Gina Dreams of Something Special

Gina Mason admitted that sitting in a booth in a bar of this quality was beyond her more reserved habits. Adjoining one of the more up-market hotels in the area, it could be a very expensive place for a drink. But, on the way home from visiting a friend, the sudden rain had driven her into these luxurious surrounds for shelter. Any port in a storm, she would say.

Damn the rotten weather, although it suited her sour mood. Paul had gone. Just packed his bags and away, without comment. Another woman?

Gina wasn't bothered at all. Good luck to her, if she did exist. Paul had never hit the spot deep inside Gina, that she was positive should be roused into a flame. It would never happen with Paul, who had, she thought, always entered her in an almost desultory manner, as though she was an afterthought.

The fact was, she could get more pleasure from her own fingers. At least they knew all the right spots. Yet, although getting some pleasure, she was certain that there had to be more. She had heard friends talk about orgasms, had read about them, and there was no doubt that Paul had never brought her anywhere near, and her own efforts although helpful, were short of the mark.

Maybe this change of location might give her some hope, although quiet now, it could, once real business started, draw in a number of rich and lusty young men. The way she was feeling, the 'rich' was less important than the 'lusty'. She took a sip of her Grigio. Chances? Somewhere short of zero.

A shadow fell across the table, and a deep male voice asked quietly, "Is anyone else sitting here?"

Startled out of her reverie, Gina, after a quick glance at the many empty booths in the bar, looked up at this intruder. Something fluttered inside her chest, as she took in a tall figure in a lightweight brown jacket over a lighter brown shirt. Above that a very handsome face wearing a half querying smile, topped by a mop of black hair with a touch of grey at the temples. Would that signal he was in his early forties? He was holding a tumbler of amber liquid.

He raised his eyebrows at Gina's obvious hesitation, "You can always tell me to move on."

Recovering, and regretting her reluctance, she said, "No, there's no one else here."

"You don't mind if-?" He said, making a motion as though to sit.

"No, of course not." As he slid into the seat across the table from her, he added, "I don't like drinking alone, especially when the company is attractive."

Oh, oh. First steps towards attempted seduction? He looked good, but she had certain rules, plus he was older than her. She reckoned some fifteen years beyond her own twenty-six. But, God, now he was close, she saw how handsome he was, broad jawed, full-mouthed and those eyes, such green eyes.

"Call me Elga. The composer without the 'r'."

"Gina."

"What a delightful name, and it suits you."

For about fifteen minutes, as they sipped their drinks, they exchanged basic information. He was interested when she told him she worked for a woman's magazine.

"Fiction?"

"Occasionally. Mainly on relationships."

He gave a very fetching chuckle as he told her, "We're not too different then. I'm into psychological research."

"Into what?"

"Everything."

Time to find out. "What does your wife do?" she asked, having noticed the large ring on his left hand that held a red stone which surely, could not have been a ruby.

"I'm not married, You?"

"No."

"Boyfriend?"

"No longer," she said with a touch of bitterness in her voice.

His eyes were looking at her hand that held her glass, "So, you are not a virgin?"

That was it! Too much, and she grabbed at her handbag as she moved to swivel out of the booth. It was so clear where he was moving the conversation.

His hand shot across the table. It didn't grab her, but his fingers simply stroked over her hand. "Please don't go. That was impertinent of me." She looked into his face, and his green eyes seemed to be pleading, and Gina settled back, the back of her hand tingling where his fingers had touched.

Strangely, she found her eyes could not pull away from the green intensity of his. He had placed his ringed hand under his jaw as he stared at her, and the ruby stone caught the overhead lights. Such green, green eyes. So deep, so wide as they searched into her brain.

Then, for an instant, there were no eyes, no bar noises, no voices, as though a white sheet had been placed in front of her eyes. Just as quickly it was gone, and she was looking at his warm full lips.

"Are you all right?" he asked anxiously.

Gina nodded, only slightly dazed by the last moment.

"Do you live on your own?"

God, another probing question, why would she tell him that? "I have my own flat."

What the hell? She had been ready to object, yet she'd given him an answer.

His face was kindly, as his next question bombed into her ears, "When did you last have sex?"

Oh, no, he can't get away with personal questions like that. "Two weeks ago."

Why was she answering? What had happened to her mind?

"Did you have an orgasm?" His voice was low, friendly and undemanding.

Why would he ask that? She just wasn't going to admit anything. "I've never had a full orgasm." Where the hell was the link between her brain and her mouth? She was thinking one thing but saying the opposite. The clinking of glasses and customer voices seemed miles away.

"Do you have dreams?"

Well, that was easier. "I have dreams, but I never remember them when I wake up."

His lips widened in a pleasant smile, "Ever had sex out in the open."

Inquisitive, but easy to answer, "Never."

"Ever thought about it?"

This was becoming ridiculous. Why would she ever think about it? And she heard her own voice saying, "I've wondered what it might be like in a forest or on a beach."

"You're being very honest," he said with a kindly nod.

But it's not me answering the questions, she wanted to say. Then his next question came at her, with more basic language "Have you ever thought about having a one-off fuck with a complete stranger?"

Gina, just get up and walk away. Why should he be asking such intimate questions, and that was very easy to answer. Never. "I've sometimes wondered what that would be like." That wasn't supposed to be her answer. It was something buried deep in her mind.

"You've fantasized about it?"

She couldn't let him in on that. "A stranger takes me into a back lane, presses me against a wall, lifts my skirt, feels me, and then pushes me up against the wall and takes me." Shut up, you fool, nobody knows your fantasies, Gina was thinking wildly.

"And do you enjoy that fantasy?"

How could she know that? "It helps me masturbate."

"I was going to ask you that. Don't be troubled, Gina. You'll feel a lot more freedom as we go along."

"Will I? I've already told you more than I've admitted to anyone."

"You'd like me to stop?"

I most certainly would, she thought. "No, go on, ask whatever you want," she said.

"Can I buy you another drink?" Elga asked, waving at a waiter.

Gina was having difficulty with most of his questions but not that one. Another wine? Was this his ploy to make her even more available? "A coffee, please."

He pursed his lips in surprise, "A coffee?"

The waiter came to the table, immaculate in white, and without thinking about it she said, "Make that a white wine." Her thoughts didn't seem to be her own.

"Good," Elga said and gave the waiter their order. His was straight malt whiskey. Then he asked her, "Your most sensitive parts?"

"Why are you asking me all these personal questions?"

"I told you, I'm a psychologist. I like to find how individual minds work."

For just a moment, his eyes held hers, and then he pressed her for an answer.

Gina found she could not hesitate, "Touching my breasts can make me instantly moist, and any hand movement over my skin." She paused, why not go the whole way? "And of course, down there, my clit."

"Anus?"

How ridiculously dirty, but her mind picked out a well-buried fantasy, "I've wondered about it."

Elga sighed, and shook his head, "All I can think is, given how sensitive your body seems to be, you must have had some lousy lovers if you've never had an orgasm."

"You could be right," Gina admitted.

"You said you masturbated with the stranger fantasy, do you use others?"

That seemed like a fair question, easy to answer honestly and openly, "Yes, I do."

"Which do you use most often?"

Oh, God, she couldn't tell him about those ones. Just tell him you think about Paul. But she found herself saying, "I'm at a party and a black man, takes me to a room, gently strips me -" She manages to stop herself. These were her secrets.

"And fucks you?"

Hopelessly, Gina shrugs and nods, "But I'm only fingering myself."

"You've been most open," Elga said, taking a large sip at his whiskey. "Are there any other fantasies you use to stimulate yourself?"

Gina shook her head. Well, for sure she couldn't tell him that one, but her voice rode over her wishes, as she blurted out, "Three men watching me take my clothes off." Gina drew in a deep breath as she fought against what she was saying, "I can imagine what I'll feel like with their eyes on me."

"Are you wanting rough sex with them?"

No, she would never admit to desiring rough sex, or taken against her will, as happened at first in that one. "I start off refusing it." Stop it, Gina, you can't tell him this. "-but start to enjoy it. That's when I cum." Why was she talking about this?

Elga glanced at his watch, emptied his glass with one gulp, and said, "Gina, I cannot tell you how helpful our conversation has been. But I must be elsewhere now."

Gina was a little shaken by the suddenness of his movement. And just a little sorry? She had given so much of her private thoughts to this man, and for much of the time was awaiting the time he would come on to her. But here he was sliding out of the booth and standing over her with his hand held out, for a farewell shake.

She took the hand, thinking how broad the fingers were as he said, "Thank you for being so frank and open with me. As a psychologist every insight I get into human nature is valuable. Is it far to your flat?"

"Less than a half mile," she told him.

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it gently. His lips were warm, and he said, "I occasionally get in here, but no pattern. I hope to see you again sometime." And as he moved away, he turned back to murmur, "Sweet dreams."

I don't dream, Gina said to herself, as she watched his broad back disappear into the porch. Five minutes later, she was walking the wet streets, gelded by yellow lamplight.

Back in her flat, she poured herself a third wine and tried to work on her most recent magazine article, but found her thoughts constantly misdirected by what she'd revealed to this man, Elga. For some stupid reason, her imagination was feeding her the line that he might have been a very knowledgeable lover, who knew all the right buttons to press.

She took a shower and stood naked in front of the full-length mirror. Always proud of her slim, shapely figure, she still remained disturbed by her own revelations to Elga

She rolled, naked, into her wide bed, and decided against seeking any kind of physical relief. When she first woke up from a dreamless sleep, she was annoyed to see it was only four a.m. However, she had no difficulty getting back to sleep, only this time, when she awoke, it was with the clear memory of a dream.

Gina was puzzled because nothing happened in the dream and there was only one dreamlike feature. She did recognize the location. Not very far from her flat, there was a dene, a deep vale through which a small stream ran to the sea. A steep, sloping, shale path now replaced the worn stone steps that emerged from the overgrown thicket in the opposite corner of the clearing. The slope had started off many pleasant walks for Gina, winter or summer. A walk which took in low shrubbery and occasional thicker woodland.

But every detail in the dream was clear, every tree branch, every blade of grass. She could even see the bottom two of the worn steps, long abandoned, and overgrown by undergrowth, which emerged alongside the inlet pipe of the stream. Everything as clear as though it had been a video in her head. The only movement was herself as she reached the bottom of the slope, where the track bent to the left.

Gina saw herself stand at that bend and turn her head as though looking for someone, but there was no one else in sight. The only dreamlike feature was a large bent clockface reminding her of a Salvador Dali work, as it lay against the trees on the opposite bank of the stream. She turned her head to look back up the slope, and that was the point she woke up.

The main thing she recalled as she woke up, amazed she could remember anything, was the time showing on the clock face. It was fifteen minutes after three. But after years of never remembering dreams, why should she recall such a trivial one?

Into the morning, and she tidied up the flat before doing some more work on the article. It had been a cloudy morning, but just after lunch the sun burst out and looked set for the day. Ideal for a gentle stroll and the dene was just right for that. The wildflowers were brilliant at the moment. Then, remembering the dream, on a whim she delayed leaving the house, so she would arrive spot on the mysterious three fifteen. Such a quirk really appealed to her.

Gina showered before dressing in a white blouse and flared blue summer skirt. No bra, it would be good to feel any breeze, blowing gently through her thin blouse. She really looked forward to days like this, all warmth, freshness and natural beauty.

Into her car for the fifteen-minute drive to the dene, her timing was good. Parking at the roadside where the shale slope started, her watch showed eleven minutes past three. If anyone knew what she was timing they'd have thought her crazy. Maybe she was, crazy to be following up a dream showing nothing but a clock face. What was she expecting? Gina moved cautiously down the slope as the shale was loose under her feet, and her sandals gave a little grip.

Reaching the bend where her dream had ended, she felt great being bathed by the warm sun. Unsurprisingly there was no clock-face, and she chuckled. Three fourteen and there wasn't anyone in sight as she looked around her. Before moving on, she took one look back up the slope. Nothing.

"Bloody stupid steps!"

The deep, angry, male voice had Gina turning in shock. Near the old steps, a tall, blue-shirted man, was uncurling from patting at the knees of his pants. When he raised his eyes and saw Gina, a big smile belied the angry words he'd just uttered.

"Sorry about that," he said, glancing behind him, as he flicked a mop of fair hair from his brow. "That gate should be closed off."

. That smile, the light blue eyes, the curling fair hair he pushed back from his brow, the whole tingling look of him, had Gina's heart unexpectedly pounding. This man, ambling towards her now, was gorgeous.

Somehow, she found her voice, to say, "Locals avoid it. What happened?"

The blue eyes were, briefly, staring at the front of her blouse with more than just casual interest. Why didn't that make her uncomfortable? Quite the opposite, she had to admit.

"I managed the steps fine," he said gruffly, "until the last few when I was hit in the eye."

"A twig?"

"No." The way his eyes scanned over her was setting her on fire.

"A fly?

"No. Not a fly." He was so near now. "It was you."

That set her blood racing through every artery, every vein, lighting a need inside her as he went on. "Not often the sight of a woman drives me to my knees." And that smile was defeating the sunlight. Gina knew her face had reddened, as she fought for something normal to say.

"It seemed you were looking for someone," his voice was low, as his eyes held hers. "Some lucky man?"

"Not really," she managed, at last, trying to ignore the veiled compliment, and then, she burst out telling him her dream."

"And you don't usually dream?" Any closer and she would be leaning against him. Oh, yes, please. Gina Mason, you are crazy.

"Not to remember."

His lips pursed as he asked, "And the dream clock showed three fifteen?"

When Gina nodded, he glanced at his watch, "Three nineteen precisely." He gave a little chuckle, "So, it can only have been me you were looking for." He said," I'm so glad I was on time."

There was no answer to that and Gina felt her face reddening again. "How did you come to be on the steps?"

"Chance, Pure chance," he said, so close now, never having stopped looking into her face. "I'm visiting relatives. Came out to catch a little sunshine before I catch a plane this evening. I saw the opening. Pure chance."

As he spoke, Gina's mind was wrestling with how he had linked this meeting to her dream. Her own breathlessness indicated she was hoping the same. God, the very sight of him. She was admitting to herself that the moistness between her thighs, had nothing to do with the sun. She wanted to reach out and touch him, longed to have him touch her. Anywhere.

"You know this trail?" he asked her now.

"I stroll this path at least twice a week."

"Would you mind if I walked with you?" Would she mind? There was only one thing she wanted more. The continued pounding of her heart, the steamy sensations in her lower body had her longing for his touch. Was it all brought on by the coincidence of the dream?

Giving her willing assent, they set off, following the shale path. They exchanged names. He was Guy. They walked so close that occasionally their bare arms touched, The second time it happened there was a corresponding bonding of glances.

Making conversation just to calm herself she asked, "Where are you flying to?"

"Brazil." he told her, and his eyes held hers as he added, "I'm always on the move."

"Ooh, exotic. Holiday?"

"Business," he told her. "I'm in import and export and travel too much. You're not married, are you?"

Walking between high drooping shrubs, she laughed, "God, no. Free as a bird."

"Bird of paradise, that's what I think," he said, and stopped walking, as their arms scraped each other once more, and the electricity of that touch had Gina's breasts heaving. This time his hand moved down to contact hers and their fingers automatically entwined.

Gina was in a spin which was a mix of joy and fear. A girl could be so vulnerable in this situation, but with this Guy, she was longing to be vulnerable.

Without releasing her hand, he leaned back, "This is outside my normal behavior. But, is it too soon to ask if I may kiss you?"

He shouldn't be asking that, should he? They'd only met, but if he didn't kiss her she'd go mad.

Her hesitation led to him adding, "It may only be a kiss farewell, but—"

Next second, without saying anything, Gina was up on her tiptoes, her lips searching for his, which were promptly pressing back on hers. At first a gentle kiss, warm but passionless. That was all she intended, wasn't it? His lips were deliciously soft on hers and slightly parted.

All very docile and friendly, until two tongue tips met. That moment set everything into frantic motion. Current rushed around Gina's cheeks, as Guy's tongue groped almost anxiously over hers. His hands gripped her shoulders drawing her close.

Gina responded by having her tongue snake around his mouth, and her hands move under his loose shirt to skate over the skin of his back. God, how bold was that? But so good, his skin was so smooth.

His hands were gripping and rubbing on her shoulders. She knew that wasn't going to be enough as their mutual needs rose towards a crescendo. Sure enough, one hand slid down, to smooth over her left breast. It was the same moment as Gina became aware of something hard pressing against her lower belly.