Knowing Ginny

I was walking through town, minding my own business. OK, let's be honest, I was, as usual, assessing talent. Well, thirty-odd years old, fairly 'normal' – whatever that means, what do you expect? It wasn't the hottest of days, so the local crumpet wasn't wearing the most daring of gear, but there was enough lunchtime totty about to keep the blood coursing through the veins, and I'd detected a few nice bra-less sights by the time I saw her.

She was forty if she was a day, a year or two my senior, there could be little doubt of that, and she was no super-model, although shewasslim and elegant. A touch short to be a fashion model, however, she more than made up for it in other ways. The most noticeable was her hair. That hair! It was long and thick and straight, cascading right down to her waist, natural brown, with strands of grey growing through, which she had made no attempt to disguise, and which just added to the beauty of that gorgeous mane. Her face was, as far as I could tell, at the brief glance I had, thin and aquiline, with a faintly aristocratic air.

If I had dressed her myself, I should have chosen for her what she had on. She wore a cream silk blouse, with a little blue waistcoat open over it, and the waistcoat was matched by a pleated miniskirt, which came down to well above mid-thigh. Her long slim legs were bare, and she walked in sandals with prodigiously high metal needle heels. A heavy gold anklet encircled one shapely ankle, and a similar adornment clinked on her wrist as she passed by me. That I took all this in at a glance will tell you that I was instantly fascinated by this girl (woman, I should say)

I don't think of myself as a voyeur. OK, I was once guilty of watching the girl across the street, who didn't draw her curtains, get ready for bed, and jacked off on the strength of it – but show me a sixteen-year-old who wouldn't. And I like the odd bit of porn now and again. Red-blooded men who say they don't are:-

a) Liars
b) Possessed of a different configuration of chromosomes
or, c) Beyond my comprehension.

I digress. I felt a sudden compulsion, something quite alien to me, red-blooded as I claim to be, to turn about, and see where this creature was going. I wasn't in a particular hurry, anyway, and I don't know about you, but, although I don't believe in love at first sight, well,lustat first sight – now there's a thing!

Casually, I sauntered along behind her, slowly, because there was no way she could go fast on those heels. She turned into a Commercial Centre, and wandered hesitantly into a big superstore. I followed. She wasn't doing family shopping, as she didn't take a trolley, but picked up a red plastic basket. I did likewise, and followed at what I hope was a discreet distance. She stopped at some books, and idly picked up a paperback. I stopped and did similarly, but, over the top of it, I was sure she had clocked me, and glanced twice in my direction before returning the book to its place. Feeling a bit guilty now, I trailed her to the electrical department, where she browsed the radios and accessories, and I admired the smooth line of her thigh as she reached something off the shelf, and found myself dwelling on those amazing shoes. I also noticed for the first time that she had lovely thin delicate fingers, with long, manicured, red-painted nails, and several rings, including, unusually several on the second joints of her fingers. I had to stop myself from staring.

By now, she had certainly noticed, and she set off again, looking over her shoulder, shaking her long, lovely mane of hair out of her eyes, almost as if to make sure I was following. I was.

She stopped in a quiet row of household goods. I stood at the far end from her, making an unconvincing show of studying a bottle of bleach, and she quite deliberately put her still-empty basket on the floor, then bent over from the waist to pick up something – probably an aerosol, though I'll never know, or care – from the bottom shelf. As she did so, her legs were very slightly parted, and her tiny full skirt rose up, so that I had a perfect view of her completely naked, shaven pussy!

As she picked up whatever it was from the shelf, she looked back at me with a half-smile on her lips, and then straightened up, and the moment was gone. I was breathing as if I had just run a marathon, and couldn't think straight. What the fuck do you do now, Keith? You just can't let that go, can you? Or was it just a 'ship that passed in the night?' If so, some fucking ship!

Fate took a hand, as she often does. I was frantic. When I got to the check-out – no sign! She had taken flight. Oh shit!

Only a week later, I agreed, against my better judgement, to help my pal Harry with his electioneering. He was standing as a Labour councillor for the first time, and wanted somebody to dish out leaflets. Silly me said yes, and found myself in a big school hall waiting to be assigned to a partner with a bunch of leaflets.

Harry, wearing a big stupid rosette, and an even sillier smile, tapped me on the shoulder, 'Meet Virginia,' he said, 'she's your mate for tonight.'

You could have knocked me over with a feather. Virginia was none other than my dream-woman, the miniskirted, shaven-pussied object of my fantasies ever since that day in the superstore. But now she was dressed in jeans, a tee-shirt and leather jacket, wore sneakers, and had that marvellous hair tied back in a pony-tail. She greeted me coolly, 'Ginny,' she said, 'only my parents and my ex call me Virginia – that's why he's my ex.'

'That the only reason?' I asked.

'No,' she said, 'but it's all you're going to hear – for now.'

I liked the 'for now,' and I liked the same sort of half-smile she had directed at me in the superstore. Did she know I was the guy who had seen her pussy?

'Come on,' she was saying, and I realised she had an accent – what was it; educated Geordie? – 'let's go and help Harry!'

She held out a hand, which I took readily, finding her grasp cool, and getting a whiff, for the first time, of her fragrance – probably her shampoo, I thought – but even caught up as it was, her hair was magnificent, framing her strong features in a natural way.

She caught me looking at her, and smiled that half-smile again, 'I don't know your name,' she said.

'Keith,' I said, 'pleased to meet you, Ginny!' And I was.

We picked up two bags of leaflets and set off for our allotted quota of streets. Once there, we received a good deal of abuse, good-natured and otherwise, from local people, and even some encouragement from Harry's supporters, but, by about nine o'clock, we had exhausted our supply of leaflets. It was the moment I had been waiting for.

'How about joining me for dinner?' I asked, and I must have sounded nervous, as I realised I was terrified she would reject me.

'OK,' she agreed, 'but nothing fancy, eh?'

'Do you like Indian?' I asked.

'Love it,' she said, 'look, I live just around the corner. Let me show you where, and you can call for me in an hour, say. That alright?'

We walked down the street in the twilight, and she pointed out a neat little terraced house. I took my leave of her, and trotted off to collect my car from outside the hall and go home to spruce myself up.

When I got back to collect her, I couldn't get out of the car, as there were double yellow lines outside her house, and a police car lurking across the street, so I drew up and tooted. She had been stood at the door, and dashed out, slamming the door shut behind her, clicking down the path on her heels. She wore a long brown woollen cloak, the same shade as her hair, to keep out the cool night air, and sunk gratefully into my passenger seat as I pulled out into the evening traffic.

We chatted for the first time, and I found that she was a writer - though she was not forthcoming as to what she wrote - and that she lived alone, with a large, hungry cat for company.

When we arrived at my favourite restaurant, I was lucky enough to find a parking spot right outside, and the usual smiling waiter was on hand to take Ginny's cloak from her. I had to hold back a gasp when I saw what she was wearing. Her white silk dress had a halter-neck, so that two strips of thin material covered her breasts, but allowed a view of more than could simply be described as 'cleavage', the swell of her breasts clearly visible in the generous opening which plunged to her navel. The skirt was so tight, the material so thin, that she could not have worn anything under it. It was just above knee-length. A gold chain hung loosely about her waist, but otherwise she wore no jewellery. Her shoes were staggeringly high stilettos. She smelt of jasmine or something similar, and I was completely captivated. When we sat down, it was all I could do to take my yes off her for long enough to order the meal, and she smiled when she saw me looking at her tits.

'Do you like the way I dress, Keith?' she asked.

'Oh yes,' I replied.

'Good, because it made my ex very jealous. He used to make me cover myself up, and put a jumper on if I was dressed like this, for example.'

'I love the way you dress, Ginny,' I confirmed, and wondered if I should mention the episode in the superstore, but she beat me to it.

Looking at me slightly slyly, from under hooded eyelids, she said, 'You followed me in the supermarket, didn't you?' She saw my hesitance, and went on, 'Go on, you can admit it, I don't mind. I like to be looked at.'

I didn't know what to say, but her hand was on my thigh under the table, creeping up towards what was growing rapidly into an uncomfortable erection. I let her find her way there, and her eyes widened.

'My,' she said, 'I hope service isn't too slow here.'

How I got through the meal I don't know, but I was aching with need for Ginny by the time we had decided to do without coffee and I had paid the bill.

'Come on,' she said, 'I'll make you coffee. You can park around the back.'

I did as she said, and she had no sooner let us into the back door than she was in my arms, my lips hungrily clamped down on hers as she thrust her tongue eagerly into my mouth. The narrow strips of material that comprised the top of her dress were no resistance, and her long nipples were rock-hard with desire as I caressed them, her smallish breasts still firm and pointed under my hands.

She struggled to unfasten my belt, but then thought better of it and used the loose end to pull me, laughing, through the little kitchen and into the lounge, where a large, L-shaped sofa was a feature. I snapped on the standard lamp beside it, and she made no protest, but pushed me down on to the sofa. I undid my belt and pulled off my trousers and boxers, watching her as she slowly, teasingly, unclasped the fastening at the back of her neck, letting the top of her dress fall, revealing her naked breasts to me. Still teasing, she cupped them, and teased her own nipples, then switched her attention to the zipper which encased her in the restraint of her skirt. She slowly eased it down, and wriggled out of its tightness, pushing the soft white silk down over her hips, and long smooth, slender legs. She stood over me, naked, and very deliberately, using two fingers of one hand, separated the lips of her pussy, so that I could see within, to the glistening pink depths of her cunt. Then she, equally slowly, took the other hand, and inserted two fingers, deep into her cunt, at the same time, making that unmistakeable gesture of pushing her tongue out slightly between her teeth.

My cock and balls were on fire, and I felt that if I didn't fuck her soon, I should come, there and then, just looking at her. She took pity on me, and lowered herself onto me, her cunt swallowing my rod to the hilt, as she moaned a soft, 'Oooh!'

I knew I should spurt in no time, but she controlled me – controlled me as no woman ever had, by dint of grasping the root of my cock, hard, just when I thought I was about to cum, and making me wait – I had never believed it possible. She rode me, cupping her breasts all the time, and I sought her clitoris with my fingers to heighten her pleasure. Her moans turned to sharp cries, then she screamed as all her passion was released and I thrust my throbbing length deep within her pumping my load of hot spunk into her utmost depths. She raked my back with her long nails, then promptly collapsed across me. We were both sweating and utterly exhausted.

We curled up together, she naked but for her shoes, me half-dressed, loving the feel of her silken hair across my chest, and her pointed breasts pressing into me. Her cat, curious at the additional body in his domain, jumped up on the sofa to investigate, and Ginny pushed him gently away.

'Was that good?' she asked, after a while, poking her tongue into my ear.

'The best ever, for me,' I said, and meant it, 'I was scared I wouldn't see you again after the superstore.'

'Me too,' she confessed, 'I was so terribly excited when you looked at me there, you know.'

'Does it always excite you, whoever looks at you?' I asked.

She pushed me away and looked at me sharply. 'Why, you would get jealous, would you, Keith?'

'Oh no,' I said, eager to put her at ease on that one, 'I'm not a jealous person at all. I would love it if someone else admired you – they are bound to, after all.'

She continued looking at me, to see if she thought I was telling the truth, then, seeming satisfied, suddenly stood up, announced that she was cold, and in need of a coffee, and went in search of a robe.

She came back with two steaming mugs of coffee, and said immediately, 'I want to see you again, if that's what you want, too?'

I was thrilled at the prospect, and said as much. We arranged to go to a garden centre, where she wanted to buy some plants, the very next morning, which was a Sunday, then have a pub lunch.

The morning dawned warm and sunny, so I dressed accordingly, in cream chinos and a short-sleeved polo. When I drew up outside Ginny's, having given her a quick 'lost' call

on my mobile, she was already waiting at the gate, wearing a floral cotton sundress, with a short, flared skirt, and her usual ultra-high needle-heeled sandals, which laced up around her slim ankles. She had caught her long hair up in a pony-tail, and I told her she could have passed for twenty at a distance, drawing a retort I deserved.

When we arrived at the garden centre, it was busy – the free modern equivalent of a trip to the zoo – and we sauntered up and down the aisles until Ginny found the plants she was interested in. I have never been much of a gardener, and left her studying the colours of geraniums, whilst I looked at some cacti across the way, but when I glanced back, I saw that she was bending over, reading the labels of the plants at floor-level. Her skirt had ridden up and her naked, shaven pussy was plainly displayed for all to see. Already two teenage lads had done a double-take and stopped in their tracks as if caught by an invisible noose. One of them had the presence of mind to pretend to look at some flowers, the other just gawped. An elderly guy, looking across at her lovely mound as he walked, barged straight into the staring youth, and apologised. I couldn't help chuckling as I went back to Ginny, and bent over next to her. Looking back at the 'audience,' I saw that they had seen me, and probably thought the show was over, as they looked away immediately. Ginny straightened up, having fished out a couple of plants, and I told her that she had just been the centre of attention.

Twice more, during the morning, she gave brief 'flashes' of her gorgeous sex – once accidentally, when a sudden breeze caught the light cotton of her skirt and swirled it almost up to her waist, just as we were mounting some metal steps into a greenhouse, followed by a queue of people, then again when she bent over to inspect some trailing fuchsias.

When we were in my car, about to leave the centre, she turned to me, and said, 'Can you put up with me, do you think?'

'Oh yes,' I said, never more certain of anything in my life.

We found a smart pub on the outskirts of town, and I installed Ginny at a corner table, while I fetched drinks and ordered food. Our corner of the bar was quiet, just a young, attractive couple, eating their meal at a table nearby. He was about thirty, tall and dark, she was a petite blonde, with short hair, blue eyes and a tongue-stud, about which she was self-conscious, as if she had not long had it done, flicking it out all the time. We both watched them for a while as we ate our meal. They kept looking over the short distance at us, too, and the girl smiled at me once or twice.

Ginny leaned over and whispered to me, 'Should I get a stud, too?'

'Mmmm, probably,' I said.

'They're nice, aren't they?' she said.

I didn't know whether this was a trap, and didn't answer straight away.

She leaned over again, persisting. 'Could we do a foursome?'

'Does the Pope say his prayers?' I asked.

She took that as an affirmation, and moved around slightly in her chair so that she was in full view of the young couple. They couldn't have failed to notice, but I moved around just a little to make sure they had a view of Ginny. The waitress came and took our plates away, and we ordered coffee. The other couple were already drinking theirs. When our coffees came, the girl asked if we wanted liqueurs, and I ordered cognacs, and, in the intimacy of our quiet corner, thought it reasonable to invite the other couple as well, so ordered two more.

The cognacs came, and I could see the eyes of the young guy, firmly fixed on Ginny's long legs, as she allowed her skirt to ride up higher. It didn't have far to go, and she very deliberately opened her legs just the fraction necessary to allow a shady glimpse of the naked lips of her vagina. At the same time, she opened her mouth just a little, and, in the same gesture she had shown me the night before in her lounge, pushed the very tip of her tongue out between her teeth.

I now saw that not only was the young guy watching Ginny intently, but his girl-friend too had her gaze locked onto her lewd gestures. I had a throbbing erection by now, the garden centre having provided me with enough excitement for one day – but now this. I looked at the young blonde, taking in peasant blouse, white pleated summer skirt and high-heeled sandals. I decided I was going to have to fuck her – and soon. I had a feeling she was thinking along the same lines.

I paid the bill, and the young couple introduced themselves as Tom and Cathy. I invited everybody back to my place, first trying to remember if I had left the place in decent order.

'This will give me some material,' said Ginny, when we got into my car, and I checked my mirror to see that they were following, in Tom's nice new Jaguar.

I looked a question at her, and she laughed, 'I didn't tell you what sort of writer I am, did I?'

'No, you didn't.'

'I write erotic novels,' she said, 'I've had two published, and I'm busy with another, as well as a couple of magazine articles.'

'Is that what I am – material?' I asked, a bit put out.

'Of course not, Keith,' she said, stroking my thigh with an electric touch that did nothing to lessen my growing excitement, 'I am enormously attracted to you – I think you sense that – and I think we may have a lot in common. We both seem to be uninhibited, and, well.......let's just see what transpires from here on, shall we?'

I saw the sense in that, and nodded emphatically, then impulsively took her hand from my thigh an placed it firmly over my hardening shaft.

'Oh, Keith,' she said, teasingly, 'I think you are getting excited, aren't you? Who is it you want – me or the blonde?'

'Honestly?' I asked, 'Both of you. How's that for transparency?'