Special Stations of the Mind

Once more he parted those secret enclosing lips, and could see that, magically, the rose petals were dripping. He touched with a finger, the moisture intoxicated him, and then his tongue was tasting her, his nose relishing the aroma of her. More dizzying was the fact that his every touch was achieving some wild reaction from her, whether it was the twitching of her hips, or the sudden spasmic bite of her teeth on his penis.

Without taking him in totally she was lavishing wild attention to his penis and scrotum, her fingers squeezing gently on his balls, Harry, as he licked at her risen clitoris, knew he didn't want to spoil the total conclusion by spilling into her face. More than anything now, his one desire was to shoot up into her womb, to get up as far as was humanly possible.

Consequently he forced her away from his penis. But they had both become so avid with their mouths on each other that they continued mouthing over each other's bodies, sucking, licking and gently biting, while their hands explored other nooks. At one point, they even each had a finger in the opening to the others anus. And they both laughed. Such was their involvement.

At last she lay back flat, put her two hands between her legs and parted her labia. There was a lascivious smile on her face, and her eyes appeared clouded with passion as she said, "Inside me. Now, please."

Believing that she, like him, could no longer wait, Harry guided his seriously stiff member into that de-luxe opening. The glide up inside her was beyond belief, and he could feel her vaginal muscles sucking him deep. Yet, another surprise, once inside her, where he had longed to be, he found himself enjoying the sensations provided by her eager vagina, and jerking hips that he didn't want it to end. His movements became long and slow, and she did not appear to mind the slowing of pace. Her mouth nuzzled his ear as she whispered, "How lovely, just to have you enclosed within me"

So calm was their movement that she gave time to indicate their reflections in the mirror. Harry saw their naked bodies sealed together, but even as he looked, her hips began twitching more frantically, and she cried, "Oh, God, I'm burning up. Work it."

Before he could do or say anything she had eased him to one side without breaking their contact, and was sitting astride him, skewering herself on his huge erection, which Harry knew was not far from bursting. Her hands on his shoulders, her eyes on his face, her face gradually contorting, she began gyrating her hips so that Harry could sense every inch of her vagina. He had to explode, but knew he wouldn't get the deep, deep thrust that this ejaculation demanded. But that was the moment that the lady's control snapped, her head was thrown back and she gave an extended gurgled 'Oh' of release , as her hands slid down his chest. That was Harry's chance to twist her over onto her back, to float over her, and thrust, thrust, and thrust again, ever deeper as, with each impulse, his penis spurted an ever greater surge of his semen, aimed for the very heart of her. His groan mingled with her continued but dwindling 'Oh' vocalisations.

Before collapsing with his face on her shoulder, he saw the wide eyed look of pleasure on her sweated face, with strands of her blonde hair across it.

They lay quiet, no talking, no movement until his limp penis at last slipped out of her, and she reached for a towel that was laid ready on a bedside table. She placed the towel between her thighs, wiped, before sitting up, and taking hold of his penis with the towel, gripped and flexed her fingers.

"It was good," she murmured, and lay back beside him. They just lay there, but their hands seemed to find it difficult to stop stroking and fingering each other. Harry was expecting the session to be drawn to a close. He thought she might eventually rise, collect her clothes and move off. But that didn't happen. Their touching and stroking extended into kissing and nibbling, their lips came together and their tongues tangled, and it was all very quiet and refined.

Her fingers tickling along his penis length had him realising that his erection was returning. He eased to reach down and touch at her labia, they parted readily, and there was much moisture. From their last endeavours? Or was it really a renewed desire?

In response to that thought, her fingers tightened around his penis, and as they faced each other lying on their sides, she lifted one bent leg away to spread herself, and slowly, deliberately she guided him back to her waiting vagina. Harry was taken with both surprise and delight. He heaved his hips to drive his penis into her as he gently laid her on her back, where she raised her legs and wrapped them around him, so that she could reveal her desire to pull him more deeply into her.

With his hard penis enveloped inside her, Harry could have remained in that position all night. She kissed his face, as a very slow, rapturous rhythm began between them. Her hips moved in time with his. They were like that for a very long, rapturous time. Slow glide after slow glide. Pure pleasure. Then suddenly the rhythm increased, became more frantic. Her need? His longing? It didn't matter, they were rushing towards another climax together. When hers came, with that same open mouthed gurgled 'Oh', Harry wasn't far behind, and pushed hard against her cervix, to ensure whatever fluid he had left flooded into her.

And the exquisite moment was over. At the bedroom door she stood, naked, and kissed him on the lips. No names were exchanged, no offer of a return. As he closed the door behind him, he heard her final whisper, "I won't forget that magnificent penis "

That filled him with regret as much as pride. The car was there for him, and there were no questions or comments from Corven, as he drove him back to his own car.

Old Harry's eyes looked out at the passing houses. That had been such a beautiful one-off time, He could almost see that look in her eyes again, but, damn it, memory didn't just stop when you wanted it. There was another portion of that affair that he would have happily ducked away from—but no, it persisted. Harry sighed and gave in to it-

Just a few days after his blissful hours with that rich, passionate lady, Colin Langer rang him requesting the met in a local pub that night. Was it to be another erotic outing? As it turned out, no, it wasn't. Colin was smiling as they sat with their drinks at a quiet table. Before pushing a bundle of ten pound notes across the table. "Your percentage." Colin said, giving Harry a nod.

"What do you mean?"

"There are things you need to know," Colin said, and held up an open palmed hand. "First, the lady you were with the other night was Corven's wife."

"His wife? What the hell-? He said—"

"It doesn't matter what he said. You see he loves her madly, but an illness rendered him totally impotent a few years ago. He knew his wife had passions that rose to the surface slowly. At first he agreed that she could have other men, but he was the one who made the stipulation of no man twice. It was never her affliction. Corven always had time to find a man that met with his approval."

Harry could only just come to terms with this, "He said she was his sister."

"Would you have gone through with it if he'd said she was his wife?" Colin paused, his eyes on Harry's face, "And that he demanded to watch each time she had someone?"

Harry almost jumped out of his seat, "What? He was watching? Watching everything?" He thought of her mouth on his erection.

Colin nodded, "That's not all, Harry." And now his face took on a look that told Harry worse was to come.

"You must remember they loved each other deeply, and believed that some good should come from the situation. Corven had a hand in many charities and-to cut this short- when he watched, he charged others for the same privilege."

Harry felt as though his body was going to crumble. His mouth was too dry for him to speak.

"He charged two hundred per session. All proceeds to a charity. But the one night stand always got a cut, depending how much he pleased her."

His thought of the pleasure of that night were in tatters. He had put on a sex show, for -"How many watched?"

"Six."

Harry could not believe he had been so duped. How real had her responses been? "If it is any consolation I've nev er known Corven pay out 200 before. Seems you really rang her bell."

Harry leapt his feet, "Give him his fucking money back. "And , despite the balm of knowing her reactions, he stalked out, ashamed and angry. When he spoke to his friend Bill Sanders about it, he skipped the hurtful bit, and was told,"If she was that good why didn't you seek her out?."

"She was married.".

"Never stopped me." No, it wouldn't Harry thought.

On his train, old Harry was feeling just as angry. Why couldn't memory stop at the right places? With one more station on his list, Harry weighed up all the exotic recall he had experienced. A little sad smile crossed his face—as he though of the different tributes paid to his erect penis-'glorious cock', 'cucumber', 'magnificent '—a silent chuckle made his chest hurt as he thought, if only those ladies could see that shrivelled wasted little item now. But this journey had reminded of the most extreme of his sexual experiences, and next would be the one that contained what none of the others had-lov e.

"The next station will be Barsea. Alight here for the beach and promenade."

Here it came. The most precious recall, yet it could be the most hurtful. Old Harry closed his eyes. just those early weeks, please. All he wanted was one little element from it. But there were so many other joys that he didn't need to be reminded of. And there was the pain.

Harry was twenty eight, and had only just opened his own financial advisory business. So far things had gone very well and he had bought himself a house, and a low mileage BMW. On that chill February day he was having his car serviced at a garage he had used since his first car.

The garage was adjacent to a local station and Harry, being told the job would take four hours, decided, despite the weather, or maybe because of it, to take a rare trip to the sea front. He had always loved watching a wild sea. The day could be right for that. As an afterthought seeing the leaden sky he took his umbrella from the car.

The journey to Barsea only took ten minutes, and when he left the train the sky looked even more glowering. At the sea front he was struck by the cool wind , and, pulling his anorak zip up to his neck, he decided to try the lower promenade. It might be a more sheltered. Such small choices can have major affects on a life.

The wind was no less biting, but there was a superb view of the stormy sea, throwing itself on rocks and shore. The promenade was deserted, only one lone figure in the distance. No one was taking shelter in the first covered seating area. As he neared the next shelter, he had a closer view of what looked like an old woman, a hood pulled over her head, hunched over the rail, looking out at the sea. Brave lady, Harry thought.

At that moment, a large drop of rain splashed on the paving in front of him. Then another, and another. A downpour was surely imminent. Rather than struggle with the umbrella at this time, Harry made a dash for the shelter. As he ran, he saw, with some surprise that the hooded figure was also scuttling swiftly, and rather athletically to the same shelter. Hardly the movement of an old woman.

Just as he ran under the cover, the other occupant was pushing the hood from her head, and Harry's breath caught in his throat. Under the tangle of raven black hair, was-well, he'd had many encounters with the opposite sex, but this face would have stood out among any of them. High cheek bones, a generous mouth, dark eyes that, Harry thought, looked to be red rimmed. Had she been crying? That did not change his opinion that she was utterly beautiful.

Her face now looked at him with just a touch of worry. Harry could see how she could regard herself as being in a vulnerable situation, so he gave her a reassuring smile and said, "Phew, just made it."

She nodded, without replying, but she did return a weak response to his smile, before turning away. After a period of silence as the rain made its own waves along the promenade, Harry ventured, "I love seeing the sea like this, do you?"

"Yes."

Nothing more than that. Clearly the lady had no wish for conversation. Harry concentrated on the anger of the sea, while the rain continued to splash down, but it was difficult for him to dismiss that face from his mind.

After a while, the lady stood, walked to the shelter edge, looked up and down the promenade, and glanced at her watch. The rain had eased a little, but was still falling heavily.

"Someone not turned up?" Harry asked.

That lovely face turned to him, brow creased as though about to tell him to mind his own business, but she said, "No, I was wanting to get to the station. Looks like I'll have to get wet."

A chance. A glorious chance, Harry enthused, and he said, "I have to get to the station too. Can I offer you shelter under my trusty umbrella?"

"Oh, I couldn't."

But it didn't take much more persuasion, and soon they were dodging the puddles together, the wide umbrella over them, and the lady close by his side. On the two hundred yards to the station they exchanged names. She was Helen, and Harry found the temerity to say that he thought she'd looked upset back in the shelter.

"I was," she admitted," I was being stupid."

She offered no more on the subject at that time, but just before the train appeared, she said quietly, "You were right. I had been crying. "And her eyes met his as she added, "The man I was living with has taken off to Paris." She bit her lip and just for a moment Harry thought she was going to cry again. "Wants to make a fresh start- "and with surprising vehemence added,"—the bastard."

"That attitude will do you the world of good," Harry told her, giving her a smile which he hoped was comforting. "And, may I say, he must be crazy." .

She rewarded him with a smile of gratitude.

Harry was happy when she chose to sit next to him on the train, and he got round to telling her about his financial advisory company, and asked her what she did.

She glanced out of the window, "My stop," she said, getting to her feet, before starting to answer, and Harry heard, "I'm a farm-"At that moment the train gave a violent jerk and a man stumbled against Helen, almost knocking her over. He apologised and moved on.

Helen turned to say her farewell, and Harry was ready. "Could I see you again, sometime?"

Her her head shook as she said, "I don't think I'm in the mood for anything at the moment." A sad smile of apology as she added, I don't think I trust men." The carriage door opened.

He already had his new business card in his hand. He held it out to her. "My home phone number is on there if you ever want to break from the norm."

She took it, and with a final thank you, she was gone. Leaving Harry wishing he had got off the train with her.

For a full week every time his phone rang he hoped it would be her. It never was, and life went on as usual, onlyher face appeared whenever he closed his eyes. Dark eyes and raven hair, had he ever been so captivated? He just couldn't imagine such a beauty working on a farm. Maybe she was a farm inspector. Her answer had been interrupted he remembered.

Six days after their meeting, Harry, having just finished his evening meal answered the phone, and his heart leapt when a gently uncertain female voice said, "It's Helen."

Even while he was dancing cartwheels in his mind, he couldn't resist a little tease, "Helen who?"

"Helen under the umbrella."

"I'm taking your advice and trying to get away from the norm."

"Good choice. I'm miles from the norm." And he was delightged to hear her little laugh. Within minutes they had arranged to meet on the following evening, and Harry said he would pick her up at seven, and they'd go for a meal. "If only I knew where you lived," he added in a sad tone.

He warned himself that he would need to take things very cautiously if he didn't want to scare this one away.. She had obviously come through a pretty traumatic time, yet seemed keen to come out of it. Why should he be this bothered. She was just another woman, wasn't she?

That first evening went as well as he might have hoped. Having only seen her in a thick winter coat, when she removed her coat in the restaurant he found himself looking at a lady who filled her sweater in the right proportions to her trim waist and rounded hips. She was utterly delectable. They had a few laughs in discovering that they had similar tastes in books and film. The highlight came when he asked her about her farm work, "Do you actually own the farm?" It already seemed odd that she would live so far from any farms.

For just a moment she looked puzzled, then out burst that tinkling laugh. "You could say I farm assist."

Slow on the uptake, Harry asked, "You only assist."

She smiled at him with a forgiving smile, "Harry, I am a pharmacist."

Their mutual laughter had folk at other table looking around. When he drove her home to her door, he expected nothing, and that was all he got. She thanked him, but did agree to meet again in three days time.

Harry courted Helen for three months, recognising that this was a major diversion in his usual lifestyle. His initial caution was so deliberate that it was the third week before he attempted giving her a 'goodnight' kiss. Her lips were keen, but cool on his, and when the kiss broke, her eyes had held his in an unfathomable gaze. But Harry found everything about his behaviour way out of step with his usual approach to women.

It was the night after that kiss that Bill Sanders rang for their usual comparing of sexual successes. After regaling Harry with a tale of the current 'lucky girl', '"God, she has few inhibitions. No check that-no inhibitions. What about you?"

Harry knew how this would go when he told his friend about Helen.

"Hot, is she?"

"I don't know."

"I mean, is she adventurous in bed?"

"Haven't been to bed with her." And Harry went on to admit that last night had been their first kiss.

"You're joking. Three weeks and you haven't had her? Have you seen a doctor."

When Harry told him he didn't need one, the response was, "A psychiatrist then? Because, my friend, I fear you are in trouble.".

Shortly after that, kissing Helen became more prolonged and their tongues got to know each other. Yet Harry was so desperate not to bring her any hurt, he delayed pushing it any further, desperate as he was to possess every inch of her. Was his friend correct? Was he in trouble?

On a couple of evenings into their second month of seeing each other she invited him into her well set up home, for which, he had learned, she had done most of the funding, so that when Vic, that was his name, took off, there was no question of who kept the house. On those evenings they simply had a coffee, and Helen promised that she would invite him for a meal soon.

Those evenings also took them a step further, as he tentatively moved a hand over a bloused breast, and she did not protest, clung closer in fact, her hands moving on his back. For Harry, those hands, were like two large electrodes sending charges through his shirt. He could not believe how nervous he was about offending her by forcing the issue. This was a totally new situation. Up until this time his consideration had always been how quickly he could get his hand travelling up a girl's thigh.

Then came the evening, when Helen by her words and actions, finally led Harry to make the commitment that he knew he had hidden nervously in the back of his mind for some time. Their kisses had been passionate, when Harry became aware of Helen unbuttoning the buttons on her own blouse, before taking his hand and guiding it inside. An action so reminiscent of the lady on the train when he was just nineteen. But Harry was determined that this was to be no one-off. Overjoyed to find there was no bra, his hand roamed onto the sensually curved softness which was just as he'd suspected it would be.. The brown of her nipples were a surprise and he was debating whether he dare take one in his mouth, when Helen broke the kiss,and stared up at him with smoky eyes.