The Dutch Photographer

We hugged and kissed, but before it went too far Ciska broke away.

"So you found me," she said. "How about a glass of wine?"

"Yes," I replied, "but what I would really like first of all is a glass of water and a cool shower."

"No problem," she said. "Let's bring your things through."

We carried my bags, including her overnight bag which she'd discretely left with me, to a small bedroom which she said was mine to use as I liked. She came back with a jug of iced water and a glass.

"Come through when you've freshened up," she said and left me to it.

Drying off after the shower I looked at myself in the full-length mirror in the bedroom. As usual, I had quickly picked-up a nice tan (something to do with Brazilian genes from my mother), no discernable weight gain, pussy and legs still smooth from the waxing before I'd left London, apart from the patch of dark hair at the top. I scrunched up my short black hair which I sometimes thought made me look a little too butch, applied some moisturizer, lip gloss and eye-liner. What to wear? I opted for a pair of tight fitting, skimpy, white boyshorts that left the bottom part of my bum a little exposed and a sleeveless T-shirt partially tucked into the pants. A few tissues stuffed into the crotch, a spray of YSL Rive Gauche, a pair of flat sandals and I was ready to go.

I wandered through the large, open, living space beyond which was a patio and Ciska.

"You look so lovely," she greeted me. "I've got some Champagne, would you like some?"

I accepted without a second thought and we sat together as a light, cooling, late-afternoon breeze began to stir. We overlooked an immaculate swimming pool, the far edge of which seemed to have no end and in the background the Helderberg Mountains loomed high. For all that, my eyes seemed to be magnetised by Ciska's nipples jutting against that transparent top.

"You must have had a busy time," she said.

"Yes," I said, "but it was all OK and i did what I needed to do. Now I'm here and I'm stunned by this home of yours. It's so beautiful, so tasteful, so serene. I think I could live here forever."

"I'm really glad you like it because not everyone likes my tastes," she said. "It didn't come easily and it took time. It's the result of a lot of hard work and that's what it takes. "

"I understand very well," I nodded. And then, "Is it OK if I take a walk around the pool?"

"Of course," she said.

The pool seemed to disappear into nothing because there was just a gully that captured the overflowing water along the far side and somehow it was pumped back into the pool itself.

"We've now got less than 24 hours together," she said when I returned, "and I have to say that seeing that sexy, pert bottom peeking out of your pants is becoming more irresistible by the second."

With that she led me to her bedroom; her sanctuary, she called it. The colours were various shades of beige discretely highlighted with touches of maroon fittings. There was a low bed with a large, padded suede headboard and a ceiling fan turned silently to create a gentle, cooling draft. She'd prepared the bed with a number of plush towels spread around, a pillow lay on the floor at one side and I noticed a bottle of massage oil together with the clit gel that I'd given her on the bedside table. It was all prepared with the same kind of forethought I'd witnessed on the Friday photo shoot.

We stripped just as we had done the previous afternoon, two naked women and a waiting bed.

"I want to discover every piece of this delicious body," she said, placing her hands on my shoulders, "and I want to start on your back because that's where I will get to feel the real you inside."

She took my face in her hands and we kissed, then she went to the side of the bed and motioned to where she wanted me to lie. That time around, I was the one who was straddled and I relished the feel of her body against me, her skin against my skin, the sense of her breasts against my back as she kissed my neck and licked my ear, and her thighs against my hips. She took a little of the massage oil, it had scents of vanilla and coconut, and she got to work with smooth circular movements. Sometimes she increased the weight, other times it was light, until she got to the very bottom of my spine. At that point she got to work with her thumbs on the lower vertebrae and whatever tension remained in my body evaporated away.

After a short pause she moved herself lower and with long strokes, her hands ran up along my inner thighs over my buttocks and then down over my hips. As she progressed, the strokes along my inner thighs ended teasingly closer and closer to my pussy but she had other ideas. I felt her spread my bum cheeks and then felt her tongue and my reflex was to clench.

"I'm not going to penetrate," she reassured, "so just relax."

It wasn't the first experience of having my bum hole licked but it was no less sensuous and erotic for that and I writhed in pure, nerve-tingling pleasure. Next, she cupped my pussy in her palm and I gladly pressed myself against it. Her fingers found my clit and worked on it very softly, slowly building up the tension in my body.

"Turn over for me," she said after she'd climbed over me and knelt on the pillow that was placed on the floor beside the low bed.

She caressed and kissed my breasts and then worked on my pussy with both hands, one was attending to my clit and with the other she slipped a finger inside me.

"You have a beautiful, little, swollen pussy and you're very tight and silky in there," she said. "I can feel your magic spot and I think you will cum for me very soon."

I knew she had used the clit gel and with the finger fucking and clit rubbing my arousal intensified to the point of no return. It built to the point where my whole body seemed to be quivering and when the release came I felt an unusual heat around my pussy and upper thighs. It was very intense and powerful and, before I had chance to calm a little, I sensed a strange wetness between my legs. I put my hand down to feel and my first thought was that I must have peed. It didn't feel at all like that at the time but I was horrified. I shot upright but Ciska was ahead of me.

"No," she said, "you didn't pee, you ejaculated. Relax, I sometimes do the same, that's what the towels are for and that's why that little place inside your pussy is a magic spot."

I have to say I was confused because it had never happened before. I knew the spot she was talking about because it was a different texture to all the rest of my slit but it had never been especially arousing when I'd touched it.

(Please be aware, dear reader, that this was the late 1980's, no internet and nobody I knew had ever talked about a G-spot.)

She'd moved to be beside me on the bed with her arms around me, holding me tightly and reassuring me that all was OK and that ejaculating was normal for some women.

"Slip a finger in me and see if you can feel my spot," she said, when I was more or less recovered. Then, "No, don't bend your finger, keep it straight and just slide in and out with a little upward pressure on the spot like you are giving it a massage. Yes, like that."

Her magic spot felt much like mine and I realised that I had never discovered how to make use of it.

"Should I keep going?" I asked.

"Yes, but wait a moment," she answered. "It only works if I'm really aroused and right now, after having experienced you like that, I'm in a haze of lust so let's see. Let me get more of your magic gel and I'll play with my clit while you finger fuck me."

I did as she asked and watched her fingers circle around and around. Her other hand was playing with a nipple and it was easy to sense that she was quickly getting into it.

"Put another finger in and go a little faster," she said.

It wasn't long before she got to her orgasm, her pelvis rising and falling and her thighs quivering, I saw a spurt from her pussy that landed on my arm, then another and another. It was by no means a flow as I imagined had come from me but I'd never been aware of anything remotely like it before.

"Did it happen?" she asked after a minute or so of resting.

"Yes," I told her, "with a few quick spurts."

"I'm never sure because I don't actually feel it," she said. "All I know is that it's a stronger orgasm than usual and that was just wonderful. Sometimes I can do it by myself with a dildo but I much prefer the teamwork."

We lay side by side for a while, dozing in our own thoughts until Ciska reached out and squeezed my thigh.

"Let's go and jump into the pool," she said. "You don't need anything, no one can see."

*

For supper, Ciska prepared a green salad with large, fresh prawns accompanied by a tropical style Sauvignon Blanc and it was time for us to talk.

I discovered that, far from being just a wedding photographer, she had developed an international reputation being commissioned by major magazines, celebrities and top models. It explained how she'd been able to finance her fabulous home and lifestyle. She did the wedding shoot only because Jacques' mother was also Dutch and a good friend.

She asked about my upcoming plans and so I told her what was on my mind.

"I've been here in the Cape for almost two weeks," I said, "and it has given me time to reflect. I've come to the conclusion that I have been so absorbed in making a career that I've lost touch with life in general and missed out on too many things. I haven't taken much of a break at all over the last ten years and I think it is time I did. Just being here with you for this short time has convinced me it is the right thing to do. What I'm thinking is that when I get back to London, I'll talk with my boss about taking an extended sabbatical, like three or four months, and I must have almost that much owing to me. I want to come back here to South Africa. The timing would be perfect because these summer months in the Cape are beautiful and far away from the hassles and the cold of winter in London. I don't want to jettison my career because I have big ambitions but I think I need to broaden my perspective and these last few days have been the beginning."

I noticed a tear in her eye and she wiped it away.

"I'm OK," she said. "It's just that you remind me so much of my younger self. I knew it from the moment I met you and you got stuck in to help me move all my things into the hotel garden."

"Look," she went on, "I think you are right to listen to what your inner self is saying to you. There is always a good reason behind it. If you do manage to arrange things, and this is entirely up to you, I would love to have you come and stay here with me. I know you will do more than your share but there is always a vehicle available so you'd be free as a bird to come and go as you please. It's very likely I will be away for days at a time with work but I'm sure that wouldn't bother you. And I have to admit I have selfish motives as well. What do think?"

Of course, I very gladly accepted the invitation and assured her that, one way or another, I would make it happen.

"I believe you," she said, nodding with those expressive eyebrows raised in confirmation.

"What I didn't tell you," I said, "and what is just as important as everything else, is that I want to spend so much more time with you. We've only just begun. It can't just end tomorrow."

"I feel the same," she said, "but tell me, are you just into women or do guys feature as well?"

"So far, it's just been women," I replied. "It's that there are so few men who I find sexually attractive and available. And when they are, then they turn out to be gay, though they're not at all effeminate."

"So it sounds like you are not totally averse," she laughed.

"I'll have to see," I said, "but right now I'm open to possibilities and new experiences."

"When you come back and stay with me, maybe I will be able to arrange and opportunity for you," she said.

"OK," I said, "but how is it for you?'

"I've been off men ever since my divorce and so my sex life has revolved around other women," she responded. "But I met a guy a year or so ago. He's an art dealer from Johannesburg and he comes down here from time to time and we've started to get together. He's very cool and he's not the type to try to nail you to the bed then turn over, fall asleep and pass the night snoring 'til next morning."

"Well, let's see," I said, laughing at her description.

*

After a little gentle humping, we slept together in her bed that night and the morning dawned with her domestic worker and her gardener arriving early.

"I'm sorry about this," she said. "It's going to be very restrictive for us but it's the Monday routine and I have no way to get in touch with them to postpone it."

What I recall most about that day was visiting a gallery in Stellenbosch town. There was an exhibition of Ciska's work that focussed on the town and its environs. It was all shot in her characteristic avant garde style and perfectly composed. All of the shots were labelled with a price and many had already sold. What surprised me was the amount of money that people were prepared to pay but it went further to explain her beautiful home and why she was able to drive a Porsche.

Epilogue

I arrived back to Ciska in mid-December, assured that my job would be open for me until the beginning of April the following year.

I enrolled with a local gym, took a very informative 1-week course on wine, another fascinating 1-week course on something called neuro-linguistics and began tango classes. As well as that, I could add a few extra pages to my sexual CV, to include how I did actually lose my hetero virginity (several times just to be sure), but that's another story.