Justin and Justine

'Tennyson?'

'He's our local taxi man. Very reasonable. And very reliable.'

Again, Justin frowned slightly. But then he nodded. 'Oh, alright,' he said.

When they arrived back at Justine's cottage, she announced that she though that it was 'a Salade Niçoise kind of day'. At least she hoped that it was, because she had already done a bit of prep.

Justin nodded approvingly. 'Sounds good to me.'

'In that case, you can pour us a glass of wine - there should be some rosé in the fridge, and there are glasses in the second cupboard - and I will just sear this piece of tuna and do some assembling. I hope that you like your tuna rare. It is very fresh,' she assured him.

'Whatever you suggest,' Justin said.

While Justin retrieved the wine and the glasses and diligently assumed the role of wine steward, Justine put a couple of non-stick pans on the hob and turned on the gas. Into one pan she put a slosh of olive oil followed by half a dozen or so small cooked potatoes which she had already halved. She then expertly massaged a couple of pieces of fresh tuna with some more olive oil and gently placed them into the second pan. 'Cheers,' she said, raising her wine glass. 'To our first collaboration.'

'First? Does that mean that there will be further collaborations?'

'Oh, I think so,' Justine said in a rather no-nonsense way. 'Not much point in stopping now.'

Justin nodded - slightly uncertainly - and then clinked his glass against hers. 'Yes. Cheers.'

Justine peeled a couple of hard-boiled eggs which she must have cooked earlier, and sliced them into quarters lengthways. She then stripped and discarded the outer leaves from a couple of heads of baby cos lettuce, trimmed the stalk ends, and quartered the pale, crunchy hearts.

'I don't know about you,' she said, 'but I've never seen the point of beans in Salade Niҫoise. Potatoes, tomatoes, lettuce, olives, basil - I'm sure they all count towards our five-a-day.'

'I'm sure they do,' Justin said.

'Oh, and I like to serve the olives in the form of a sort of dressing.' And she held out a mortar and pestle for Justin to inspect. 'Olives, anchovies, garlic, lemon juice, olive oil, and a dash of balsamic.'

Justin nodded. 'You, umm, take this food business seriously,' he said.

'Well, if you are going to eat, you may as well eat well,' Justine said. 'Or at least you may as well eat something that you enjoy. Perhaps eat happily is a better way to put it. Don't get me wrong; I do enjoy a good hamburger. But I don't consider the kind of rubbish offered by Whimpy and McDonald's to fall into the category of "good".'

As they chatted, Justine started to assemble the salads in a couple of generous-sized white bowls. 'I think that should be long enough for the tuna,' she said. And she removed the now gently-charred tuna pieces and placed them to rest on a folded piece of kitchen towel.

'Right,' she said, 'just the tomatoes and we are ready to go.' She tumbled a handful of small cherry tomatoes into the hot pan and gave it a vigorous shake. After maybe two minutes, she drizzled the tomatoes with a little balsamic vinegar, gave the pan another shake, and then turned off the gas.

Justine took another sip of her wine and then finished assembling the salads, carefully placing a small blob of the olive dressing on each of the egg portions, and then placing the rest in a small earthenware dish. 'I think we will eat outside,' she said. 'The thing about English summers is that no matter how good they are, you can never be entirely sure that they will not end the very next day. If you will take the wine, I will bring the food.'

It was another cloudless day in the little garden at the back of Justine's cottage. The weather forecast had suggested an afternoon high of 25 degrees and, in the sun, it felt as if it might already have exceeded that. 'Let's move the table into that patch of dappled shade beneath the walnut tree,' Justine said.

Justin put down the drinks on one of the sun loungers and manfully manoeuvred the glass-topped table and a couple of chairs into the partial shade.

'Yes. That's better,' Justine said. 'Although I think we should still take our clothes off. It would be such a shame not to on a day like today.'

Justin laughed. Nervously.

'Come on,' Justine said. And in a matter of seconds she was completely naked.

'I wouldn't want frighten the neighbours,' Justin said.

'Silly boy. The nearest neighbours are half a mile away. And, anyway, this garden is totally private.'

Justin shook his head. 'No. I think I'm fine as I am,' he said.

'Oh, well, suit yourself. But at least take your shoes and socks off. You'll enjoy your lunch so much more with bare feet. I promise.'

Justin hesitated. 'Oh, OK,' he said.

'Oh. And I need to get some paper napkins, don't I? I shall return.'

He tried not to, but Justin found himself watching as Justine walked back to the cottage. She suited being naked. There was something very sensual about her - even with her slightly mad purple-striped hair. It wasn't just her shape. There was something about the way she moved, the way she carried herself. He could understand why the local artists were all queuing up to paint her.

By the time Justine returned, Justin had removed his shoes and socks and was just folding his socks and placing a neatly folded sock into each of the shoes.

'And now the trousers,' she said.

Justin shook his head.

'I know,' she said. 'You're worried that I will think that your legs are too white or too skinny or too something. But don't. I won't even be able to see them, for goodness sake. They'll be under the table.'

Justine laughed. 'That'll be this glass-topped table, I assume.'

'Oh, well,' she said. 'But at least open your shirt. And then if you would be kind enough to give me some more of that wine.'

Justine undid a couple more of his shirt buttons. 'Happy?' he said.

'Not completely. No. But it's a start.'

Justin laughed and poured some more wine into Justine's waiting glass.

Justine had been right about it being 'a Salade Niçoise kind of day'. They may have been sitting in a quintessentially English country garden rather than on a terrace overlooking the French Riviera, but the sky was the right colour, and the temperature was about right. Even without the hint of salt air wafting in from the Mediterranean, the food and the wine and the company combined perfectly.

'This tuna is absolutely delicious,' Justin said. 'In fact, the whole thing is.'

Justine beamed. 'Glad you like it. And I believe that you are finally looking at my breasts.'

'Was I? I'm sorry.'

'Don't be. I was beginning to think that perhaps you didn't like them. I realise that they are not as big as some. Not exactly Nigella Lawson. But I like to think that they are still a rather pleasing shape.'

'Umm ... err ... yes. Yes, they are.'

'I don't think that I'm ever likely to make Page Three, but there are other things in life.'

Justin smiled a little nervously. 'Umm ... yes, I suppose there are. In fact, I'm sure there are,' he said, hastily.

Justine was having fun. 'Hector, the ornithologist chap who painted Leda and the Swan, insisted on weighing each of my boobs. Just with his hands, you understand. No actual scales involved.' And Justine put down her knife and fork and demonstrated Hector's weighing technique by cupping each of her pleasingly-shaped breasts and raising them slightly. 'Yes. He certainly took his research for that painting seriously.'

'So it seems.'

'Being a scientist, I suppose,' Justine said.

Justin nodded uneasily - and tried not to smirk.

By the time they had finished their salads, Justin was a little surprised to notice that they had also drunk almost all of the wine. Justin was normally very careful about how much he drank at lunchtime. Must be the hot day, he decided. 'Look, I think that I might need to get a glass of water,' he said, getting up from the table.

'There's more wine in the fridge,' Justine said.

'No. I think I need water. Not that the wine wasn't very nice. It was very nice indeed. It was all very nice. Perfect, in fact.'

'OK. But I'll get it. I need to grab some sun lotion anyway.'

And for the second time in less than an hour, Justin found himself watching the naked and sensual Justine making her way across the lawn towards to the open kitchen door. It may have been something to do with the wine that he had consumed, but Justin felt that on this occasion Justine looked not just sensual, but, well, downright sexy. And when she returned, three or four minutes later, clutching a couple of glasses of iced water and a couple of plastic bottles of what he assumed was sun lotion, her rounded hips and pleasingly-shaped breasts moving gently from side to side as she walked, she looked even sexier. He could feel an unmistakable stirring down below.

Justine placed the glasses of iced water on the table and looked up at the sky. 'I think that the serious sting should have gone out of the sun by now. Time for a little full exposure, I think.'

Justin frowned.

'I know it was only a light lunch,' Justine said, 'but I think half an hour or so reclining on a sun lounger will do wonders for the digestion. Come on, off with your clothes.'

'I think I'm fine as I am,' Justin said - not for the first time.

'Nonsense,' she said. And before Justin realised what was happening, Justine had removed his shirt and was unbuckling his belt. And, to his slight surprise, Justin suddenly didn't mind. Not really. 'Your legs are really rather handsome,' she said as she lowered his trousers. 'And not overly white. Although I think a little sun lotion might be in order. Just as a precaution.'

Justine grabbed the two bottles of 'lotion' and led Justin, now clad only in his blue-striped boxers, to one of the sun loungers. 'Just lie back; close your eyes; relax; and leave it to me.'

Once more Justin hesitated. But only for a moment. The warmth of the sun without; the glow of the wine from within ... What the hell? He lay back, closed his eyes, and waited for the feeling of Justine's lotion-covered fingers on his legs. He heard the pop of the flip-top lid of one of the lotion bottles being opened, followed by the gurgle of the escaping lotion. And then ... and then something for which he had not prepared himself: Justine pulling down the front of his boxers and smearing his half-hard cock with something cool and slippery.

Justin tried to sit up. But Justine pressed firmly on his chest. 'Relax. Isn't that what I said?'

'Yes ... but ...'

'Yes but nothing. I'm just relieved to see that I have had some effect on you. I was starting to worry there.'

'Oh, you've certainly had an effect on me,' Justin said.

'Good. That's what a girl likes to hear. And let's get rid of these,' she said, pulling down Justin's boxer shorts.

It was somewhere about this point that Justin really did give up all pretence of resistance. Almost as if someone had flicked a switch, he just lay back and watched as his cock, now glistening in the sunshine with whatever Justine had applied to it (it certainly wasn't sun lotion), continued to get longer and fatter and harder.

'Oh, will you look at that,' Justine said. 'Is that beautiful, or is that beautiful? If I had a magnificent cock like this, I would want to show it off at every opportunity.' She gently positioned Justin's now-hard cock so that it pointed directly at the cloudless summer sky, and even Justin, now resigned - for the moment at least - to being a spectator, had to admit that it did look rather handsome.

'I think you'll find that taking your todger out in public is rather frowned upon - especially when it is in an, umm, shall we say "aroused" state.'

Justine sighed. 'I know. But why? Half of the population has one, and the other half of the population is just dying to get their hands on one. Fortunately, I do have my hands on one. And I must say that it feels very nice. Very nice indeed.' She circled the base of Justin's cock with her thumb and forefinger and gave it a firm squeeze. 'Mmm,' she said. And, as she knew it would, Justin's fine upstanding member stood just a little taller.

'And such lovely balls too.' She took the 'lovely balls' in the cupped fingers of her other hand and gently weighed them - rather in the manner in which the eminent ornithologist had weighed her own lovely breasts. 'Yes, as fine a pair of balls as one could hope to find anywhere.'

In order to be a good marketing communications planner (and Justin was reckoned to be one of the best) one needs a keen sense of objectivity. One needs to be able to stand back and dispassionately consider all of the available facts and figures. What are we trying to achieve here? What can we say or do to reach our objective? To whom do we need to say it or do it? And how are they likely to react?

Lying there on the sun lounger in Justine's somewhat idyllic garden, his blue and white striped boxer shorts now down around his ankles, a naked woman (with striped hair, a talent for food preparation, and an impressive collection of erotic art) massaging his erect cock, Justin tried to work out how he had reached this unquestionably interesting situation. But, perhaps for the first time in 25 years, he couldn't. In fact, the more he thought about it, the less it made sense.

'You're frowning,' a voice said. 'Am I doing something wrong?'

'Oh, no. Far from it. I am just a little puzzled as to how I have ended up lying, naked, in the garden of a woman whom I have only recently met, while she ministers to my erect penis as though it was the most natural thing in the world.'

Justine smiled. 'Well, it is!'

Justin also smiled. 'In your world? Perhaps.'

Justine continued to run her slippery fingers the length of Justin's equally slippery cock. And each time she reached the glistening helmet-shaped head, she gently massaged it with the ball of her thumb. Up and down; up and down; and pause; and squeeze. And then up and down once more.

Justin could well understand how a couple of Justine's Sunday painters had 'lasted only about two minutes flat'. She certainly knew what she was doing. But he was determined to last as long as he possibly could. It would be a pity not to.

Up and down; up and down; and pause; and squeeze. Oh, yes. Oh, fuck, yes.

Justin tried to estimate how long he had so far managed to avoid going pop. Four minutes? Five minutes, perhaps? He contemplated reaching out and exploring Justine's slit. It was just about within reach. He imagined it hot and slippery. But even thinking about it brought him closer to the edge. He tried to think of something totally un-pleasurable. He glanced about the garden. There was nothing. Everything about his current situation screamed pleasure.

And now Justine had increased her stroke rate - which made things even worse, or even better, depending on ... Oh, fuck, yes. There was no alternative. He was going to have to just give in. But then Justine paused. And squeezed. 'Nearly,' she said, smiling.

'Has anyone ever told you that you are a terrible tease?'

'I think it may have been mentioned,' Justine said. 'Once or twice.'

But the respite was only temporary. A few moments later, Justine was back to work. And this time she was serious. There were no pauses. There were no squeezes. It was as though it was all one movement. Left hand, right hand. Left hand, right hand. From the base of Justin's now sensitive cock all the way up to decidedly-purple helmet-shaped head. Wave after wave. Pleasure upon pleasure. And then ... It was not unlike the finale of a particularly good fireworks display. Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! Streams of cum heading for the heavens and then breaking into droplets, sparkling in the sunshine, and falling back to earth.

'Well done,' Justine said. 'Very well done indeed.'

Justine had booked Tennyson and his trusty Volvo for four o'clock. And, by five to four, both she and Justin were cleaned up and, once again, properly clothed.

'That was a ... a very nice lunch,' Justin said. 'I don't usually go for salady things, but that was brilliant.'

'And the afters?' Justine asked.

Justin grinned. 'The afters? Yes, also brilliant.'

'So a decent lunch and a satisfactory hand job. I think that means you owe me a piece of art,' Justine said. 'One of your little drawings would be more than acceptable. Signed, of course.'

Justin nodded. 'Signed? Yes, I think I could manage that,' he said.