Ivy Cottage

I laughed and said, “Perhaps you won’t feel the same after a few days and you learn about my bad habits.”

“We’ll see,” she said, returning my laugh. “What about if we go to bed early?”

“Cleo, aren’t you feeling too tired to…?”

“Of course not darling.”

“Well, I’ll have a shower and…”

“Have a bath with me Jim.”

“You mean together?”

“Of course, it’d be lovely. We could wash each other.”

“If you’d really like it, okay.”

She stood up and taking my hand we went to my bedroom. There we stripped off, and seeing again those lovely breasts and the firm cleft just waiting to be penetrated, I tried to get her on the bed.

She resisted, laughing and saying, “Don’t be so impatient darling, we’ve got all night. Come on, let’s bath.”

The huge bath seemed to take an age to fill, but finally there was enough water for our purpose. We clambered in sitting opposite each other.

Cleo’s eyes had a drowsy hooded look about them. “Wash me darling,” she said in a languid tone, “wash me all over.”

I began innocently enough, kneeling in front of her and reaching my arms round her back to wash her there. My penis was erect and right in front of Cleo. I felt her hand touch it, and then she began to play with it.

“Mmm, that’s lovely darling, but what about the front of me.”

I began to wash the front of her, dwelling long over her breasts.

“Oh darling, that is so…don’t stop…wash me there for a long time.”

I obeyed and after a while she said, “What about my legs, sweetheart. I’d better stand up so you can do them. You’ll take special care at the top of them, won’t you?”

She stood, and with me still kneeling I began the process of washing her legs, but I must admit it was a bit hurried until I reached her vagina. I washed it carefully; inserting my fingers inside to make sure I cleaned it thoroughly.

“Oh God, Jim, that is wonderful, but I think it’s my turn to wash you now.”

She came and knelt behind me and began washing my back. The touch of her soft soapy fingers nearly had me ejaculating, but it was when she began work on my front that things got truly volatile.

Feeling the by now near steel hard erection I was displaying Cleo said, “I think we’d better do something about this before there’s an explosion.”

Sitting in front of me she straddled me with her legs and my penis slid into her.

She smiled at me and said, “Darling, you can detonate in there where it won’t make a mess.”

Within seconds I was doing just that, detonating. Cleo moved only very slightly and I couldn’t fully penetrate her in the position we were in, but somehow it made it all the more tantalising.

All the time she kept talking as if I needed encouragement, like a child being persuaded to eat.

“That’s right darling, put it all in me; let it all go and you’ll feel so much better; I want to make you feel good.”

She had no orgasm and did not seem to be seeking one. It was as if what we were doing was for my pleasure, and it was her joy to give.

When I had finished ejaculating I felt drained. Cleo stayed sitting across me, kissing me softly on my face and lips, still talking between kisses.

“That’s better, isn’t it? You really enjoyed that didn’t you? I want to give to you; I want you to enjoy me. Now, you’ll have to do a little more cleaning. I’ll attend to you while you take care of me.”

She removed herself from me and began to wash my penis. I rewashed her vagina and this time the sperm I had inserted into her floated to the top of the water to hang there in sticky globules. “I have made a mess after all,” I laughed.

We got out of the bath and dried each other and I had an overwhelming desire to devour her, she looked so good.

“She’s everything you want in a woman, isn’t she?” whispered the inner voice. “Look at her breasts; wouldn’t you like to stroke them and suck her nipples; and what about those thighs and that entrance to heaven at the top of them? Come on, admit it, she’s got you hooked and you’re loving it aren’t you?”

Cleo made her way to the bedroom while I let the water out of the bath. When I got back to the bedroom she was sitting on the edge of the bed. As I came towards her she lay back, and raising her legs so that her feet rested on the edge of the bed, she opened them.

Her vulva was completely exposed to my gaze. I stood stock still for a moment. I had never actually looked at female genitalia before and I was fascinated by what I was seeing. The gently swelling mound of her mons below which began a ribbon of pubic hair that ran down to the firm cleft of her vulva.

As I stood staring her hands came down and placing her fingers on the outer lips she opened them. I could see beyond them the two pink lips of her labia minora. They seemed to flutter, opening and closing over the dark entrance to her vaginal channel. Above the little lips I could see the hood of skin covering her clitoris.

All these parts of female genitals I had felt, but had never seen them, and for me there had always been an air of mystery about them. Even seeing them now the mystery was not dispelled, only deepened.

Questions raced through my mind. What was it that made men so eager to enter through those lips with their penis to penetrate to the depths of that channel?

Why over the ages had men risked their lives for one moment of blissful coupling with a desired and beloved one? Had not men and women, knowing they would be put to death if discovered, often in the most agonising ways, still risked all for one sexual union with each other?

On the other hand, why did men and women so often debase the sexual act, even referring to it in such words as, “A dirty weekend,” when surely it should be “A weekend of love”?

Cleo smiling between the vee of her wide open legs interrupted my thoughts. “Darling, I thought you’d better see and know me as much as possible.”

She had spoken very softly and you may think me foolish, but I felt myself to be in the presence of something sacred and ineffable. Her genitals seemed to me like an icon – something that represents a deeper mystery that exists behind it. What is that deeper mystery?

I felt an overwhelming desire to worship what Cleo was exposing to me. I dropped on my knees before her, and leaning forward I kissed her sex organ. I smelt her female fragrance and it seemed to me like incense in some holy place. Her hand began to softly stroke my hair, and I was stirred to taste her.

I pushed my tongue through the inner lips. She was lubricating heavily, and I could taste the salty flavour of her fluid. She now had both hands holding my head to her as she sighed, “Oh my love…my love…”

With my fingers I raised the hood over her clitoris, pleasure’s holy of holies, and circled it with my tongue. This time she did not make the singing sounds that normally presaged her orgasm; instead she gave out little breathless gasps that grew increasingly urgent.

I felt her body begin to vibrate and she clasped my head even tighter to her. Then, giving out a piercing cry her whole frame seemed to jolt violently and then her sex organ was squirming over my face and making little jerking movements.

She was almost at the end of this orgasmic upheaval when she gave another cry and there was a spurt of liquid that shot over my face. There was a moment of anxiety as I thought I had injured her in some way. It was only afterwards I learned that this was a female ejaculation; a rare phenomenon I understand.

After this Cleo moved back on the bed, and with her legs still wide open and raised, panted, “Now, darling…now…”

I came between her legs and penetrated her. I could feel that she was flooded with her discharge as I went down into her depths. My face was also soaked and Cleo was licking it – tasting her own fluid.

It was a strangely quiet coupling, as if we both felt that it was something very special. For myself I was intensely aware of being joined with her. It was not like my experiences with other women. I suppose sexual intercourse with them had been what is now referred to as, “recreational sex.” With Cleo it was different, although I could not then have defined that difference.

When I ejaculated we were looking into each other’s eyes, and I released my seed into her deeply but gently. When I had finished we stayed united, still looking into each other’s eyes as if seeking to know the thoughts that lay behind them. I struggled to understand what was happening and to express what I was feeling in words, but it was Cleo who focused the truth of the situation.

“There are no words, my love.”

I pulled out from her and lay beside her. She held close to me and although she was my senior by seven years at that moment I felt the older. I experienced a strange feeling of protectiveness for her, and the puzzlement I had known earlier that day re-emerged.

“How is it possible for this efficient woman of business, seemingly so much in control, to be this soft yielding woman I am now holding?” I had no answer to this enigma. Perhaps ultimately all women are inscrutable and must be accepted just as they are at any given moment.

I had anticipated a long night of fervent love making but what had passed between us seemed to have been so profound no further sexual union was called for; at least, for the time being. It was enough to lay there holding her.

Cleo seemed to go off into a peaceful sleep, but I lay awake for a long time trying to come to terms with what had happened between us. I was struggling to cope with a whole new torrent of emotions and that inner voice kept prodding me.

“I warned you where it would end. You love her don’t you? You want her above all women, eh? How are you going to cope with this situation? You’ve never felt bonded to a woman before, so what are you going to do? You can’t marry her because she’s your aunt, and the family would go raving mad if they knew what was going on between you.”

My sleep was not peaceful. I had nightmares in which I saw other men making love with Cleo; fondling her breasts as they kissed her; penetrating her as she squealed with ecstasy. At one point they turned to see me watching and burst out laughing.

“Go away little boy,” Cleo taunted in my dream, “You’ve had your share.” Then they both laughed again.

I awoke in the morning to find Cleo still beside me. A wave of relief passed over me. It had all been a horrible dream; she was still with me and not in the embrace of some other man.

Cleo was awake and looking at me. When she saw I was awake she whispered, “Make love with me, darling.”

With the dregs of the nightmare still with me I took her rather violently, as if punishing her for the dreams. In the midst of this forceful coupling a new thought rose up in me. I wanted to cry out, “I’ll make you pregnant and then you won’t ever discard me.” It remained a thought as the implications of such an event for both Cleo and myself emerged to rebuke me.

Cleo had no orgasm, and when I had finished I said to her, “I’m sorry I was so rough Cleo.”

“That’s all right, darling, you didn’t hurt me, and it was rather nice,” she said gently.

The thought of making her pregnant forced me to ask the question; “Cleo, suppose you get pregnant...we’re not using anything and…”

She was smiling at me as she said, “You don’t have to worry about that, my love. Just enjoy me as I’m enjoying you.”

She gave no explanation and I assumed she must be fitted with some contraceptive device, or even that she had been told she couldn’t get pregnant. Her own apparent confidence reassured me, and I pursued the matter no further.

During the next two weeks I obeyed her injunction and “enjoyed” her. We never seemed to be able to get enough of each other, and Cleo went so far as to let me make love with her when she was supposed to be working.

I helped out doing minor routine jobs with her in the office, and I would go to her and cup her breasts and kiss her. Mostly she would just remove her panties, sit across the corner of the desk, and standing in front of her I would enter her.

We continued to visit farms and several times Cleo had stopped the car and we had got out and went to secluded spot. Lying on a blanket we would make love out in the open. But it was at night we really explored each other.

We would linger long over each coupling, touching and sucking; speaking extravagant words of love. Having given Cleo regular oral sex, she decided to reciprocate. One night she kissed her way down my body until she came to my erect penis. She took it in her hand and looked at it for a few moments, and then as if making up her mind, she took the crown into her mouth.

I felt myself about to ejaculate and tried to warn her, “Darling, I’m coming,” and made to push her head away from me, but she resisted and held on while I emptied myself into her mouth. She seemed to want to suck me dry, and when I’d finished she said rather stickily, “I’d better go and wash my mouth out.”

One night I made an attempt at anal sex. The vicar’s wife had introduced me to that, but for once Cleo resisted.

“You can put your sperm into my mouth, my vagina or between my breasts, but not there,” she admonished.

It was no great loss since it was the vicar’s wife who had wanted it done to her, and it had meant very little to me.

Chapter 10. The Darkness Falls

In the middle of the third week there was a telephone call from my father. I had an appointment to see the dean of studies and needed to return home in the next couple of days.

I had known that at some time such a message would come, but it gave me an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach when I thought of leaving Cleo, even for a little while.

I had given up any resistance to admitting I loved her, and the only problem was how could I be with her? When I talked it over with Cleo I suggested that I stayed in town during the week and came to the cottage at weekends.

She smiled and said, “Darling, for the coming year you should be concentrating on your studies. I don’t think you should be coming down here frequently.”

I was staggered and the old suspicions reared their ugly heads again. Did she want me out of the way so that she could fuck with other men?

I tried to protest, but she was adamant. “Suppose I write to you or telephone to let you know when it’s okay for you to come here?”

That only confirmed my suspicions about other men but I was too proud to say anything about it. So, it was this loose agreement about writing or telephoning that I had to accept. After all, despite what had happened between us and the words we had spoken, I ultimately had no claim on Cleo.

I was feeling sick with despair on the day of my departure. I climbed onto the motorbike and was about to leave in a sulk, not even kissing Cleo goodbye, but she came to me and kissing me said, “Darling, work hard on your studies, and we shall be together again.”

I grunted, kick started the bike, and rattled off in the direction of the city.

Taking Cleo’s advice I signed up for management and administration and once the course began I tried to settle down to study. It was about three weeks before a letter came from Cleo. Its tone was insipid, almost cold, and contained mainly a recital of local farming news and how her business was going.

I could hardly believe that the writer was the same woman I had made love with, but then I remembered those other times when Cleo seemed to be two different people, the business woman and the lover.

I wanted to telephone or write to her, but foolish pride stepped in. “I won’t demean myself,” I thought. “All her talk about love was bullshit; she’s screwing with some other guy now – or guys.”

I tormented myself with mental images of Cleo in bed with some man. I thought about going to the cottage unannounced one weekend, but then dreaded the thought of arriving there to find her with someone else.

I was so twisted up about Cleo during the first couple of months of my course I began to mess that up. I got called to the dean’s office and was given a dressing down.

“I realise it takes time for some students to settle down to the work here,” he said, “but your work so far has been very disappointing. Your high school record was excellent, but it is not being born our here. We have far more applicants than we have places for at the college, so unless your work improves markedly by the end of this year you’ll find yourself without a place in second year.”

That shook me up, so I made an effort and buckled down to study. I tried to put Cleo out of my mind and endeavoured to console myself with the vicar’s wife, but it didn’t work. It wasn’t her fault, but being with her was like driving an old Ford after being with Rolls-Royce Cleo. I knew why the difference, but tried, as I had at the beginning with Cleo, to crush that piece of knowledge. I couldn’t even do that. I loved Cleo and didn’t love the vicar’s wife.

Letters came from Cleo even though I never replied. There were no telephone calls by her or by me. The letters were all very neutral but showed no sign of anger at my failure to answer them. They always ended, “Love, Cleo,” but that only made me sneer. “Who’s moaning into you now, Cleo?”

I battled to lose myself in work and my results did improve, but always Cleo was there like a spectre, taunting me.

I suppose most people feel like that when they have opened themselves to love, only to find they have been led up the garden path. You feel humiliated and a thorough idiot. Sometimes in the dead of night I would lie awake softly calling Cleo’s name and crying for my loss.

The terrible thing was there was no one I could share my pain with. What could I say, “I’ve been fucking my aunt and I’m in love with her”?

The sharp edges of my pain began to blunt towards the end of that year. I suppose the effort to make sure I did get a place in second year helped in this, and I began to make plans for what I would do during the long summer vacation.

I was still financially skating on thin ice, relying on a meagre student allowance and the little my parents could afford. I thought I might make a tour of some youth hostels on the old rattletrap of a motorbike. It would be cheap and I would make sure I went in any direction other than Ivy Cottage.

Chapter 11. Confrontation

It came as a shock the, when arriving home one evening during the last week of term my father said, “Ah, Jim, Cleo rang about half an hour ago asking if you’d like to go down to the cottage for a week of two. She asked if you’d ring her back and let her know.”

I felt my mouth go dry and my stomach began to churn. There was a buzzing noise in my head and my mother asked, “Are you all right Jim, you’ve turned very pale?”

My father laughed and said, “It’s not all that frightening, is it? It’s Cleo, not some fiend who’s inviting you. You only have to say ‘yes’ or ‘no’.”

I tried to laugh and assure mother I was feeling okay, just a bit tired. “I’ll ring her back a bit later, dad,” I said, and fled to my bedroom.

What the hell was I going to do? There was all the anger and jealousy I felt for Cleo and yet…the very thought of seeing her, being near her…perhaps even touching her. “God, why can’t I shake her out of my thoughts…my life? She’s fitting me neatly into her schedule of lovers. She’d have another couple of weeks playing the love game with me, then I’d be off and the next candidate would take over. And yet…?”

I resolved to go to the cottage. “I’ll tell her what I think of her and her games. I’d show her that I’d seen through her and what a slut she is.”

I went to the telephone resolved not to be friendly, but I had to be careful because my parents might overhear what I said. I’d simply very politely and coolly accept her offer to spend time at the cottage. My ire I would reserve until I saw her.