Thanks Be

'A most mature attitude, my dear. When did you decide that?'

'I've spent the afternoon thinking.'

'Well, thank you very much. I don't reckon it will happen. As I said, you're enough for me. But if it does, just remember "what is good for the goose is sauce for the gander".'

THE EVENING HAD TURNED out fine. Though with the grass alongside the footpath still wet we didn't linger en route to the Royal Harry. It being Friday there was a fair throng outside, and not just of displaced smokers. Inside it was well packed with locals; the traders amongst them moaning at their lowly takings. Why is it always the ones doing the most ripping off who moan the loudest?

Tonight Dave was missing. Either counting his takings or organising accommodation for tomorrow's change-over of trippers. However Brian and Wesley were sitting at our usual table together with Eric Brown, who hadn't yet met Bea.

Seeing us coming Brian appropriated a couple of chairs while I got in the first round. I decided to continue Bea's education, so it was a half of Bishop's Finger for her.

She took one sip, and screwed up her face. 'How can you drink that?'

We all laughed. 'Well it is an acquired taste,' I said.

'Here try this,' Brian passed over his Guinness.

Tentatively she took a sip. Shut her eyes and managed to keep a straight face. 'Almost as bad.'

'Stop teasing the girl,' Eric said.

'What are you suggesting,' I asked.

Wesley chipped in, 'She obviously prefers quality.'

'And that is?' I asked.

'Cider, m'dear. Not your scrumpy though. Here I'll get her a glass of the best.'

This time Bea approved. Though I had to caution her that one could get drunk on that just as easily as anything else.

'Trust you to spoil things,' Wesley chided me. 'In my younger days it were known as a guaranteed leg opener. Though I doubt an upright citizen like you would stoop to such methods.'

I stopped myself in time. If I hadn't needed him to model for me, friend or no friend, I would likely have done him a mischief.

The conversation became general. Bea, obviously, had little to contribute, but I could see she was again listening hard; storing up things to question me about later.

We were well into the second round of drinks when Bea decided to take a bathroom break. On her way back I saw her stop to read a flyer stuck on the wall, advertising a fair in Broadvale that weekend. As she read it a young guy - slim, obviously fit, with a short haircut; to my eye clearly military - moved next to her and spoke quietly.

I gathered myself and half rose to go and intervene when she turned and headed back to our table.

'Ralph, I've been invited to go to the fair. Can I go?'

It had to happen sometime. A guy nearer to her age hitting on her. But did it have to be this soon? If I tried to stop her I might win now, but at the risk creating an undercurrent of resentment. Eventually I would be on a hiding to nothing. I could only hope. 'It's not up to me,' I said. 'If you really want to, then go. But be careful. You don't know him.'

Eric, who'd been listening, chipped in, 'He should be alright. He's Matt Alsopp's boy. Went for the marines four months back.' He raised his eyes and looked at the guy, who I could now see was only late teens. 'What you doing home Tony?'

'End of course leave, Mr. Brown.'

I looked at him, memories of my first months in the army crowding my imagination. If he was anything like me and my mates. . . I was stymied. There really was nothing I could do about it without being heavy-handed and bossy, which in the long run was guaranteed to push her away from me. I would just have to wait and worry.

'How you getting there?' I asked.

'Got a motorcycle, sir.'

'Well take it easy. And make sure she wears a helmet.'

'Will do, sir. Thank you.' He turned to Bea, 'See you tomorrow, then. Top of your footpath. About one-thirty.'

We left the pub shortly after and though it was apparent from her suppressed excitement that she was looking forward to her trip to the wide world of adults I carefully avoided referring to her appointment - I suppose if I must call a spade a spade, her date.

It was with a heavy heart that I took her to bed, wondering if the next day would produce the turning point I had feared. I consoled myself by reflecting on the few short days I had known her and the truth of the adage that 'tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.

IF I'D ANY HOPE THAT the weather would again turn rough and cause at least a postponement, if not a cancellation of Bea's outing, it was dashed as soon as I opened my eyes the next morning. The sun was blazing down out of clear sky, encouraging us to an extended swim followed by a quick coupling on the sand.

I persuaded Bea to pose for an hour or so then, reluctantly, sent her to prepare for her date while I organised an early lunch.

We had no sooner finished eating than Wesley appeared. Taking him into the studio I explained what I wanted. He was agreeable, provided the promised beer appeared at regular intervals, so I set to work. A spell of red hot application, for I wasn't sure when, if ever, I could get him to model again, had me so immersed that my worries over Bea slipped to the back of my mind and I didn't even notice her disappear. It was only later when I went to refill Wesley's glass that I realised she had gone.

By the end of the afternoon the major part of his contribution was complete. Afterwards we sat on my viewing terrace and chatted. What about I have no idea for my concern over Bea was again foremost in my thoughts. As it began to get dark Wesley suggested we go for a drink but I couldn't rouse myself. Anyway the longer she was away the worse company I became.

AFTER HE LEFT it hit me extra hard. For the first time since I first set eyes on her rounded rump I was alone. Perhaps I should have welcomed the chance to review the events of the past week; to put our relationship in perspective. But no way. All I could do was sit and worry and hope she would be back soon.

Vainly trying to suppress my concerns I eventually went to bed. Lonely and bereft I stared into the gloom. I heard a distant owl hoot; the gentle swish of the swell as high tide came. . . and went. The odd squawk of a gull. At last I gave in - there was no way I was going to sleep this night. Several hot drinks later; a chapter of my book read without absorbing or remembering a word; a flick through the television channels that were either off the air or showing drivel for morons, and the first gleam of dawn brushed the windows.

A slow shower, a shave and I tried to busy myself in the studio. Moving like a zombie I cleaned brushes, prepared a couple of canvasses, and generally tidied - mocked all the while by the part painted image of Bea watching from my easel.

What I needed was a cigarette. But it was two years since I'd succumbed to the pressure of a nannying government and given up. Who cared. I dimly recalled an old packet that remained to tempt me and prove that I really had quit. A hurried search through the drawers of the Welsh dresser where I kept my oddments and I found them - five dried up sticks.

Coughing and spluttering I sit on the terrace staring out to an uncaring ocean. Nothing helped. I couldn't get my mind off Bea and what she was doing. Why had I been so taken with her? Did it matter? The heart has its reasons that reason knows nothing of.

Desolate I roamed through the house. I'd saved her from her step-father. I'd brought her to my home and shared it with her. I'd offered her the chance to be part of my life. And what had she done? Gone off with the first yobbo that came along. To hell with her.

Slouching aimlessly round the building I went onto the beach and stared out to the horizon. A movement caught my eye. A figure was wading round the headland into my cove. Was it? Could it be? No. It was that hussy who'd been in the pub.

I watched as she dropped her bag onto the soft, dry sand above high tide mark. Rummaging inside she pulled out two big towels, one of which she carefully spread down the slope of the beach, placing beside it a book, sun-glasses, and a bottle of what I assumed was sun-block. Satisfied with the arrangement she paused to look toward the horizon where a large freighter steamed slowly by.

Reaching behind she pulled on the strings of her pale green bikini top, allowing her large, melon breasts to spill out and dangle freely. Tossing it beside the towel she leaned forward to stretch down and slip off her flip-flops, then unfastened her bikini bottoms, pulling them through her crotch to fall beside the top.

I almost forgot to breathe at the sight of her full curves. The way gravity shaped her boobs, forcing their firm orbs into swaying, pendant bells; the muscular bow of her strong thighs and calves; the flawless globe of her arse. This was a woman made to pleasure men. And I was sure she knew it.

Did I make a noise? Whatever; she turned again and stared up the slope to my studio. She must have seen me watching yet she still firmly stretched her arms high above her head. Even at that distance I had a clear view of her shaved mound and the dark slit of her furrow. Fuck! My newly restored cock was solid at the sight of her.

I lowered my head and looked at my feet, ashamed of my inclination to betray Bea. But why should I feel guilty? She was the one who'd strayed first. Serve her right if I played away.

When I looked back the woman was knee deep in the water. A quick dive and she was heading out to sea. Obviously she was one of those females who have the confidence to swim in the nude.

I went back inside and for many minutes again wandered from room to room. Everywhere I looked reminded me of my loss. Seething and ready to lash out at the slightest provocation it was just as well I was alone, for God help anyone who made the mistake of crossing my path. Finally I checked on Wilful and went back round the house to the beach.

Sitting naked on her towel the woman was spreading sun-block along those smooth limbs. I noted that the tide was already almost too high for her to return round the point. Did she realise that if she stayed she would be stuck till late afternoon - unless she was prepared to walk up the path and back to the village by way of the pub. Perhaps I should tell her. Or was I looking for a reason to justify the urgings of the little brain between my thighs.

As I walked toward her she reached for her towel to cover her breasts and pussy. 'I hope you're not planning to stay for long,' I said.

'And if I am?' A last drop of sea water oozed from her blonde hair, slid along her cheek to her jaw and dropped to trickle into the deep valley of her cleavage.

'The tide's coming in. Another few minutes and it'll be too deep and down right dangerous to wade back round the point.'

'So I'll go up along the cliff.'

'You're welcome to try. But the only way is up past my studio and along the path for about three-quarters of a mile, then down the main road. Bit hard on the feet without proper shoes.'

'And if I choose to wait?'

'Then I hope you've got enough food and drink. It'll be early evening before the tide's again low enough for you to risk going round the rocks.'

Thoughtfully she looked me up and down. 'That's your place up there?'

'Yes. It's mine.'

'Where you entertain guests?'

'Occasionally, when I'm not painting.'

'And are you painting today?'

'I would like to.'

She let the towel slip to expose those tantalising breasts and mound. Looking me straight in the face she suggestively parted her legs. 'I don't suppose you're in need of a model.'

I paused, uncertain. It seemed my cock was still inclined to make up for the years of deprivation while my mind was telling me to remain virtuous for my new found treasure. But then, why should I keep faith with the little minx; if she could play the field then why shouldn't I. We'd said what was good for the goose was sauce for the gander. I'd show her.

'Well, maybe.' I was being equivocal. 'The one I was expecting has let me down. Are you offering?'

'I think you've seen something you can use and if I'm going to be stuck here all day I might as well have some entertainment.' She deliberately lowered her gaze to my shorts.

'I suppose you could fill in. Have you any experience?'

Her eyes crinkled in a small smile, 'Oh, I'm well versed at being filled in. I'm quite sure you'll find my performance satisfactory.'

'Right. Come up to the house when you're ready'

'I'm ready now.' Getting to her feet she turned her back to me and bent to collect her belongings..

Then I noticed the tat of a small bird. How had I missed this tramp stamp at the top of her arse crack? For a moment it turned me off. I detest the things some people do to their bodies in the mistaken impression it somehow makes them interesting. There was a time when I just ignored piercings and tattoos, but after my accident I came to think of the body as something to be cared for and preserved. I prayed Bea would not be tempted to desecrate her beauty in this way. What was I thinking? I didn't own her, and why should I care, when the jade had decided to desert me?

I came to as the woman folded her towel. Dear god! That arse! Those legs! Smooth and tanned and even longer than Bea's. Bending forward from the waist she began to collect her discarded bikini and towel, the pink flesh of her furrow totally bared to my view. And what an enticing one it was; completely shaved its wet lips glistened in the sunlight.

Turning her head she looked over her shoulder and winked at me. 'Think I'll make a good subject?'

I didn't reply. Did I really want to do this? Shouldn't I give Bea the benefit of the doubt and wait a little longer?

She idly swung her beach bag and took a step toward me. 'Like my tits? Men often say they make a pretty picture.'

'Yes, yes. Very nice.' Without thinking I lifted my hand and gently squeezed one.

'I thought you would,' she teased. 'And I reckon I'm going to love that big asset of yours.' The back of her hand slowly stroked along the bulge in my shorts.

There's a limit to self-denial and my little brain had shown my big brain what it was. Bea was forgotten.

'Let me carry that for you.' I held out a hand to take her bag.

'Ah! A real gentle man.' She emphasised the gap before "man".

Guiding her up the outside stairs to the terrace and into the living room I pointed out the stairs down to the bathroom and studio. 'I suggest you use the facilities before we begin,' I said. 'Once I get started I try to keep going.'

Moving toward the bathroom she giggled 'I like that in a man.'

'Right, then I'll go and prepare. Studio's the door on the right.'

Just what was I going to paint? Did I really have to continue the sham and put paint on canvas? I felt a twinge of guilt as I removed the part finished painting of Bea from the easel and stacked it with its face to the wall, then set a new, clean canvas in its place. Standing I stared at the dais. How to pose her? Image after image slid through my mind, each more tasteless and shoddy than the one before.

Suddenly I woke up. She was taking her time. I'd been standing in a dream for a good few minutes. Had I been a fool to trust her? I went to see what she was about. There was no sign of her and the bathroom door was ajar. Had she gone back upstairs? The living room, kitchen and terrace were all empty. That only left the bedroom.

Downstairs again I opened the bedroom door. It was a sight designed to arouse.

A gorgeous animal, she was lying there in the middle of the bed, lush breasts slightly flattened by gravity. Her hands rested on her hips, pointing to the junction of her spread thighs. She knew just how to tempt a man.

It was too much. My reborn cock was a shaft of steel desperately trying to burst from my shorts. The urge was unbearable. I ached for release. No way could I restrain myself from riding her.

She smiled at me. 'You took a long time. What kept you?'

As I reached the side of the bed she stretched out a hand and slid it up the leg of my shorts until she found my tool.

She smiled, 'What have we hiding here? Poor, trapped thing, I think we should let it out.'

Her fingers found my zipper and my shorts fell to my ankles leaving my cock proudly jutting into a shaft of sunlight from the window.

Eyes wide with appreciation she said, 'Ooo, yes. I like. I like.' She cradled my balls in her palm and, in a little girl voice, said, 'Time for action, big boy. Plough me hard.'

Kicking away my clothes I climbed onto the bed and knelt between her widespread thighs. As I slid my tip between her wet, welcoming labia her eyes opened wide and she gave a deep, satisfied groan.

'Oooooh, baby that feels so, so good. Push it deep.'

I seemed to wake up. What was I doing? Fucking a strange woman. One whose name I didn't even know. I hadn't done that since before my accident. It was no great deal, except . . . except . . . had I really given up on Bea so soon? Was I that angry?

'Stop it, baby. Stop teasing,' she arched her back forcing me deep into her cunni. 'Get on with it, you bastard. Fuck me. Fuck me hard.'

To hell with it. There was no need to be totally stupid. I pulled out and reached for the drawer in bedside table. 'Wait while I get dressed.'

Quickly I found the condoms I'd bought in Broadvale in case I needed something to tide us over until Bea was on the pill. Having slipping one on I again knelt between the slut's widespread legs.

Lowering my head I took a fat nipple and began to suck.

She tilted her head back and moaned. 'Way to go, baby.'

I let my teeth graze her hot flesh and my fingers tweak her other bud until it was hard. Lifting her calves over my shoulders I slowly sank into her until my balls struck her arse.

She took a deep breath, 'At last. God, baby, you're wonderful.'

I paused feeling the hot, wet walls of her cunni clench around me and, leaning forward rapidly tongued the nipple between my lips. Using long, slow strokes I started to take her. The leverage of her legs over my shoulders helping me bury every inch of my cock deep inside her.

'Yeah, that's it baby,' she moaned. 'Fuck me, fuck me hard.'

Venting my anger on this woman, I responded by increasing the speed and force of my thrusts until I was slamming into her like a rutting stag. Her tits shuddered with each impact.

'OH, GOD! OH, GOD!' she screamed as she came.

I erupted a moment after her and, letting her legs slide from my shoulders, collapsed on top of her. Thankfully I remembered to roll off her and withdraw my waning weapon before I lost the condom.

Was that it? I felt cheated, like a hungry man given a snack to tide him over until meal time. Something was missing. Where was the affection? Where was the caring I felt with Bea? I'd had an itch and I'd scratched it. But the need was still there.

Lying beside her a great weariness came over me. The worry and an almost sleepless night were taking their toll. I fell asleep.

It must have been a couple of hours later that I awoke feeling guilty, the hussy still beside me. I'd let my anger run away with me. Was I so sure Bea had deserted me? Reaching for my clothes I dressed.

'I'm going upstairs to make coffee. I'll take a cup for you into the studio. Don't bother with your clothes, you can pose as you are.'

She didn't reply; just lay there with her legs spread and her breasts gently heaving. Did she think I was going to take her again? No way. I'd had my moment of madness. I hoped I wouldn't live to regret it.

When I came down again with two steaming mugs she was poking around the studio looking at my work. As she turned my part finished masterwork of Bea and Wesley from the wall I moved to stop her. Too late.