An email announced itself as I was sitting at my desk with Reedie, the mature advertising girl, standing next to me, her supremely feminine pheromones floating from her body into my nostrils, making it hard to concentrate. I opened the mailbox discreetly and saw it was from Jane.
“Excuse me, you wonderful woman,” I said with a blend of sincerity and jocularity. “I’ve really got to get on with this.”
“Oh, okay,” Reedie said and walked back to her desk.
The email said “Saturday, hotel in Sark booked. Okay?” Sark was an island an hour away on an old, laboring ferry. It was a tranquil place to which Guernsey people escaped when they wanted a rest from their own relatively lively island.
Let me bring you up to date. I was a local journalist, writing for a monthly magazine, and Jane was one of the advertising team. We had known each other for many years and she was in love with me. But she was completely non-competitive, and she knew the other girls, lusty bunch that they were, found me attractive. Two – Maria and Shazza – were, like Jane herself, local girls with narrow horizons and limited experience of the world. Reedie, on the other hand, was well-traveled and worldly – much more my type, as I had been around quite a bit in the UK and Europe.
Jane had set me up with each of them in turn. She loved me so much and had such confidence in our destiny that she had apparently decided to let me get it out of my system before she made an honest man of me.
This Sark trip was obviously the point at which she made her move. And to be honest, that was fine with me. A few idyllic days with a good-looking girl who thought the world of me had to be a good thing.
“Great,” I replied. “Drink after work to discuss?”
We met at a pub not far away, which was not popular with the magazine people nor the newspaper to which it was linked. We didn’t spend long about it, both wanting to save all the excitement for the real event.
Saturday morning came and we sat together on the boat, the elderly diesel engine throbbing and whirring beneath us. It was a bumpy trip, as it often was, with a breezy stretch of open sea to contend with after you left the shelter of the island. We arrived at lunchtime and just had time to settle into the hotel room before heading downstairs to grab some scampi. It was strange being with Jane like this. As long as I had known her, we hadn’t so much as shared a little kiss at Christmas, yet here we were like a honeymoon couple, about to share a bed and see each other’s used underwear tossed into overnight bags.
After lunch, we went for a walk. That was what you did in Sark. It isn’t a beachy island, with just a few sandy patches at the foot of steep and forbidding cliffs. So you wandered around the little dusty stretch of shops that constituted the town and ventured out into the wilds, across a legendary narrow shard of precipitous rock that joined Sark to Little Sark, feeling like visitors from the other side of the world. You had cups of tea and scones, walked some more, had more tea and scones and then found your way back to the hotel.
The room was old-fashioned, little altered since the 1950s, with wooden walls through which you could hear whatever else was going on. Jane and I stood, looking out the window, and our fingers entwined.
“I love Sark,” I said.
“Me too,” she said. “Shall we come and live here? Start all over again?” I couldn’t tell if she was serious or just being fanciful – probably a bit of each.
I pulled her to me and wrapped my arms around her.
“Well,” I said, “Let me get to know the Jane Le Blancq I’ve never really met in all these years.”
We kissed softly and tenderly, and fell onto the bed, which creaked in protest.
“Not yet,” she said. “If we do it all now there’ll be nothing left for later.”
“How about if I just explore your body?” I offered. “Nothing going in anywhere.” She allowed me to undress her and helped me with my jeans, being careful not to touch my stiff cock. I lay half on top of her and kissed her all over her face and neck. My right knee lodged comfortably between her thighs and as I slid down to kiss her breasts, my balls rubbed against her. I sucked her perky little nipples and felt her breasts, neat, shapely things the size of Jaffa oranges. She stiffened a little as my mouth did its thing, and soon I was ready to go lower.
“No penetration,” she reminded me as I made my way down her belly into her pubic hair. She smelled fantastic, so sweet and girly. I pushed her legs apart and she offered only token resistance as she enjoyed me lapping at her and getting my tongue into her slit. When I moved further down, loving her crotch and coming to the edge of her crack, she wriggled free.
“I mean it,” she said. “Save something for later. I’m not touching you, am I?” She did mean it. She was setting a good example and I was supposed to follow her lead.
I returned to her clitoris, determined to see if she had some sort of limiter restricting her enjoyment. I sensed her resistance as she gave a little groan, then she sort of stretched to reset herself, so I intensified my licking and sucking and she tried to suppress a shudder as a small orgasmic tremor shook her.
“Hmm?” I said.
“Okay, stop it,” she said with mock irritation. “That’s not fair.” I clambered back up and lay, kissing her again.
“I’m going to lick your arse later,” I said gently.
“Are you, now?” she retorted.
For dinner, we walked to a restaurant one hundred yards away and had some very good seafood, possibly fresh off a boat, although you never know. Jane did a lot of gazing into my eyes, as if trying to legitimize our relationship, upgrading it from this isolated date to a long-term arrangement. I cared for her more than I had realized, so I joined in and we held hands and spoke dreamily to one another. Somehow we made it through to ten pm before heading back to the hotel and somehow we made it through the door into the room before we wrenched each other’s clothes off.
Jane decided to show her devotion by kneeling on the floor and sucking my erect cock, looking up into my eyes lovingly. She was very skillful with her mouth, and the fact that she was sending love with the physical sensations made it perhaps the best blowjob I have ever had.
Then she sat on the edge of the bed and lay back, inviting me to return the favour. She had a pretty little pussy, lips tidily tucked in and clitoris big enough to find but not alarming, if you know what I mean. I licked her and sucked her, loving the taste of her vaginal fluids. Sometimes I have to remind myself that it is not an achievement for a woman to have lovely bits, it’s just a natural gift, like Aretha Franklin’s voice. She didn’t study and train to sound like she did, it was a natural advantage she had over every other woman. Jane was an unsophisticated local girl with not too much experience, sexual or otherwise, and she just happened to have a good-looking and very tasty cunt.
I hadn’t forgotten my promise from earlier so, with her suitably revved up, I pushed her legs up in the air and her arse came into view. I kissed it lovingly and licked it like an ice cream. She squirmed, not with disgust or squeamishness, but in reaction to the unaccustomed pleasure – at least, that’s how I interpreted it. She seemed to spend a couple of minutes letting it sink in before speaking.
“God,” she said. “I never thought it would be that good. Can I go on my knees?”
She turned over and presented herself to me and I treated her to the most comprehensive anilingus there can ever have been.
“You’re going to make me… oowww, ooh, yi yi,” she squealed helplessly. It’s such a great thing that most women can cum more than once in a short session, unlike us prima donna men who consider it a mighty feat.
Jane turned back over and pulled me on top of her and we kissed deeply as I slid into her. We were both immediately seized by the seriousness of the moment, this being a statement of union after the animal hedonism of our oral play. We fucked slowly and smoothly and she began to talk.
“Ever since I met you,” she said, “In the very early days when we didn’t really know much about it, I have wanted you to lie between my legs and make love to me. You feel so good there, we feel so good together. I want you to cum inside me. I want your stuff as far up inside me as it can go.” Then her voice climbed the scale. “I’m going to cum again.”
With that, she lost control and began shaking and trembling and making random high-pitched sounds. My hands were all over her, in her armpits, in her crack, in her mouth, and she was holding onto me like a rodeo rider who had somehow got underneath.
And then there it was: my orgasm that would signify to Jane that we were truly united. I pumped my spunk into her and I could tell she felt it spurting against her heavenly, oily insides.
“God, I love you,” she said happily. “Do you… no, don’t say anything. I’m going to make you love me and we’re going to be so happy.”
Sometimes women are just so wise, even in their foolishness, and I was willingly swept away on the tide of her physical and emotional love.
