sensuous undulations

A searing sun caressed ripe and ready cornfields. Rich yellow heated to a dusted tawny. Tall stalks flaunted their swelling seed to the sun’s power. Silence enveloped the land. Nothing moved—

Except Peter Grover, and he loved it all. Loved the heat, the scorching fecund fields, the dry aroma of sun-toasted corn, the quiet, the solitude. No people. Ideal for a solitary man. An official track lay two fields to the south, on his left. That was the joy of this walk along the boundary of corn. It was his alone. No one ever came this way

The lone piping of a curlew was an intrusion. Too hot for birdsong.

Gazing over the corn, Peter saw, to the south, the tawny shades merge with hazy blue on the far horizon. He would write about this when he got home. Sometimes he wished he could paint, to capture the essence of everything natural. Still, he was pleased he could put it into writing, use his own sense of imagery. Get yourself a notebook, he had told himself so many times. Inspiration was fleeting. Interpreting nature with his own words was his way, his ambition

At that moment, a lone, playful breeze rose from the west to set the corn gently swaying. ‘Sensuous undulations of an aroused woman.’ The imagery was in his head almost automatically. Would he remember it?

Just as quickly the breeze was gone. ‘A fickle lover to another field.’ Peter liked that one. But it needed writing down before he forgot.

Negotiating a jutting embankment, he found himself smiling ruefully at his choice of image. What did he know about an aroused woman? Maybe something seen on TV or at the cinema. But in reality? A tight- lipped kiss with Brenda Bowles, or a tentative hand over Betty Shields left breast while it was covered with a thick winter coat. Might as well have stroked a turnip in a sack. That summed up his experience. And they never came back for an extension of a relationship.

In other words, minimal contact, which is what he had with most of his school peers. He knew they found him different. Different tastes, different interests. Peter’s deep interest in the way nature looked or acted was often far away from the more down to earth interests of others his age. Viewing this cornfield in sunlight was something close to perfection.

Being different had never been easy to take. He recalled a time, when he was eleven years. It was some celebration or other, and the house was full of relatives and friends, all merry, all well into their cups. An uncle had asked Peter, “Which do you prefer, Peter? Rugby or Soccer?” Before he could frame his own response his mother had blurted out.

“He plays neither, but he’s very fond of nature study.”

Even now, seven years later, Peter could remember the way eyes had looked at him pityingly, before turning away to continue their pleasures. His mother had spoken from a sense of pride, but that wasn’t the way it came across.

He learned to live with the contempt of others when it came to active interests. Consequently he had few friends. Maybe Richie Harker, the real egg-head of his final school year. Richie could talk about any subject, and Peter had some good conversations with him about the environment or animal welfare.

His choice of subjects when he applied for university had even been questioned. Biology, English Literature, with a subsidiary Environmental Studies, had many jeering ‘Biology and English Literature? That’s a weird mixture.’ Peter knew that they matched perfectly for his intentions, but having made their comments, school colleagues would turn away muttering, “Suppose it sums you up.”

However, the ridicule of years had taught him to accept the situation, to follow his own desired path. When university started in September he would be taking those subjects, to follow his goal. To use the natural world to stimulate his writing, whether it be poems or some descriptive longer work. At home he had reams of his early attempts.

Peter knew that he would never be happier than viewing the world on a day like today. Away to the southern horizon, where all afternoon there had been that hazy mix, there now appeared a clear charcoal dividing line. Interesting, thought Peter, keeping his eyes to the left so that he did not have to look at the one blot on the scene. That was a black, rusting corrugated roof, which Peter had found covered a storage for bales of hay in the upper field, open on three sides with more corrugated iron blocking the west wall, presumably against the prevailing wind. It was always an unwelcome intrusion on his pastoral strolls.

Suddenly, shockingly, up ahead there came the suggestion of another intrusion. A flash of pale blue beyond a slight bend. Someone else on his patch? That wasn’t allowed.

Within seconds he saw that the blue was a summer dress on the slender figure of a young woman—coming in his direction!

Annoyed at having his solitude invaded, Peter’s first reaction was to turn back quickly. But, when the woman was about twenty metres away something held him to the spot. Long dark hair, ‘the colour of autumn’ flowed down to her shoulders. His imagery had him looking closer. Only one person had ever provoked the self-same image. The swaying walk was so familiar. Was it? Could it be? Peter’s breath caught in his throat. It was her. It was Gina Marlow. His big crush from early High School days, where she had been two years ahead of him.

At fourteen he had suddenly become aware of the vision that walked the school corridor, with shy, downcast eyes. So delectable, even in the dowdy school uniform. Peter had marked the times she would pass a particular point on the corridor, and had been there just to drink in the wonder of her. The green eyes, the high cheek bones, the smile, which was never directed at him. She didn’t know that he existed.

In her final year something had happened though. Some older boys, so the story went, had cornered her in the gym store cupboard and had their way with her on a mattress. Peter was furious at the very thought of it. Wanted to lash out at whoever was involved, while knowing that he’d never have the bravado.

It was all the worse when she never appeared at school again in the latter weeks of her final year. Sometimes Peter was sure he had been unhappy since that time. He could delude himself that she was the reason he never had girl friends.

Now, as he stood desperately thinking of what to do or say, she was almost alongside him, looking at him blandly. In the two years since he had last seen her she had become even more beautiful, he was sure. In the thin cotton dress she was wearing, her bosom, waist and hips were targets for his eyes.

“Had a good look?” Her first words, accompanied by a teasing smile, had him trying hard to breath.

At last he managed to stammer, “You—you’re Gina Marlow.”

She looked surprised, “My God, has my reputation returned here?”

“You were at Addison High—so was I—two years behind,” Peter said. He told her his name, although there was no reason why she should have known it. Then, without thought, without a conscious wish, he added, “I had a crush on you.” And immediately wanted the ground to swallow him.

What had made him make that admission? He was mortified, and even more so as a knowing smile lit up her face, “And did nothing about it? That puts you into a special category.” Her voice took on a more teasing tone, “And now you have me at your mercy.”

“No! No, I always walk here—I didn’t know you’d be here.” Inside his desperate mind some alien imp was goading him to consider what he might do if she was at his mercy. You wouldn’t have a clue, would you? But already he felt something strange about this. How could this challenging—no, daring woman be the same Gina Marlow?

She shook her head as though trying to clear her own mind, her lustrous hair brushed over her face, as she said, “Why are you walking here, anyway?”

“I always walk here.”

“I’ve never seen you,” she shrugged. “Then I’ve only been here a few days. Visiting grandparents. Go home tonight.” She looked away across the fields before her eyes settled back on him with an almost piercing intensity. “Well, why do you walk here?”

Peter told her of his enjoyment in recording natural things in writing.

“A poet? You don’t look like a poet.”

“What should a poet look like?”

She shrugged,” More geeky looking, I suppose. Are you going to university?”

Peter nodded, and risked her response to his chosen subjects.

“So you’re eighteen. That’s an interesting mix–and a bit of a coincidence.”

“How?” Peter asked, grateful that there had been none of the ridicule that he was so used to.

“Because at university I’ll be going into my third year of environmental work—if I complete it.”

“Why shouldn’t you?”

Her stare was fixed, and a couple of lines of uncertainty creased her brow, before she smiled ruefully, “There may be complications.”

Peter felt it wise not to pursue the matter. Anyway, he was enjoying this chance to stand with her, admiring the flow of that hair, the wide green eyes, the high cheekbones, and that mouth, so warm and inviting. She was so much more confident and outgoing than he remembered. But then he had hardly known her at all. Now, he was hard pressed to keep his eyes from coasting down over the curve of breast, and waist.

At that moment a second breeze from the west lightly lifted her hair, and she said, her eyes directed towards the cornfield, “How would your poet’s eye record that?”

Peter looked, and observed the corn swaying as it had earlier, and almost smiling, he dared himself to use the imagery he had already committed to memory, “Under a wayward breeze the corn moved with the sensuous undulations of an aroused woman.” he said

Gina’s lips pouted and she nodded appreciatively, “Mmm, yes what do—-?”

But as the breeze immediately dropped Peter was anxious to show off to this unexpected companion, “And moved on—a fickle lover to another field.” Looking south, he noticed the charcoal line had widened.

As he turned back he discovered that Gina had moved much closer. Close enough for him to notice the light perspiration above her lips, dampness along the shoulders of her thin dress, the unexpected clouding of her eyes.

“You seem very experienced when it comes to what a woman feels,” she said. Did her voice sound huskier? Hell, she was so close. “How would your poetic skills define me?”

Peter wondered if his face had reddened. She was so beautiful. Could he ever do her appearance justice? How much of a give-away of what he was feeling would it be?

“Well?” she urged him, standing only inches from him. Behind her, above the trees to the west, the sky had blackened. Approaching rain?

Peter took the chance, “A frame of autumn hair around the face of an angel.” He held his breath, watching her face frowning as she absorbed his words.

“Like the hair idea, but—the rest –bit of a cliché.”

“First draft only,” Peter said quickly.

She laughed, a lovely sound. Then her frown was back, “But I’m no angel.”

Peter was finding an unexpected boldness now that she was so close, “Could have fooled me.”

She nodded, “And probably have.” Her eyes were very firmly on him now, “Do you still have a crush on me?”

He could only nod weakly like the lonely young man he was. Why would she ask a question like that? An aroma of lavender came from her.

“Would you like to kiss me?”

How could she be making such an offer? Would she hear the thudding of his heart? What kind of answer could he make that wouldn’t reveal his inexperience? But the questions were taken out of his hands, as she stepped in close, put her hands on his shoulders, and her warm, parted lips pressed against his mouth.

Quaking, Peter felt the tip of her tongue search along his closed lips, before she drew back, and regarded him with a stern look. “All this ‘sensuous undulations’ business—pure fantasy, wasn’t it?”

Ashamed, he nodded, wildly aware of the thrusting hardness her closeness had invoked inside his jeans.

“Don’t worry—it was good imagination—but wouldn’t you like a little more intimate knowledge.” And her lower body shuffled against his hardness. “Aah! What images you might come up with then.”

Her smile was genuine, her eyelids lowered. At that moment a much stronger breeze lifted her hair high and wide, like a peacock’s tail. Looking out over the fields, Gina said, “What would you say about that now? What kind of lover is that.?”

Breathless and trembling at this unexpected circumstance, Peter followed her gaze. Corn heads were tossing angrily. Stalks were bent way back, then released, only to be struck again. In spite of his current discomfort, the words came easily, “Under the thrust of a harsher, more rampant lover the corn’s resistance weakened, close to submission.”

“Very good—you seem to like sensuous imagery,” Gina said, her eyes firmly on his face. Peter’s breathing was strangely ragged. This was not the shy girl he remembered. Yet still mightily attractive.

Over the trees to the west the blackness was pushing in faster, threatening the sun. The wind rose. Like the corn, Gina’s hair tossed wildly, as she turned to him and offered her mouth. Excited, yet unsure, Peter parted his lips as they met hers, and her tongue immediately probed at his. An electric current travelled inside his cheeks as he allowed their tongues to mesh.

His mind lost in the immediate sensation was still able to rejoice in the fact that this was Gina Marlow—the Gina Marlow, that, as a schoolboy, he had watched with aesthetic wonder. Now she was here in his arms and any aesthetic considerations were being overtaken by more lustful sensations, which she was provoking.

Eyes closed in the joy of her kiss, he was terribly aware of her grinding herself against his hardness. Could she really be urging him on? Why was she being so forward, so pressing? He didn’t dare think about it. But her promise of more intimate knowledge, what had she meant by that? Lost in this dark rapture, he suddenly became aware, behind his eyelids, that a light had been turned off.

Parting from her kiss he saw that the sun was gone, “The cloud has eaten the sun,” he said fancifully. With shrouded eyes, she smiled at him.

“Are we going to get wet—together?” she said, and Peter wasn’t sure how provocative her intentions had been.

“Shelter over there,” he said, nodding towards the corrugated roofing.

“We’d better get there.”

Side by side they raced through a gap in the hedging. The first drops of rain fell and made little craters in the dry, dusty earth under their feet. Then they were under the roof, standing, ankle deep in loose hay.

Gina took his hand, “This way. Sheltered from the wind.” And she led him towards the one corrugated wall. Before they reached it, the rain which had been giving scattered drums on the roof, now came with a rush, producing a steady low pitched roar above them, while outside the wind howled through shrubs and grasses.

Having stopped with the sudden sound, Gina, came in close to Peter and they kissed again. A wilder kiss, in tune with the elements outside.

“You want further experience?” Gina asked, as she pulled away, and before Peter could respond she added, “Still got that crush on me?”

He hardly hesitated, “More so.”

“Back in school—when you had that crush—did you dream about screwing me?”

Peter knew his face had reddened, “No, never. You were the unobtainable.”

“But if I had been obtainable—would you have?”

He shook his head, “I had you on a pedestal.”

Her face saddened, “People can fall off pedestals, you know.”

Peter was utterly confused. Here they were in mounds of hay, a storm raging around them, and he could not fathom her line of questioning. Her next question threw all those considerations into a new perspective.

“Would you like to screw me now?”

What to say? Too eager would be wrong, yet refusal could be insulting. Besides, he just didn’t have the experience to make a decent approach to it. “I haven’t —I don’t get–” he stammered.

“I know you haven’t. If I say I want you to screw me, would you? You should at least try, you know. I don’t think your biology lessons have taken you far enough so far,” she murmured as she turned away, and moved toward the sheltering wall. Her hands were out of sight seeming to fumble in front of her, and Peter only learned why when she was close to the wall and flung herself back on a sloping pile of hay.

The front of her dress had been completely unbuttoned, and as she fell backwards it opened to reveal firmly proud, brown tipped breasts, a flat stomach and the briefest of pink panties.

Peter could only stand there and gape at the sight before him. Uncertainty and desire tangled in his brain.

“Are you just wanting to watch?” Gina asked, not unkindly.”Or do you want to learn?”

Hesitantly he knelt down alongside her, his hands clutching at the hay. “Touch me, kiss me. It’s all right, I take the pill, but for God’s sake do something—I’m like the corn, ripe and ready. Feel me.”

Feel her? Did she mean—everywhere? He lay and kissed her and felt her hands clawing at his T-shirt pushing it up so that her hands ran over the skin of his back. Her tongue chased his around his mouth.

They parted as she dragged the shirt over his head, “Don’t you want to touch my breasts?”

Nervously, uncertainly Peter placed his right hand over her left breast, marvelling at the smoothness, at the roundness at the magic of the touch. Then she was struggling with his belt buckle. “Get out of those goddam pants,” her voice was getting more desperate. “God, I need it. Three whole days.” At that point he wasn’t sure what she meant or even if if she was talking to him.

Raising himself he struggled out of his pants. And here he was, naked, with a near naked woman. And that woman was his beloved Gina Marlow. His head could not take it all in. Why was she being so generous to him?

Suddenly, under the cacophony of rain and wind, she sat up and reached for his erect penis. As she looked down at it she exclaimed, “Wow, that’s a real courgette of a cock. Better than some of the little chilli peppers I’ve had.”

No woman had looked at his penis, certainly not when it was erect, and the touch of her fingers grasping at it was almost too much. He felt fit to burst. Then when she leaned and kissed the tip of it a laser bolt shot through him.

“I’ve got to have that in me,” Gina cried, and her eagerness, her wantonness overwhelmed him. She released her hold and pushed at the pink panties and kicked them away. Peter had a quick, surprising glimpse of her hairless lower body and the beginnings of a crevice there, before she reached for his erection again and pulled him over her. “In me. Now.”

There was little he needed to do since she placed his penis in what felt like a warm pool, and he was able to obey her next words, “Push!”

And he was in the very moist grasping tunnel of her womanhood. So surprisingly open and welcoming. He was actually doing it. He was inside a woman. He gasped as his hard penis rode smoothly to its full length inside her, dazzled by the way she gurgled, squealed and hissed, “So big. Just lie still a moment. Don’t move. It’s your first time. Don’t come.”

Peter knew that he was very close, but obeying her instruction held him off for a few seconds. He raised his head to look at her. Her eyes were closed, her mouth gaped as though in some kind of ecstasy already She appeared to be savouring something of which he had no part. Hell, he’d hardly done anything. But here he was inside the grasping vagina of the woman he thought the most beautiful in the world. Never in a million years could he have imagined it would be this easy.

He knew only too well that any further movement was going to push him over the edge. So, as her vaginal walls began twitching he gasped, “Gina, I have to—”

Her eyes flashed open, devil’s eyes, and she gasped, “Okay. Do it! But do it hard.”

Accordingly, he drew his penis back and plunged, back and plunged, as quickly as he could, feeling his scrotum release, hearing her yelps of pleasure. Then his warhead was bumping against somewhere inside her and he went into frantic spasm as wave after wave of his juices spurted up into her. Her vaginal walls seemed to contract as though squeezing the last drops out of him.

Collapsed on top of her, he whispered, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t—”

Her hand came up to stroke his cheek, “Don’t be. I was selfish. I still am. Always will be when it comes to this. Don’t expect other women to be as easy as me.”

The rain clattered on the roof. Looking sideways Peter could see water streaming from the roof edge in a steady cascade, and beyond, through a gap in the hedge, the corn beaten down, fighting, it appeared, but to no avail as wind and rain tore into it.

“The rape of the corn,” he muttered, welcoming the ready image, as his body relaxed and he rolled his weight off Gina, his limp penis leaving a silver trail across her thigh.

“More inspiration?” Gina asked, sitting up.

Peter nodded out towards the fields, “It’s like there has never been a sun. Never been light. Out there it’s so gloomy–” He paused and placed a hand over her breast, ” Yet, in here—it’s—-it’s—cosy.”

Her eyes were steady on his face. She sounded as though he had given her much pleasure. but he had no inclination to act macho. Hell, he had no right to do that. “So now you’ve had your first woman.” She laughed, ” A genuine roll in the hay, if you like.”

“Thank you.”

Her eyes moved out to the corn being lashed by wind and rain. “You’re first experience, my thirty second.”

Peter made a surprised ‘Ooh’ shape with his mouth,” Thirty two times–?”

“No, thirty two different men.”

Peter’s mind tried to take that on board, Thirty two different men—-hell, she was only twenty. “How old were you when you—-er—started.”

Her eyes looked at him with a teasing glint, “I’d been eighteen for three days.” she said quietly. “But thirty two is just this year’s figure.”

Peter could not suppress a gasp,” Thirty two in eight months? But that’s—”

“Some of them I had for a few days—did it a few times with them.”

She watched as Peter’s head shook in shocked amazement. So that explained her easiness to some extent.

“You need to know—no money has been involved. It’s a compulsion, a craving, a fire down there, that can’t be quenched. And I’m a little surprised at myself because you are the very first person—other than a doctor or psychiatrist, that I’ve ever felt the need to explain myself to.”

This was the girl/woman he had adored from afar since he was fourteen. She had been his image if virtue. Now Peter was hearing, from her own mouth, that she was as easy as taking a drink of water. Just minutes ago he had been lifted by her wanting to kiss him. Now he was just one of many—a salve for her needs.

Yet looking down at her face now, so beautiful, so genuinely concerned at his confusion he could only feel an overwhelming concern for her.

“So you’ve seen doctors?”

“All kinds,” she said. “All full of clever words—and in some cases probing hands.” She shrugged, “Full of advice that had no effect. Apart from ensuring I was on the pill.”

Peter leaned forward and kissed her gently on the mouth, as he drew back she half smiled, “That was very kind of you.” Then she wriggled up. “Come on, I promised you some insights that might help you. My needs always take over. Let’s clean up first.”

She was up, leaving her dress behind her, and hurrying, wonderfully naked, to the edge of the barn, where water still poured from the roof. The wind lifted her hair as she turned and called, “Come on. You need to be hardened.”

Puzzled, Peter climbed to his feet and, moving towards her, he saw her cup her hands, and hold them under the water cascading from the roof. As he reached her, she smiled up at him, stooping to splash the water between her legs, and rubbing vigorously. She repeated the action with just a little shiver, and said, “One doctor suggested that a cold compress applied down here might help. It did—for maybe two minutes.”

Standing close to her Peter shivered as occasional spots of water, blown by the wind, hit his shoulders. Gentle shocks. Gina cupped her hands once more and then, without warning, and with a wicked grin, she sank to her knees and pushed her water-laden hands up against his soft cock.

With a wild yelp, Peter jerked at the shock of the cold. He half stepped back, but her hands remained tight on his softness, and she was laughing, “You know you like it.”

In spite of the initial chill of the water, Peter had to join in with her laughter, “But it ‘ll shrivel,” he said.

“Not in my hands it won’t.” And she turned away to gather more water, and her second application was less discomforting. In fact the way she now caressed and rubbed with both hands along his length and under his scrotum was very pleasant. But there was no indication of an erection.

“Maybe you need deeper stimulation,” she murmured.

“I don’t think I can—ooh!” Peter had been about to tell her that an early erection was unlikely, when, without warning, she had leaned into him, and taken his limp member into her mouth, sucking on it and rolling her tongue around it, her eyes looking up at him.

Peter was panting from this new extra experience. He knew he was still soft, but every suck was sending tingles around his groin.

Gina drew her head back, “I think the blood is beginning to flow back,” she said, as she released him and sat back on her haunches.

Looking down Peter could see that his penis had a low jut to it.

“I think—and hope—that what I have in mind now will bring you up to maximum.”

She stood up and, taking his hand, led him back to where they had been lying. “I don’t do blow jobs usually—nothing in that for what I need. But it’s useful to get you up again.”

“Does that make me special?” Peter asked, noticing that the rain seemed to have eased. The drumming on the tin roof had stopped..

Gina turned to face him, “Only because, for you, I’m trying to turn my needs into a learning situation. Your biological knowledge of women is very limited—books, maybe?”

Peter admitted that was mostly the case.

“Fiction or non?”

“Bit of both—physiology books.”


“No porn, ” he admitted, and wondered if that made him sound more of a nerd.

They came to where she had left her dress, and stood there, naked, looking at each other. A very Adam and Eve situation, Peter thought. “So you know all about a woman’s body—but it’s all theoretical. True?”

Peter nodded, “Sadly, true,” he said.

She lay down on her back, legs slightly parted, “Nothing to be sad about. Come down here. This is the part of nature study you haven’t encountered—the practical part.. I’ll give you a few minutes to explore. But no longer than that—-I’ll expect you to be up and ready by then.”

Hesitantly Peter lay down beside her. What he couldn’t get his mind around was the fact that although only two years his senior, Gina was talking to him like some mature school ma’am.

Gina came up on her elbows, “Let’s assume you know something about breasts, where they are and what effect they can have. Not for me especially, but you’ll encounter women whose breasts are hyper-sensitive. So move your head down there.” And she nodded her head down towards her parted thighs.

Slightly self conscious, Peter turned his body so that he was gazing down at her hairless pudenda.

“Let’s have a naming of parts—if we’re going to be so clinical. You are looking at—?”

“The pudenda—shaved?” And he said the last word as a query.

“Cleanliness—it gets so much activity.” She parted her thighs a little more. “Now you can see?”

“Outer labia,” he said, amazed at how full those lips looked.

“Now, thumbs on either side of the gap,” she began, and Peter was aware of the words becoming more clipped as her breathing became deeper. “Pull—-pull the lips apart.”

Peter did as he was told and felt her thighs trembling. At first the wet pinkness had him thinking of tearing open an overripe fruit. Distracted by Gina’s gasping breath and body twitches, he changed his imagery. He was looking into the pink of opened rose petals with a dark-holed centre and a jutting bud at the near end.

“You see?” Gina’s voice sounded like she was choking.

Peter was feeling a little more confident, “Inner labia, vaginal opening, and the clitoris—more exposed than I expected.”

A pause as she caught her breath, then she hissed,” Mine is always –like that—you may— need to search—- for it —on other women.” More gasping, before she asked, “Do—something—for –me.”


“Run your fingers around the opening.”

Removing one hand meant the lips closed a little but, excitedly, he probed at the right spot with one finger, ran it round the soaked rim, and felt her whole body stiffen, while a small growl came from the back of her throat. Peter suddenly felt her fingers encircling his penis, and he realised he had come fully erect. Not surprising, he thought, considering what he was engaged in.

“Now,” she gasped, “In other situations you might use your tongue but–” Her voice faded away.

Peter had his face so close, he had the foxy aroma of her in his nostrils, and it was nothing, although an hour ago, it would have been alien to him, to flick out his tongue to lap at her dark entry. As her body shuddered he allowed his tongue to slide forward to cover the jutting clitoris.

It was as though he had pressed a detonator. Gina squealed, a high pitched keening sound, as her hips jerked frantically up into his face, almost knocking him backwards, while her body thrashed out of control. “In me. For God’s sake, in me.” And she was pushing his erection down, while Peter struggled desperately to bring his body round to get between her heaving thighs. It was like trying to mount a wild horse.

With a struggle, he was able to lie over her and guide his erection into her anxiously grasping vaginal opening. He hardly needed to push, as it seemed that every muscle of her vaginal wall was sucking him upwards, while she continued to heave, scream and groan.

Taking the weight on his arms he was able to thrust and pull back, but with some difficulty as her own thrashings were so unpredictable. Looking down into her face, Peter could see that she was completely out of it, eyes closed, mouth opening and closing as each new wave brought a variation of sound from deep in her throat

For Peter, being in her heaving vaginal passage was sensational. As she calmed a little, it seemed they hit a mutual rhythm, up and back, up and back, her hips rising to him on each upward thrust. At one point her hand clasped around the back of his neck, and drew his mouth down to hers for a frantic, tongue lashing kiss.

Without warning Peter realised that he was close to shooting. Somehow it had not entered his thinking, so absorbed had he been with Gina’s reaction. He broke the kiss as the pressure reached a peak and he had time to call out her name, before he was plunged deep into her, feeling every delirious spurt from his pounding erection. Somewhere a bear was snarling and growling, until he realised that the noises were coming from his mouth, pressed hard into the hollow of her neck and shoulder.

Gina was giving off jerky sobbing noises. Peter lay there, heavy on her, wanting to stay inside her for as long as possible. But inevitably, he knew his spent penis was beginning its long soft slide out of her.

Gina gave a slight wriggle, and twisted her body to free herself from under him. Peter rolled to lie beside her. Although the storm seemed to have eased there were still sporadic rain pinging across the roof.

They lay side by side, on their backs, and Gina said, “As you’ll have noticed, I can’t do foreplay.”

Peter was puzzled, “But you seemed to—well, go crazy when my tongue touched you.”

“Yes, but any touch of finger or tongue down there only speeds up my real needs by a millisecond.”

“That was a real orgasm you had, wasn’t it?”

Gina gave a pained chuckle, “My greatest ability is in making a man believe he’s the world’s greatest lover—which he judges by my reaction. But if I have any man more than once or twice, he takes off, fearful that his precious manhood will suffer from wear and tear. Could be right.”

“So you didn’t orgasm?” Peter felt a vague sense of disappointment.

Gina sat up and looked down at him, “Please, don’t feel badly about it. I was delighted that you had a good one. And in a sense –yes—I did have an orgasm, if that’s what you want to call it.”

Peter appreciated her sensitive concern for him, “But what else would you call it—you looked, felt as though—”

Gina broke in on what he was saying, “It’s more like going crazy. My craving is always greater than my satisfaction. Look at me now—no lovely afterglow, no deep gratitude. In a few minutes I’ll be raging to have it again. It just doesn’t last. But it’s like that with any man.”

“So I was just a tool for you.” And realising what he had said he giggled and she joined in.

“Aptly put. But in your case I saw a chance to use my own needs to aid your experience and understanding of women. I’m privileged to be your first, but–”

“And you succeeded,” Peter said gratefully.

“No, I’m only capable of showing you the latter stages. I haven’t the control to take you through the labyrinth of seduction that you’re really going to need. Those early steps are tricky—my only advice now, would be for you to always be sensitive, be caring, be attentive, and don’t be mean with the compliments.”

“You still look gorgeous to me,” Peter said fervently.

She leaned down to give him a quick peck on the lips, “Nice of you, when you know what I’m like.”

“I can’t understand how you found yourself in this —er—condition at eighteen.”

Gina lay back in the hay again, “I don’t talk about it.”

Peter sat up now, looking down at her, wanting to touch her firm breasts but resisting. “But you’ve already said I’m the only one you’ve told.”

Gina’s head nodded slightly. Her dark hair was fanned out over the hay. She was silent for a minute or so and then she said, “My parents were fervent church people.”

Peter nodded, “I knew that—I don’t know who told me—when I was fourteen, and noticing you.”

She half smiled, “I don’t know what you were told, but when I say fervent, I mean just that. I was practically kept under lock and key. No parties, no dating—”

“And you had no strong feelings at that time?”

“You joking.? Since puberty I’d had the feeling of having a sack of fiery serpents inside me, all struggling to be free.”

“So how did you hold on so long?”

Her lips tightened, “I know it’s hard for you to understand. But look at you—you’ve chosen to be a loner without anyone’s guidance. I’d had it drummed into me, what our religion said about sexual contact. So when a boy asked me out, my response was a programmed, yet frustrated, ‘No’.

“So, what happened?”

Gina told me how at last she was allowed to attend one party in her final weeks at school. Partly because she had turned eighteen, but mainly because it was a well-off cousin, daughter of her father’s property developer brother. Big house. Worth keeping in with. Gina’s father ensured first of all that there was no alcohol. Bowls of fruit punch were on display.

“Twenty or so young people, ” Gina half smiled. “And to cut this short, three or four drinks into the evening I discovered that the punch had been liberally spiked. Vodka, I think. By then I’d lost any religious inhibitions. I was all giggly and playful. When two boys lured me into one of the many bedrooms, I had no inclination to resist—the drink or my latent repressed libido? Bit of both, I guess. The moment a hand went between my legs they knew they were onto a good thing.”

Peter pressed closer against her naked thigh.”And they both –”

Gina shook her head and gave a bitter laugh, “They both got the shock of their lives when they found what they’d unleashed. When that first erection slid up into me it was like a red hot poker that punctured the sack of serpents. My insides just burst into a fiery agglomeration of twisting, darting fires, searching along the walls of my vagina as though to entrap that invading penis. I just went wild. Out of my mind. Wriggling and twisting so much that the first guy couldn’t stay in me, and then I was onto him, forcing him back in, where he finished quickly, and fell back slightly stunned. I was aflame, as I reached for the second erection and he had the same wild experience”

Gina shrugged her shoulders, “So the serpents are loose inside me. Twisting, burning, constantly demanding, permanent. Ever seeking gratification.”

“So you sought medical help?” Peter asked.

She looked hard at him, “Did you know about the school incident?”

Peter did, and already was revising what he thought he knew, “About those boys assaulting you?”

“The popular version my father wanted put around. Once in that state, I was desperate for it. I took a boy I fancied into the PE stock cupboard. He thought he was luring me there. After two sessions in there he knew I was more than he could handle, so next time he brought three of his mates—-and we were caught.”

“My father was furious, ashamed, disgusted, all of those things. He organised the medical sessions. Kept me out of school, tried to keep me confined, but I found a way of getting out, late at night, and I found males who couldn’t believe their luck. And, university loomed. Plenty of eager tom-cats there, always believing that it was their amazing prowess that was driving me into frenzies. That’s where my reputation lies in tatters at the moment. We’ll have to wait and see.”

Lying close to her Peter had listened with a strange mixture of awe and disappointment. This was Gina Marlow, the girl he’d placed on a pedestal of virtue. She had just given herself to him with wild abandon, but worse, her body had been exposed to the whims of countless men. Yet looking at her lying, beautiful and as relaxed as she ever could be, naked beside him, Peter could not lose that sense of adoration she had aroused in him all those years ago.

Suddenly she sat up and looked down, “What’s that you’re pressing against my leg?” She asked, with a teasing smile. “Could it be a policeman’s truncheon?”

Peter realised that being pressed against her, and hearing her explicit story he had hardened. Gina’s fingers closed around his erection, and getting up on her knees she said calmly, “With your permission, I’ll ride you into the sunset—a fitting goodbye.”

And before Peter could respond she had straddled him, placed his penis against the moisture of her vaginal lips, and had sunk down to swallow it up. Looking down at him, she was initially smiling, but as she began rising and falling, impaling herself deeper and deeper, her expression changed to a rampant lustfulness, mouth gaping, eyes misted, head thrown back, then sideways, then back again, that autumn hair flaring, wafting over her face.

Once she leaned forward to let autumn linger over Peter’s face. A mixed aroma of lavender and new mown hay. It felt like an extra caress. Then she was up and riding him again, with a fury that he could never match, her breasts bobbing furiously.

He would have loved to respond with his own upwards thrusts, but her pounding was so fierce, almost vicious, there was no way he could match it. He could only lie there and accept her as a gift, watching and hearing her almost desperate search for orgasm.

Soon, her writhing had him bursting forth, and as he released into her, he was able to raise his hips to meet her. So deep inside her he felt he must have entered her womb. The wildness of that moment would live with him for the rest of his life, as she gave a final squeal and collapsed on top of him, yet her vaginal walls clasped him tightly inside her.

September 2018
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