Clara

"I'd like to kiss you there."

"Really?"

"Really."

"He never wanted to."

"But I do."

"Then let me suck you at the same time."

I raised myself up and turned about, catching my feet in the bunched clothes and nearly falling, and sank back to the ground. I was just about to apply my pursed lips to her mound when my cock was enveloped by the writhing wet heat of her mouth, and I shouted out incoherently. The feeling stopped briefly.

"Like it?" came, muffled.

"Oh! Yes!"

The feeling around my member resumed, and I nuzzled into her pubic triangle, and from there down to the wide open arena between her thighs. I found that my tongue was more sensitive to shape and texture than my lips, and I used it to slip and slide along and between her folds. I can't say that I was mad keen on the flavour - it was a little strong for my taste - but her reaction was enough to make me ignore this. She grunted and keened around my cock, and arched her back and legs, pressing her sensitive parts into my mouth as hard as possible. At the top of her folds there was a hard protrusion which I had noted earlier pressing into my fingers and, after getting a general idea of the layout of the land, I started to lick it.

"No," she said, "not yet. That's my clit - my clitoris - and it's very sensitive. Leave it alone for the moment. But keep doing what you're doing with my lips - that's fabulous." So I resumed stroking and probing her succulent folds with my tongue and lips, and she carried on assaulting my penis with her mouth, and I came again. She felt the spasms which telegraphed the forthcoming ejaculation, and sucked harder, swallowing every drop. She managed to find sufficient breath to utter, "Suck my clit!" as she did so, and I revisited the hard nub, simultaneously putting a finger into her again, and pumping it.

We both lay there panting this time, and then she started to giggle.

"What's so funny?"

"I can't believe this. There we are, you and me, mates, worked together for ages, and I've never really thought about you sexually - mainly because of that Spanish sod I suppose - and we're stranded on a beach in the middle of the night, cut off by the sea, I've been feeling shitty and really hard done by, yet in the last hour I've had two fabulous comes, and we haven't even fucked. Yet."

"Yet?"

"You bet. It's - what? - about one-ish, we're still cut off for another three or four hours, the sun's up at around the same time. You should be good for another couple of times, maybe more, and I know I can come like a Chinese cracker if everything's right. And I feel so hot, out in the open like this, just you and me and the sea and the moon, I feel so - " she searched for the right word, "- so bad, you know? Like, you know, just throw me down on the beach here and fuck me till I scream."

"Jesus." I'd never heard anyone talk like this, even in my wildest dreams.

"Do you feel it too? I mean, I know you're shy and hesitant, and this is all new, but you must feel some of it. I just want to - oh God, look," and she threw her legs wide, dropped one hand to her opening and started pummelling furiously, gripped her breast with the other and squeezed, pulling the nipple and rolling it between thumb and fingers, "I just want my tits squeezed, and your hard - uh- your cock, your prick, stick your prick in me, I want you to stick your prick in my cunt and fuck me, can you do that, is your prick hard again yet?"

And it was. I moved over her, throbbing again, carried away on the wave of her lust and my own. My member stood out from my groin as I moved one leg over to between hers, straddling her thigh, rubbing myself against her and rubbing my own thigh over her groin, crushing her hand between us. She grabbed my penis.

"Don't rub, you bastard, put it in me! Put your fucking cock in me!" and she forced her legs up and open, making me lift my knee so that I was now kneeling fully between her thighs, at the same time positioning my tip at her opening, then angling her hips upwards suddenly so that my entire length was buried in her, burned up in velvet friction. I cried out, unable to bear the exquisite pain.

"Yes! Oh yes!" she groaned. "Oh, you're in me, God, you're so hot and hard, you're filling me up! No don't move, I'll die, just stay there a minute," but her actions gave the lie to her words, still moving herself, not much, just little movements, keeping the friction going. I tried hard not to move, knowing that I would have ejaculated by now if it weren't for the fact that I had just come twice in a very short period of time. But I couldn't hold back, and I also started to pump gently back and forth, trying to match her movements, trying to match the pivoting upwards of her hips with my own pushing forwards, timing my withdrawal to coincide with her tilting downwards.

For a while we carried on gently like this, orgasm not imminent for either of us, enjoying the sensation of friction, my rigid length poling back and forth in her hot, oiled depths. I could have been fucking in eternity somewhere, centred on the sensation in my penis but not ruled by it, my mind concentrated at my genitals but at the same time roaming at will throughout the universe. In fact, as my mind wandered slightly, I slowed down, falling slightly out of synchronisation with her. As soon as I realised this, I sped up again.

"Aah!" she cried. "Oh, don't do that, oh do it again, oh fuck!"

Intrigued, I slowed down to a near stop.

"No, don't stop!" she hissed urgently. "Keep going, you bastard!"

So I started again, varying my speed, sometimes maintaining the steady regular relaxing rhythm we had already established, sometimes slowing to a near stop, sometimes pumping rapidly, maybe for two or three thrusts, maybe for twenty or thirty, but making a point of being unpredictable.

It was like plugging her into the mains. She lost all control. Her feet, braced on the ground as she thrust her hips back up at me, failed to give her sufficient traction so she brought her legs up and hooked them round my back, pulling herself desperately up my cock as I varied my tempo.

And all the time, she was hissing, whimpering and shouting to herself and to me. "Oh God, you bastard! Oh, yes, yes, yes, that's.. ohhh! Go on, keep... Yes, oh don't, oh that's so good, oh, your cock, it's... ohhh, oh fuck me, go on, fuck me harder, yes, that's it! I'm going to come.. no, don't stop now! Fuck me harder! Oh please, don't stop, my cunt, my cunt... ohhh! Yess!"

Her immersion in the approach to her orgasm was so erotic that it lifted me from my lack of urgency. I felt myself swelling and, as her orgasm gripped her as strongly as her vagina gripped my penis, I pumped four or five times into her, in perfect synchronisation with her internal spasms, pressed more deeply into her than I could have imagined, my orgasm rushing from the tips of my toes and the top of my head and touching every nerve ending in my entire body on its way to explode out of me into her.

We lay there, on the damp pile of clothes, my composure just about sufficient to enable me to carry on supporting my weight on my elbows, my length still buried deep inside her, wilting gradually as our panting slowed.

"Jesus Christ," said Clara, "I've never had anything like that."

"What, really?"

"I did it a lot with him, but I'm not experienced otherwise. And I don't think he was very good. But that was fabulous."

I basked in her praise for a minute, although I couldn't see her face. And then a horrific thought crossed my mind.

"Oh Christ! I came in you! What happens - "

"It's OK," she soothed me. "I'm on The Pill."

"That was so good," I said.

"And the night is still young. There will be more, before the sun comes, up, just as soon as you're hard again."

"Well, I don't think it will be for a while."

"Hmm. What turns you on?"

"I don't really have much experience of being turned on. Nearly everything does! But I especially like visual things. Like you - you're so beautiful. I love your breasts. They're a beautiful shape, and they move so.. so heavily when you move. They don't wobble, they sort of sway. And your hair, the fan-shaped triangle - it kind of points the way to, you know.."

"Funny thing, isn't it? There isn't a comfortable word. My mum always called it the fanny, and that seems to be what girls and women use as a working term. The pretty word is pussy - that's probably the one for when we're talking now. The best one is cunt, but that's only to be used when you're fucking - it's really dirty, and fucking is a dirty word, and they want you to think fucking is dirty although it isn't, it's really good, but it has all these ideas of dirtiness tied up with it. Look."

I wouldn't have believed it.

And so Clara and I fucked away the rest of the silver-lit, castaway night. Orgasm now even less urgent than before, we moved around, the beach our arena. We tried doggy-style, kneeling and standing, Clara sitting in my lap, her sitting on a rock as I stood and pounded into her until my knees complained, standing in the warm sea, anything we could think of until, at last, it stopped being fun and started being serious and we came together one last time, with few words but a single mind.

By then the tide had dropped. We washed in the sea, put most of our clothes on, and waded back round the point as the sun telegraphed the pinkness of his advent over the horizon to the east. The long shadows of first light followed us as we arrived back at the sea front, exchanging embarrassed greetings with a dawn dog-walker, and the heat of the day to come was apparent when I left Clara at her door.

She and I found many opportunities to fuck that summer: thankfully, a number of them were in daylight, and I never tired of looking at her naked body, whether it was in repose or whether I was fucking it with every fibre of my being.

But with the autumn came my return to college. Clara went back out to Spain with her parents after the season, and it didn't take her long to take up with another young man. But she was under no illusions this time: the relationship was on her terms, not his. No complaints on my part - I was doing my best to work my way through all the first year female students in the Union Bar.

And then we lost touch.

But I bumped into her this year, and we went for a drink and compared notes on marriage, work, family, and everything else which had filled the last 35 years. It took surprisingly little time, but was still a happy thing to do. She was an overweight, middle-aged woman with no more than the faintest trace of the sensuous young woman she had been, and I was an overweight, middle-aged man with just a little more confidence than the callow teenager she had known.

And neither of us mentioned that night at Golden Cove.

But I know we both remembered it.