On the Greens


They did not wait till the end of the party.

The dances had palled some time ago; the music had got boring and predictable, and they had decided to leave. They hadn't actually talked about it. Neither had said "This sucks. Let's get out of here." There had been just the exchange of glances. There had been a clasp of hands, a slight pressure. Then they had got up from their chairs and quietly left.

They were not missed. The party went on undisturbed without them.

The car was small, but large enough as the world for the two of them. Small as it was, it was large enough to contain their world. He did not turn on the music; what they had between them would be corrupted by music made by someone else. Between them they had their own music.

It was already almost midnight. Time had passed while they were at the party, first distracted by the dances and the conversation, then absorbed in each other. They had sat gazing into each other's eyes, they had clasped hands, they had kissed over the table, they had done all the clichéd things; and now they had enough of all of that, and they had left -- together.

He drove, aimlessly. Where he was going didn't really matter any more. He drove because he drove, and she sat on his left because she sat on his left. It was enough in itself. It was their little universe. It was entire.

At this time of night, the city was already sleeping. Almost everything was dark. The streets were empty and only lit by the light from the lamp-posts. They could drive as they wished, drifting over the median markers as they gazed into each other's eyes and kissed over the gearshift, and then kissed again. Her hand lay on his thigh, and it was part of the rhyme of nature.

Sometime later they looked out through the windshield and found their drive had brought them to the outskirts of the city.

The golf course lay silvery and deserted in the moonlight. The moon, almost full, glinted off the water hazard in the distance, on the seventh hole. The fairway was lined by thick woods, and under their branches the ground lay shrouded in shadow.

He stopped the car. They did not say a word, just sat in silence for a few moments. Her hand was on his thigh. She raised it to his face. She stroked his face and she massaged his neck.

Over the steering wheel, they kissed again. Her lips opened to his, their lips slid over each other, their tongues touched. His hand slid over her breasts. Her hand ran through his hair. They kissed.

After some time, they opened the doors and got out. She paused to take off her shoes, which she placed on the floor near the gearshift; he, to take the key from the ignition and lock the doors. Then, hand in hand, they walked out into the moonlight.

It was a soft night, a night of soft breezes and soft murmurs of running water, of soft moonlight and the soft touch of skin on skin. She felt the thick, spiky grass on her feet, he felt her hand touching his, her fingers twining in his; they felt their bodies as they did not often feel them, as something special, something rare and wonderful. They walked in the moonlight, and they paused in their walk only to feel each other and to kiss again.

When they reached the shelter of the trees, they stopped. Their bodies merged, embraced, he turned her back to him so she stood pressed against him, throwing her head back in order to kiss his lips. His hands found her breasts through the fabric of her T shirt. He caressed her breasts. She sighed.

She sighed, she reached over her shoulder, she found his head and pulled his head forward over her shoulder, turned her face to him and kissed the line of his jaw, kissed his cheek, her mouth found his lips. She pressed herself against him, she felt his hands slide down over her belly, lift her T shirt, and push up under the T shirt until they found her breasts again. She thrust out her chest to push her breasts against his hands. He lifted the cups of her bra away from her breasts. His hands found her bare breasts at last. She sighed.

An indeterminable time later, she became aware that she no longer had on her T shirt or her bra. It was nothing unusual, nothing strange. She felt his hands on her breasts again, cupping them, the hollows of his palms rubbing on her nipples. It seemed to send an electric shock through her body. She felt a pulling between her legs, a deep thrill in the pit of her belly. It inflamed her. She turned to him and pulled his shirt off, exposing his bare chest. She crushed her body against his, her breasts pressing on his chest, feeling his body against hers. She crushed her mouth on his. Their hands slid over each others' backs.

Neither of them was a stranger to sex, nor was this the first time they had been with each other, but every move seemed something wonderful, something new, something the other had done which had never been done before. When she pushed her hands below his belt and fondled his buttocks, he thrust his groin against hers and felt her thrust against him in response. She reached forward and fumbled at his belt. In an instant she had undone it and pulled it out of the loops by the buckle. She let it drop and turned her attention to his button and his zipper. He threw his arms around her and pulled her to him.

From his hips, the heavy fabric of his jeans slid down over his legs and puddle down over his shoes. Her hands were impatient at his underwear. They were at the elastic, her fingers hooked into the elastic and pulled the underwear down to follow the jeans, and her hand slid round his already stiffening penis. She held it with the palm of her hand, and with the thumb stroked it down the shaft and over the swollen glans. He gasped.

She pushed him backwards till he was sitting on the grass, and then she pulled his shoes off and then his jeans and boxers so that he was nude except for one sock. There was enough light under the trees for her to see his pale body, the puff of black hair at his groin, the shaft of his penis darker but just visible. She let him sit there while she went on the tips of her toes and pirouetted in the splashes of moonlight for him, the moonlight playing over her breasts as she twirled, holding her hair up with her hands. She looked down at him and the stab of desire went right inside her. Her hands were like dancers as they sped over her belt, removing the hook from the eyelet, removing the belt from its loops, and then she raised one leg and then the other as she slipped the jeans off. Now wearing only her thin cotton panties, she twirled before him again, feeling his eyes like caressing fingers on her skin. She hooked her fingers in her panties, teasing them down and up again, letting him catch glimpses of her pubic hair. She could see his penis stiffening, she even caught glimpses of it jerking slightly, and she felt herself begin to lubricate so the fluid began soaking her panties. Slowly, slowly, she pulled the panties down, the fabric sticking to her moist tissues, and then she pulled them down all the way so they were on the grass round her ankles. She stepped out of them, and stood nude before him, offering herself to his eyes.

She held out her arms. He rose, uncertainly almost, and came to her. She took his hands in hers. They came together and embraced tightly, she could feel his penis press against her belly just below her navel, and he could feel her breasts press against his chest. He bent his head to her as she raised her face. They held their faces together for a moment, breathing in each other's scent. Their eyelashes flickered against each other. Their lips found each other. They sipped each others' lips, their tongues touched. His hand dropped between her legs and slipped through the wiry pubic hair. He found her vaginal lips and began pressing on them with his fingertips, in little circular motions. She sighed and grasped his penis again, stroking him as before. He parted her vulva with his finger, slipping it inside her vagina. She moaned softly and crushed his body against hers. He began to move his finger in and out of her vagina, slowly, then faster, and then began pressing on the front wall of her vagina with his finger. She began to move her hips against his hand, and her own hand began rubbing his penis harder as she cupped his testicles with the other. They kissed open-mouthed, lips crushing down on lips, passion doing away with all thought of gentleness.

Holding each other, rubbing frantically against each other, they slid down on the thick grass. He lay on his back, and she rolled on top of him, their arms tightly holding each other, their legs twined, her hair falling over his face, their sweat slick skin sliding over each other.

Then she was on her back, her legs wide apart, and he was lying on top of her, holding his chest off her with his arms, so that his hips were pressed to hers. His penis pressed against her groin. She felt herself lubricate helplessly. The urge to feel him inside her took her, and she thrust her hips upwards at him.

He felt his penis rub against her pubic hair, then his glans slipped between her labia and the rubbing gave way to the moist soft smoothness of her vulva. She raised her hips and pressed against him, and his glans nudged inside the opening of her vagina. He could feel the nudge, and then he was sliding his penis into her vagina, slowly, slowly penetrating her, trying to drag out this moment as long as he could. Her moist heat enveloped him, drew him in, and she tightened her vagina around the shaft of his penis so she held him inside her in the closest, most intimate contact possible. She felt his penis inside her, radiating its own heat, pushing in until she felt his pubic hair and hers join, their bodies pressing tight against each other. She clamped her mouth tightly on his. They gazed into each others eyes with a sort of wild wonder -- this was sex. This? What had they ever experienced before? What had it been? This was it, here and now.

He drew back slightly, and she slipped back to let him draw a little way out of her; and then he thrust forward again and she rose to meet him, her hips rising to his, her vagina again enfolding his penis till it could go in no more, the sensations building in both their bodies, again, again, endlessly. It seemed it would never end, that this was something that could never lead to a final climax, but go on and on, a fountain of pleasure. Their breaths came faster, their bodies slapped against each the other, his chest felt her breasts rise to meet it as she bucked against him. The tension grew and grew between their legs, in the pits of their bellies, and she felt the first spasms start in her clitoris, in her vagina, and then she was thrusting, thrusting wildly, the waves of her orgasm radiating from her genitals to wash over her belly, her legs, her chest, till they lapped over her face and feet. He too felt the tension rise, and he was erupting inside her, spurting inside her as deep as he could, and finally the strength went out of his arms and he let himself fall down on her body. She let her arms drape over his back, and they lay there for a long time, getting their breaths back.

Somewhat later, they made love again. It was not till dawn was turning the east pink that they -- aching pleasantly, drunk with the wine of orgasmic pleasure -- dragged on their clothes and made their way back to the car.

They had both known it was the last time they would make love. That evening, she was to fly out to her new job in Hong Kong. She had no intention of returning.

But a memory that beautiful is the best gift they could leave for each other.

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