Drawing a Line

'Are you going to undress me?' she said. 'Or do I have to do everything?'

'Your wish is my command,' I said. 'I just wasn't sure about the status of the pencil line.'

'Fuck the pencil line,' Greta said. 'For tonight, anyway.'

Greta was wearing a mid-calf length dress with stylised pink and orange flowers on a soft khaki background - casual, but smart, and not un-sexy.

'Do I need instructions?' I asked.

'There's a zip. After that, gravity is your friend.' And she turned her back towards me.

I unfastened the fastener, lowered the zip part way, and softly kissed her neck and shoulders.

'I've so missed you,' she said.

'Well ... I'm here now,' I said.

'You are.'

I lowered the zip the rest of the way down, she turned and, after I had eased the fabric from her shoulders, gravity did indeed turn out to be our friend. Beneath the dress, she was wearing a hot pink bra and pink stockings. No knickers. 'Commando,' I said with an appreciative smile.

'I was just trying to make it easier for you.'

'Thank you,' I said. And we kissed again. This time, my hand slid down across her belly and found her dark furry mound. She shuffled her feet slightly, spreading her toned thighs, facilitating the entry of my fingers. 'You're very helpful,' I said.

'I do try to be,' she said between kisses.

Greta had already expressed approval of my finger-fucking technique, so I thought that's where we would start. As she had been on the previous occasion, she was already wonderfully, sexily slick. I was just glad there were no health and safety people about. They would have insisted on the bedroom being dotted with those yellow 'CAUTION: Slippery When Wet' signs.

'Oh, yes,' Greta said as my finger traversed her valley, alternately teasing her clit and toying with the entrance to her inner sanctum. 'Oh, fuck, yes.'

After two or three minutes, I sent a solitary finger on a reconnaissance mission and, when it returned, hot and slippery, I sent it back in with a second finger. Together, the fingertips sought out Greta's G-spot - and found it almost immediately.

'Oh, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes,' she said.

Another two or three minutes and we ticked off her first orgasm for the evening. And then I gently pushed her back onto the edge of the bed and positioned myself between her spread thighs. 'Time for a little late supper,' I said. And Greta giggled.

But before I put my tongue to work, I studied her wonderful unshaven mound and her ... well, in the absence of any other approved word ... her vulva. It was all rather beautiful.

Her patch of pubic hair was dense but fine. And it was quite dark - like the hair on her head. It was also silky. Her outer labia were slightly puffed and parted - I guess as a result of my fingering. And her glistening, pink-tinged inner labia were like something straight from a Samantha Austen watercolour. 'Beautiful,' I told her. 'Beautiful. But now it's time for cunning linguistics.'

She laughed. And when she laughed, her whole body shook. 'Oh, yes,' she said.

I started with good intentions. We would take it slowly. We would make it last. But no sooner had my tongue made its first circuit, than Greta was urging me on.

'Oh, yes.'

'Slow down, you move too fast,' a voice in my head was singing, 'you gotta make the moment last.' Or was it the morning that Paul and Artie had said we should make last?

'Oh, fuck, yes,' the lady said. 'Yes, yes, yes. Yes, oh, god, yes.'

Harold had settled himself on the bed beside us, but Greta was bucking and tossing so much that he abandoned all hope of a post-prandial nap and, grumpily, wandered off, leaving us to whatever strange thing it was that we were doing.

'Oh, yes, yes,' Greta said. And then she was giggling and yelping and grabbing my head and apparently trying to bury it inside her vagina. 'Yes, yes. Oh, god, yes.'

'I might have to breathe,' I said.

She laughed. 'Wimp. You can breathe tomorrow,' she said. 'Tonight you are mine. And I want you inside me.'

'Yikes! What, all of me?'

'Well ... some of you. Let's start with your cock, shall we?'

I got back to my feet and freed my cock from its fabric confines.

'I have dreamed of this moment,' Greta said. 'Literally. The first time, we were on a train. It was like the Orient Express or something like that. The second time - just last night - we were in the bathroom of a hotel above Charring Cross Station. There were thick white towels everywhere. I think that may have been prompted by a story I read many years ago.'

'Will my bedroom do?' I asked.

'We can pretend. We can use our imaginations,' Greta said.

I don't see myself as being particularly promiscuous. But I have known a few first fucks in my life. And, if I'm honest, at least half of them were ... well ... a bit disappointing. Possibly too much expectation. Or too much alcohol. But the first time with Greta was ... well ... magic. Yes. It just felt right. It felt as though we had been designed for each other. Tab and slot went together perfectly. It was exciting - no question about that - but it also felt as if it was meant to be, as if we could have just gone on and on and on. But we didn't. After five or so minutes, the runaway train once more went over the hill, and she blew, blew, blew, blew, blew.

It must have been almost one o'clock by the time that we went back outside and hailed Greta a cab.

'Are you sure that you have to go?' I said.

She nodded. 'The kids. Lily has some sort of special assembly. I should be there.'

I watched Greta's cab disappear into the night, and then I went back inside and checked my emails. There was confirmation of my booking at Loch Pringle. I got a glass of water and headed back upstairs. Harold had already reclaimed his rightful place on the bed.

'What do you think, Harold?' I asked. 'Could the three of us work something out?' But Harold was already asleep.