Love Unspoken

Surrendering herself, Margo soon realised that this was to be on an entirely more elevated level. Later, recalling every tingling second, she could only compare it to the work of a Chinese painter, each stroke chosen and executed with exquisite precision, each with its ordained contribution to the ultimate overall effect. The young woman's pace was leisurely, intensifying the feeling by minute degrees: a touch with the tip of a tongue, a pause, a warm breath, the subtle insertion of a finger, another, longer pause, a tiny variation of pressure. When the orgasm came it was not with a sudden rush; Margo was aware of the slow-build-up as though it had begun from a long way off and yet was somehow unstoppable. The waves mounted, mounted, crested and began to recede in long decreasing ripples until she was at rest. The young woman softly kissed the lips she had so skilfully treated and stood.

All this while, the man had been standing at the side of the bed handling his penis with no more energy than was needed to maintain an erection. Now he went to the drawer where Margo kept her intimate necessities, took out a condom and slipped it into place. There was no need to Margo to receive him; his young partner had achieved that. Nevertheless, sliding into the creamy-wet folds with one effortless movement, he then adopted the same relaxed tempo that had brought Margo to the previous climax.

They were on familiar territory. Over the weeks of Margo's previous visits their silent couplings had developed a wonderful harmony. His reading of her body's smallest movements had led him to understand how a small change of angle or pressure or tempo could increase or relax her state of arousal. Now, plainly, nothing had been forgotten. They tuned instinctively to each other's wavelength. It seemed too Margo as though they were reliving their very first encounter, but enhanced now by the lessons of many other afternoons, unforgettable and unforgotten.

Her vaginal muscles exerted the same grip; his hands again cupped her buttocks for steadiness whenever he was thrusting with purpose; half-withdrawn he could lean down as before and touch her nipples with his tongue; leaning back he could watch as she lazily caressed her clitoris. By turns one gave and the other received. Then they were conjoined in mutual unrestrained rapture. They began to strive together, her pelvis rising to meet his pounding. And this time, miraculously, they knew the nirvana of mutual orgasm, something which even their practiced routines had only seldom achieved in the past.

He waited, still inside her but supporting his weight on his arms, until she had partially recovered. When he stood, the young woman was waiting with a tissue for Margo and another for her man. Margo accepted and then lay with closed eyes, reluctant to let the whole experience end until she had stored every detail in her mind. Minutes passed. Margo opened her eyes and saw that the couple had left. From outside came the sound of the mower.

Margo took a lengthy shower, shampooed, slipped on a robe before going outside to let her hair dry in the warmth of the late afternoon. The lawn smelt of freshly-mown grass, the flower beds were tidy. There was no sign of the gardener or his partner. Beside the sunbed were discarded travel brochures. Margo collected them and dropped them in the litter bin.