Narrative 02: Tofino

Author's note: Tofino is the second instalment in the Narrative series. Each piece - limited to less than 5,000 words - recounts a different real-life event. Nothing has been embellished: things unfold very much as they were experienced.

Names have been changed, however, for all the obvious reasons. Also - a word of caution: this piece is a slow burn - as much a love story as an erotic encounter, so please approach it accordingly.

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Margot worked as a sous-chef in a restaurant owned by friends of mine.

We'd crossed paths a few times, but nothing of consequence had ever happened between us. From a distance, I had taken note of her extraordinary pale gray eyes, and the way she spoke with the faintest of lisps. Kind of sexy, actually. I also knew that she had a boyfriend: a brawny one. Erring on the side of caution, I always kept my conversations with her short and to the point.

In October of '98, I headed off to Chile on a survey project. Six months later I returned home to Tofino, now flush with cash. Taking some down time, I pretty much lived at the restaurant in the evenings: I really wasn't into cooking fancy meals for myself at that point.

Margot was still working there, and apparently she was single again. What a difference six months can make.

I began looking forward to seeing her. There was something almost risqué about her: soft-spoken but sharp, quiet on the surface but smoldering underneath. Even dressed in her stained chef's jacket and ratty jeans, she was extraordinarily pretty. She stood about 5'5", willowy, with shoulder length auburn hair and - like I said - those icy gray eyes.

One evening, after I'd been back for a few weeks, things changed for some reason. It was around 11 p.m., and the restaurant had closed for the night. I'd joined my friends and their employees at the staff table for some late night pasta and wine.

Half way through the meal, Margot walked out of the kitchen to the crowded table. There were no seats available. She looked at me. Smiling, she stepped over and, without saying a word, sat in my lap. Picking up a spare fork, she started eating my pasta, totally ignoring me. I sat there speechless. I wasn't sure if she was coming on to me, or if I was just serving as a surrogate seat-cushion.

I secretly enjoyed having her on my lap, though. The occasional waggle of her bum did get me going. I was desperately hoping she didn't feel the bulge in my pants.

Thirty minutes later, the table was half empty. Margot, however, was still sitting on me, an arm draped round my neck, drinking my wine. She didn't seem to be going anywhere, and I was perfectly fine with that. For reasons I couldn't explain, I hadn't felt more relaxed and centred in months. There was something about her presence that just seemed right. It was like we'd known each other all our lives.

My friends announced they were going to lock up, and Margot groaned in protest. "I just got off work," she said, "and everyone's going home. Not fair." She sounded petulant. I loved it.

Now or never, I thought. I screwed up my courage, and murmured quietly into her ear, "Do you want to come back to my place for some wine and a quiet fire?" I immediately realized how cheesy I sounded. 'A quiet fire?' Jesus Christ.

She pulled away, looking at me with those disconcerting eyes. It was like gazing into a cloudy winter sky.

She shrugged, said "Why not?" and stood up. "Just going to change. Give me a sec." She disappeared into the kitchen. A minute later she was back again, still in the ratty jeans and chef's T-shirt, but now wearing a thin, tailored jacket. "After you," she said, gesturing towards the door.

Jenna, my restaurant-owner friend, looked over at me with a concerned look on her face. 'Be careful', she mouthed silently to me, shaking her head. I, of course, ignored her advice completely.

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Twenty minutes later, we were back at my cabin. It was an old, cozy place. All on one floor, it had a small galley kitchen, a large living space that doubled as my bedroom, and a retro 30's bathroom with an ancient cast-iron tub. The most attractive feature, though, was the imposing stone fireplace in the big room. During the winter months I had it going most of the time: it was the only way to stave off the damp that rolled in from the ocean on stormy days.

Margot stepped in through the front door and looked around - at first sceptically, and then warming to what she saw. "Comfy," she finally said.

I put on some Keith Jarrett and stepped into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of red wine and two glasses. Joining her on the futon couch, I poured us both a glass and then sat back, looking at her without wanting her to see that I was looking at her.

I'd forgotten something. Ah - the fire. I quickly got up, threw some kindling and small logs on the embers, and brought it back to life. The dry fir crackled, throwing off a scent like piñon.

I turned back towards Margot, and found her stretched out on the rug in front of the fire. She was turning the half-full wine glass slowly in her hands, watching me. I joined her on the floor, and we talked. For hours. About everything.

Around 2 a.m., she simply fell asleep in the middle of a sentence, exhausted from the long day at the restaurant and the two bottles of wine that we'd downed.

I quietly stood up, trying to figure out what to do. Leave her on the floor in front of the fire with a blanket and a pillow, or wake her up and tuck her into bed? I thought about how she was going to feel in the morning, and opted for the latter. Pulling the futon couch out into a bed, I made it up, and turned to wake her. She was dead to the world. I stepped over, and tried to quietly rouse her. No dice. Sighing, I knelt down and picked her up, cradling her in my arms. I was surprised at how little she weighed.

I placed her on the bed, and started to pull the duvet over her. Still wearing her work clothes, I noticed the smell of the restaurant kitchen: not a bad scent, but not something she'd want to wake up wearing. In all innocence, I said to her "Do you want to get out of those jeans?" She mumbled something unintelligible. It sounded like a yes, but I wasn't sure. Leaning over, I gently undid the button, and pulled down the zipper. "Bum up," I said. Without opening her eyes, she raised her hips up off the bed. I pulled the jeans down her legs, and off over her feet.

Trying my best not to ogle her, I couldn't avoid how stunning she looked. Lying there in her white T-shirt and lace underwear; her hair in disarray; long, silky legs and exquisite bare feet; a look of complete innocence on her face.

She cracked open one eye and looked at me. "Is this how you get your jollies?" she murmured, and then rolled over to face the wall, dropping back to sleep.

I placed the duvet over her, put on some Charlie Haden, and sat down in an armchair, watching her as she slept. I ended up sitting there all night, wide awake, in equal parts transfixed and adrift. Something important was happening here: my life was arcing off in a totally new direction.

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I woke up in the morning, still in the armchair, hung over from the wine, my neck stiff. I heard a soft, whimpering sound and looked over at Margot. She was no longer on the bed. The duvet was slowly moving across the floor towards the bathroom.

"Jesus," she said from underneath it. "Oh crap." She was obviously feeling even worse than I was. All I could see of her was legs and bum, sticking out from beneath the duvet as she crawled away. I almost burst out laughing.

Toothbrush, I suddenly thought. Shit. I didn't have a spare.

The bathroom door closed, followed by the sound of the tub's faucet running. Two minutes later, I heard an unmistakable sigh as she eased herself into the hot water.

After half an hour, she stepped out of the bathroom, steam billowing behind her. She was wearing my housecoat, which was obviously three sizes two big. She looked gorgeous - her face flushed, hair pinned up off her long neck, eyes (still a bit bloodshot) sparkling in the early morning light.

I silently handed her a cup of coffee. Trying to think of something to say, I apologized for not having a spare toothbrush. She looked at me, smiled slightly, and said, "No problem - I used yours."

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I was scheduled to head down-island to Victoria that day for some follow-up work on the Chile project. I was going to be there for a week or so. The timing was terrible: I'd just met Margot, and now I was leaving.

I told her about my plans, and she studied me carefully. "Where are you staying?" she asked. I told her the name of the small, old-fashioned hotel that I used. "Nice spot," she replied, and sighed. She was feeling the same way I was. The timing sucked for both of us.

She got dressed, and prepared to leave. "Thanks," she said. "It was a nice night." She paused. "But what happened to the quick fuck?" she asked.

"The what?" I blurted out, completely taken aback.

"You asked me at the restaurant if I wanted to come back for a bottle of wine and a quick fuck," she replied.

"Quiet fire," I responded quickly. Christ. "Not quick fuck."

"Huh", she replied, nonplussed. "I'm a bit deaf in that ear. Must have misheard you. See you when you get back?" She smiled coyly, and then headed out the front door. I stood there, dumbfounded, watching her walk away.

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Later that evening, now down in Victoria, I headed to my hotel to check in. It was close to 8 p.m., and I'd just put in a long day of travel and work.

The manager at the front desk looked at me warily. "Welcome back," he said. "Will that be one key, or two?"

"Just one," I replied. "As usual."

"Ah," he said, giving me a strained smile. "And the lady?"

What lady?

"The lady waiting in the bar," he enunciated, nodding towards the snug off the lobby.

Confused, I told him there was no lady. He must be mistaken. He tilted his head and said "Mmm... she's been waiting for almost three hours. We've already taken her bags up to your room."

I had no idea what was going on. I turned and walked across the lobby to the pub. It was quite dark inside, and smelled faintly of tobacco and spilled scotch.

I looked around in the dim light. A few people sat at the bar, and a few more were scattered at tables. Off in a corner booth, I spotted a woman in a well-cut tweed jacket and skirt. She was sitting on her own.

Something about her looked familiar. I stepped towards her, and realized halfway there that it was Margot. Not sous-chef Margot, but dressed-up Margot. I stopped in my tracks.

She was staring down at her drink, with a look of deep sadness on her face. If I hadn't already fallen in love with her last night, I would have now.

"Margot?" I said quietly.

She looked up. Her eyes glistened. She looked like she was on the verge of tears.

"Julian," she sighed, and then paused. "I wasn't sure if you were coming."

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A few hours later, we were walking arm in arm along the seawall of Victoria's inner harbour. We'd had a late, intimate meal at a small French restaurant, and I was now trying to figure out how to address the elephant in the room: my hotel room, that is.

"So..." I started. Even though her bags were already upstairs, I wasn't sure how to take the next step.

Margot looked at me innocently, and said, "Time for bed, I think."

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Upstairs, we quietly unpacked our bags, as if we'd been doing it together for years.

With a thin silk robe draped over her arm, Margot disappeared into the bathroom, softly closing the door behind her. I heard the sound of the shower running. Not knowing what else to do, I stripped off my clothes, and climbed in naked under the sheets. I was as nervous as hell.

A few minutes later, the shower turned off. A few minutes after that, the bathroom door opened, and Margot stepped out.

She was wearing the silk robe, untied. It flowed down over her breasts, stopping just below her thighs. Her tiny white panties just concealed what was between her legs. My head spun, and my prick throbbed. Silhouetted by the bathroom light, she stopped for a moment, looked at me, and quietly said, "Your turn."

I lay there like a deer in the headlights, fully erect beneath the sheets, trying to figure out how I was going to get to the bathroom without showing her my massive erection.

She looked down at the bed. The tent-pole effect was unmistakable. "I won't start without you," she giggled, and turned away.

I jumped out of bed and scurried off to the bathroom. Two minutes later, I was back, damp and freshly scrubbed. My cock was still at full mast, poking up underneath the bath towel that I'd hastily wrapped around my waist.

Margot was on the bed, knees drawn up, with her back propped against the pillows. Her robe was now wide open, showing off her breasts. I knew she was slender, and she was - but her breasts were something else again. Full, and firm, and perfect. She looked like she'd just stepped out of a lingerie catalogue. I couldn't believe my eyes.

She looked over at me, and then down at the surging bath towel. She smiled. "Come to bed," she said, leaning over, tugging the towel off my waist. My swollen prick waved up at her, only inches from her mouth. "I thought so," she murmured, looking fondly at my cock.

She leaned back onto the pillows, and patted the bed beside her. Reaching up, she pulled the robe back over her shoulders, and shrugged it off. Except for her panties, she was now completely naked.

Pushing her butt up off the bed, she slipped her fingers under either side of her panties, and pulled them down over her legs. She kicked them off into a corner, and placed both of her hands chastely over her mound, concealing herself.

I slid onto the bed beside her, drinking her in. I could see her hands on her pussy - slowly squeezing, then relaxing, then squeezing again. I felt like I was going to pass out.

"First kiss?" she asked. I obliged. Our tongues swirled together like they were made for each other. There was no hesitation - only certainty.

Moving in between her parted legs, I trailed my mouth down over her body: down her graceful neck to her perfect breasts, nipples now swollen in anticipation; down over her flat belly, stopping just above her hands that still cupped her pussy.

Sliding lower, I licked at her fingers, slowly nudging them apart as I sought out her cleft. Little by little, she let my tongue slide in between her fingertips, opening up to me. She had a beautiful, auburn bush - perfectly manicured and full. My prick surged.

Spreading her knees further apart, she pulled her hands away from herself, and placed them lightly on either side of my head. "Don't be shy with your tongue," she whispered. "I love a good lashing..." She giggled, seeming surprised by her own words.

Pulling my head back slightly, I revelled in the view of her pussy. Her labia, now glistening wet, were separated slightly, slowly opening up for my tongue. Her clit, no longer hidden under its hood, stood out proudly: shining and swollen. She smelled fabulous - like rosemary and fresh ocean air.

"Ah Christ," I breathed, blowing on her cunt ever so lightly. She twitched in surprise and then sighed happily. "Edge me," she whispered. I did.

I started by gently swirling the tip of my tongue around the circumference of her clit. Around, around, and around again. I could feel her thighs begin to quiver. "Harder," she said, a more urgent tone to her voice.

Ignoring her, I slid away down between her swelling lips. She smelled intoxicating. I want this for the rest of my life, I thought.

Running my tongue between her labia, I sought out her opening, and began thrusting my tongue inside her. "Deeper," she sighed, bearing down towards me.

Again, as soon as she asked, I backed off. She whimpered in frustration.

Pulling my tongue away, I gently circled a thumb around her opening; slipping it in an inch or so, then back out, then in again. She started bucking, seeking more.

I pulled my hand away, and blew lightly on her clit. I swear she almost jumped with excitement. Fluid oozed out of her vagina, drenching her inner thighs.

"Yess..." she hissed. "Oh you bastard..."

Without warning, I bore down hard on her clit, alternating roughly between the tip of my tongue and the tip of my thumb. She immediately started panting and lifting her thighs.

I backed off again. On and on we went, bringing her almost to the verge, and then easing away. She was positively quaking now, begging for release. "Please... enough. Get me over... please..." she pleaded. I ignored her. She'd asked to be edged, and I was determined to deliver.

Suddenly, she lost patience. Grabbing me on either side of my head, she yanked me into her. "Now..." she commanded. "I really need to come now... oh please..."

Ramming my tongue deep up inside her, I began grinding the heel of my hand on her clit. "Harder... for Christ's sake... harder..." she moaned, moving quickly towards orgasm. Her cunt squeezed more of her juices onto the bed. "Cumming... uhh, cumming..." Her knees snapped together, trapping my head between them. She spasmed, letting out a high-pitched whine as her fluids shot out onto my tongue."Fuckfuckfuckfuck," she chanted, clenching my head over and over.

I desperately tried not to come as well, but couldn't control it any longer. I felt a shock shoot up my cock, and spurted copiously onto the sheets. Damn, I thought, before I blacked out. I wanted to be inside her the first time I came...

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We lay, tangled in each other and the sheets. Both of us had slipped away from the real for a while, exhausted, but still wanting more.

Spooned together, her back to my belly, I began to swell again. She felt me hardening against her ass.

Reaching behind her, she gently grasped my cock. "From behind," she said. "Take me from behind. I was born slung to the south... better this way."

She cocked a leg into the air, opening herself up to me. Slowly, she began sliding the head of my cock over her opening. Positioning herself, she aimed me at her vagina, pushing back towards me. I slid into her effortlessly from behind.

We lay, motionless, savouring the feeling. She then slowly began working her hips back and forth, taking me deeper and deeper inside.

"Ah Jesus..." Margot whispered. "I knew you'd fit... such a good fit..."

Unable to hold back any longer, I rolled her over onto her stomach, arched my back, and began thrusting into her. Rising up onto her hands and knees, she started pushing back into me, huffing loudly, looking for release. Both mine and hers.

We fucked like this for a long, long time - sometimes roughly, sometimes softly, but always in sync. If religion is real, I thought, I may have just found it.

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We spent the rest of the night exploring each other, inch by inch. Fucking, sucking, tonguing, coming... By the time we finally fell asleep, there wasn't one part of our bodies that hadn't been kissed, or caressed, or penetrated.

The next morning, we woke to the sound of a soft knock on our door. I sat up, confused. Margot lay with the sheets pulled up over her head, ignoring it. I got up, pulled on my pants, and opened the door.