meet up and buy me a drink.
We agreed to rendezvous on Thursday at 8 pm in the Railway Inn Peny-bont fawr, close to her holiday let and around one hour’s drive from my house.
I arrived early, freshly showered and groomed, before grabbing a table in the corner. Rachel, in her own indomitable style, as I would later find out, was fashionably late. I was just wondering if she was standing me up when she breezed in the door. They say first impressions last, and the sight of her in knee-length black leather boots, tight black jeans and a loose-fitting turtle neck sweater certainly hit the mark. With her shoulder-length black hair, minimal makeup and confident walk, my new friend was most definitely a head turner.
I asked her what she’d like to drink, expecting her to say a wine or even a soft drink.
“A pint of your best bitter, please, landlord,” she said before drinking half of her pint in one go. “Bloody hell, I needed that.” She put her glass down.
“Tough day?” I enquired.
“Just the kids playing me up; they had to be dealt with before I left,” was her somewhat cryptic response.
Our couple of hours together flew by, and at times her piercing green eyes made me wonder if they could see right inside of me and all of my insecurities and secrets duly analysed.
Despite the thick sweater, I couldn’t help but notice a very large and heavy pair of breasts lurked beneath. With her shapely figure and plump bum, she was most definitely my type.
We kept in touch mainly by telephone over the spring months. Our conversations dived deeper into each other’s back stories, and we even began to share some intimate details of our sex lives ( I didn’t have one at the time, so in my case it didn’t take long). With every passing week, this incredible woman was really getting into my head and under my skin. When she suggested we spent weekend together in Manchester, my heart skipped a beat. It skipped several more when Rachel instructed me, “Don’t forget to book a hotel room with a double bed.”
The stage was set, and the game was afoot.
It was a very different Rachel I met off her train at Manchester Piccadilly station. Her hair was shorter; she was wearing a Black Watch tartan mini skirt, black woollen tights and a white hand-knitted jumper which accentuated the size and shape of her previously hidden bust line.
I will now cut to the chase.
After a lovely afternoon exploring the city centre, we enjoyed an early meal in Chinatown. I think we both knew by now that desert and coffee would be taken after we had consummated our friendship in the ultra-posh Midland Hotel.
After checking into our room, I was just about to say, “Our room looks nice, doesn’t it?”
However, before the words had finished coming out of my mouth, Rachel was upon me like an alley cat. She ripped most of my clothes off there and then as we kissed like it was our final day on earth. My dick was already straining to be released from its underwear cage, and the cotton material was stretched to breaking point as Rachel unclipped her bra to allow the fullest and most perfectly proportioned breasts I’d ever seen swing free.
She knelt in front of me and, with one final confident tug, my underwear was off, and my hard dick stood proud, demanding her attention.
She took me in her mouth as the pre-cum was already making my swollen tip glisten with anticipation. What followed I can only describe as having your dick dipped in warm melted chocolate with a marshmallow topping might feel like. Her lips were both willing and eager as my manhood slipped in and out of her mouth with ease. Occasionally, she would fully release my shaft before running her tongue around its head or down to where its base joined my very full and swollen balls.
It’s funny what we remember looking back; as Rachel worked at emptying my balls in record time, I recall looking at myself in the bathroom mirror across the corridor. I’d catch a glimpse of the reflection of the back of her bobbing head, after which I’d look down at the frontal view. It was kind of like being a voyeur in your own seduction in many respects.
I’d not been with a woman for over two years, and it had been even longer since I’d experienced such raw and animalistic human interaction. “I am sorry, I am about to come,” I groaned.
I fully expected her to remove my cock from her mouth to allow me to ejaculate onto a less intimate space. How wrong I was, as she then deep throated me and began to gag and swallow hard as my dick erupted heavy loads of volcanic hot spunk down the back of her throat and into her stomach via the oesophagus to join her earlier chicken chow mein dinner.
She allowed my wet, sticky dick to fall from her mouth before saying to me, “Did you enjoy that, love?”
This was, of course, the understatement of the year so far; I nodded appreciatively as, for a moment, I was lost for words.
“Right then, lad; it’s my turn now, so let’s see what that tongue of yours can do at pleasuring this Yorkshire lass.”
I placed her on the big bed and was thrilled to note her expensive-looking knickers were very moist, indicating a degree of self-lubrication had already taken place. I peeled her panties off before throwing them over my right shoulder onto the floor. I was extremely pleased to observe a thick patch of black pubic hair hiding much of her vulva from view. I was now beginning to understand that Rachel’s old school values extended to more than just good manners and politeness, and in fact, they reached every facet of her life.
I gulped and hesitated for the briefest of moments. After what I’d just been on the receiving end of, I knew that I’d need to bring my own oral ‘A’ game into play to ensure her first orgasm was both as intense and pleasurable as mine. Fortunately for me, as a younger man, I’d had a very good teacher in the art of pleasing a woman. My teacher told me the way to create a memorable first impression was to have foreplay to the foreplay; It had been a while, but I was quietly confident.
I gently opened Rachel’s legs and admired the view of firm, white-skinned legs topped off with a perfect triangle of hair. Moving my face closer to her vagina, I said, “You’ve got the most perfect pussy I’ve ever seen. I’m going to eat it until you squeal in pleasure.”
I then pulled back my head slightly and inhaled deeply.
“Not only do you look incredible, but you also smell divine,” I commented. “Please may I taste you, Rachel, if that’s ok?” This provoked an impatient wiggling of the hips as if to tell me to get on with it.
Ever so gently, I rubbed the tip of my nose from the top to the bottom of her slit and back again. This got the desired response as my lover let out a deep moan. I repeated my vaginal nosing a few more times before allowing my tongue to take over. Very gently at first, probing and looking for any signs of deep pleasure coming from above. When I was satisfied the medicine was working, I went harder and longer with both my licks and flicks before once again slowing down to admire my handiwork.
At one point, I looked upwards and had to do a double-take. Each of Rachel’s nipples was now fully erect and must without fear of exaggeration have been fully one inch long. I admit it threw me and distracted me from the task at hand for a short while, anyway.
“Have you gone to sleep down there, you dozy bugger?” Rachel was prompting that it was time to get back to work.
I was quickly back to my task with some gusto. Every time I sensed my buxom lover was close to orgasm, I’d slow things right down to help build the tension and hopefully the power of the release in due course. Rachel was writhing, thrusting her hips and raising her bottom off the white linen sheets as she called me a ‘bastard’ every time her climax was delayed. By now, she was so wet or ‘drochfeydd’, as we would say in Welsh, it was like licking a human hairy rainforest. As she lifted her backside even higher, I took the liberty of cleaning up some of her gushing juices from around her anus. Interestingly, this took her moans to an even higher level as I made a mental note to explore that forbidden area at some point in the future. Her smooth white skin was breaking out in goosebumps, and her breathing was more like a locomotive leaving a station than the woman I’d first met.
Eventually, it was time to release her from the orgasm-free purgatory as I licked harder and deeper with my mouth, eyes and nose now buried inside the hairy bush. When she did climax, her whole body heaved and twisted. She was swearing like a trooper and ended her climax with a scream that must have been heard from the next bedroom.
“Fucking hell, where did you learn to eat a woman like that?” she panted.
“At fuck school,” I replied, hoping to sound witty. I thought it would kill the moment if I told her the truth that it was taught to me over many months by a woman thirty years my senior, many moons ago.
This set the tone for the rest of our night together. We made love almost nonstop until about midnight when we ordered room service. I think at this point the orgasm scores read four to three in Rachel’s favour.
As we sat eating ham and cheese toasted sandwiches, dressed only in our posh hotel’s matching bath robes, all felt proper for the first time in such a very long time.
Rachel had even accidentally allowed her robe to fall open just as the night porter placed our tray on the table. I’m sure in roles such as his, all manner of things were seen, even if not talked about. He could now add a close eyeful of a pair of very large breasts to his nocturnal observations, along with visiting a room that must have smelled from hours of raw, unrestrained sex.
During the early hours of the following morning, we made love a few more times, chatted, slept and showered before leaving our scene of sexual carnage a few minutes before the allotted 10:00 check-out time.
We had brunch across the road in Deansgate before making our weary respective ways home. As we finished our food, I decided to fish for a compliment from this amazing woman. “So how did I do last night?” was my obviously leading question.
“Not bad, I suppose,” was the best answer I was to get. Mind you, it was accompanied by a cheeky smile and a wink.
On my train journey home, I reflected on quite possibly the best night of my adult life. What had I learned about my new friend? It was almost impossible to keep up with her sexual energy. I was drained, sore, and so tired and had at times struggled to keep up with her constant demands. She peed with the bathroom door open and didn’t mind who heard her. This was so different from my ex-wife, who would always close and lock the door even for a tinkle. Some women really do have nipples the size of bullets. She was obviously an exhibitionist or at least a flirt.
Also, and much to my surprise, I discovered that when having her most intense orgasms, my new lover was a squirter. That is to say, as she came, a jet of clear liquid from her urethra would splash across my genitals or the bed itself when being taken from behind. I was later told this is a very rare phenomenon and certainly not something I’d ever come across before. I even learned Rachel wore heavy-duty 34G bras. How do I know this? I had to pick up her discarded clothes from all over the floor before the arrival of room service.
And best of all, this was just the start of something so special and definitely life-changing, albeit with a tragic ending.
If anyone enjoyed reading this old man’s memories from many years ago, Part 2 could follow.
