To The Lighthouse

He is flipping the CCTV channels. Window shopping. Oh, the sweet anticipation. He feels like he is lying on the ocean floor watching fish.

It is quite astounding. Every room or section in the property, including bathrooms, has a CCTV point. He reckons that in the final configured setup, the CCTV point for the more private areas like bedrooms and bathrooms will be programmed to be disabled by default, and only activated for security monitoring when the property is unoccupied.

Ah, yes...

Debby has not bothered to wear anything on her journey from her bedroom to the en suite bathroom for her morning shower.

She has that sensual genius to give the charm of novelty to her body each time he sees her nude. How precisely she does this, he will never know.

She is enjoying a leisurely shower. Humming and singing quietly as she soaps her body.

She does have a nice figure. A touch of maturity. Nicely rounded, but firm. Neither overweight nor skinny. In all, she displays signs of taking care of herself, without being obsessive over it. Not a plasticky sweet young nubile form with sculpted implausibly perfect body machinery. There is a certain rustic architectural wisdom in her body. A classic charm. She doesn't seem to be making an effort to look younger than her age. She seems pretty self-confident.

Finishing her shower, she towels her body almost dry, then, starts to towel her hair, the towel covering her eyes, as she opens the bathroom door to return to the bedroom, only to bump into a body. Not expecting anyone, she emits a scream.

"It's OK. It's OK. It's only me. I came in because your bedroom door is open. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to...", his voice trails off.

Archie was carrying a mug of morning coffee, brewed for Debby, when he bumped into her. There is a spill splash of coffee on her. A minor mess.

Her fright appears to quickly disappear. It becomes apparent to Sam the reason Archie's voice had trailed off. He is standing in the middle of the bedroom, eyes almost bugging from his head as he stares at Debby. Or more precisely, stares at her exposed left breast. With the towel held up to her hair by her right hand, that side of her naked body is covered by the flapping towel. But, the left side is not, so her breast is clearly exposed. Titillating. Less is more.

She could have done anything, like rush back inside the bathroom, hurriedly drag the towel round her whole body. But all she does is stand there, look at him, allowing him to look at her.

Archie has that half reverent, half lustful sort of look.

She makes no attempt to move. No attempt to cover up. Like she is really enjoying his almost glazed stare.

Archie mumbles something which Sam can't hear.

Debby spins away from him. She treks the five steps back into the bathroom. She doesn't rush. Archie is focused on her swaying, naked buttocks as she draws away from him. Something in the way she moves. Clench, relax, clench, relax. A hypnotic quality. A musicality in the way she moves her torso. Like she is climbing an incline, even though the floor is dead flat. Is that an extra swivel? If she carries on this way, she will dislocate her hips.

Sam flips to the bathroom view.

Debby is showering again, washing off the coffee spill.

Archie enters the bathroom as if he needs to attend to something urgent. He makes no attempt to turn away.

Debby hadn't bothered with the shower curtain. She is facing the door at the time he walks in, so he is feasting his eyes on her naked body from the front. She can cover up, or pull the curtain shut. But, she does nothing. She just stands there and lets him look. Sam watches Archie's eyes drink in her ripe, firm breasts, then drop to her thatch. Then, return to her breasts.

At the same time, Debby appears to be feasting her eyes on his crotch. She appears to be using the excuse of the water cascading over her to lower her head to gaze at his male bulge. As the seconds tick by, it starts to grow and lift.

As if she is afraid he may suddenly become aware of his flourish, and rush out with embarrassment, she smiles at him.

"Since I'm a long way from finishing, and since you're here anyway, why don't you do my back for me."

Not waiting for a reply, she turns her back to him. She holds out the piece of soap behind her.

There is a moment of hesitation from Archie. Then he strips naked to enter the shower stall.

"Do you want me to do your whole back? Or just the top?"

"All of it, please."

That's his remit.

She bends forward slightly to give him better access.

He begins at her shoulders. Then, moves down her back. He rubs the soap on to his hands first, then rubs his hands over her back. When he reaches her waist, he is thickening and rising slightly.

He starts to move below, to her buttocks. The tempo slows considerably. She shifts slightly, bending more at the waist. She opens up her legs a bit. His hands seem to move into a hypnotic caress mode, rather than a wash mode. She squirms a little.

He seems to spend much longer time on her buttocks than on her back. But, she doesn't appear to mind. It looks like she is loving his touch. Likely loving the way it is making her feel. Her facial expression suggests that she is having difficulty holding back low moans.

Eventually, it looks like he cannot linger there any longer. He has to move on with his life, however pleasurable the current phase may be. He moves on down her back, and the outside of her legs, all the way to her feet.

Then, he moves slowly back up again, this time along the inside of her legs. The significance of that doesn't appear to strike Debby until he reaches the top. His hands are gently stroking her inner thighs. And quite accidentally, his thumb brushes ever so briefly across the lower section of her pussy. She nearly jumps out of her skin the first time it happens.

He quickly stops. He moves his hand away. But, it soon comes back, like it has a persistent mind of its own. This time, her knees seem to dip a bit, as if of their own volition. His thumb brushes over even more of her pussy.

He is encamped at her mons pubis, experiencing its subliminal charm. It is as if he moves away, it will not be there again.

It appears like she is deliberating on something. Maybe like whether to call this to a halt before it goes way too far.

She waits for his hand to move away slightly. She straightens up. The shower flushes away all the remnant soap suds on her body.

"Mmm, that was really lovely. Anyone would think you've been practising."

That brings on a light laugh. She turns around to face him. He is sporting a massive erection.

She appears stunned, and incredibly excited to see how big and thick he is.

She then acts like she is unaware of his excitement. She smiles at him and thanks him.

"I really enjoyed your washing my back. And perhaps, you may like me to do the same for you in return some time."

***

Then, she does something quite odd.

"There is one more thing I want to do."

Piqued expression on his face.

Without waiting for his answer, she playfully pulls him by his cock, tugs him to a corner of the shower stall where the drain hole is.

She displays a kind of overly festive Rio fun mood. Some kind of gypsy soul has taken over her.

She positions his shaft to just below her mound. She releases him. It twitches and arcs down, quivering gently, still tender.

She gazes lovingly into his eyes. Their eyes lock. He appears enthralled by all this, though he doesn't know what exactly.

He shudders as he senses a soothing warm sensation rush over his penis. Hot lava.

She is peeing on his manhood. A stream of golden straw yellow caressing, enfolding his shaft, as if feeling him up, then converging on his head. He appears like he feels queasy and aroused. He whimpers that he feels like urinating too, and will be wetting her feet. But, nothing.

It is a long feminine piss, fluid merging into fluid. It seems to go on forever. He appears to sense the stream get warmer. A female scent. Piquant. Incisive.

Maybe it is seeing Debby pee. Whoever Debby is to him. Or maybe it is the watery caress of her warm urine. Or maybe the piquant female scent. Or maybe the grand aggregate of these. He appears like he feels a charge of electricity course through him. His whole body must be heated up. He whimpers that he is going to come. He appears totally unprepared, like it has never happened this fast.

But, he twitches a few notches up instead. His head is in contact with her fountainhead now.

A final torrent. The operation taking as long as it would take a long freight train to cross a bridge. And then, she is done. Time resumes.

Archie looks like he learned something new about Debby today.

***

She moves around him, still smiling at him, and grabbing her own towel, walks to the door.

***

Chapter 7

Movie

"Sam, you've been holed up in your room working way too hard on your writing. Please join us for a movie tonight?"

"Love to."

"Lounge, 9pm"

"Cool"

***

Archie's interest in film began at his university Film Club. The likes of Bernardo Bertolucci, Federico Fellini, Ingmar Bergman, Akira Kurosawa, Luis Buñuel, François Truffaut, individually and collectively, conspired to cement his interest.

Debby is a mild cinephile, somewhat influenced by Archie. She ranges in the more commercial, more accessible, of the arty film genre.

The three of them talk about film. Sam was a member of his university film club too. An immediate bonding formed.

Debby asks, "What movie are we watching?"

Archie pedantically, "Film. Not movie."

Debby theatrically, "Oh, excuse us philistines! What film are we viewing?"

"Amore a cavallo"

Debby coos, "Sounds lovely! Just lovely! I love it already. Is that Spanish or Italian? What does it mean?"

"Love On A Horse"

Debby incredulously, "What? Is this some kind of howling and growling, flailing and wailing menagerie sexual barbarism?"

"Chill! My moral conscience has not deserted me. Not just yet. My moral fibres remain stout. You will like this film. I hand-curated it just for you both. The Aegean. Idyllic Greek island. Hippie era languid charm. Love triangle. High passion. Culminating in theatric Latin tumult."

***

A 1973 Greek production by Vangelis Serdaris.

Love On A Horse.

A painter lives by the sea in a beautiful Greek island with his younger wife, his muse. Of late, he is running perilously low on inspiration.

Their hippie son motorbikes in, guitar in tow, to visit. He is fascinated by the many nudes of his mother in his father's studio. This detail does not escape his discerning mother.

Son and mother develop a relationship. The tension builds. Beach frolics. Lolling in the vineyard. Stealthy nocturnal adventures.

The painter spies on them. Strangely, his inspiration seems to be returning.

He sees, or thinks he sees, his wife and son riding on his wife's white stallion. Son seated back. Mother in front, sitting on her son, as she gallops the horse. They are flailing in ecstasy riding through the wind.

The painter locks himself in his room. He is moved to paint an imaginary picture on canvas with the two lovers on horseback. He hides his work.

When the mother and son discover his new work, they suspect that he is spying on them.

The mother and son lovers decide to leave. It gets combustive when the painter lays down his paintbrush and picks up his shotgun.

***

The windows are open. It is getting a tad chilly.

Archie asks Debby if she feels chilly. She is in a sheer nightie. She replies that it is indeed a wee draughty. Debby scoots over to Archie.

Sam is obliquely behind Archie and Debby. He can see a bit of them, but they can't see him unless they gaze backward.

Sam observes that Debby sits in front of Archie. She pauses momentarily, as if giving him notice of her next move. She then reclines, lazes in front of him like he is a lounge chair. She makes some fine bodily adjustments. They mould into a unified whole.

Archie wraps his arms around Debby's waist as if he is buckling her down in a seatbelt. Archie tightens his arms momentarily, and then relaxes them as if she is now secured.

Debby coos, "Thanks Archie, lovely..."

Is that Archie's hand lingering on the nightie fabric on her mound? If it is, Debby appears comfortable with his proximity.

They watch the film. The mother and son steal stealthily into the still night again.

Is that Archie's finger doodling cryptic messages on her mound?

Sam thinks he hears muffled mewing noises.

As Sam gazes out of the lounge window at the spacious night sky, a distant star winks at him.

***

Chapter 8

Patio

Sam flips the CCTV channels.

Musical laughter from the patio terrace scene.

***

Archie and Debby are chilling on the loungers. The way they are kidding around, they can well be two sibling teenagers, who haven't seen each other awhile, home from college for the holidays.

Debby chides, "It's about time you've a haircut. Since we're now at the patio, want me to do it now?" 

"OK"

Archie is bare chested in his surf shorts. Debby is in a t-shirt and yoga pants.

She steps away.

Archie pulls out a stool. He sits down. She returns a minute later with a pair of scissors and a comb. She starts the haircut.

"Better get your top off. My hair will mess up your t-shirt."

"No way! Sam may come in here anytime."

Sternly, "Top off or no haircut."

"Whoa! I'm the one doing you a favour. You shouldn't be making demands."

It is apparent that both of them are enjoying themselves, like they are a couple of teens, Debby constantly giggling like a schoolgirl.

He makes an exaggerated show of getting up to walk away.

She gives up. Sighing, "OK, OK"

She pulls her t-shirt off.

Admiringly, "Oooh, I love this black bra."

She starts the haircut. But, he still resists.

"The bra off too! It'll be messed up by my hair too."

Mildly annoyed, "What? You love my bra, and then you want it off?"

She adds, "And since when are you so concerned with my clothes getting dirty? It's not like you do my laundry."

Debby sighs again. She scans around nervously, then reluctantly unclips her bra.

Archie leeringly, "That's better. Dressed like that, you can cut my hair anytime."

Debby giggles, asking rhetorically, "Do you mean, undressed like that?" 

The mood is getting sensually festive. He sits up straight as she brandishes the scissors and comb.

He says without moving his head, "Tell you what, hereon, you're always going to cut my hair like this."

Debby giggles, "Oh yeah? In your dreams."

"No, I'm serious."

The haircut continues.

"Stop that," she giggles.

"Stop it, or I'll snip your ear off," she warns again with another giggle.

His hand comes up playfully to cup one of her breasts, but she swots it away somewhat perilously with her hand that is holding the scissors. This doesn't look like the first time that he has done that.

"Stop for a moment."

Debby annoyed, "What?"

"Just stop and put your arms down."

She does his bidding. Now, without the danger of the snipping scissors, he raises his hands and cups her breasts. They are a handful. The teardrops of flesh meld and melt in his firm strong hands.

"Lovely," he coos as his hands squeeze her.

"Stop it," she pleads softly. But, she makes no attempt to move away, or to remove his hands.

He chuckles, "No way. You love it. It's written on your face."

She pleads, "Please, suppose Sam saunters in."

He assures, still fondling her, kneading her, "Sam won't. And if he does, we'll hear him trudging down the staircase."

"This patio is just one level below his bedroom. Just one flight of stairs."

He twists and pulls her supple nipples, teasingly, "Tell me you like it."

"No please," she whimpers, but still not moving away.

He teases again, "Tell me."

His hands are squeezing her harder now, as if helping her to answer the question. She looks at him with an equal measure of affection, and a mild reproach in her expression.

She relents in a whimper, "I love it. I love your hands on my breasts."

Sam feels guiltily that he has seen enough. Quite enough. He is knowingly violating his hosts' privacy. And he can't help feeling a little awkward viewing this growing intimacy. What exactly is their relationship? Are they related? They appear loving to one another. Even intimate. Why then are they occupying separate bedrooms?

He really should move on. But, some force field is detaining him.

"Take off your bottom."

"No, please. We mustn't." Her eyes snap open and stare at him.

"Do it."

She wears an agonised, conflicted look. She pulls her yoga pants down her thighs. One of his hands leaves her breasts, and moves between her thighs.

"Open up for me."

She appears totally lost now. Her legs open without struggle. His elbow moves back and forth. As she shudders, her legs give way. He gets closer, takes a deep pleasurable breath, as though he is inhaling a privileged whiff of private scent. She collapses on him.

She is sweaty and piquant scented. And yet, she has a newly washed look.

"You liked that?" he asks sounding happy.

She doesn't answer.

***

"Now, get yourself around me."

He releases his quivering manhood. He is at full flourish.

She leans forward. Pushes her breasts together as if making an offering of treasure.

He is digging into her swells.

He doesn't last very long. He grunts.

***

Chapter 9

Bedroom

10 pm.

After dinner, Sam manages two hours of writing. He is restless again. He has to get his fix.

He flips the CCTV channels.

Bedroom number three. Debby's.

She slumps a bit and exhales. Breath laboured. She begins unbuttoning her blouse.

Archie stops her. Sam is a bit disappointed.

In a commanding tone, "Take off your skirt and panties."

As her skirt drops, her pussy is exposed.

Sam had assumed she is not the kind of woman who walks around without underwear.

After getting over his initial surprise, Sam sees that it is quite beautiful. The hairs are untrimmed and mostly lay flat, with some curls. They are unexpectectedly fine. The outer lips form a perfect flower around the hood, which covers an obviously large nub.

Archie instructs her to sit and spread her legs. Is this some kind of game?

She moves the tails of her blouse aside. Archie has a clear view of her centre. He just looks for a long while. She shows no signs of discomfort or awkwardness.

He walks up to her. He lifts one of her bare legs by the ankle. Lets his hand glide along the sculpted form from ankle to calf, to inner thigh, before reaching between her legs. He appears taken by surprise when his hand comes back with tiny beads of moisture off the ends of her hairs. He puts his fingers to his nose and shows her a wrinkled expression, as if to communicate that she smells quite sweet to him.

He unbuttons her blouse. He waits with anticipation after ordering her to take off her bra.

He is not disappointed. He appears to wonder at the grace of her full jutting breasts, as if they don't look like they belong to a woman in her fifties. They have an inviting weight that has defied the years. They are the colour of cream, with hints of the fine aqua veins below the surface.

He holds both of them. Begins to fondle them. Pulls on her nipples to distort their beauty.

It appears like he is feeling the heat coming off her body.

A cellphone chimes. Debby's. She springs up to take the call.

A bit odd. It's just a voice call, why feel compelled to dress up hurriedly, like she is caught out?

Archie behaves no less strange. He hurries out of her bedroom.

Hmmm...

***

Chapter 10

Sail

Debby is reading a book at the rooftop terrace, listening to Brahms' Second Piano Concerto on the media player. There is something wonderful about Brahms playing at the edge of an ocean without a sign of anyone as far as the eye can see.