<-adults only->

Copyright Kim Couples 2003

(You’ll find more stories on my website at asstr.org. Just choose ‘Authors’ from, the drop down box at the top right of the index page and select ‘K’ for Kim at the bottom of the first page that appears.)

‘If I were to ask you out for dinner, what would you say?’ In the pause that followed, he decided that it sounded clumsy.

She thought so too. Why didn’t he just ask her directly? Not that she was annoyed. More delighted - relieved really. One of them had taken the first real step.

‘If you were to do that. I’d think about it for a moment or two and then I’d say yes.’

‘Good. Tonight?’

‘Sure, I’m off duty at four, I’ll go home and pick you up at the hotel car park at say half-seven?’ Very English.

This was not of course a relationship that could go anywhere; she knew that. He’d been married for 10 years. He’d said so when they’d begun their intimate little conversations. And he’d be heading back to Sydney in a couple of months. But he seemed to be great company, she loved the accent and there was a subtle spark between them she’d enjoyed from the first moments. He’d come along at a good time.

He was distracted as the taxi driver tried to complain about the road markings and the traffic. Norwich was too small for real traffic congestion and as they headed through Unthank Road and down Grapes Hill to the university, he realised how much his mood had lifted since the conversation with Rachel. He was taking a whole new view of the visit. Perhaps his students would enjoy a special enthusiasm in today’s lectures.

He kept thinking of her, looking at his watch more than usual. At lunch he let the other academic staff talk and his thoughts drifted away to the excitement of enjoying another woman’s company for the first time in so long. Rachel had a sparkle that appealed to him. She was also attractive – not just physically; it was the odd mixture of English reserve and something else he couldn’t put a name to.

Just before seven thirty, Rachel edged her car into the far corner of the hotel park, hoping the duty manager wouldn’t see Jeff get in. It was hardly a crime to be going out with a guest but it was a complication she didn’t need. He wasn’t there, so she turned the wipers off, then the engine and watched the door. She had no great expectations of their evening together. He would be pleasant company and that would be enough. She wished now that she hadn’t said so much to Freida. It started when she returned from making his bed and felt the urge to say, ‘He can’t be much of a lover, his bed’s too tidy’. Freida hadn’t been able to let it go after that. Then Paul spread the word that ‘Rachel had the hots for the Australian guy in Room 327’. She’d enjoyed them talking about Jeff as a lover, if only in a general sense, but she didn’t want them exaggerating a night out as well.

He was only a few minutes late and came dashing through the light summer rain without a coat.

‘Sorry to keep you waiting.’ She was wearing a very light, low cut dress and he could see the tops of her ample breasts as she opened the door from the inside.

‘You look stunning,’ he said, wondering if it might be too early in their friendship to say so. But, it was true.

‘Why thank you Sir.’

At her suggestion, she took him to Great Yarmouth about half an hour away. The rain had stopped, so she showed him the beach. It was still warm and he was pleased that she didn’t bother with a jacket as they strolled along the path. There was only one other human on the stoney beach that night; a lonely figure on a deck chair with a coat over his legs. It was an image of Englishness he’d remember. There seemed to be less of her English reserve tonight, She seemed energetic; laughed, almost skipped at one stage, and she was obviously totally at ease with her own body as the breeze revealed it to him and the occasional passer-by.

She’d enjoyed the conversation in the car. She had done most of the talking and he had really listened to her theories of this and that, important things she’d thought about a lot but didn’t discuss with her workmates. He probed, the way you’d expect an academic to do, but in a way that suggested real interest, not some intellectual point scoring exercise. The warm, sexy, baritone definitely added to the appeal. She hoped the restaurant would have candles so that she could play some more with the idea of being romantic with him.

The waitress had just assumed that a table for two meant ‘romantic couple’. The dinner was a surprisingly successful for a first outing. He enjoyed the company of an attractive woman; particularly attractive in the candlelight. He was flattered, after so many years that his wife was not the only woman who had ever found his company so entertaining. She enjoyed feeling special and real conversation. He didn’t mind a straight question either.

‘What makes you want to take a hotel maid to dinner?’

‘You mean what makes me want to take an attractive woman to dinner?’ He smiled, ‘The answer’s obvious. And anyway you’re nice company. I don’t care what you do. Where I come from, the person’s more important. What made you say yes?’

‘I’m a closet flirt. And you’re fun to be with. Will you tell your wife?’

‘Yes, we don’t have secrets and she’s not a jealous person.’

She felt confident enough now to tell him more. She started with being not completely English and he seemed to find that intriguing, so she told him about her gypsy relatives. Far from being put off, he seemed to find that fascinating, so she even mentioned her interest in fortune telling and the occult. He suddenly seemed less focused and asked, ‘How serious is the occult stuff with you? I mean, do think there’s any real evidence to support it?’

‘I don’t think that’s a fair question,’ she said. ‘If you had an interest in something that depended more on belief than evidence, say a religion, I wouldn’t ask you to justify it.’

He laughed. ‘Fair point’ She smiled in satisfaction and followed it up with, ‘How would you feel if your wife went out with another man while you’re away?’

‘I’d hope she had a good time. I’m not a jealous person either. Might be just the thing. I’m away a long time.’

‘What if, they…you know.’

‘That’s okay too. I’d hope it was a wonderful, memorable experience.’

‘Then what’s the difference between you and your wife and people who are not married?’

‘Total commitment.’

‘Don’t follow,’ she said, then added, ‘Yes I do.’ And her heart pounded while he asked her about the dessert.

In the next few days, their morning conversations in his room were as intense and intimate as the situation allowed. She became acutely aware that her workmates were counting the minutes she was in his room and sniggering when she returned. On Wednesday, Paul asked, ‘Why does it take ten times as long to give an Australian a cup of tea? Does he have to see you boil it up in a billy before he’ll drink it?’ She ignored him.

When he came down for breakfast, she was, as always, helping out in the restaurant. They took on new roles. A game really.

‘Good morning, Sir. What will you have today?’

‘I’ll take the continental, thank you.’

‘Certainly Sir, shouldn’t be more than five minutes. A paper? The lead story’s about Tony Blair in France and I do recommend the page three this morning.’

‘Thank you. Thank you so much.’

It amused them and the other guests seemed to believe it.

On Thursday, he returned to his room to find a folded note on the dresser. It read, ‘Don’t worry, he won’t bite’. He sat on the bed, re-reading it. What did it mean? Who won’t bite? He gave up and stood to do other things. There was something under his foot – a rat. Not a real one, though he certainly thought so at first glance, but rubber. He felt flattered that he should be singled out for special treatment. He checked the note against an address for a Chinese restaurant she’d given him two days before. It was certainly Rachel’s writing, probably even the same pen.

They both looked forward to the freedom of the extended weekend and spent it at a motor racing circuit (because she thought he’d like to see a fellow Australian racing), at a village fair near Lowestoft and visiting a huge holiday camp with thousands of caravans and organised fun. He found it slightly surprising that she would realise how utterly different, and appalling, such a holiday would be for an Australian. On the way back to Norwich on the Monday afternoon he asked her if she’d travelled. She’d seen about as much of Australia as he had and knew many of the Australian political issues. She also mentioned her failed marriage to an academic – a coincidence she’d been hiding in case he thought it significant. They talked about relationships and families, about triumphs and being hurt. Their conversation became so intense that she diverted and parked by the river because with the thoughts and feelings tumbling out as they were, they’d soon be running out of journey. They were still there at dusk.

It was a comforting experience for Rachel. The chance to talk so openly was rare for her. She kept so much from people. And the flirting was exciting. She had moments when she imagined them together, even more intimate than now. But he hadn’t said anything to suggest a physical relationship with her. Not directly anyway.

For Jeff, the conversation in the car and especially while they parked on the riverbank had an element of sadness. The conversation was more animated than he was used to, but it had the same openness and warmth. He looked over and felt overwhelmed by affection. He put his arm around her and she responded immediately by turning to lie across his lap with the gear lever pressed against her. It was their first physical contact.

‘I wasn’t expecting that,’ she said, looking up with a smile he could half-see.

‘I don’t know what came over me. Do you mind?’

She obviously didn’t. ‘No. One of us had to do something eventually.’ She drew his hand over to her breast. Suddenly he wanted more, undid the buttons of her blouse and slipped his hand on her lacy white bra. ‘It’s lovely,’ he said, brushing it gently.

‘You haven’t seen it yet.’

‘Your bra, it’s lovely.’ Why did he have to be so precise?

‘Oh you smooth-talking Aussi.’ She smiled in mock admiration. He didn’t feel like some polished seducer, and just stumbled on.

‘I’m sure your breast is lovely too. Quite a handful.’

‘Better quit while you’re ahead,’ she whispered and added, ‘What are we going to do?’

‘Now?’

‘And the rest of the time…’

‘Well, I love my wife and in six weeks I’ll be on the plane, but we can enjoy each other’s company, have some intimate times together…have some healthy recreational sex if you want to.’

‘Sounds good.’ She squeezed his hand.

‘But promise me,’ he said believing that she could see his eyes, ‘That if someone else comes along who can give you something more permanent, you’ll take that opportunity. Just tell me and I’ll make things uncomplicated. The reality is that we’re ships in the night.’

‘Deal.’

And that was it. No wild night of sexual abandon, not even a kiss, just as warm a cuddle as two people can manage in the front of a Ford Montego. He did up her buttons and she drove him back.

She stopped down the street from the hotel and as he got out she said: ‘I know I hadn’t told you this, but I’ve arranged to take another day off tomorrow. If you meet me at the car park at two, we can have the rest of the afternoon together. I’ll take you down to a restaurant in Suffolk for dinner. After that, we can sleep together at my place – if you still want to.’

‘Yes. I do.’

They spent the afternoon of the next day in her apartment. He’d imagined the possibility of an afternoon tryst, something to seal their new intimacy before their night together. Instead, she showed him around, stopping longest in her bedroom with its low and spacious bed, sipped wine with him and said she’d need a nap to be ready for the evening. She gave him magazines to read and asked him to wake her at five.

Was it a test, he wondered? Did he want her to barge in and ravish her or would she be, as he would, repelled by the idea? He read National Geographics and dozed in her comfortable chair. At five to five he made her a cup of tea and pushed her half-open door aside as she stirred. She was obviously naked but the sheet covered her to her shoulders. He gave her a couple of extra pillows and she sat up, pulling the sheet with her. He sat at the foot of the bed for a few minutes and left her to shower and dress.

The restaurant was part of a pub and well out in the Suffolk countryside. They were early and walked on the edge of the woods as the sun set. She’d had doubts since suggesting their night together, but they were gone now. She was ready, she thought, to have a man in her bed again and she was imagining as they walked how he might look naked in the soft light of her bedroom. She wanted to recapture the intimacy of their time by the river and feel him hard inside her.

He was struck by the coolness of their agreement. It seemed passionless to agree so far in advance to something so private and physical. Yet, as he watched her and listened to her, there was no doubt that he wanted her. Curiosity alone aroused his body. As they walked and she pointed out favourite plants, he wondered whether he was adding anything of interest to their conversation. What would those breasts, those hips, look like when her clothes were stripped away?

Neither had much appetite. It was obvious why, so she said so.

‘It’s exciting anticipating a new lover isn’t it?’

‘I haven’t done this for years, I thought it might be only me who was distracted.’

They drove back much of the way in silence. But before long they were almost running up her stairs and into her bedroom. She encouraged him to remove her light tee shirt and turned to offer him her bra clip. ‘I’m sure you know what to do.’

He undid it with the kind of efficiency you’d expect from someone married 10 years but turned her back to remove the cups slowly and admire her breasts. He bent down to kiss them both just above her nipples. Unusually for a man, especially one as hard as he was, he wanted them to spend more time slowly undressing each other but she stood back and peeled off her jeans and panties and slipped between the sheets. Her mood seemed to have changed, suddenly. She looked up at the ceiling as he removed his own clothes. Was this English reserve? It certainly wasn’t gypsy passion.

He held her close from behind, kissed her neck and cupped her full breasts as she snuggled into him without a word. After a few minutes, he moved his hand down to her curls, turned her over and kissed her there but she brought him back with her hands on his head. ‘Just cuddle me.’ So he did, offering her his arms and what seemed like comfort. It wasn’t what he’d anticipated but he delighted in being so close to a woman once more. But again he was clumsy and it almost ruined everything.

‘Has it been a while?’

‘What!’

‘Sorry I didn’t mean to pry. I was trying to be understanding.’

She said nothing but pulled his arms back around her.

Then minutes later, with nothing more to arouse her, she put her hand down to check that he was still hard and whispered. ‘Come into me.’

He slid in slowly, watching for her reaction. She seemed pleased and stroked his head as he buried himself there, but she was still subdued.

‘Sorry’, she said, ‘Bad memories, but this is nice.’ She put her hand down to touch him as he began long strokes and smiled again.

‘Still nice?’ he asked after a few minutes of little response.

‘Yes, but don’t analyse it, just do it. My ex used to analyse it, used to tell me what he felt like, how I should feel. I told him, it’s fucking, so just fuck. If you have to analyse it don’t bother.’ He recognised the conflict between English reserve and gypsy passion immediately, but fortunately, this time, didn’t tell her. Instead he stroked her with passion, came down to her and held her close. She wrapped her arms around him and they panted together in unison. He came. She didn’t, but seemed happy enough as he held her till she slept.

She woke before the alarm and whispered. ‘Want to come into me again?’

He was a little surprised and assumed, wrongly, that she’d built herself up and climaxed already. He was hard in seconds and she drew her legs apart for him. It was all over in a few minutes. She kissed him on the forehead and said, ‘That was sweet but you’ve got to go.’

That’s what they’d agreed. He would go in the side door of the hotel and to his room and she would arrive for work half an hour later. It worked perfectly.

She woke him for tea in his room. He was disappointed that he hadn’t satisfied her more but she didn’t show any trace of it. ‘You’re a considerate lover,’ she whispered as she left him.

In the restaurant they continued their charade.

‘Good morning Sir. And this morning, it’s the continental breakfast again is it Sir?’

A tourist looked up from his copy of The Sun, perhaps amused by the English formality between two people so close to the same age.

The next Saturday they did a pub-crawl. They hardly drank a thing alcoholic, but enjoyed the garden settings in the countryside, the quaint old buildings in Norwich and the conversation.

The sex that night was more rewarding for her and he felt better about it. They coupled often but not out of passion. It seemed a pleasant way to talk and it was while he was pushing deep into her that she mentioned her ex-husband again. ‘I don’t think I’m very good at relationships,’ she said, putting her fingers down again to feel him withdraw for another stroke.

‘Why do you say that?’

‘I abandon people. Ooh that’s good. Once when we were living in London, my ex had been overseas for three weeks and I forgot all about meeting him at the airport. Keep doing it like that. It’s nice.’

‘What happened?’

‘I was painting the kitchen ceiling and, well that’s it, I just forgot. After two hours he caught a taxi and when he came in I still had the roller in my hand. ‘Sorry’ didn’t cover it really.’ She laughed out loud. ‘I do things like that quite often.’

His Australian budget didn’t allow for two months in a hotel, so he spent his spare time in the rest of the week looking for an apartment to share and found one eventually with a colleague from the University.

They had arranged to meet at Norwich Castle the following Saturday at two o’clock. She was precise about it. But she didn’t come. He waited outside for an hour, then did his own tour of what is now a museum. She wasn’t there when he came out and the ticket attendant said she hadn’t seen a woman waiting. She had his new telephone number but didn’t ring. She didn’t have a telephone at home and he didn’t want to ring her at the hotel. In the next four weeks, still nothing. Why had she lost interest so suddenly? Why did she not tell him if someone else had attracted her? He kept thinking of her holding a paint roller.

He buried himself in his work and exploring all he could of Norwich. In a shed at the back of his apartment he found a bicycle and it was a convenient way to get around, though he soon discovered that Norwich is more undulating than a motorist would notice. He explored curious old shops with walls so out of plumb that tourists felt compelled to take photographs. He discovered the art gallery, shopped at the ancient market and saw more movies than he’d ever seen in a year.

On the morning of his last full day in Norwich, he discovered a letter on the steps to his apartment. It simply said, ‘I’m really sorry. Please come for dinner at my place tonight at 7.30pm – R.’ Instantly, all was forgiven. After all, she owed him nothing; that was the arrangement.

He spent the day re-visiting favourite places and for the first time Norwich Cathedral, but the time dragged. He decided to take the bicycle to her apartment and was surprised and concerned to find two cars outside. Perhaps someone had parked in the wrong place.

She took a minute to open the door, but there she was, radiant, in a black halter dress that emphasised her breasts. She hugged him, murmured a quiet ‘sorry’ in his ear, but no explanation. ‘Come up and meet Diana.’

Diana had been a school friend and they’d been close ever since. It was obvious that she would be staying for dinner too. He wasn’t too disappointed. He’d hoped that they might sleep together one final time but it would be satisfying to end their relationship with the affection that had begun it.

She lit the candles on the table. Diana had cooked the main course and turned out to be just as lively in conversation as Rachel. They didn’t need the wine to maintain the laughter, but it probably helped. There seemed to be no agenda. They were relaxed and hospitable. Around nine thirty, Diana cleared the dishes, said, ‘I have to be away now’, and left them to it. They talked for another few minutes then Rachel took their two wine glasses into the kitchen.

Moments later, he followed her and as she faced the bench he slipped his hands inside her dress, held her breasts and said, ‘I want to stay tonight.’ She put her hands on his for a couple of moments and led him into the bedroom.

You could say that it was her gypsy night. Any hint of English reserve was gone. She encouraged him to pleasure her with his finger and tongue and came, energetically, with her legs gripping his sides. When he slipped into her, she smiled and bucked her hips to meet him. What followed was passionate, not in the loving sense of course, but lustful with deep thrusting. Their bodies sweated with the energy of it. As always, her fingers clasped him to accentuate her sensations. She came again and he lay inside her while she recovered.

‘You’re really hard. It’s lovely. I feel really full.’ She kissed his neck. He began a slow build up but as his thrusts became faster and deeper, as she pulled on his hips to encourage him into her. She could sense his climax approaching. He was red with the exertion and she smiled up at him, then lay absolutely still as he spurted into her.

They lay there talking softly into the night. He held her the way she’d wanted in their first time together, but she was in no mood to sleep. ‘Want to do it again?’ He did, but this time she wanted him from behind, lying first, then kneeling; then as she looked out from the high window to the empty street. Like her, he realised that sleep wasn’t important that night. It was an opportunity to enjoy each other totally. They would have the memory of this physical passion for the rest of their lives. Even when their energy was drained or one would drift off, they woke each other. ‘Want to do it again? Want to do it some more?’ The answer was always yes and his body didn’t let him down once. They spent perhaps an hour in one of their conversations with him on top of her buried deep inside, moving slowly. They lay side-by-side, scissors style; then she rode him till her own energy faded. If they did sleep, and neither was sure, it could only have been just before dawn, when she nudged him and whispered, ‘Time to go.’ The neighbours would see and talk if he left it any longer.

How do you say a goodbye to someone who has shared so much intimacy? He kissed her breasts several times wishing them and her well. Then she said, ‘I hate long goodbyes’ so he dressed quickly, they smiled together and he closed the door behind him.

She lay there thinking back over their relationship. She was a little regretful about the lost few weeks but pleased that she had finally been able to be passionate with a man the way she wanted. She would sleep all morning.

He wheeled the bicycle back through the alley and found her street still deserted. His exhaustion showed the moment his feet touched the pedals. The undulating roads of the suburbs of Norwich were now mountains. Every revolution was a grind. He changed to the lowest gear and wondered if it might be quicker to walk but he was too exhausted for that too. Yet he struggled not to grin as the occasional jogger passed him the other way.

He caught the train for London at 10 that morning and hasn’t seen Rachel since.