Sunny Afternoon

It was a Saturday in the middle of August and the second day of sunshine. Monica had raced around the house in a frenzy with the vacuum cleaner, then sweated over the ironing of her husband's white shirts for next week. She abandoned the ironing of her own blouses and stepped out into the garden in the midday sun. Looking up she saw a cloudless sky of electric blue with only a hint of a breeze.

Monica took the stairs two a time and rummaged through her top drawer to find her favourite purple bikini. The top had silver sparkles along the front sides of the little triangles, and the bottom half was low cut and tied with strings on the sides. As she peeled off her shorts and tee shirt she was glad she had taken the time last week to have a Brazilian wax done at the Urban Spa. Not that anyone would be observing her sunbathing, but she liked to feel good about herself regardless.

Fastening the long dark hair on the top of her head, she grabbed the colourful beach towel with the surfer scene along the bottom edge, and tripped back down the stairs. Next she fixed a glass of iced red zinger tea, and then hunted in a cupboard for sun tan oil and sunglasses. She had to move the step ladder and some coats to locate the folding futon mattress, unused since the last hot spell a year ago. Eventually all the accoutrements were assembled and she looked up to maximise the results from the sun's rays.

There wasn't a lot of room in the small back garden, but it had the advantage of being south facing. The best feature, however, was that in one spot it was not overlooked by the neighbouring houses, thus providing complete privacy. Monica spread out her towel and stretched out her legs to smother them in coconut oil. She placed her drink and mobile phone in the shade under the teak table. Then she lay back and closed her eyes.

A bumble bee was buzzing around in the flower border and she turned her head to see what it was doing. The bee was lazily flying from one clematis blossom to another, then he moved further away to pollinate the lavender.

Two peacock butterflies briefly crossed her line of vision before vanishing over the high wooden fence. She closed her eyes again and her ears tuned in to the sound of birds chirping in next door's Cyprus trees. This reminded her that she had meant to fill the bird feeder yesterday, so she reached for her sun glasses and crossed the small expanse of lawn, to the garden shed. Filling the plastic measuring cup she poured bird seed into their feeder. Of course they had also devoured all the fat balls put out earlier in the week, so she replenished that supply as well.

Eventually she settled down again with a sigh and closed her eyes once more. She could hear the neighbourhood children shouting to one another from the adjoining street, and found this to be annoying. She wasn't ready to have to deal with babies and children yet, and couldn't understand the attraction it seemed to hold for some of her friends. Why were they in such a hurry to lose their figures and be chained to a crying infant? No thank you.

Since they had married two years ago, life had fallen into a comfortable routine. Monica was quite happy to put in her hours at the office each week and then be totally selfish at the weekend. Her husband didn't always have the weekend off as his hours tended to be quite unsociable. Sometimes this was inconvenient if she wanted to plan a get together with friends, but on the other hand it often worked out quite well. He wasn't particularly possessive of her time, and didn't have any objections to her amusing herself with other wives when he had to work nights.

As a result their marriage had been amazingly successful so far. Early days, she knew, but they rarely disagreed, and in fact were surprisingly compatible. Monica had never had a relationship extending longer than two years, because she usually became bored with boyfriends at about that time. So it was a revelation to herself and her friends that their marriage was working so well. They both liked holidays in the sun, and had booked two weeks in Sharm el Sheikh in September. If she could get a bit of a tan before then it would be perfect.

Her thoughts examined her marital relationship further; they both had a sense of adventure and daring. During their honeymoon they had both had a go at windsurfing and bodysurfing, with quite a degree of success. They had gone kayaking together and still joked about whose fault it was that the kayak had capsized. He was also an imaginative lover, and during the past winter they had often spent an entire day in bed.

The sparrows and blue tits had discovered that the feeder had been filled for their pleasure, and were contentedly twittering to each other. Suddenly it all went quiet, and Monica sat up. On the roof of the garden shed was a very fluffy black cat. "Hey, get away from here." She yelled at the cat, who turned his yellow eyes slowly to stare at her, without making any effort to move. She waved her arms around and he flicked his tail in response. "You wretched bird murderer." She shouted at the cat, but he didn't move until she got up and went towards the shed. Then he silently slipped over the back fence.

Before settling down again Monica went to fetch the ghetto blaster. She plugged in an extension cord and carried it outside hoping to find a suitable radio station. For some reason there seemed to be either call-in shows or lame music on all of the stations. So she went back inside and picked up a Bruce Springsteen CD. That ought to keep him away, she thought.

Her husband had chastised her before about playing the radio too loud, and suggested she wear headphones. But how can a girl do a proper job of sunbathing wearing ear muffs? So she popped in the CD and thinking that "Glory Days" was most appropriate, rolled over onto her stomach and undid the back of her bikini top and one side of the bikini brief. The sun blazed down on her oiled skin and she finally started to wind down and feel drowsy.

So it took a while for her to realise that while The Boss was belting out "Born in the USA" there was another sound filtering through. It was someone banging on the garden gate, and then came:

"Police, open up, open up now or we'll have to break down the gate."

Sitting up, still dazed from sun and sleep, she struggled to fasten the ties to her bikini, calling,

"All right, I'm coming, just a minute."

Retrieving the key for the gate she crossed the lawn and opened it with some trepidation. A large police officer had his fist raised as he was about to bang on the solid gate again. He was wearing the standard issue summer uniform of short sleeved shirt and body protector, adorned with a multitude of appendages. She had time to notice that there was a mobile phone hanging from one shoulder and a walkie-talkie from the other. He flung the gate wider and marched into the garden, where he proceeded to punch the power switch on the ghetto blaster. Monica closed the gate and wondered what she should do next.

The officer had withdrawn a notebook and said, "Sit down please Miss." I am Officer Kaplinsky, and I have been asked to come here and investigate a report of noise nuisance. Do you realise that under the Environmental Protection Act of 1990, Section 79, you are in violation of the law. You can be served with a notice to desist and will then have 21 days to appeal."

Monica sat down on the futon and reached for her glass of iced tea. This could be very unpleasant; she didn't want to fall out with her neighbours, which might lead to repercussions, and she certainly didn't want to have to go to court and take time off work. She thought fast, and decided she would need all her feminine wiles to resolve this situation.

The officer began writing in his notebook, and asked her to supply her name and address, which she did. Since she was sitting on the ground, and he was standing up, she was straining her neck backwards to talk to him. She asked him if he would like to sit down, and he chose a wrought iron garden chair. But when she asked him if she could fetch him a drink, he brusquely refused.

Looking at his notebook again he told her that the police didn't usually respond when there was just one complaint, but there had been two. And apparently, this was not the first occasion either. Monica looked as contrite as she could, and started telling him how very sorry she was, and that it wouldn't happen again. Then she went on to explain about wanting to block out the noisy children in the back lane, and how she had wanted to scare away the cat who was after the birds.

The officer seemed somewhat mollified by this explanation and unzipping his flack jacket told her perhaps he would have that cold drink after all. So Monica leapt up and ran inside, returning with a glass and the jug of iced tea. The officer's jacket was hanging over the back of the chair together with his black tie, and he had unbuttoned his shirt. Sweat was glistening on his forehead and arms as he took long slurps from the glass, and then told her,

"Of course, this doesn't let you off the hook, young lady. There's already a report on file at the station now."

"Darn," she declared, "What can I do to rectify the situation Officer?" And she sat back down again crossing her legs in front of her and rubbing the beads of suntan oil back into her skin. She noticed that the officer's black trousers were stretched extremely tightly across his thighs, and she thought, "He must be terribly hot in that uniform on a day like this." But Monica loved a man in uniform; there was something particularly sexy about the pride they took in keeping everything so smart. She glanced down at his black shoes and saw how highly polished they were.

When she leant forward to refill his glass the jug slid in her oily hand and ice cubes and tea fountained over the smart trousers, while she frantically tried to catch the jug. Fortunately it landed on the futon and so didn't break, but the officer was standing up brushing ice from his legs with a watery stain spreading across his lap.

"Oh no, I'm so sorry," exclaimed Monica, "let me help." And she began to blot at his thighs with the end of her towel, and because he was standing up she had to kneel to reach him. Just as she was starting to tell him, "It won't stain, honestly." She felt the tie on the right side of her bikini brief fall away, and strangely, the policeman stopped patting his trouser legs and stared at her.

"Right," thought Monica, "this is the best chance I'm ever going to get." And she surreptitiously brushed her hand cross his flies while studiously ignoring the slipped bikini and continuing to attempt to dry his uniform. She decided to take a chance, and started to unbuckle the heavy, black belt and then his zip, while mumbling, "These will be dry in no time in this sun." and then sliding the trousers down to reveal a pair of gleaming white jockeys beneath. The front pouch was filled to bursting and quite took Monica's breath away, as she laid the trousers out to dry.

The officer put his hands on her head and when she slid her fingers into the elastic of his jockeys he eased her towards him. "Well, here goes," she thought, "better give this my very best shot. In fact, I guess I'd better swallow the stuff."

She wrapped her mouth around his hugely erect organ, thinking, "He could practically use this as a truncheon," as she smothered it in saliva. Keeping her mouth taut she let the tip glide in and out a few times, before starting to lick the sensitive spot underneath with the flat of her tongue. Officer Kaplinsky had removed his hands from her head and placed them on his own hips, perhaps to give strength to his weakening knees.

Relaxing her jaw muscles Monica pulled her mouth up the entire length of his shaft, right over the ridge of the tip, allowing her lips to pop over the ridge. She took it out of her mouth and forming a ring with her thumb and forefinger began to slowly slide it up and down the big rod. Then using a probing lick she gently pulled the foreskin back a little at a time, working her tongue around the head while holding the cover in place. Then she transferred her attention to his golden balls, searching for the baby-smooth spot on the underside with her middle finger. She was gratified by a moan of pleasure when she found it and gathering up more saliva tilted her head back in anticipation.

He held her head in place then, and she felt the warm salty liquid pouring down her throat. She swallowed and then gave a few gentle sucks to make sure he was truly spent, before using her hand to support his flaccid weight as he withdrew.

He sat down heavily and Monica stretched her knees out and took a long drink from her glass. He ruffled her hair then and said,

"You're very good, very good indeed. In fact I think you are such a good girl that you won't be getting a citation from this officer."

Monica leant back on her elbows and smiled up at him, as he reached for his now dry clothes. She fastened up her bikini brief and the top which had come apart in all the excitement.

Then they walked to the gate, Monica with bare feet and a bikini, and the policeman back in his official summer uniform. He leant down and kissed her on the forehead, saying:

"By the way I'll be late home for dinner tonight, honey. I have heaps of paper work to catch up at the station."

"Not to worry, Bill. I'm making us gespacho soup and summer salad anyway."

She held the gate open for him, and he gave her hand a squeeze.

"Don't forget the cigar for after will you?"

And he winked at her as he turned to walk briskly back up the lane.

Monica tidied up her sunbathing ensemble and moved things around so that she could catch the 2 o'clock sun.

Then she lay down on her side and went to sleep.