7 comments/ 53308 views/ 1 favorites Suzanne By: BiMelAnnee Melanie Meets Suzanne My sex life through school was mostly fantasy. No, I was not virgin by the time a graduated but I did have rather limited experience and that was all right. I did not wish to have the reputation of some girls. And I truly believed in safe sex – which the safest sex I knew of was in fantasy. All through high school I had been curious. No one really knew. At times I wished a couple of close friends knew. I mean, it may have been nice to explore the curious side if for no other reason to learn about me. Am I bisexual or simply curious? Then the summer I graduated I met Suzanne. I think most everyone from my class was invited to this huge summer party. The house was packed! I had run into my ex and wanted to avoid him so I walked into a different room. I sat on a bar stool, sipping a soda. From behind me I heard, "Do you want something a lil stronger?" I turned to see Suzanne. She was not from our school. In fact, as she and I talked I learned she was 22 – a college girl spending the summer in town. I passed on a stronger drink and we kept talking. She wasn't much of a drinker either. She said she was glad to find someone to talk with who would be able to talk as the night wore on. Suzanne and I just clicked. Her sense of humor fit mine. Her serious side fit mine. We made fun of the same guests. We sang along with the same songs. She even pulled me out to dance a couple times. It was a girlfriend kind of a thing, not at all sexual in my mind. And as the night grew later and later, we kept coming back together. Giggling about someone or something. Talking and watching the drunks. At 18, my curfew was no longer the midnight of high school. So I didn't worry about time. Thank goodness. I was having a really good time. When I was Dustin's girlfriend, parties were never much fun. It was as if I always had to be aware of where he was, who I talked with, do not look at other guys! But that night, I could just be me. And so as time passed, I didn't care. I think it was about 1 AM. Suzanne and I were sitting close on a sofa. By then, between the music and the party noise, we had to sit close to hear each other. The lights were low. We could faintly see couples hugging, kissing, making out. Some were going a lil beyond making out. We made quiet jokes about some of the couples. Pointing out certain things we could see. As Suz raised her hand to point out a guy dry humping a girl against the wall, her hand accidentally brushed over my breast. Well, I thought it was accidental. I mean, it for sure wasn't a grope. Her hand was on her knee, she lifted it to point, and it went across my breast. Just an accident. And when she lowered her hand, she put it on my arm. We kept talking and watching. As we talked, her hand would squeeze my arm to make a point. Or she would softly rub my arm as she listened to me. To this day, I cannot tell you when it started but... Suz was actually caressing my breast! NO, no, no, this was not at all an accidental brushing. At some point as we talked, at some point while rubbing and squeezing my arm innocently, she had moved her hand up my arm and it was now cupping my right boob. Not just cupping, truly caressing. A gentle touch. A very sexual touch. An arousing touch. Of all the nights I had hidden under my covers, touching and exploring myself, my mind filled with thoughts of a girl I had a secret crush on at the time, my thoughts of her breast in my hand or, maybe, the fantasy it was her hand below my tummy, I had not at all seen this coming. Now, right now, a really cute girl was actually for reals feeling me up. THAT was the moment, the moment I realized it could happen. After being curious so long, but also being so really shy about it and coming to the conclusion I was just too shy for it to happen, IT could happen! I probably looked totally stupid just then. I had been telling Suz about one couple over in the corner when I realized what she was doing. I stopped mid-sentence. It took just seconds for fantasy after fantasy rushed through my head. Seconds for me to reach my conclusion the possibility existed my curiosity maybe satisfied. My nipples were ahead of my mind. For the warm summer party, I had worn a light tank top, no bra. My boobs are tiny but my nips are very very sensitive – and reactive. As I looked into Suz's eyes, there was no way at all I could hide my arousal. In the dark, I could see the grin on her face. Right there, in the room with friends all around, she kissed me. And I did not care if anyone saw. Suz stood, taking my hand, she led me to a back room. The door had no sooner closed behind us when she took me into her arms and we kissed. A very passionate kiss. We stood playing tongue tag, making out. Her hand went under my top, lifting it, exposing my breasts. She was squeezing like I would myself. She was ever so gently pinching just like I did at night in bed alone. She was not at all harsh like Dustin. I was grinding into her as we kissed, as she played havoc with my breasts. My clitty was throbbing and eager for the touch I usually gave her. Suz knew too. Her hand lowered. I sucked in my breath with the mounting excitement as her fingers slipped into the waistband of my shorts. Her hand cupped my pussy, squeezing. The heel of her hand pressed tightly to clitty. Suz was sucking my nipple as she teased my pussy and I came. I was embarrassed to have cum so quickly! But Suz just kissed her way back up to my mouth. With our lips together, she slowed the rubbing below as my orgasm ebbed. Then she began again, alternately her fingers would enter then her heel would massage. She was in me doing wonderful things or she was massaging my mound. I wanted her kisses yet I needed air. My legs could barely keep me standing. And I knew I would cum again. Moments after my first, I felt an orgasm building. The first had happened so quickly it snuck up on me. But this one, I knew it was there! As I ground my pussy to her hand, gasping air, I came again. My legs were weak and Suz held me up more than I stood on my own. And I heard people at the door. Later that night, Suz told me they had been there a few minutes, waiting to "use" the room. She gave me a ride home. We made out a lil more but I never "touched" her that night. She didn't seem to want it. She told me she would come by to pick my up in a few days if I wanted to do something. Oh God did I want!! Suzanne My sister Annette was gazing at me with a super serious expression. As a critical care nurse, she was concerned for the state of my well being. "You need a break from all this craziness, I'm worried about you," she said. "I'll be ok," My voice sounded unconvincing. "Can't you take any time off? Go away for a week or two and relax. Remember you've already had a heart attack and..." "Jesus sis that was twelve years ago and it was minor..." "You had an MI and the chances of..." I interrupted her. "Ok, ok, I'll figure something out, maybe a scuba diving trip." If my sister only knew what I'd been doing to myself to get in shape the last three years, she'd be the one having chest pains. But, she was making perfect sense. My wife and I had separated after twenty five years of marriage and for all intents and purposes it would be permanent. A failed business started the decline of our marriage but the seeds had been sown far earlier. It served to hasten the downfall. Our life style changed and she resented the intrusion with a vehemence that surprised me. We managed to keep our home but the extravagant shopping trips to the mall that she looked forward to, ceased. We grew so far apart that I hardly recognized Barbara; we were living two separate lives under the same roof. Our sex life became non existent with me, wanting more and hoping we could find a satisfactory middle ground. My suggestion that we seek marriage counseling was met with indifference. Her medical insurance would cover sixty percent of the cost and she begrudgingly agreed. Somehow we managed to keep the upheaval quiet and while our daughter must have known something was amiss, the full extent was kept hidden until she attended college. By then, our weekly therapy sessions uncovered a startling revelation by my wife that shook the foundation of our marriage. After six months of sometimes gut wrenching admissions by both of us, she owned up to having an extra marital affair with a colleague. Barbara stated the fact with such contempt for me that I wanted to reach over and choke her skinny neck until she was dead. For all our married life I'd been faithful and like most husbands, I entertained harmless sexual fantasies in my head. But, never would I allow it to manifest into a physical act with another person. I could count on both hands the number of times a female co worker or friend wanted to explore the carnal pleasures of the flesh with me. When the therapist noted my wife's lack of remorse, she seemed to grasp the seriousness of what she had done and broke down. With many tears she described how her lover made her feel alive and desired for the first time in years. I managed to keep myself under control but on the ride home, I informed Barbara that I was going to stay at my sisters for a few days. Barbara pleaded with me to reconsider but I was adamant. At that moment I hated her guts but the temporary separation made me think about my fault in the entire mess and I realized that I was equally at fault for the sad state of affairs. With the therapists help, we established a temporary truce. Could our marriage be saved? I was completely uncertain but I was willing to try. The atmosphere improved in our home and the feelings we still had for each other kept us going for awhile but it wasn't enough. Nearly three years had past without any sexual contact whatsoever. It was suggested that we try cuddling and light petting as a way to reestablish a bond between us. It seemed to work and a long weekend at the seashore was planned to try full blown relations. It was an unmitigated disaster. I couldn't get the image of my wife fucking some guy out of my head. I failed to maintain an erection even for the shortest duration. Intercourse was out of the question and it made me angry, really angry. I did the worst possible thing and confronted her, again. More therapy sessions failed to unlock the hatred in my heart over her betrayal. A trial separation was suggested and I moved out. My anger failed to dissipate and while I saw to her daily needs as though we were still living under the same roof, it was financially necessary to place the house we raised our daughter in up for sale. I wanted to forgive Barbara for her infidelity but she couldn't find it in her heart to forgive me for the business failure, and our change in lifestyle. As we sat in front of the therapist, she'd constantly say that she didn't understand how it failed in the first place. There were times when I swear the therapist looked as frustrated as I did over my wife's inability to see another side of the coin. Barbara's tunnel vision was maddening and she only saw things the way she wanted to see them. Slowly I realized that I would never live under the same roof with her again. Loneliness was preferable than having to listen to her dither on about how she didn't understand this or that or why... Because Barbara converted to the Roman Catholic faith, she steadfastly refused to get a divorce and in some ways that's not bad. She has excellent health insurance and has continued to cover me under her policy. A huge benefit considering I consume expensive heart medication on a daily basis. **** When I called Harmon's Dive Shop to see if any trips were scheduled, Andy, the owner/operator was glad to hear my voice. Over the last seven years, I had gone on twenty plus excursions and participated in over one hundred and fifty dives. I learned how to scuba dive with Chloe, Andy's wife as my instructor. "Rick, I got one coming up the second week of January to Cozumel Mexico. Only three spots left. Want me to put your name on the board?" he asked. "Whose on the board so far?" I asked in return. "Oh, the usual, me, Chloe, Norm, the twins, Joann and Mike, Tim; oh yeah, Tim's getting married on the beach. You remember Denise, tall blonde with big bazooms? Well, everyone's invited, should be a real blast." "Ok, sign me up for a single," I said. "Hey man...ah...I'm sorry to hear about you and...Barbara. You know how we...like both of you..." he said. The dive community at the shop was closely knit and news usually traveled fast among the members. A couple of weeks before the scheduled departure, I stopped in the shop to get my equipment serviced. Chloe was behind the counter and gave me a hug. In a way, I felt embarrassed and turned my attention to the latest dive computer display. I happened to glance at the Cozumel sign up board and saw two unfamiliar names. "Who are Suzanne and Paul? Should I know them Chloe?" I asked. "New folks, new members, moved here from Canada not too long ago, seem to be friendly. They did a refresher course last month and took the last two spaces." I didn't give them another thought until the day of our flight to Mexico. Andy always chose early flights and today was no exception. I drove into the dive shop parking lot at 5am. I really didn't want to leave my BMW (one of the few perks of my separation) in the airport parking lot and asked Andy if anyone had extra room for me. Andy pointed to a Chevrolet Tahoe. "Paul and Suzanne have plenty of space." We walked over to their vehicle. After the introductions, Paul helped me transfer my luggage to his SUV. During the ride to the airport, Paul talked excitedly about the journey. Suzanne seemed bored and actually yawned several times but that could be attributed to the early hour. The airport was crowded with travelers and as is common with airline travel today, our flight was delayed. I'd been planning on reading a novel or two while away and settled down with "The Da Vinci Code". Paul and Suzanne were seated across from me and with the book as cover I got a good look at Suzanne. She was dressed in a tight sweater and blue jeans that fit her fuller figure snugly. Very attractive with graceful lines and facial features, she had a glow about her. I put my book down and Paul saw it as an opportunity to engage me in conversation about Cozumel. It was my sixth scuba holiday to the tropical locale and I considered it to be my all time favorite. We discussed "wall" diving which is just another term for diving along the face of a reef. Suzanne was leaning on her elbow with her legs folded under her on the chair. Her eyes were shut and she was dozing or ignoring Paul's chatter. To me, there was something sexy about her posture and I cast glances in her direction whenever possible. Finally, our flight was called and I boarded the plane only to find me sitting next to...Paul and Suzanne. She slept through most of the flight while Paul wanted to talk endlessly about "drift diving". When the flight attendant announced our arrival at Charlotte Airport in five minutes, Paul went to the restroom. I gazed at Suzanne. Her head was tilted away me and a tiny line of drool ran from the corner of her mouth. Normally I'd be grossed out by such a thing but on her it looked...cute. Suzanne gradually awoke and smiled at me but she must have felt the wetness and quickly wiped it away. "Sorry about that, yuck!" "You looked very peaceful," I said "I didn't get much sleep last night with the last minute details and packing." She yawned. Paul returned and looked at his wife. "I see Sleeping Beauty's finally decided to join the living," he stated. An undercurrent of sarcasm was evident in his tone. "If Prince Charming had helped Sleeping Beauty instead of snoring like a lumberjack, maybe Sleeping Beauty would be more awake..." she returned scathingly. What's up with these two, I thought. Because of our late arrival, we had to make a mad dash to board our connecting flight. Again, I was sharing the same row of seats as Paul and Suzanne. This time Paul fell asleep and Suzanne and I chatted amiably. "Andy tells me you're from Canada?" I asked. "Yes Toronto, Paul was transferred by his company to the main office in Philadelphia about a year ago," she answered. Canadian English is very close in sound and cadence to American English but it's detectable by the pronunciation of certain words, "about" being one of them. "Do you miss it...Toronto I mean." "Oh yes, especially my two sons but Philly's a big ice hockey town and we plan on attending some of the Flyers home games, especially when Toronto comes to town." Suzanne smiled and her entire face lit up. While Suzanne appeared to be a down to earth person, there was a kind of sophistication and intelligence that shone through. I assumed she was in her middle to late thirties but wore her age well. Suzanne spoke of the difficulty in finding the right school district for her boys but when she mentioned Lower Merion, I knew it was in the top ten overall in the state. I assured her she had made a wise decision and a look of relief spread over her face. She was curious about me and I was giving her the basic details when our approach to Cozumel was announced on the PA system. Once we landed, the resort bus picked us up and we were in our suites by cocktail hour. Registration at the dive shop for the boat dives was required and I helped Suzanne and Paul with the necessary documents. PADI or DAN ID cards are a standard requirement at reputable dive operations in the Caribbean. While I was assisting them, Paul and Suzanne were very snippy toward each other. Suzanne wisely packed only the essential dive gear while Paul accused her of leaving too much behind. "If you were so concerned about what I packed then why didn't you stay awake and help me last night," she snapped at Paul. So, in short order, I became their equipment rental advisor as well. Afterward, Andy thanked me for taking them under my wing. A welcome party for our dive group was scheduled for 6pm and I headed back to my room for a quick shower and change of clothes. I called my sister to let her know everything was ok and we got involved in a long conversation. I was very late for the festivities and the only available seat was at the table occupied by Suzanne and Paul. After a warm greeting, I ordered a glass of cabernet. Paul already looked hammered and when he tried to have a pitcher of lager refilled, Suzanne strongly suggested that he slow down. Although I've seen couples argue, Suzanne and Paul went at it tooth and nail. I wanted to shrink into the background but I sat dumb faced and simply watched. Practically everyone in the dive group was staring at them. Having won the argument, Paul downed several glasses in record time. While Paul was occupied with his brew, I chatted with Suzanne. My main objective was to keep the conversation light and off the subject of Paul's inebriation. Suzanne was an accountant by trade in Canada but with her two boys and running a household, she only worked part-time. "I managed to secure a job with a bank not far from our house. Thank God, otherwise I just might have gone stir crazy at home," she stated, and a look of relief swept over her face. Paul was shit faced by now. "Wash so baad aboot stayin' home," His slurred speech was a good indicator of his drunkenness. "Don't you think you've had enough," Suzanne stated angrily. Paul's head was nodding dangerously close to the table top. "Would you mind helping me get my husband back to the room?" she whispered. Her eyes were pleading and full of embarrassment for his condition. In one day, they had become the main topic of gossip among the dive group members. Without too much effort, Suzanne and I managed to get Paul through the door. Suddenly he woke up with a panicked look and his cheeks puffed like a chipmunks. I drug him to the toilet and his head hung just in time. Paul noisily vomited the contents of his stomach and Suzanne stayed to help him. I went out to the bedroom until I heard her ask for my assistance again. Once we had Paul in the bed, Suzanne turned out the light and followed me back to the bar. The party had thinned out with most everyone out dining or clubbing in town. I was in desperate need of a stiff drink and asked the bartender if he knew how to make a Kamikaze. "A what?" He was thoroughly confused. With his permission, I got behind the bar and found the ingredients I was looking for. Suzanne watched with total fascination as I prepared the concoction in an ice cube filled tumbler. "...let's see...a jigger of vodka...hmm...Smirnoff's will do just fine...a splash of Rose's lime juice...a dollop of Triple Sec...and voila..." I was talking more to myself than anyone in particular. I placed the beverage in front of Suzanne. She took a sip and I could hear the ice tinkling in the glass. "Umm...hey...that's very good!" she stated. "A word of warning, they pack a pretty good wallop," I cautioned. I mixed up a pitcher, gave the bartender a large tip and sat with Suzanne, enjoying her company. But, she looked sad and I sensed her need to talk. She looked like she needed a friend and I wanted to be there for her. "This is supposed to be a second Honeymoon for us. My parents flew in from Toronto to stay with my boys. It's only been one day and I miss them so much already." I detected a few tears in her blue eyes. "Last Saturday we celebrated our fifteenth wedding anniversary and I'm wondering if we'll make it to sixteen." Her tone was wistful and she audibly sighed. "Things will work out, you'll see," I said, and covered her hands on the table with mine, giving them a reassuring squeeze. "I wish I could be so certain...I mean...Paul was so loving and kind when we were first married. He really appreciated me, loved me but lately all he does it get angry and yell at me. He has no patience with me and every little thing I do irritates the shit out of him. I know he's under a lot of stress at work but why take it out on me." Suzanne's eyes filled with tears. "Have you tried talking to him about it?" I asked. "If you only knew the number of times I've tried but he just ignores me. In the last year our sex life has all but vanished. I mean...Rick...I'm a healthy woman in my thirties and well...even with two boys underfoot, I make time for...but he doesn't seem interested." She was downing her third libation and I'll say this for Suzanne, she could hold her alcohol. When Suzanne excused herself for a visit to the ladies restroom, I watched her retreating form with some interest. Her tan sun dress was flattering to her lush figure. The pitcher of Kamikaze's was half empty and I was feeling the effects. I realized that I hadn't eaten a thing since our departure in Philadelphia. The resort French nouvelle cuisine restaurant was still open and I suggested to Suzanne that we eat something before we suffered the same fate as Paul. The way she chuckled at my witticism just added to her overall allure. The restaurant was dimly lit and occupied mostly by couples. It made me feel awkward but Suzanne relished the atmosphere and regaled me with stories of growing up in Canada. She was the youngest of three and her father was a captain in the famous Mounted Police or RCMP. "Only I never saw him riding a horse, he mostly rode around in Jeeps," she stated, and the mirth in her eyes was very appealing. Suzanne met Paul through a mutual friend and love blossomed. They married when both graduated from University. The food courses arrived and we ate in a forced silence because both of us were hungry. An expensive bottle of Bordeaux highlighted the meal and enhanced the experience. Originally Suzanne balked at ordering the wine. "...but...it seems like a lot of money..." I cut her off. "Dinner's my treat, I insist," "But, I should be treating you. You've been very understanding...about Paul." "It's been a long time since I enjoyed such charming company, please allow me," I stated. My tone was insistent. Even in the low light I saw Suzanne blush and a few pangs traversed my heart. As I walked her back to her room, she unexpectedly took my arm. And yet, it seemed perfectly natural. Outside the door, she hugged me and lightly kissed my cheek. Her intoxicating perfumed scent invaded my nose and the sensation of her body pressed close to mine caused a stirring in my loins. "Thank you, thank you so much. You saved my evening. I had such a lovely time. Good night." I tossed and turned in bed. I couldn't get the sight of Suzanne out of my mind and only dozed when the red light of dawn appeared on the horizon. At eight am, I stood on the boat dock with the dive group members waiting for orientation. I smiled and waved at Paul and Suzanne when I arrived but they picked up where they left off the previous night. I could tell by the looks on the other members faces that they were sick of hearing them argue. Paul wanted to be with the group taking the deepest route along the reef while Suzanne preferred the shallower itinerary. Something inside me made me speak up immediately. A dive buddy is one of the primary commandments of scuba diving. "Hey, I'm not allowed to deep dive. Do you mind if Suzanne partners with me?" I asked Paul. He looked relieved. "Yeah sure, thanks Rick," he stated. Suzanne was annoyed. She obviously wanted to be with her husband but gave me a weak smile of gratitude. All the folks for the shallower dive were on Boat "B" and there I was with Suzanne, again. On the way out to the reef, Suzanne was having problems with her equipment. Her oxygen tank was riding too low on her BCD and I helped her make the necessary adjustment. The look of appreciation on her face made my heart beat faster. As the dive boat cut through the waves, Suzanne was standing and holding onto the overhead bar that ran above the seats. The noise level exceeded even shouting to be heard and it gave me the opportunity to gaze at her body attired in a classy two piece. Suzanne Suzanne's breasts were large but not overly so, hips a tad wide and little blue varicose veins adorned her upper thighs, probably the result of two pregnancies. She obviously worked out because her belly had that rounded but flat look. Overall, she had a lush, feminine and motherly appearance. The girl was a MILF (mother I'd like to fuck) and oh brother did want to. However, I didn't realize at the time, but Suzanne was checking me out too. It was past one when the dive boat arrived back at the dock. As we disembarked, Chloe, Andy's wife and one half our dive group leadership, informed Suzanne that Paul had opted to take in the afternoon dives as well. Suzanne was visibly crestfallen. "Why that son of a bitch..." she said under her breath to me. Scuba diving is the type of sport that gives one a very healthy appetite and I thought of only one thing to ask Suzanne. "Will you have lunch with me?" Suzanne accepted and I realized that I was spending a lot more time with his wife than Paul. After we ate a leisurely meal in the outdoor café, we sat on the dock waiting for Paul's boat to return. We had polished off two bottles of wine and we're both pleasantly buzzed. "You ok?" I asked a sad looking Suzanne. "Yeah, it's just...this vacation is not turning out the way I expected," she stated ruefully. Suzanne looked absolutely lovely in the light of the late afternoon sun as it glinted off her hair and face. Gradually her demeanor lightened and she gazed at me curiously. "I just realized that I don't know much about you," she stated with the emphasis on "you". I hesitated, unsure where to start. "I mean I know the basics, you were born and raised in Philly and you have a daughter that you adore attending college. But other than that..." "Ok, what exactly do you want to know?" "Well for starters, why are you on vacation alone?" I stared at Suzanne and all the emotions of the last several years came bubbling to the surface. I kept my emotions in check and gave her the watered down version of my separation and the circumstances leading up to it. She gazed at me with pity. "You're such a, well at least on the surface, seem like a nice man," she stated with sincerity. "Thanks but I can be one ornery, crabby old fart sometimes," I warned her. "You hardly look like an old fart for I'm guessing, someone in their mid forties?" "Wrong! I'm fifty four." The look of surprise on Suzanne's face was priceless. "No friggin' way!" She exclaimed. "I attribute it to good genetics, my dad's side of the family," "You sure you don't have a painting stashed away that's getting older..." "Nah, nothin' that diabolical," I answered. At that moment, I heard the sound of a boat horn as it signaled its entry into the break water. I bade Suzanne farewell and didn't see hide or hair of either of them until the next morning. Paul was adamant about deep diving and Suzanne was my established dive buddy. The same thing happened, Paul went on the afternoon dive trip and Suzanne was my lunch date. Again, we waited on the dock for Paul but she was really steamed about his total lack of consideration for her. She was fed up and planned on confronting him when he returned. Later that night, I was preparing to eat solo at the beachside Grille when I walked past Suzanne's patio and saw her sitting alone on a chair, her head in her hands. "Hey Suzanne, it's me Rick, everything ok?" Suzanne looked at me and in the diffuse light of evening I saw the melancholy expression and tears. I walked over to her and when I was close enough she stood and embraced me, crying her heart out. "It's so fucking awful, all we do is fight. I'm sick of it!" she declared. "What happened?" "After Paul came back, I tried to get him to talk but he said he was tired and wanted to take a nap. He was in the shower and I walked in and joined him. I wanted him to fuck my brains out but he insisted on...oral. Right after he falls asleep, leaving me well...hanging...he woke up an hour ago and announces that he's going clubbing downtown with Andy and a bunch of guys on the dive trip," Suzanne inhaled sharply and I was shocked by her frank words. "I blew up at him and we had a knock down drag out screaming match. Anyway, he announces he's going regardless and to hell with me and the trip and..." She slumped against me too overwrought to go on. I held Suzanne in my arms, her head against my chest not quite knowing what to do. Instinctively, I realized she needed to vent and wasn't seeking any advice from me. However, the sensation from her body was warming me in areas that were long overdue for some attention. As Suzanne's demeanor slowly returned to normal, I suggested ordering in. "Thanks, I don't feel much like socializing tonight." I was dialing the in room phone when Suzanne interrupted me. "I don't want to spoil your evening, don't you have plans?" she asked. I shook my head and she smiled weakly but with gratitude. The in room supper was a quiet affair and I realized that Suzanne didn't want to be alone and enjoyed my company. Gradually, her mood lightened and we laughed and talked in a carefree manner. The next morning I noticed the wind was stronger than usual, bending the palm trees with each gust. At the dive shop, wind advisories were posted. The seas were choppy and I truly hated getting in the dive boat under those conditions. At the dock, I saw Suzanne and Paul arguing and I surmised that Paul was going out diving while Suzanne wanted him to stay behind with her. I walked over to them and an idea popped into my head. "Hey guys," I greeted them. Paul and Suzanne turned to face me and the look of anxiety on Suzanne's face was telling. "Headed out today?" I asked Paul. "Wouldn't miss it for the world!" he exclaimed and glared at Suzanne. "I'm renting a jeep and want to do some exploring, mind if Suzanne comes with me? Of course, that's if she wants too." I asked humbly. Suzanne brightened. "I'd love to!" she declared and sneered at Paul. As soon as Paul was on the dive boat, we walked down the pier and I noticed that Suzanne's demeanor had changed since last night. She was much more defiant in contrast to her downhearted attitude the previous evening. In the hotel lobby, the concierge took care of the details and I gave Suzanne a list of items she would want to bring on our expedition. As we waited for the Jeep, I told her about several secluded and beautiful beaches on the northern side of the island with good waves for body surfing. Suzanne was delighted and had a childlike inquisitiveness about the locale. She was attired in her two piece bathing suit with a matching wrap around her waist. As we drove her blonde hair flew seductively in the wind. I stopped at the first location I had considered and as I predicted, it was deserted. We walked on the path through the dunes and Suzanne audibly gasped. "Oh my God...Rick...it's beautiful," she gushed. The waves were two to three feet in height and were breaking in long perfect tube patterns. We spread out a blanket and I opened the cooler provided by the hotel concierge. The cold Corona was inviting and we sat and gazed with wonder at the extraordinary view. "This is what I envisioned I'd be doing with Paul," she stated, breaking the mood. The incredible setting was why I loved vacationing in the Caribbean. With her fair skin, I was concerned about sunburn for Suzanne but she was liberally applying sun block. I could tell she was itching to get into the water. "Want to try it? Body surfing I mean," I asked. "Can you teach me? Do you know how?" "My dear Suzanne, I've been body surfing since my dad taught me. I was all of five at the time." We waded out to the first line of breakers. The warm blue/green water swirled around our hips and I instructed Suzanne on how to swim past the wave at its apex and judge when it would break. The pull of the wave should coincide with knifing ones body in the water and settling about half way down. Done properly, one could ride until the wave lost most of its energy and petered out near shore. Suzanne was a quick study and in no time at all was matching me, riding the same waves. We took numerous breaks to imbibe the cold brew and ate the tasty sandwiches in the cooler. During one break I noticed Suzanne trying unobtrusively to stare at my body. "If you don't mind me asking, but how did you get into such good shape," she asked coyly. "I'll tell you the truth but I hope you won't think less of me," I stated. I told Suzanne how three years before my separation, I was unhappy with my appearance. At the gym, I seemed to be making very little progress and I was a dedicated five day a week attendee. A few older men near my age group had very defined muscular physiques. One day I worked up enough courage and asked a fellow I saw on a regular basis, how he achieved his look. He appeared apprehensive and asked if we might speak afterward in the parking lot. I couldn't imagine why he was being so secretive. As we stood next to my car, he revealed the answer and frankly, I was stunned. "Ya gotta remember, at our age our bodies produce only half the testosterone than at age thirty. In order to build muscle, the body needs testosterone. You've seen Suzie the bodybuilder who trains at the gym?" he asked. "Yeah, she's got bigger biceps, shit bigger everything than me," I stated with wonder. "How do you think she got them? She could train till the cows came home but without some "test", she'd never achieve that degree of muscularity," I slowly realized that the muscular body I desired was contained in a syringe. At my friend's insistence, I researched on line everything I could find on the subject. Success was dependent on the intensity of training, diet and the type of steroid used. As an older individual, it was necessary to stick with milder compounds. Because their illegal in the States, I took my chances by ordering from an overseas pharmacy. After one year, my body had shed ten pounds of fat and my appearance was vastly improved. It was during the second year that I achieved the kind of muscular development that satisfied me. Suzanne was staring at my upper arm. I flexed for her and my bicep swelled to a nice peak. Although I detested this type of display because I thought it seemed utterly conceited, I wanted to impress her. "Go ahead, feel it, it won't bite," I encouraged her. Suzanne's palmed the bump on my arm. "God, it's so hard!" she gasped. I pumped my arm a couple of times with her hand in place to give her the overall impression. "Wanna surf some more?" I asked. 'Yeah!" she replied enthusiastically, and taking my hand we ran into the water. The combined effects of the exotic setting, beer and Suzanne's full sexy body stirred something dormant inside of me. I gazed at her, my need building and I was positive that with the right amount of coaxing, we would be in each others arms. The wave heights had increased over the last hour and the surf was more ragged, rough. I signaled Suzanne that I was heading in and she pointed to a wave she hoped to catch. It was a big one, at least four feet high but she was too low in the trough. End over end she tumbled until she came to a sprawled out stop near shore. When I ran over to her I noticed that Suzanne's top had been ripped from her body. Slowly she raised herself, shaking the cobwebs from her head. I gently held her arms and brought her to her feet. It was only when she saw me staring at her chest that she realized what had happened. But, she made no move to cover herself and we started searching for her garment. We found it swaying back and forth in the relentless surf. "It's ruined," she stated. The snap was bent and useless. My gaze was drawn to her breasts, I couldn't help myself. They were a "C" or "D" cup with some sagging. The areolas were broad with long cigar thick nipple ducts in the center and the milky whiteness of the surrounding skin was seductive. She had obviously breast fed her boys because the sagging looked more like deflation, a common problem for nursing women. I handed her my tee shirt but she simply put it round her neck and sat on the blanket. "You don't mind?" she asked referring to her topless state. "Not at all, in fact I'm enjoying the view." I hoped I didn't sound too eager. "Really?" She seemed genuinely surprised. "You have lovely breasts Suzanne, very ah...womanly," I said bashfully. There was a glint, a twinkle in her eye. "Instead of taking this 'second honeymoon', Paul and I discussed me getting a boob job but I want to have another child. I'd love a little girl, dressing her up and spoiling her. It would be pointless getting them lifted and firmed if I had another baby." She seemed wistful but there was a note of optimism in her voice as well. Suzanne hefted each breast and gazed disapprovingly at them. But, when she looked at me, she saw the desire in my face. "You really do like them," she exclaimed. My face grew hot. "Rick, you dear man, you're blushing!" she declared, and I looked away. I hadn't felt this bashful around someone since my first sexual encounter when I was a teenager. "How long has it been?" she asked me point blank and I understood. "Longer than I care to think about," I answered pensively. Suddenly I remembered the lyrics of a Crosby, Stills and Nash song; "Love the one you're with... Don't be angry Don't be sad Don't go cryin' over good times you had... And, when you can't be with the one you want, honey Love the one you're with..." I sat in front of Suzanne and absentmindedly sang in a very quiet voice. "That sounds familiar." She cocked her head to one side, trying to recall the song. Then it was if a light bulb went off in her head. "...love the one you're with..." she trilled. A coy expression revealed Suzanne's need, her desire and we literally fell into each others arms. With hers around my neck, I hungrily kissed her mouth and she in return. My hands were free and I tenderly squeezed and fondled her breasts. I was captivated by their fullness and weight as I held them. With care, I rolled the nipples between my thumb and forefinger, enjoying the exquisite hardness. I grazed the backs of my hands over them and she gasped her approval. As Suzanne panted breathlessly, I lowered my head to a tit and drew the succulent firmness into my mouth. It's easy to understand why most men have a breast fixation. The beautiful orbs beckon and call us to delight in and suck like hungry babies. The sensation of Suzanne's pebble hard flesh against my lips sent me into orbit. I was lost to the incredible pleasure that coursed through my body. I went back and forth, giving each teat my undivided attention. Sometimes, I sucked hard then soft; my tongue gently stabbed at the end of a nipple or rasped it like sand paper. Her groaning response was all the fuel I needed. Time seemed to stand still. Finally, I stopped and stared at her nipples, swollen and purplish red from my intense suckling. Suzanne slumped against me, breathing very rapidly. I wanted to make her cum, really hard. I laid her on her back and kissed over her belly. She was pushing my head down toward her sex and I was thrilled that she wanted me eat her pussy. I honestly couldn't remember the last time I dined at my wife's "Y". But, it's like riding a bicycle once you learn you never forget. Except for a young lass from the UK who I had a brief liaison with during a Study Abroad in France, I was strictly familiar with American pussy and wondered how a Canadian might taste. A female is a female and each has her own unique flavor or scent. I distinctly recalled the girl from the UK, Jill. Her pussy had a piquant but sweet taste of youth and I thrilled at swallowing her plentiful juices. Suzanne didn't give me a chance to remove her bottoms as she ripped them down her legs. She propped herself on her elbows and watched as my head disappeared between her thighs. She was hairless, shaved clean. Her puffy pink lips were open and saturated with moisture. I was barely able to restrain myself and dove in for the feast. I lapped Suzanne's saucy slit like a sex crazed Saint Bernard. Her tangy, sharp secretions were just what the doctor ordered and I ferociously licked her pussy. "Umm...oh...umm...oh...oh..." she chanted over and over. I gripped her flexing butt and held on for greater access, concentrating more of my efforts on the "little man in the boat". With sound of the ocean, the warm sun and the gentle breeze, I brought Suzanne to a heart stopping climax. "Oh Jesus fuckin' H. Christ!" she bellowed. Suzanne pounded the blanket with her fists and rewarded my gaping mouth with a quick little spray of her secretions. The girls a squirter, I marveled to myself, a first for me. When she calmed herself, Suzanne sat up and clung to me. "I want you, inside me, please Rick!" She begged. At that moment I wanted nothing else but with the salt and sand clinging to our bodies and the openness of our surroundings, I wanted our affair to be something more private, more special. I knew of an intimate little hotel off the beaten path that would serve our purpose perfectly. Suzanne agreed with my logic and hurriedly we made our way to the jeep. She was wearing my navy blue Steely Dan "Aja" tee shirt and her nipples were poking mightily against the cotton fabric. We arrived at the hotel and luckily they had a vacancy because it was high season and most of the better resorts were booked solid. As soon as we were in the room, we kissed passionately and in no time what little clothes we wore were on the tiled floor. The walk-in glass enclosed shower was large enough for two and we giddily soaped each others body. Suzanne's hand was skillfully sliding along the length of my rod eliciting low moans from me. She knelt on the floor and with the warm water cascading over us, held the base of my shaft running her silken tongue up and down the length. Although it had been ages since I'd received a decent blow job, I wanted to screw Suzanne until she screamed my name. She was playfully sucking the head and tonguing the underside when I pulled her to her feet. Without uttering a word, she knew what I desired. We lay on the bed enthusiastically kissing and I positioned myself on top of her. Suzanne's tongue plunged repeatedly into my mouth as she raised her knees and my cock head slipped along the dewy wetness of her cleft. I raised my butt and slid my stiffie until it settled into an oily cavity. I flexed my hips and sank further into her inviting hole. Like the instructions in the sex manual for boys my folks left in my room when I was thirteen, I made little in and out movements penetrating only my cock head. We were still kissing, clinging to each other as I leisurely pushed more of my hardness into her. The fit was just right, not too tight and not so loose that I encountered no friction at all. We stopped kissing and Suzanne looked at me with a lustful expression. "If you can fuck as good as you eat pussy then I'm in for one helluva afternoon." Even though her words thrilled me to my core, I maintained an unhurried pace and was now sinking almost the entire length. Back and forth my cock reamed her soaked vagina and she was so wet squishing noises resounded in the room. Suzanne's legs wrapped around my middle and her internal muscles clenched my invading and retreating cock. The sensation was mind boggling and an impending eruption was imminent. The sperm roiling in my balls felt like molten lava ready to burst from a volcano. With smooth, swift precision, I drilled into her oozing hole. Suzanne "Ugh...umm...oh...ugh...ooh..." she grunted and groaned. Suzanne's pussy met each plunge with a steely muscled grip and I was on the path to an eruption and nothing was going to stop it. "Oh God! That's it, fuck me! I'm cumming!" she yelled. I pushed as far as I could into her contracting pussy and unleashed a torrent of sperm deep inside her. By the time the last bit of jism left my cock, I was light headed. When the reality of what I had done settled into my psyche, I realized that I did to Paul what some guy had done to me. I made him a cuckold as I had been. It saddened me because despite his problems with Suzanne, he seemed like a decent sort of fellow and I didn't want to hurt him, especially this way. It also made me wonder if Suzanne had been unfaithful before me. Maybe there was a valid reason for his poor treatment of her but my instincts told me otherwise. Suzanne had that dreamy "just been fucked" look on her face. "Ooh baby...that was...GOOD...no better than good..." she crowed and kissed my sweaty face. Suzanne spotted my troubled look. "You feel bad...for Paul," she said. I nodded my head but what we had just shared was extraordinary for me and it was important that Suzanne know. "You were incredible Suzanne, the best I've had in a long time." "Did you have a good sex life with your wife?" she was blunt but I liked that the best about her personality. There was no bullshit pretentiousness with Suzanne. "It was great for many years. It was a big part of our married life and we shared intimacy as often as possible, even in our middle aged years. There was a special kind of sexual bond between us and when our relationship went south, the sex dried up and our marriage was doomed." I had spoken the utter truth. "I don't want to paint too rosy a picture because like any couple we had our moments. There were the inevitable dry spells, especially after she gave birth to our daughter and went through a prolonged period of post-partum. But, we found our way back each time and the sex after a long layoff was extraordinary." Suzanne looked completely lost in thought. "I think you and Paul need to find the way back. You have two young sons and if only for their sake. But, think about all the upheaval in your lives in the last year. You not only moved because of Paul's job but to a different country. That would place an enormous amount of stress on anyone, husband or wife." I stated. "I sorry Rick but I don't think it excuses his behavior one bit. I'm his damn wife and he should treat me better than anyone else with the possible exception of our sons. Since we moved to Philadelphia, he's been angry, rude, distant and...I could go on and on. I know you feel some remorse about what we just did...but...shit, he had it coming." She was angry and her logic was sound, at least in her mind. "For God's sake, for the first time in over a year, I feel like a sexual person. You find my body attractive; saggy boobs, thick thighs, flaws and all. You like me for the woman I am. Shit, you sucked my pussy like no one else in my entire life. For that reason alone, I should dump his sorry ass." Her anger was rising but I learned long ago, when a woman vents her frustration don't offer any advice, just listen. Suzanne was fuming but her expression softened. "I guess I should feel some guilt but it's the first time I've been unfaithful. I've always been very sexual and using my fingers and a vibrator for relief just doesn't compare to a good stiff cock. You know, the boys noticed how he's been treating me, especially Gregory, the oldest." Suzanne bounded out of bed and rummaged in her purse. I gazed at her body with intense interest. In the space of one afternoon, we had shared intimacy and already she seemed totally at ease with her nakedness in my presence. Suzanne produced two wallet size photos and handed them to me. "That's Gregory, he just turned ten last week," she said with pride. Gregory reminded me of Suzanne; the eyes, gentle smile, blonde hair. "He looks like you Suzanne," Suzanne was smiling broadly and it moved me. "And, that little fireball is Nathaniel, he's six. My Ninja warrior," She pointed to a dark haired boy with a mischievous grin. Nathaniel was the spitting image of his father. I handed the photos back to Suzanne. "You're boys are handsome," I stated. "Thanks." She said shyly and stuffed the images in the side pocket of her purse. It was already past five, time for us to head back. Suzanne's entire mood softened and she was lying in the crook of my arm, toying with the hair on my chest. I was about to suggest we consider leaving when I caught the expression on her face. Suzanne wrapped her arms around me and kissed. I saw the want reflected in her eyes and it was my want too. She positioned her lower body so that the length of my hardening cock rested in the confines of her soaked cleft. At my age and on heart medication, two sustainable erections in one afternoon was rare but given the circumstances, possible. Gently, I moved my hips and the steely rod between my legs slid effortlessly until the head rubbed over her clit. "Oh yeah...oh yeah...oh yeah..." she moaned, and I kept pace increasing the speed gradually. Suzanne groaned into my mouth. Her tongue was insistent, beseeching and searching. If I'd been a younger man, I would have squirted a load onto her tummy by now. But, my orgasm would build slowly and enhance my ability to give her the pleasure she sought. It was a source of enormous satisfaction for me. Finally, Suzanne skillfully maneuvered my throbbing hardness into her sopping vagina and I buried my shaft to the balls. "Uhh...umm...ugh...ugh...oh..." she grunted as I plumbed the depths of her pussy. At the end each stroke, I added another little push for emphasis and it drove Suzanne wild. My cock must have been hitting something sensitive because she wrapped her legs around my middle and held me tightly. I sucked the tit closest to my mouth and her groans got louder. We were locked together and I kept my movements smooth and unexaggerated. Suzanne was panting rapidly and her face was covered in perspiration. I absolutely loved screwing this very sexy woman. It might sound cliché but I felt alive almost powerful. With my cock ensconced in her sublime wetness, I experienced intense feelings of oneness with another human being. I lifted Suzanne's body until she was in a sitting position, my manhood throbbing deep in her vagina. I raised her butt and watched entranced as my cock drove relentlessly into her hole, her fluids running down the length and dripping onto my nuts. "Oh Jesus effing Christ! I gonna cum..." she wailed. Suzanne threw her head back and her contractions engulfed my pulsating rod, the seed churning in my balls spewed into her. The long length of each spurt was something I hadn't experienced in years, let alone two mind boggling orgasms in one day. Hastily, we showered and drove back to our resort in time for the buffet dinner sponsored by the dive shop. Suzanne went to her room and I thought it best that we arrive separately. I sat with Andy and Chloe for a bit then bellied up to the bar with Norm, one of the shops dive instructors. We chatted and knocked back a few until I realized that Suzanne and Paul never showed up. I excused myself and walked to their room hoping I wouldn't hear any arguing. The door was half open and I saw Suzanne talking to someone on her cell phone. "...No Nathaniel, I haven't seen any Pirates...no...I haven't spotted Captain Jack Sparrow..." she was gazing at me with an amused expression. "...yes, I'll call you the moment I see him...yes sweetheart, put Nana on the phone..." I sat on the patio, not wanting to intrude further in her private conversation. Suzanne appeared suddenly and it startled me. "Nathaniel's completely enthralled with the movie 'The Pirates of the Caribbean'," she said smilingly. "Paul?" I whispered and gestured toward the room. "Not here, in town at Senor Frogs, Tim's bachelor party." Suzanne didn't appear to be concerned or upset. Tim was one of the members getting married on the beach in a day or so. The entire dive group was invited to the wedding and reception. "Looks like dinners on me tonight, no ifs ands or...ah buts. You can have my butt later if you like," she cooed seductively. We climbed in the jeep and I drove to Pancho's Backyard, an intimate little café on the outskirts of town. In the soft glow of candlelight, we ate in the courtyard and drank frozen margaritas, a house specialty. Afterward, we walked on the beach near the resort. Suzanne was fetchingly dressed in a light print sun dress, combined with the soft breeze and bright moonlight, my juices flowed anew. Under the cover and darkness of some trees, I held Suzanne close and she looked up at me with those needy eyes. I had forgotten how responsive and horny a woman in her thirties could be. We snuck back to my room and I prayed no one saw us. In the glow of a candle, I removed Suzanne's dress and bra. Her breasts were calling to me again and I hoped they weren't sore from earlier. I gently sucked and nibbled the distended nubs and Suzanne moaned her pleasure. I held each boob and let my tongue traverse the areola in a tightening circle until it landed on her bullet hard nip. Suzanne really enjoyed this and squealed her delight. My cock was only semi hard and I doubted it would be of much use for intercourse. She was seated on the bed with me kneeling in front of her, my lips working carefully on her nipples when she breathlessly whispered in my ear, "Eat me Rick, please? Eat my pussy." That's all I had to hear. I hooked my thumbs in her panties and skinned them down her legs. The scent from her aroused sex was strong and it only served to enflame my lust, my craving for her. Suzanne's crevice was sloppy wet with her fluids and I sucked the excess down my throat. Her legs found their way behind my head and pulled my face into her sopping slit. I slurped and lapped like a sex fiend. The amount of her secretions was impressive until I realized how much sperm I had ejaculated into her earlier. In someway it didn't matter to me and I gorged on Suzanne's dripping slice with total abandon. "Jesus God Almighty! Oh...oh...ooh...umm..." she groaned aloud. My tongue slid through Suzanne's soggy folds, drawing the creamy juices into my mouth and swallowing. I dipped a finger in her gooey discharge and poked lightly at her butt hole. That always pushed my wife over the edge and Suzanne was no exception. "OH GOD...OH GOD...OH GOD..." My mouth was tightly sealed around her vagina and I waited patiently for and was rewarded with a little squirt of her juices. Suzanne collapsed back on the bed, panting like mad. She was pulling at my belt buckle but I stopped her. "I can't, not tonight," I whispered. "What about you? I want to make you cum," she said with a pout. "I wanted to give you pleasure and that satisfies me. Please believe me; I derive a lot of pleasure just by giving..." Suzanne sat up and gazed at me with surprise. "Look, I was trained early on by a feminist. She taught me something unique and valuable. Giving can be more fun than receiving," I stated emphatically. **** The winds died down and the next morning the seas were calm, like glass. On the boat dock, I waved at Suzanne and Paul but judging by their body language, they were in the throes of another argument. When we boarded boat "B", Suzanne was quiet, distracted and her expression angry. My first inclination was that she regretted our intimate interlude. During the hour break between dives, the boat anchored at a small beach and we waded ashore looking for the shade of a palm tree. Suzanne broke the silence first. "One day, just one lousy day, I want him to dive with me, spend some time with me but..." she was irate. Suzanne's wet suit was open to the waist and I looked at her upper body with twinges of desire in my crotch but, I controlled myself. Most all couples in a long term relationship experience difficulties but Paul's behavior was perplexing. Suzanne spoke of her extreme displeasure with Paul's attitude, his treatment of her and the sad state of their marriage at present. I sat and listened patiently until a blast from the dive boat horn signaled that break time was over. "Thanks for listening," she stated, and the look in her eyes penetrated my soul. Back at the resort, Paul's boat arrived first and he was waiting on the dock for Suzanne. I beat a hasty retreat to my room and showered, contemplating what I was going to do about lunch. However, I was more tired than hungry. I decided to take a snooze on the patio. I recall I was dreaming and somebody was calling my name. "Rick? Rick?" The voice stated. I awoke to see Suzanne standing over me. "Hey girl, what's up?" Right away I could see that she was unhappy. "Paul just left to go on the night dive excursion," her voice was wistful, sad. Suzanne sat on the edge of the lounger next to me. "I was hoping against hope that he would want to spend the evening with me." Because I was starving at this point, I begged Suzanne to have dinner with me. She didn't need much coaxing. After a very satisfying meal, we walked through the beautiful tropical gardens maintained by the resort. As we sat on a bench listening to the wind as it rustled the palm trees, she looked at me and taking my hand held it against her cheek. In just two days, I had become familiar with that look and what it meant. We spent the remainder of the evening in my bed exploring each others body. The following day went pretty much the same way, except I decided to skip Tim's wedding and reception. I was well aware Suzanne had misgivings about attending as well because she barely knew anyone in the wedding party. Paul fought with Suzanne about going and I could tell it was the last straw for her. We sat on the darkened boat dock and Suzanne while bitter was filled with resolve. "When he comes back tonight, I'm issuing him an ultimatum. If he doesn't want to shape up then I'm shipping out. I'll take the boys and go home to Canada with my parents." Judging by the tone of her voice, I knew she was deadly serious. I walked Suzanne to her room and hugged her. "Good luck," I said, and crossed my fingers for emphasis. In my heart, I hoped Suzanne and Paul could resolve their differences. Too many marriages ended in divorce and it's usually the children who suffer the most. When I thought about the photos of her sons that she had shone me, it brought tears to my eyes. **** Saturday was our last full day in Cozumel and a non-diving day according to PADI guidelines. I was enjoying an early breakfast at the outdoor buffet when Paul and Suzanne joined me. Suzanne looked very chipper while Paul was subdued with a hangdog expression. When Paul was in line at the omelet station, she winked at me. Apparently, her demands had been met. When I returned from a trip to the fresh fruit bar, I walked in on the tail end of a conversation. "...absolutely not, you go fishing in Playa Del Carmen with Andy and the guys. I want the day to myself to go shopping, sunbathe by the pool and finish reading the book I started last week..." "But...Suzanne..." He whimpered. "I said no Paul and I mean it. Don't make any plans for dinner tonight because your ass is mine, understand?" "Yes dear," he said with a defeated attitude. Paul got up to leave, leaned down and kissed Suzanne on the cheek. "That's a good boy, I'll see you around six," Her newfound dominance over Paul was impressive. I stared at her but a roll of her eyes told me that it was neither the time nor the place to discuss the matter. "Still have the Jeep?" She asked me point blank. "Yeah, as a matter of fact I have it until 6pm." Suzanne leaned across the table and whispered in my ear, "Want to go body surfing?" I nodded my head, thrilled at the unexpected turn of events. "I'll meet you in the lobby in 1 hour" she said, and made a quick exit. Suzanne looked radiant in the mid morning sun as I sped along the upper coast road in search of another secluded beach that I remembered visiting. I recalled the turn off was tricky and I spotted it just in time. The road was so narrow it barely accommodated one vehicle. Finally, it abruptly stopped at a dead end. We gathered up the cooler, blanket and a large beach bag Suzanne had brought with her. The path through the dunes wound up and around and as we reached the crest, the view in front of us took my breath away. When we set foot on the powdery white sand, we realized we were actually in a kind of cove with dunes on three sides and the ocean in front. It was the ultimate in seclusion. Suzanne gazed at me with a devilish grin. "Did somebody say clothing optional?" she broadcast. In a matter of seconds we were both bare ass naked. We spread the blanket out and Suzanne retrieved the sun block from her bag. I offered to apply the lotion to her body and she handed me the bottle with a sexy smile on her face. I warmed the lotion between my hands and started carefully applying it to her face, ears and neck. I spent a long time massaging the unguent into her breasts and that brought sighs of pleasure from Suzanne. I knelt before my full bodied goddess and finished her thighs, legs and feet, lavishing several kisses on her pussy. A quick turn and I repeated the process for her back and butt, running my slick fingers over her sensitive rose cluster. Suzanne insisted on doing the same for me. As she was rubbing the salve into my shoulders, she was eyeing my chest curiously. "You have cute nipples for a guy," she stated and before I could react, she leaned in and ran her tongue over the surface. I shivered in response, it felt great. "Feels good, doesn't it?" she asked/stated. All I could do was stupidly nod my head in agreement. Suzanne placed her hands around my back and pulled my nipples to her mouth. It was an entirely new and incredible sensation. She stopped briefly and looked up at me. "Paul loves when I do this," she panted, and resumed licking and sucking. After several minutes, I was breathless and my cock was granite hard. "Works every time," she said, eyeing my stiffie. Suzanne fell back on the blanket, pulling me on top of her. When she spread her thighs, my penis was already at the gate and it slipped into her divine wetness. As my pelvis rocked back and forth, my shaft plunged deep into her hole, over and over. "Ugh...ugh...ugh...ugh...ugh..." she grunted as my cock drilled her vagina like a pile driver. Suzanne was moving her hips in nearly perfect unison to mine. Oh God! Fuck me!" she wailed. I kept up a steady rhythm, never losing control but her internal muscles were exerting their will on my cock with each intrusion. Her ministrations to my chest had primed the pump so to speak and the sperm was boiling in my nuts, a powerful release was imminent. Suzanne reached up and tweaked my nipples triggering an explosive orgasm. The intensity was off the charts with the first spurt followed by many smaller ones. "Good God Suzanne!" I panted. In the aftermath, I was weak as a kitten but gradually my strength returned. Suzanne was on her side, her head propped up by her arm with a self-satisfied expression on her face. "Where on earth did you learn that?" I asked. "Nowhere, I figured it out myself. If a woman's nipples are sensitive than a man's tiny titties should be too. The first time I tried it on Paul he was hooked." Suzanne finished applying sunscreen to my body and we dashed into the ocean. We caught wave after wave. I signaled I was getting out and Suzanne followed me. We downed several beers, a couple of sandwiches and some fresh fruit. I didn't want to spoil the mood by asking her what happened when she confronted Paul and although my curiosity was killing me, I kept silent. Suzanne Suzanne was exhausted. Twenty hours ago she had taken off from the Dublin Airport and had chased the sun west. She had lost track of what day it was now, let alone the time. All she knew is that she was worn out and damned glad to have left the February gloom of Ireland behind her. The jet stream had been less than favorable and as a result her flight across the Atlantic had been over an hour late arriving. Her connecting flight was long gone, and she had been worried that there would be no one to pick her up at the airport. The foreboding that she felt as she walked into the terminal vanished when she saw a young man with dreadlocks holding a sign advertising the name of the resort that she was going to be staying at. She walked over and asked, "Is this where I need to be to connect to Sandy Isles Resort?" He flashed Suzanne a warm smile and in a sing-song Jamaican accent he replied, "You have found it." He looked at his clipboard. "Just follow me; we have one more flight to check." "What about my luggage?" "Did you put the tags on your bags that the resort provided?" "Yes, I did." He smiled again. "Not to worry, miss, not to worry. Me mate, Simon will get your bags and deliver them to the resort. They will be taken directly to your room." --- By the time she had arrived at the resort it was dark. On top of that, she was exhausted. All she could think of was to crawl into her bed and let the sleep she needed take over. The morning was bright and sunny. Suzanne stretched and had to think for a moment to remember where she was. She was on holiday! Her room was fabulous, even better than it had looked in the brochure. It was almost as big as her apartment. It had a large sliding door off of the small sitting room that opened to a balcony and a view of the white sandy beach and blue water of the lagoon. It was hers, all hers. Well, for the next ten days it was hers. She stood on the balcony clad in her robe. The warmth of the sun felt heavenly. The winter in Dublin had been cold, dreary and wet. The prospect of spending ten days of just relaxing sent her spirits soaring. Trade had not gone according to expectations over the Christmas season, and the troops in the trenches were paying for it. After a shower and a quick breakfast Suzanne slipped into her bikini and a wrap and headed for the beach. The sand was so white and so clean. The tropical breeze was warm, and moist. She walked along the beach in her bare feet. The sand felt warm on the soles of her feet. She stood and let the water lap at her feet, it felt warm as well. She found an empty chair and settled into it. Almost immediately one of white shirted young men from the resort was there at the ready. "Can I get you anything, miss?" Suzanne shook her head. "No thanks, not just yet." The young man smiled. "If you want anything, miss, just wave." She smiled as she leaned back in the chair, she could get used to this kind of pampering in a hurry. The sun felt heavenly as she lay in the chair. Big white fluffy clouds hung in the sky like puffs of cotton on a string. It was a delight to pass the day away on the beach. The young men from the resort would come up to remind her to use her sunscreen, and bring her what ever she asked for. She reached into her bag and pulled out the book she had purchased in the Dublin Airport. A smile crossed her face as she looked at the cover. A few days before she had carefully selected a book for the flight, but in the mad rush to get packed and get to the airport, she had left the book in her apartment. Suzanne had grabbed a book at the kiosk in the airport just as her flight was beginning to board, and it wasn't until she was on the flight that she noticed that she had grabbed the wrong book. She had groaned as she looked at the cover, Montana by D. Moon. She had never heard of him. Surprisingly the book hadn't been too bad; she thought that there might be hope for the writer. The words on the pages would transport her to the mountains of Montana until the warm breeze would lull her to sleep. It was late afternoon as she made her way back to her room. She needed to have a bath and get ready for dinner. She found that all of her bags had been unpacked, and everything either neatly folded and placed in drawers or hung in the walk-in closet. A frown crossed her face as she looked at the dress she had planned on wearing tonight, it was slightly wrinkled. "Five thousand miles, and I need to iron," Suzanne chuckled wryly. She searched the room from top to bottom and couldn't find the iron. A sing song voice answered the phone, "Front desk, how may I be of service." "I can't find an iron in my room, my dress has some wrinkles that I need to press out," Suzanne explained. "Oh, we can take care of that. I'll send a boy right over," replied the man at the desk. The boy promised to have the dress back in less than twenty minutes. "Just lay it on the bed." Suzanne knew she was in heaven now; there was no doubt about it. The soak in the tub was just the thing she needed. Suzanne couldn't remember the last time she had felt so totally relaxed. She padded back into the bedroom to find her dress perfectly pressed and laid out, waiting for her. She looked in the mirror as she prepared to leave for dinner and smiled. "You look stunning!" The dining room was an elegant room that had a wall of large windows that faced the lagoon. Suzanne remembered from the brochure that the seating was assigned, and that she would have the same dinner companions throughout her stay at the resort. She found two couples; they looked to be quite a bit older than her already seated at the table. They briefly acknowledged her arrival and then went back to their conversation. A man claimed the seat beside her. He wore a wide smile on his face. "Hi, I'm Richard; I didn't see you at dinner last night." Suzanne shook his hand. "Nice to meet you, I'm Suzanne. I was late getting here, my flights didn't quite line up I'm afraid. By the time I got here all I wanted to do was crawl into bed and die." Richard nodded. "Oh, by the way, I'm psychic, just in case you're wondering." "Psychic?" Suzanne questioned. He nodded and put his hand to his forehead. "Yes, wait, wait...I can sense you are from Ireland." Suzanne laughed. "Go on with ya. You're no more psychic than I'm the Virgin Mary." "Nice to meet you Mary." He leaned over and whispered. "I see you've met our other dining companions. It's my theory that they are a convention of morticians, I don't think they said more than three words to me last night." "And where are you from Richard?" "I'm from Vancouver." Over dinner she learned that he ran an importing business in Vancouver. He imported art work from the Orient, and then sold it to retail stores in Canada and the US. "It's a bit like Christmas at work everyday. It's always a surprise; you just never know what's going to be in the boxes." After dinner was over Richard looked at Suzanne, "Would you like to join me for an after dinner drink? They have a pretty decent band playing in the lounge." Suzanne enjoyed the evening with Richard; she found he shared the same tastes in music. He was easy to talk to. She liked that when she talked, that he listened, and appreciated her point of view. It had only seemed like minutes had passed, but it had been hours. She was surprised when they announced that the lounge was closing. "Wow, I can't believe it was so late," Richard commented as he looked at his watch. As they left the lounged Richard simply stated. "I'll walk you to your room." 'Oh, here's when the moves will come.' Suzanne thought to herself. She was surprised that he walked her to her door, and then shook her hand warmly. "Thanks, I had a great evening, Suzanne." Over the next few days, they spent more and more time together. Suzanne looked forward more and more each day with spending time with him. There was a warmth about him that she liked. Wednesday morning she heard a knock at her door. She put her robe on and answered the door. It was one of the young men from the resort holding a massive bouquet of every imaginable color of roses. "These are for you, miss." The boy carried the flowers and vase into the room and sat it on a table and then left. There was a card with the flowers, she opened and read it; Happy Valentine's Day, Gorgeous, I wasn't sure what your favorite color is, so I got some of everything they had. Your secret admirer... ps I have to take care of some things, I'll see you at supper tonight! Suzanne smiled and admired the flowers. She felt speechless, and a bit overwhelmed. "Wonder what he has to take care of today?" Total self-indulgent pampering was the order of the day for Suzanne. She called the number for the spa and found they could fit her in. Suzanne felt decadent doing it; it was her Valentine's gift to herself. She looked at her wardrobe and pulled out a short black dress and smiled. The day of self indulgent pampering had worked wonders on her. Suzanne felt great and wanted to look great as well. As she checked herself out in the mirror a smile grew on her face. As usual the maitre de greeted Suzanne and said, "Follow me, miss. The gentleman is waiting." He didn't take his usual route to the table; in fact Suzanne thought he may have forgotten where here table was. As they approached a small table for two, Richard stood up and smiled. "You look simply stunning tonight." Suzanne blushed and looked at the table. "What's all this then?" "I thought I'd try to make Valentines a happy one for you." "First the roses, and thank you for the flowers, you really shouldn't have." Suzanne sat down in the chair. They had a perfect view of the sun setting over the lagoon from the table. "I'm glad you liked them. And I wanted to get away from the Count and the rest of vampires for a night. You know, I haven't seen them in the light of day the whole time I've been here." She thought for a moment. "You know, you're right. I haven't seen them at all, except for supper." "How did you manage to get this table?" Suzanne asked. "I heard that the couple that normally sits here were going to have dinner on somebody or other's yacht tonight, so I talked to the maitre de, and arranged to have him seat us here." "I hear they have a new band in the lounge." Richard said after their dinner was finished. "And from what I heard, they play a lot of music to dance to." "Oh, can you dance?" Suzanne asked. "Yes, thanks to my mother." "Your mother?" Suzanne laughed. Richard nodded. "Yes, my mother wanted her only son to have some culture, so she made me take dance lessons. I actually got to where I enjoyed it. I try to go dancing every week at home just to stay in practice." Suzanne wasn't surprised when she found that he had reserved a table in the lounge. It was a good thing that he had; it was the largest crowd that she had seen in there since arriving. The band was very good, and knew a wide variety of songs. Suzanne was impressed with his dancing abilities. They spent more time on the floor than they did at their table. As the night wore on the music became more romantic and the songs slower. She didn't know if it was the music, the drinks, the day she had, or if a combination of it all. She wanted to be held by him as they danced. His arm around her made her feel good. Suzanne leaned her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes and allowed the music and the moment sweep her away. Midway through the song she felt a new sensation. She opened her eyes for a moment and then smiled. 'He's getting hard' The thought that she was getting him excited pleased her. She wanted to be desired. Suzanne pressed a little closer to him as they danced, she could feel her breasts pressing against his chest. The next song was another slow one. She didn't want to leave the dance floor now. She looked up into his soft brown eyes. "Dance again?" Richard nodded and put his arm around her again. She could feel him growing against her, and she pressed harder against him, hoping he knew it was her way of telling him it was okay. She took his free hand and held it against her breast. Her mind raced. She wondered what it would feel like against her naked flesh. She found herself warming; her cheeks felt a little flushed with her own excitement. How would he touch her? Her thoughts as the danced became more and more erotic. She wished she could reach down and feel the hardness that pressed against her. Their dancing had become more sex than dancing by the time the song ended. Richard blushed. "I'm sorry..." Suzanne shook her head. "You don't have to say anything. Just kiss me." His lips touched hers. His arms wrapped around her and he pulled her close as his tongue slid through her lips and into her waiting mouth. Her tongue met his and they swirled around the others'. She felt her pulse quicken as she reached up and ran her fingers through his hair. The aroma of his cologne intoxicated her. She loved how his hands moved over her back as he kissed her. She pressed hard against him; she wanted him to know that she desired him as much as he wanted her. Suzanne felt dizzy as the kiss finally ended. She could feel her heart pounding as she looked up into his eyes and saw the same look of passion in them as she thought were in hers. They hadn't noticed that it had been the last dance of the evening and that they were the only two left on the dance floor. At that moment no one else existed. As they left the lounge, Richard had his arm around her shoulder and her arm was around his waist. The moon was shining on the lagoon; there wasn't a ripple to be seen. Richard whispered to Suzanne, "Do you want to go down to the beach?" She nodded her head and whispered back, "I'd love to." He ducked into his room and grabbed the cover from the bed. The spread it out on the sand of the beach and stood there looking at each other as they held hands. He pulled her towards him and they kissed again. It was more passionate that the one on the dance floor. Their mouths ground over the other's, their tongues drove back and forth in a slow sensual dance. "Want to go for a swim?" Richard's voice was husky. "Right now?" Suzanne looked at the glassy surface of the water. "I don't have..." "Either do I." Richard replied as he slipped off his jacket and began to unbutton his shirt. Suzanne reached around and pulled the zipper down, and then stepped out of her dress. He was beginning to remove his trousers as she slipped her bra, and then her panties off. They stood there looking at each other's nakedness. It pleased Suzanne as she watched his cock growing stiff as he looked at her. A fire was beginning to burn within her. After getting waist deep in the water they stopped and turned towards each other. His hands came up and touched her breasts and began to gently caress them. Her hand dropped beneath the surface and found his hard cock. She closed her eyes as his hands found her nipples. He teased them until they were fully erect and then bent his head down and took one of them into his mouth. She loved how he sucked her rubbery nipple into his mouth and teased it with his tongue. Her hand moved slowly back and forth along the length of his stiff manhood. His head lifted up and his lips traveled up her breasts to her neck, nibbling and kissing all the way. His hands moved down to her butt and he squeezed her cheeks in his hand. "I want you." His voice was full of passion. Suzanne wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him tightly against her, she loved the feeling of his hard cock pressing against her belly. She nibbled her way up his neck and then whispered in his ear, "I want you to fuck me." They stood there for a moment in the silvery moonlight and looked at each other. Richard took her hand and led her out of the water, and on to the blanket. They lay down facing each other. Suzanne lifted her leg slightly as his hand moved down her over her breasts and passed her stomach. She wanted him to touch her and find how excited she was. She took her hand and reached for his stiff cock and began to rub it with the palm of her hand. A soft moan escaped from her lips as she felt his hand move inside her thighs. His finger traced along her outer lips, just grazing the wetness that lay beneath. Suzanne put the head of his cock in the palm of her hand, and draped her fingers around his shaft and slowly drug them along his length to the tip and then back again. Her hips moved towards his fingers, she wanted to feel him touch her, her need was almost desperate. Richard responded to her movements, his finger slipped between her swollen lips and into her wetness. "Yes," she whispered. "Touch me." His finger moved slowly in and out of her depths. Her stroking of his cock matched the movements of his finger. He moved his mouth to her breasts and began kissing her firm flesh as his free hand cupped the other breast. "Yes," the word escaped from Suzanne's lips almost like a long sigh as his finger moved up and touched her clit. It ached and wanted to be touched. Her pussy felt like it was on fire, and only his carnal touch could extinguish the blaze that burned deep inside of her. Her hand gripped his stiff cock and began to stroke him up and down. Occasionally she would stop and cup his balls in her hand, feeling the move with her touch. "You're driving me wild," he whispered as he raised his lips from her nipple. "You're making me so hard." "I want to make you harder than you've ever been," Suzanne was almost taken back by the lust in her voice. Her finger tip circled the tip of his already wet cock head as her thumb rubbed the sensitive area on the underside of his member. "I want to taste you, I want to suck your clit." His words sent chills of lust through her. Suzanne turned and let him roll on his back and then straddled his shoulders, lowering her hips until her pussy was in contact with his mouth. She felt him spread her lips open as his tongue began to lap at her wetness. Her hand went back to his cock as she leaned forward. The tip was swollen and looked like a large silver plum in the moonlight. Leaning even more forward, her tongue flicked out at the tip, and tasted his slightly salty pre-cum. Flashes of pleasure flowed through her as his tongue flicked at her swollen nub. His tongue seemed to dance around her clit, flicking it back and forth. Her hand stroked his shaft as she opened her mouth and began to take him into her mouth. She swirled her tongue around the tip and then licked her way down his length. Her hand slid up and down his now wet cock and she took more of him into her mouth. She felt her hips moving against his mouth, wanting to grind against him. She was drunk with lust as she felt him suck her on her clit, his tongue flicking furiously across the tip. She jacked his cock with her hand as her head bobbed up and down, sucking as she pulled her mouth upwards. She liked the feeling of his cock filling her warm mouth, his hips moving slightly up and down with the motion of her head. His hands pulled her pussy hard against his mouth as he penetrated her with his tongue, and then flicked back to her clit. Over and over he repeated it, his tongue stabbing inside, and then flicking in quick circles around her nub of lust. Lust had taken them both over. Nothing existed outside of the other. Suzanne wanted to cum, she wanted to fly, soar on her waves of passion, and she wasn't far. Her hand moved quickly up and down just below her lips. Just as she began to climax she felt a twitch in his cock. He was cumming too. She wanted to taste him, faster and faster her hand stroked his shaft. Her body was shaking as she felt him erupt in her mouth, his pearl-white cum tasted slightly tangy, almost peppery. Her heart felt like a trip hammer as it pounded in her ears. She heard him moan loudly with each spurt. Suzanne She was awash with waves of pleasure, her world spun out of control. She released him from her mouth as her breath came in ragged gasps, but her hand didn't stop stroking. After her body stopped shaking she turned around and lay on top of Richard. She was glad when he put his arms around her shoulders and pulled her down to him and began to kiss her. She could taste her own juices on his lips and imagined he could taste himself in her mouth. It was slow kiss, full of passion and meaning. "That felt so good," his voice seemed full of calm, like the calm after the storm. Suzanne smiled and looked down at him, "Yes it did." She rolled off to the side and they lay there just whispering and caressing the other. Their hands roamed continuously over the other's body, never stopping. His fingers traced her eyes, nose and lips, like he was trying to memorize each detail of her face. Slowly their touches become more teasing, and Suzanne smiled to herself as she felt his erection growing against her. Her hand stroked him to full hardness as his finger slipped in and out of her willing sex. Somehow they had rolled off of the blanket and onto the sand, but neither seemed inclined to try to move back. Suzanne sat up and straddled his hips, her hand still stroking him. "I want to feel you inside me," she whispered as she looked into his eyes. "Yes, I want that too," he responded She placed the tip of his cock against her opening and let herself be impaled on his fleshy spear. Her eyes closed as felt his length penetrate her wet tunnel. His hips began to rock back and forth. Suzanne leaned forward and moved her hips with his. They moved together, his stiffness moving in and out of tight depths. She moved forward, putting her hands in the sand, her eyes locked onto his. The reflection of the setting moon reflected back from his eyes into hers. Richard's hands cupped her breasts as she moved back forth in response to his thrusting. His fingers teased her taut nipples. There were no sounds, save those of their lovemaking. His touch was sent shivers through her body, the way he fondled and kneaded her breasts drove further and further into her sea of passion. What had started off as slow and gentle was building. Their movements were more deliberate and had quickened. His hips rose from the sand as he drove his engorged cock deep inside of her. Her hips moved back and forth following his movements. She could feel her clit rubbing against his shaft as her hips moved back and forth. As their pace quickened further she lay on top of him, only concerned with their pleasure. Her voice was quiet, her breath hot on his neck, "Fuck me, Richard. Oh, god, fuck me hard. I want to...." Her words were lost in her wanton thirst of lust. His hands gripped the cheeks of her ass as moved harder and faster. The sounds of their bodies moving together broke the late night silence. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as her body seemed to vibrate. "Oh, yes, oh, yes," Suzanne moaned as her body began to shake. She felt the burning as she began to climax and she felt her muscles gripping his cock. He couldn't stop himself; he felt her clamp down on his cock, his cries of passion mixed with hers. She felt the warm wetness as he release his cum inside of her. Pulse after pulse shot into her. She road the crest of her climax, it seemed to never end. As she lay on him, he smiled and caressed her cheek. His face had a warm smile, and she felt all aglow. He kissed her softly on the cheek and whispered, "Happy Valentines Day, Suzanne." They wrapped themselves in the blanket and drifted off to sleep on the beach as the moon followed the sun's path beneath the horizon. It wasn't until the sky was grey that they woke in the pre-dawn hours and gathered their clothes and made their way to her bed. Happy Valentines Day Suzanne, wherever you are. Suzanne After four fruitless efforts at a completed novel, a publisher had taken my fifth and turned it into a modest success. The rewards were mixed. A mandatory book tour had left me limp. Home after a month on the road, the challenge of proving the first success was not a flash in the pan had me in a funk. Lulled by the notion I might not be a starving writer forever, I nurtured thoughts of improving my circumstances, as the Victorian novelists were fond of saying. While pondering what to do about my abysmal apartment, I considered looking for a relationship. At thirty-one, there were exactly three love affairs for me to remember. A remembrance that bore echoes of the Proustian novel from a French literature class in college. In my memory, Amy, Helen and Marie flitted about, sometimes with clothes and sometimes without. Encounters that led to romance were so frequent in school that one had difficulty afterwards recalling what had brought the two of you together. More frequently, it was the breakup that was sharply memorable. I didn't need a wife, or a female on a mission, although my age suggested the opposite, and my convictions were suspect. When the fourth relationship started, Suzanne struck me as an uncomplicated woman with enough drawing and painting talent to chase a career in art and be my lover at the same time. But the uncomplicated part didn't happen. As months went by, my relationship with her became more tangled. Just the opposite of what I thought I wanted. One morning, I was staring at the text on the screen in front of me when she opened the door to her studio and came across the corridor. "Olivier called. He's angling for an invitation to visit this weekend." I turned and raised my eyebrows at her. "Our friends know this is a country place where we come to work." "Yes. He apologized and said Irene had moved out without a word and turned off her mobile." We stared at each other, thinking about how our being together started. She had been Olivier's girlfriend for a time. Two years ago, when she was seeing him and I still had the loft in Manhattan, she appeared one weekend morning and removed her clothes in the front room before I was able to finish preparing coffee. Calmly retrieving a towel from the bathroom, she placed it on the precious leather sofa, a gift from my parents. Then arranged herself with legs crossed and everything showing. "I have a confession to make. At the party last week, I copied your new novel to a flash drive. It's very good. You write well and you put imagination on top of that. We could be good for each other. I have talent, but I don't have any spark. I'm still stuck in college art class, doing stupid derivative things as though I was a draftsman." I said nothing, and walked the few steps to the kitchen to pour coffee. She followed and carefully worked me out of my clothes. Her nipples were stiff. When she rubbed them on my back, my erection became equally stiff. Her fingers explored what she came to join with. I took a deep breath and said, "You can't be seeing Olivier and me at the same time. There is a defect in my personality that doesn't permit sharing. I know that sounds dumb in this day and age, but there it is." A hand in the small of my back nudged us a short distance to the unmade bed. "Get there in the middle so I can sit on you." She was hard to resist. Minute after minute, orders were issued to apply hands to the long, lean body. Her strong fingers entertained my maleness. Gently, so as to prevent an accident. She said, "You are not to come until I say. If my experiment works, we will come together and it will be good. Very good." We seduced each other until I felt her clamping on my cock and let loose. After six months of abstinence, the fountain spurting into her was hot and generous. She leaned her head on my shoulder and made small noises. I pounded her ass. Her tongue probed mine and she asked, "What is the matter?" I held her tight and let the silence develop. "Nothing. You were right. It was good." She lifted my shirt from the floor and stuffed it between her legs. "You can lick me if you want." She didn't get my tongue, she got my hand on her behind a few more times. "I deserve a sore ass for breaking in and hitting on you, don't I?" "We are not doing that again unless you tell Olivier it is over between you." When I finished changing the bed and picking up some of my mess, she was gone. The next day, my poor brain, wracked with unaccustomed emotions, was busy churning out text when a soft voice behind me said, "I did it. I'm yours now." She came to the rear of my chair, her hands covering my eyes and forcing me to listen. "It is really over, Andrew. I told you yesterday I needed some of your spark. You've given it to me, and he never had any to begin with." After a passage of two years, it seemed as though we were playing the same record over. Suzanne standing behind my chair talking about Olivier. "Tell me about your feelings for him. Does he have some special hold? Don't women try to put old love affairs behind them like men do?" She leaned over, letting her hair fall in my face. "The only man who has a hold on me is you." She paused and continued, speaking quietly, "He seemed a bit helpless. You knew him too, before we were together. He is interesting to talk to, with all that gossip about art and artists his family firm is involved with. Would it work if I suggested a day at the beach and dinner after? We could go to Nantucket. No sleepover." I turned around and gathered her to me. In the summer, she painted with just a smock over her body. Through the thin material, my fingers rubbed a breast with a firm protrusion at the tip. I wasn't jealous, at least I didn't think I was. But talk of Olivier energized some deep feelings, a surge of aggression that felt good. One of the characters in my book was overwhelmed by sexual aggression and suffered greatly as a result. Her tongue sought mine. "I can feel you stiff as a board. Ready to fight for me, are you?" The sparkle in her eyes was bright. The smock was a pullover, or my fingers would be doing more than rubbing her breast. She squirmed in my arms and said, "God, Andrew, this is making me wet. If I ditch the smock, will you take me to the railing?" The ancient farmhouse we were renting had a back porch, with old fashioned furniture, including a swing. We liked to sit out there in nice weather, sipping wine and talking after a day of work. It also had a hand crafted railing that we had carefully refinished, and took pride in. One afternoon when we were irritated with each other over something silly, I had snatched her underwear down, bent her over the fine railing, and jammed myself into her without any preliminaries. She screamed and cursed me, but I kept on, losing my anger and finding a lusty experience that Suzanne reciprocated with a bucking, wailing orgasm that continued for a long time. After that, whenever we were hot over something, the railing was where tension was dissipated. It was our version of not going to bed mad. As we proceeded through the house, she giggled like a school girl, twisting in my arms. "Honey, before the railing, you get the bar!" This was another bit of entertainment we both appreciated. Oral sex was high on Suzanne's list of happy things to do. She only discovered my talents in that direction after we moved in together. Curled up with her on the swing one evening, I noticed that there was a good place for a pullup bar. And room above for a higher bar that a woman could cling to while her nether parts were being massaged by a lover's tongue as she rode his shoulders. Neither of us could count the number of times Suzanne had cried out her climax holding to the bar with her thighs around my neck and my mouth buried in her sex. This morning, conversation about Olivier's girlfriend troubles had wrecked our work concentration. The prospect of an hour of sex before lunch swiftly hardened me up, but the whole thing was so ridiculous that I smiled and took my time. I placed her on the porch deck beneath the bar and slowly removed the smock. The July sun was hot and I told her to stand still while I applied sunscreen, taking special care with breasts and buttocks and the back of her legs. She growled wordlessly, trying to convince me it was a complaint. I lifted under her arms and she reached for the bar, swinging back and forth slowly. Suzanne wasn't an athlete, but had a slim body with alluring feminine curves. Gazing at her hanging in the sun, all of my male instincts came to the surface, including the erection that was going to have to wait a bit. "Beast. Let me on your shoulders." I stepped underneath, where her female smell was strong. Heels beat on my back and hips flexed into my face. The strange body arrangement excited her, and moisture flowed freely. My eager tongue ignored her clit and worked between her lips, thrusting ever upward. I couldn't speak, but Suzanne had a stream of sex talk that mostly related to my sad deficiencies. My fingers dragged across her lotioned back and around to her firm tits. With arms stretched to the bar, I had free reign for torture wherever my hands wished to apply themselves. "Andrew! I am there already. Ohhhh." She released from the bar and slid down my front, shaking and moaning, to land empaled on my large cock. I pressed against the porch post, my lips finding hers and glorying in the sensations of being bound tightly to my woman. We weren't finished and I sought the bed to take her in missionary position, satisfying the dominance surge she had summoned. It didn't take me long to complete either, thrusting powerfully and finally sealing us with all my weight. After a minute, she pushed me to one side with a kiss. "I love you, Andrew, especially when I get the Tarzan treatment!" I smiled and said, "We could have a Stone Age party sometime. The males would have to take their women and protect them at the same time." Her fingers traced around my hairless chest. "I don't suppose females will ever find equality when there is so much biology that betrays us." I leaned in and licked a rosy nipple. "Don't devalue yourself, the male surrenders to feminine charms every time." She walked to the shower, saying, "Yes, charms," and wiggled her ass. I was finishing shrimp salads for lunch when she walked into the kitchen, drying her hair, and pressed against my back. "Did that calm you down about Olivier?" "It's a secret, but I am going to record that conversation and my feelings this afternoon. For future use, with other names, of course. You've never driven me like that before. It's almost like there is a button on me somewhere that says, 'Press here to trigger violent male reaction.' " She gave a short laugh. "What about the button somewhere on me that says, 'Press here to trigger female sex response to dominant male.'?" We found seats on the sunny patio. I pressed her hand. "It's not very usual for two smart, cerebral people to let go and indulge their animal nature as easily as we do." I had another thought. "Some day, when we have a little more money, I'd like to do a collaboration. You could create a dark painting with hidden themes buried in exotic flesh, and I would have to write the story of what it means." "Did you say exotic or erotic?" "Come sit in my lap." "Promise you are not going to start in on me again. That is a real commission on my easel and the client expects it within a week." She folded gracefully against my chest. It was a quality that endeared her to me from the beginning. I got a kiss and a whispered, "Is it agreeable that I invite Olivier to a picnic away from here?" "Yes. I am parking your former relationship with him on a far back shelf." "Hmmm. It's not all bad that you get torched off once in a while." She mused, "What about the other way around. You write a dark excerpt about the ending of a carnal relationship in which one partner is almost driven to murder and the other one to suicide. I am required to turn that into a painting." "They are both a great challenge to do well. Is there any money in it? Our piggybank seems to stay alarmingly empty. The book royalties are not much so far." "You are still determined not to touch your trust fund?" "My grandfather drove himself to the grave working for that money. It seems tainted, somehow." I hugged her tighter and added, "But I've promised to look out for you. We will use it if we must." The afternoon was slipping away, but neither of us wanted to be the one to end the conversation. "This hasn't turned out at all like I expected that morning when I undressed for you in the loft." "Life is a crazy mix of dreams and expectations. Which version of yours am I getting?" Her tongue sought mine as my fingers tangled in her freshly washed hair. She had the smock on again, but my hand rubbed on her breast anyway. "I am not baring my innermost soul, but I am telling you that being around you at that party where I stole the manuscript started an incredible rush. I could hardly breathe when I finished reading it the next day. I stewed around and finally decided it would take a lot to get your attention, with all the other pretty women available and willing." "You did get my attention. I was hard from the moment you walked in the door. Even before you just dropped all your clothes on my floor." "After that incredible sex, and after your ultimatum about Olivier, I was in shock and knew I had to get out of there." "Why? You had me in the palm of your hand." "I went back to my place and had a very much too large glass of brandy, and cried my eyes out. I cursed myself for being a silly twit and thought about going home so my mother could beat some sense into me." "But the next day, you returned calm as could be, already over the hurdle with him." "I've never told you how much that performance took out of me. I was totally clueless about you, about me, and about us." I kissed her forehead and eyes and nose. "Sometime, not now, you have to tell me how you constructed us from nothingness. Where you got that business about my spark." We stood in the corridor, fingers still hooked together, smiling and thinking some barrier had been crossed. She broke away and the door closed. I typed wildly for the rest of the afternoon. Madcap scenes and snatches of conversation. Almost like a script for god knows what play. The sun had gone behind the trees when one hand was soothing my neck and the other was handing me a martini. "That's not very calm, what you have been pounding at all afternoon." I jumped up and captured her in my arms. Gin was spilled down her front and I licked deliciously between her breasts. "Andrew! You've gone wild!" "I suppose you have been talking to that oaf, Olivier." "We have a date in ten days." "I'll give you a date! The two of us are putting on good clothes and going to that French place." I really was torched off, without a clue why, but enjoying the emotional heat immensely. Suzanne caught some of it and made a special effort with her dress and makeup. I insisted on champagne and escargot to begin. I pressed her hand and got a soft smile in return. "I thought guys only did this for girls they were seriously interested in?" "I could demonstrate my interest. If you were enceinte, I might have to marry you." Her eyes widened. "If you are going to use a French word for impregnating me, we have to do it in an attic in Paris." "I think you deserve a month in Paris. For art and for love." The waiter interrupted our tender moment and we ordered. She turned my hand over and traced my heart line with her nail. "You're half serious about this, aren't you?" "More than half. If we are content to live on baguette and cheap wine, our dollars will stretch." She laughed, "Women with babies growing are not allowed cheap wine!" The poached salmon was divine. The bottle of premier cru white burgundy was going to make a very large hole in my wallet. Bohemians in Paris did not live like this. "Andrew, you have too many big ideas on the table at once. Let's go back to simple conversation about art and writing. When we get home, we will scream and shout and decide on the other." I kissed the back of her hand. "Scream and shout." I asked where she wanted to take her art from the modest reputation and one showing she had had in a Back Bay gallery in Boston. We were walking out by the time she answered. "Damn you. I have a standard answer to that question, but the thought of weeks in Paris absorbing art has me all crossed up. I haven't a clue where I would be headed when I got back here. Not a clue." I was driving to the farmhouse, avoiding the freeway, when she poked my arm. "What would Paris do to your writing? You are the one cooking up this goose chase." I smiled at her. "I could reinvent Poirot, but give him a modern reputation and clients in places like Switzerland." "Yes. He takes the TGV to Geneva, but when he comes back from the lounge, the other passenger in his compartment is slumped over with a knife in his back!" "Nice start, but I think you have the TGV and the Orient Express confused." I parked in the usual spot next to the apple trees, and slung her over my shoulder, where my hand could find its way under the hem of the dress and attack her muscular rear. "Now who is more than half serious? You are already doing plots. If I can sell them, we stay longer. Better yet, you do the illustrations in black and white. Perfect for mysteries. Will definitely sell." She was carefully and slowly undressing. This time, the pieces were handed to me, rather than dropped on the floor. She twirled, letting her hair fly out, along with wisps of her fragrance. She stopped, hands on hips, legs spread. "You've had me once today. Is there anything left?" She trimmed the hair surrounding her sex. The light was very dim and her white skin, with that dark shadow at the junction of her legs, would make a fine self-portrait. Better in the attic in Paris, however. "What is that look about?" "In the attic, in Paris, we are going to get a full length mirror. When the light is just right, you are going to do a self-portrait. Your face is going to have the same mix of mystery, and strength, and beauty." She jumped at me and propelled us to the bed. "Andrew! This is too much. All of a sudden, you are not the elusive, reclusive writer. You are romancing the hell out of me, my body is tingling all over, and I am confused worse than I was that morning I walked in on you." My fingers danced up and down her back. "I guess we better start planning the trip. No doubt, you will have to delay our picnic with Olivier." She laughed gaily, "He has French relatives! It will serve you right when he shows up at the attic door!" I groaned miserably and kissed her. She pulled up the blanket and cuddled with me. "I don't know about the screaming and shouting." I held her close and said, "It must be the artist in you that sets me off. A personality that can go to a special place and imagine a different reality. A reality that emerges on your easel." "Hmmm. Do you want me to tell you what I am imagining right now?" I kissed the back of her neck, still a little buzzed from the wine. "Please." "The attic has windows with a northern exposure and my easel is set before them. The room is larger than we expected, perhaps eight by ten meters. Everything is painted a pale gray, as though the landlord anticipated an artist would occupy the room and want a neutral background. I am sitting on a stool in front of the easel. Even the smock I have on is light gray. You bought it for me after we saw the room. Suzanne "I'm looking at the easel, wanting to start. You have gone to the corner shop for espresso and fresh croissant to bring back. I am trying to concentrate, but there is pain in my lower belly that means my egg is releasing. Last night, we had especially wild sex and I am still full of your hot spunk..." I pressed down on the hand cupping her breast. "You could go to your studio this minute and paint that. All in tones of gray. 'Suzanne in Paris, Conceiving Andrew's Child.' " She turned into me, crying softly and burying her head in my shoulder. "We have to go." * * * One of the themes in my novel was the struggle between modernity and history. The hero's close friend and college roommate is a junior architecture professor at Penn, who got embroiled in that city's historic preservation battles. Charles de Gaulle airport, all tubes and moving walkways and labyrinths, seemed a failed exercise in modernity. Too much art married to technology, and too little practicality. Despite this, we found our way to the train and headed into the city. There were puffy clouds threatening rain later, but the sun and shadow on the city spires and monuments was marvelous. We were sitting side by side in a half full RER traincar. Suzanne nudged me and whispered, "Do not look right now, but across the way is the French brassiere you are going to buy me." Across from us was a smart looking woman about Suzanne's age, with a five or six year old boy who was sitting quietly at her side, which an American kid his age certainly would not have been doing. I nodded at the boy and smiled at her. Suzanne helped with a "Bon garcon." The mother smiled back and gave us a quiet "Merci." She was trim and had firm breasts. The kind a child bearing mother would own. The bra under her blouse was apparently soft and thin, cradling her breasts, not pushing them up and out. The nipples made their presence known with a nice dimple in the surface of the blouse. I imagined Suzanne in her place, with the French brassiere and our little boy. My hand stole to hers and pressed us together. "What are we going to do about my butchering the language?" "When we are out, Madam will deal with the problem. You will remain discreetly silent." The woman across the aisle was laughing and Suzanne slipped over to ask directions, which were provided in excellent English. Her name was Simone and she made a point of glancing at me and whispering, "He does not look like a butcher?" which reduced them to a giggling fit. The conversation included reference to Suzanne's bra problem, which widened Simone's eyes as she looked at her chest and then at me and blushed. Followed by scribbling, which I assumed was the address of the fancy store where my supply of Euros would decline rapidly. We were arriving at the station when a final whisper brought an exclamation, "Oui! Amoureux de Paris!" Simone and young Henri guided us out to the street and pointed. Suzanne took my hand, laughing. I felt supremely foolish. Fifteen minutes inside France and the glamorous women had left me in the dust. "Simone says it is almost a mile to the apartment. Shall we walk?" The walking was terrific. "What was that Paris is for Lovers bit?" "I told her we were here so you could get me pregnant." "Did I pass inspection?" "Oui." "Tomorrow, we will shop. Not just for me. I have the names of two men's stores that Simone says will dress you like a local. I think your name in Paris should be Marc. Doesn't that sound masculine and moody?" I kissed the back of her hand and said, "By the end of the day tomorrow, we will be invading the trust fund." "Oui." She gave me a sideways look and said in French, "Marc, it is for our child to be." "Il y aura punition." Her eyes stared. "Where did you get that?" "This is a city of S&M delights. I have been reading up." "I suppose you are going to poke around and find a sex shop?" "Of course, the better to string you up." She nudged me with her hip, "Go right ahead. I will inquire about a sharp stiletto." We were puffing up a hill as we arrived at the address of the apartment Suzanne had rented. She rang the bell next to the little sign for the building manager and the lock buzzed. Inside in a narrow hall was a fiftyish woman with a smile. "Bienvenue." I lost track of the rapid conversation, but followed them up three flights of stairs. Apparently, there was the world's smallest elevator in the corner at the entrance, but it was unreliable and prone to stopping between floors for long periods. Amazingly, the room was on the top floor and did have windows on the north side. The paint was more beige than gray, but neutral all the same. Suzanne couldn't stop smiling. The landlady handed her some papers and said to stop in if we needed anything. Suzanne knocked me into the middle of the bed and bounced hard on my chest. "We are here! It is perfect! Andrew! I can't believe it." She kissed me and beat on me, letting off steam. "Oh, this is such a good idea!" She straddled my hips and wiggled her bottom on the place where I was getting hard. "All because you used that French word for knocking me up." "No eggs for a while?" "No. I stopped taking my pills a week ago. Maybe two weeks before your swimmers can find anything. Maybe longer." I pulled her tight and said, "Are you ok with this? We don't have to..." The kiss was swift and hard. "We are going to fuck like bunnies. If it works, fine. If it doesn't, we will start over when we get home." She wiggled on me. "Are we...?" "No. Too much exploring to do, especially on a day like this. Let's clean up and go walking again." We strolled hand in hand downhill to the Place Pigalle station of the Metro, which shortly let us out on the Left Bank, where we could amble along the Seine, soaking up Paris like other tourists. The bulk of the Musee d'Orsay was in front of us, a railroad station converted into a cathedral of art as only the French could do. "It really is romantic, Andrew." She leaned against me. "I thought it was Marc?" In the middle of the promenade, she shamelessly turned into me with a hot, wet kiss. "Yes, Marc, it is always you in my dreams." We stood in the sun on the riverbank, the Louvre in the distance on the other side, thinking about art and being alive on a summer day in the midst of faded empire. Suzanne whispered, "Just hold your lover like this forever..." I had deliberately left my guide at the apartment, not wanting to be noticed as a clueless American any more than I already was. But Suzanne had her small shopping guide and said, "We have to cross the river and find the Rue de Rivoli shops." She looked at me. "You promised." Her grip on my hand was firm, guiding us to the Pont Royal bridge and across the Tuileries gardens. I was the one who had started the talk about French lingerie, but she now had the fever, and pointed to the guide, where three stores were described, each prefaced by three dollar signs. She pointed to one and said, "This is the one Simone mentioned." She saw me flinching and said, "Just one fancy set. Just one. I have to go home and lord it over Mom." She had on a wonderful lavender dress with flowers. Just the thing for a fancy lingerie shop. I pinched her bottom and said, "Oui, une lingerie." She frowned. "You can't be Marc until we work on that accent." "I can go with you and say nothing. Or I can go across the boulevard and sit on that sunny bench." "You will make me nervous in the shop. Go sit." She laughed. I was dozing when a sweet voice said, "Marc, dear, they say my card has exceeded its limit, even though I was very careful. The bill was only eight hundred euros." I jerked awake to find her laughing wildly. She sat sideways on my lap and applied a kiss. "Scared you, didn't I?" She held a receipt in front of my face which totaled ninety-eight euros. "She was very nice. Said I needed one set for parties, and one for everyday. See, I am your bargain lover!" She needed another kiss. I said, "I rather like the set you wear for painting. There doesn't seem to be anything covering your skin at all..." She was already in the spirit of Paris, kissing my face, pulling my hair, and paying no attention to anyone around us. I tried to think of something to do that wasn't crude and boorish. "You are fading, Andrew. The book says we must not nap the first day. We have to walk in the sunshine to reset our body clocks." "I know a way of resetting your clock that does not involve sunshine..." She slapped my face lightly. "Andrew! You will never get to Marc until you are able to woo me in French. You must practice. I will send you to the coffeeshop while I paint. I'm sure the pretty young waitress will be alarmed by your first attempts. If you are lucky, she will help." We moved slowly through the gardens toward the Place de la Concorde. My attention was on the Arc de Triomphe in the distance when she shouted, "Andrew! Behind you!" As I turned, a dark shadow lunged for the lingerie bag in my hand, but she had warned me in time and he tripped over my foot, going down hard and missing the bag. Others had seen and whistles sounded. Suzanne was mad and kicking the thief, who curled on the path. I got a knee in his back as a policeman arrived with handcuffs. After some rapid French, he was led away, uttering what must have been a string of oaths. Suzanne pressed herself to me, the precious bag between us. "You saved my undies! How noble!" "You kicked him pretty hard. You mean to model those for me, don't you, brave one?" "Darn right. Let's go back before any more thugs think two Americans are an easy mark." A stop at a corner cafe a block from the apartment turned into lunch. The hard apple cider was crisp and cold. The flakey croissant sandwich melted in my mouth. The tiny chocolate sweet that the waitress brought with the check was perfect. I looked at the twenty euro total and Suzanne whispered, "No tip. That's just on there for tourists." I sat on the squeeky bed and watched the lavender dress come off, along with the travel underwear. Her look was dark and bold. I gestured her forward to me. She shook her head, long hair flying, and flexed her hips. I rose slowly and she backed carefully, still shaking her head. I lunged and she dodged, unsuccessfully. She squirmed in my arms, rolling us over and muttering sarcastic oaths in French. I still had my clothes on and had a sudden thought. Sitting up, I forced her over my knees where the curvy behind could be attacked. "If we are trying to stay awake, let's ask the landlady if there is an artist supply place nearby." "I'm not getting molested just this minute?" "I have to get my own supplies... From the sex shop." She straddled my legs and kissed me hard. "Smell that? I need to use the bidet, like a proper French woman." I stood in the doorway, watching as she squatted over the fixture. "It's like sitting on a bubbler!" "I want to see the everyday underwear." She handed me a towel and a small squirt bottle of eau de toilet, which had mysteriously appeared in the lingerie sack. "If I am going to cohabit with a handsome man who intends to make me enceinte, certain places must incite the male!" Back in the lavender dress, she looked and smelled wonderful. Maybe we could postpone the enceinte business. The woman downstairs had a cousin who ran an art shop, which was three blocks away. Suzanne's hand was on my neck, alternately pulling my hair and massaging my muscles. "I could have done a semester here in college. I'm glad I didn't. Better to have someone to enjoy it with." "Even if his French is atrocious and his hands are rude?" She stopped me for a kiss, right on the sidewalk. Parisians brushed by as she whispered, "Yes, even after that." The cousin looked to be in his Eighties, and the shop had the look and smell of a place that might have sold brushes and paint to Impressionists. Suzanne carried on a lively conversation with the shopkeeper. A bigger and bigger pile rose next to the cash register. She turned to me, "He says you need to go in the back to help with the easel. I'm going to be renting it." She added, "He doesn't take credit cards but says we can give him as much cash today as we have, and the rest tomorrow after we find an ATM." As we made our way back up the incline of the street, there was no mistaking what was happening. The artist was leading, with a broad smile and two heavy bags. The lackey was behind, with a large easel over his shoulder. Suzanne was getting bright remarks from passersby. I was getting sympathetic looks and a few laughs. We passed a market and I thought to come back for supplies for a light supper. The journey up the stairs in our building was stumbling and punctuated by my oaths as parts of the easel snagged in parts of the stairs. My suggestion about a quick trip back to the market resulted in a list of items in French. The artist said she needed time to set up, so I should not hurry. The store was a strange mix of international brands in their European packaging, and what must be standard items, many unlabelled, from French sources. I found everything and took a chance on a twenty Euro bottle of chablis. I held it out to the woman at counter with raised eyebrows. She shook her head, returned it to the shelf, and handed me a dry Reisling for ten Euros more. "Bon vin," she declared, looking at my collection of cheeses. When I entered what had now become an atelier, the artist was in her smock, having already mounted a twenty-four inch canvas that was getting its white base coat at this very moment. I handed her a glass of the crisp wine and asked, "The ten by twenty in Courbet style is next week?" I got a quick kiss in passing as she unpacked more paint. "Marc, I'm growing attached to you. We may have a future." I lay on the bed, laughing quietly and knowing there would have to be another trip to the market for more wine. I was certain she was naked under the smock, and if I stared long and hard, she would be vexed and chase me out. I fixed two crackers with perfect Brie and took one to her. She set it close to the easel and continued her work. Mumbling I would be back shortly, I left quietly and told the woman in the store, pointing at the wine shelf, "Tres bien." I held up three fingers. The labels on the new bottles were entirely mysterious, but she was now my sommelier, and I paid with a smile. When I returned, Suzanne had her sketch book open, and was working with the pencils I had given her. Quick strokes were outlining the street scene as it was when we made our way to the art store. I pretended to be a mouse, not even cracking a cracker. From time to time, she would glance my way, her concentration obvious. I tried to imagine the next few days. If she was really captured by art in Paris, I needed to be very scarce around the studio. I exited silently once more and crept down to the landlady's door. She gave me a smile and asked how she could help. In my halting French, I explained that Madam needed complete privacy when she was painting, and was there another room, perhaps, that I could use to do my own writing during the day?" Taking a key off the wall, she led me outside and down a flight of stairs from the street level. Inside was a small room, with various stored items of furniture. She said what sounded like, "Try it tomorrow and see if it will do," and handed me the key. On the way out, she pointed down the street and said, "Cafe ecrevain." I wondered if an American with a laptop would be summarily thrown out, and decided to find out in the morning. By the next day, the passion of our arrival had flown out the window. Suzanne was hardly awake when her warm body next to me went tense. She gazed across the room at her efforts and muttered to herself. I was already dismissed. Accompanying males have some marginal uses, however. Madam's servant returned in a few minutes with petit dejeuner, otherwise known as continental breakfast. She sat next to me on the bed, munching happily and saying, "Andrew, I can't thank you enough for getting us here and pushing me to start painting." "The landlady has given me a storeroom to write in during the day. You need solitude for the art to come forth." "Oh, my art is going to come forth. I certainly hope so. Where is this room?" "Just down from the street entrance. There is only the one door. If I am not there, she pointed me to a writer's cafe down the street. If you need anything, quickest would be to summon me by phone." I tickled her side. She kissed me and said, "I am back in art class, and the instructor is telling us about setting the mood for art. I don't remember him saying, 'Go to Paris and lock yourself in an attic,' but look at me!" "This was the guy who got fired for pinching one too many bottoms?" She laughed and said, "Yes, and go away now...without pinching my bottom. You can have lots more than that later." Unexpectedly, I did. At five, she showed up at my room in a nice dress and said, "Take me for a drink." Her eyes crinkled in a smile and I knew progress had been made. I ordered champagne, hoping we were back to lovers routine. She smiled and said, "I want you. That was not nice last night. When I misbehave, you must make my derriere red!" "Oui, madam." I gave her my dark and devilish look. We were in a bistro, where the menu had what we would call appetizers. Suzanne held my hand and said, "Neither of us had lunch, did we?" I shook my head. "Let's have some of these and then get more food from the market. There is a hotplate in the room. We will be awake in the night anyway." "We are not staying in a permanent drunk like famous American expats?" "No. If you behave, I will tell you a secret." I kissed her hand like a true Frenchman. "I am perfectly behaved." "I am going to do several excellent paintings of Paris scenes. You are going to make me pregnant, and when we get home, they will be a down payment on a house for our babies." "My god. I thought this was a fling. If you are doing serious painting, I had better get busy on serious and saleable writing." "Yes. Soon, I could be carrying twins. You never know." As we headed toward the market, I don't think I had ever anticipated sex like I did that night. I was positively tingling from head to foot. I reached over and pinched the delectable behind of my woman. "Did the art instructor ever get one of the students in his bed?" She looked at me, laughing loudly, "No, I don't think he did. He knew a lot about art, but almost nothing about how to attract a woman." "What about marriage? One time, you said it wasn't necessary." "My mother is the nosiest person alive. I have it figured out. When I am three months pregnant and we have the house, the two of us are going to visit and dump the marriage, the baby and the house on them all at once!" "And I am to stand tall and firm, backstopping you at every turn?" She stepped into my arms, the third time in two days she had us blocking the sidewalk. "You are such a sweet guy, Andrew. I think I am going to like being married to you. And that is saying a lot. For years, I swore to my roommates I would never marry and surrender my independence." I kissed the lips again and moved us along to the market. In our makeshift studio atelier, she busied herself with two American style sandwiches while I was allowed to view the work in progress. The strong charcoal lines were there, and painting of buildings had commenced. A few very light pencil marks where bodies would go. I wasn't sure whether to make a comment or not. She delivered a sandwich and a beer. "It's all right to say something. I've heard lots of criticism over the years. Goes with the territory. In the beginning, you cry a lot." Suzanne There was no sofa, so we used the bed. It was noon, east coast time, so our stomachs appreciated the meal. I munched and changed the subject slightly. "Does it affect your approach when you know you are working on something for sale?" With a very dark sidewise look, she said, "Andrew, everything is for sale at some point, is it not?" "Ouch! That's cruel. You know what I meant." She started unbuttoning the blouse under her dress. "I can't get food on these clothes. Help me out of them." She put a pillow on my lap and put her head back, finishing the sandwich. "You are supposed to check out my expensive French lingerie." "Very nice. Will get you pinched almost anywhere." My hand slipped under a bra cup and rested on what it found. "I'm back to being horny around you. I suppose that is a good sign." "Artist's lives don't have to be sexless, do they?" She laughed. "Artist's lives are basically all fucked up. Look at the mess I was when you were kind enough to take me in." I cleared off the food mess and lay beside her. "I've never thought of it exactly that way." "I know. I think we have mostly reformed each other. But we need to up the ante on making a living." "So what's the answer to my question?' "Wrong question, really. Every starving artist wants someone to buy her out. What you were trying to ask is what are the sources of my inspiration. The answer is all of the above. A specific commission. A thought walking along the beach. A eureka moment in your car in a traffic jam. A traitorous thought while your lover is blasting into you!" I sealed that with a long kiss and lay back, saying, "Here's the thing, though. There is inspiration and there is result. You finish a painting. I finish a manuscript. Neither of us knows whether someone, anyone, will decide it is worth buying." While I was saying that, she had slithered out of the fancy underwear and pulled the cover over us. She whispered, hotly, "What matters is that we are buying each other. Make love to me." I started slow but she was on a faster, wilder wavelength. And she didn't settle for one time. The coupling was rough, her language vile. She held back until I was coming and added hers on top, both of us letting go in noisy wails and moans. I was still in her when she turned us and sat up. From an altitude, she ordered, "More." I changed gears and added more rough. The derriere did get spanked. I took her from the rear and she howled. I put a big thumb on her hole and she screamed in climax. I thought of Brando and 'Last Tango' and decided that would wait for later. Perhaps much later. After an hour, my lover was worn down and asleep before I knew it. I was confused about a lot of things. But it didn't matter as long as I had Suzanne. It was light and her head poked out of the bathroom door. "Come, the shower water is hot." We fell into a routine. She would paint and I would write intensely for two or three days. For the next couple of days, we were tourists, taking in museums, going to shows, eating at allegedly undiscovered one star Michelin restaurants, browsing bookstores. Once or twice, she hired a cab and told the driver to take us to a down at the heels part of town. Over protests, they did, making Madam promise to call them on their cells if we ran into trouble. It worked. Two more street scenes leaped off the canvases at me, filled with dark and enigmatic figures. I did a short story about a naive American college student who went to college from foster care and was dumped in Paris by his classmates on a tour. No money, no family, nothing until a Parisienne took him in tow. I poured it all in. Angst, sex, drugs, a street fight to protect the woman. Suzanne read it and said it would sell in five minutes at home. I got two chapters into a new novel, but distracted by another story. It was about a British officer fleeing London and the breakup of his engagement to the too beautiful girl who didn't really love him. A French officer acquaintance introduces him to his sister. It is love at first sight, but of course the obstacles are insuperable. He must return to his regiment. And so on. Suzanne read it and got teary. "Andrew, it is so tragic! The poor guy. The poor girl. And it doesn't even have a proper end." "Will it sell?" "Yes, damn you. There better not be anything like that in our relationship!" The relationship wasn't stormy, but it had ups and downs. I was grumping one morning to myself, when I should have been writing, and said, "What do you expect, for god's sake? Two talented artists in a foreign city, with ambiguous prospects and silly talk about babies?" I said to her that evening, "Where are we?" "You are unhappy?" "No. Not at all. I have a talented artist who loves me..." "But more Euros are going out than coming in?" "We've wished our way into a dream existence, and sooner or later must fall to earth." She snuggled tighter in my arms, "I've been waiting for you to say that. Like a letter from home announcing there will be no more checks." I nibbled on her ear. "You are well read. There must be dozens of young Americans who have been reeled back across the ocean after exhausting themselves in Paris without finding fame and fortune and love." "And wrote tragic short stories about it at home." I found her lips for a long kiss. "We are not tragic. What about baby making?" She wiggled in her usual provocative way. "One day, I am hoping you have already done it, and the next, I am wondering if we are being foolish." "Let's go home in a week. Grow the baby in our own house. We can always come back." She lay quietly against me. "Yes. Your artist girlfriend has absorbed as much Paris as she is capable of. At least for now." She went on. "You know, I haven't come to grips with my dark side. Those paintings you described aren't there yet. The street scenes are fine, but I need a dose of genuine anger to go further." "If you are pregnant, anger must be banished." "Yes. A contradiction, isn't it? The kind life is full of. We need to go home." Days later, as we were packing for the plane, she said, "I've missed my period." Suzanne and Old Tom It had been a couple weeks since Suzanne had seen old Tom, the black janitor who raped her in the church kitchen. She was afraid to be by herself in church, so she always left with a group so he couldn't trap her again. She had not mentioned the rape to a soul because of the shameful way she allowed him to take her and because of the way her body reacted to it. She checked her mailbox next to the church office to see if there were any pressing duties for the deacons this week. All she saw was a white envelope and no name on it at all. She took it and opened it. It was a message from him. It just read, "Today at 3, in the mechanical room in the back." It was not signed and was not addressed to her. But Suzanne knew it was Tom. She also knew that his office was off the mechanical room. She wanted to just throw the note away and walk out and drive home. That's what she wanted to do. But it was almost 3pm and she stayed in the church and kept looking at the time. This made no sense at all, she thought. Why did she stay? Why was she looking at the time? Did he honestly expect her to willingly go to him? When 3 o'clock came, she picked up her purse and walked to the back of the church. The note was still in her hand. She walked through the poorly lighted corridor towards the mechanical room. The sound of her heels clicking on the hard tile floor resounded off the walls. Her breath was labored and her pulse was racing as she approached that end of the hall. She saw the light coming from Tom's office. She approached the open door and looked in. He was seated in an old wooden office chair. He was leaning back and reading the newspaper. "Did you want to see me," she managed to get out of her dry throat. The note was dangling from her fingers. "No, you white whore, you want to see me," he said as he stood up in front of her. Suzanne felt like he had punched her in the stomach, forcing all air out of her. She was frozen in her place. His words took any fight right out of her. His voice deflated her, yet aroused her. She knew why she came back to him. She knew why she took this solitary walk to an area that no one used except this big ugly fat black man. She remembered that Sunday morning in the church kitchen two weeks ago when he raped her. He took her with his brutal hardness. It was the kind of sex she had dreamed of for so long. The truth was that she had thought of little else since that day. The memory of it was a constant theme in her mind; it was deeply arousing. "Please, Tom," Suzanne whined as she stood in front of him. He just laughed as he reached down under his fat belly and unbuckled his belt and lowered the zipper of his work pants. The blue soiled pants hit the concrete floor. He dropped his shorts next; kicking the soiled batch away with his foot. "Stroke it Miss Suzanne. Take my cock and stroke it, whore," he chuckled. His hand took her wrist and placed her hand on his big cock. As if on their own, her fingers encircled it and she was shocked at how fat and long it was. When he took her in the church kitchen she was just forced down on the table. She felt his size inside her but now she had her hand on his massive cock. "Oh God," she moaned as her hand moved on his inflating meat with a mind of its own. "Is this why you are here, white slut?" "Please don't," she groaned. "Show me the note," he demanded and with her other hand, Suzanne held it up. "Tell me why you came here, bitch. You saw the note and knew it was me. Why did you walk all the way back here to see me?" "I don't know. I was afraid," she whined. "Stroke my black dick. Stroke it so it gets bigger and harder," he demanded with a nasty smile. "Yes, Sir," she whispered as her hand stroked him harder. As his size increased, she could feel the blood fill his big black cock. "But first let's get the money out of the way," he said. "What money," Suzanne said with a startled voice. "Pull your wallet out and tell me how much cash you have in it," he ordered her. Suzanne grabbed her purse and pulled out her wallet. She opened it and saw four $50 bills and a twenty. "I have $220 in it," she admitted. "How much are you going to pay me to fuck you?" Suzanne looked down to avoid his eyes but immediately saw his hard black cock jutting out from under his fat belly. "Take what you want," she said, "you can take it all." "No," he said, "tell me how much you are paying me to fuck your cock-hungry body. Tell me what you are offering to be my married cheating white whore," he barked down at her. "All of it. I will pay you $220," she gasped. "Well, that is very generous for a nice white church woman like you. Hand it to me," he told her. Suzanne reached inside the wallet and pulled it out. She handed the money to him. "Now that we have my fee taken care of, step back and pull off your clothes. Hand them to me, whore," he said with cruelty and force. "Yes, Sir," she gasped and her hands were on her blouse buttons, pulling it open and handing it to him. Then she unhooked her bra and handed that to him too. Her full tits were in his view and her nipples were so hard, exposed and throbbing. She unzipped her conservative mid-length skirt and dropped it to her shoe tops. Then her panties followed the skirt. She reached down, stepped out of the garments and handed them to him. All she had on were her 3 inch heels. Tom threw her clothing on top of his desk while he put her money in his wallet. He turned to her. His huge black hands moved onto her full breasts and his fingers grasped her nipples and pinched down on them. Suzanne gave out a guttural sigh as he pulled out the nipples and then mauled her full tits. Her eyes were half closed and her breathing was labored as Tom used her tits as if he owned her. "Tell me what you want, white whore. Do you want old Tom to put his fat black cock inside you again? Tell me why a respectable church deacon like you would come back here and hand me your clothes and pay me? Why will you let this old black man touch you anywhere I want?" "Please, Sir, please," she gasped; his words humiliating her and bringing her almost to tears. "You are a married white woman. Why would you need old Tom's black dick? Doesn't your husband pound that wet cunt like you need it, bitch?" he asked. There was laughter in his voice which heightened her humiliation even more. "No, Sir, he doesn't" she choked out of her dry throat. Suzanne was emotionally and sexually hysterical inside her mind as his words hit her like hard slaps. He was giving her a verbal beating and she was becoming more aroused by it as he continued degrading her. She knew why she was here. She knew what he would do to her if she came back here. But now he wanted her to say it. He wanted her to admit her needs and her cravings. She had paid him but he still needed more admissions. She looked down at his big belly and saw his hard cock below it. Her hand reached out and gripped him again. She started to jerk the long thick black meat. "Please Sir, I want it," she whispered to him with the fat cock in her small hand. "Not good enough white whore. Tell old Tom why you want him to do," he said as his hands pinched down on the sensitive nipples again. As he did it, her cunt flooded. "I'm a whore, Sir. I'm a dirty married white whore. I need this big black cock inside me. Fuck me, Sir. Rape me, Sir." Her own words horrified her. They came out on their own. She couldn't stop herself. He had broken her and made her admit her most guarded secret. But she had no choice. He gave her no choice. Tom pushed her back away from him and she almost fell down. Her hand came loose from his cock and she felt like she was being discarded. "Go to the desk and take out a piece of paper and write down your personal cell phone number. When I call that number or text you I expect my white whore to get over here to get fucked. So write down the number and write 'call me when you need to fuck me.' Then sign your name," he smirked. Suzanne knew if she did this, Tom would have something to blackmail her with. By saying it on paper and then signing her name, her fate was sealed. "Please, Sir, I can't put that in writing. You know you can have me anytime. But I can't write that on the note pad," she begged. Tom approached her and pulled her to him. His mouth was on her mouth and their tongues met. His hands pulled her to him and squeezed her firm ass. She reached up to put her arms on his shoulders and she loved the way his fat black tongue slid between her lips. His cock was against her belly and seemed to be throbbing on her skin. She was happy that he had not pushed the point about the note. He broke the kiss and looked down at her. "Sign it or this ends now. You take back your clothes, get dressed and leave. But you will never get fucked by old Tom again. Sign it, whore, or get out," he told her. Suzanne's arousal was beyond anything she had ever felt. She had to have him now. She needed the way he treated her and how he humiliated her. She felt totally dominated and owned by this fat, ugly, huge black man. Something inside her was released and the genie could never be put back in the bottle. She knew it, but Tom knew it even more. She walked to the table and wrote her cell number and the message he demanded. Then she signed it and turned and handed it to him. Tom took the note, unlocked his desk and put it inside. He then locked it again. Turning to her again he pointed to the ground and Suzanne dropped to her knees and crawled over to him. She again took his fat cock in her hands and began to stroke it and pump it. She did this a few times and then dropped her hungry mouth onto the huge head and wrapped her married lips around his black cock. "That's it bitch. Now suck old Tom's black dick." He said as his hand grabbed her hair and forced more into her face. Her mouth was so full but she pushed down harder and accepted more and more. Her tongue worked the hard shaft as she bobbed up and down on his cock. Her mouth was stretching to accept him and it hit the back of her throat and stopped. Her submission was complete and she was exactly where she wanted to be. This was where she needed to be; on her knees and servicing a huge cock and being treated like nothing more than a thing to fuck and abuse. She knew this truth about herself. She craved being used her by him. She wanted more and more. There was nothing hidden any longer. She was exposed. She was his to use as his white whore. He pulled her hair hard and lifted her face off his cock. Suzanne gasped for air but at the same time pushed her face forward again to try and capture his hard cock again. But Tom pulled harder and said one word, "Up." She rose to her feet in front of him. He towered over the naked white wife. He pushed her back until she was up against the wall. Reaching down under her firm ass, he pulled her up until her legs rose to allow his cock to rest just under her open cunt. "Fuck me," she groaned at him as her arms encircled his neck and her legs rode up over his hips. His big fat belly was pushing into her stomach and the head of his cock found the wet cunt opening. "If you want it, you need to slide that hot cunt onto me." Loosening her grip around his neck, she lowered herself onto his big black cock. "Oh, my God," she cried out as the fat head pierced her tight opening. "So big; Oh, please, it's so big," she grunted as she took more and more of him inside her snug white body. Tom did not wait for her to adjust to his size and pinned her firmly to the wall and began to increase his pace into her. He started to slam her exposed cunt with long firm strokes and he was reaching depths she never knew possible. His cock head was ramming her cervix and the mixture of the need and the fullness and the pain of being taken like this was driving her to a quick orgasm. "You want it like this, whore," he snarled. His hips worked like pistons, driving her into the cold, painted cinder block wall of the maintenance room. "Ah, ah, ah, ah, cumming, please, oh fuck, please," she cried out as her climax gripped her and took hold of her like she knew it would. "Fuck your whore...whore...whore," she chanted as wave after wave of deep spasms overtook her senses and ignited her nerve endings. The all- encompassing sensations taking her to places she never knew existed. Her grip on Tom was like a vise. She looked up into his nasty ugly black face and opened her mouth and began kissing him and searching for his tongue. Tom kept his enormous black cock wedged deep inside the white wife. She hunched and flexed her hips to extract all the shattering sensations she could from this erotic, brutal moment. She moved on him for what seemed like hours before her hips slowed and her mouth broke away from his. It had in reality last a minute or two but it was the best minute of her life. Tom was still firm and lodged deep within her. He reached up and pulled her arms away from his neck. Holding her wrists he pulled her up so his cock could pull out and then lowered her to the ground in front of him. "Now suck the cum out of me, whore," he told. Suzanne took his wet cock in her hand and jerked the massive, slick rod. Her mouth moved to capture the head and she swirled her tongue on it and the sensitive underside. Tom was close to shooting his cum load and was flexing his hips in time with her stroking hand and active mouth. Both of his hands were knotted in her hair as he cried out. His dick suddenly began to pulse. Suzanne felt it happening and tightened her lips around his cock. He began to launch his cum into her. The first blast was like a fire hose and she choked a bit. This made her pull the head out of her mouth so she could swallow his spunk. Her hands held his cock to her lips pointing up and his eruptions continued. She used her tongue on the underside of the cock head while holding it tight to her full lips. Her face was flooded with his juice and her forehead and hair received ample amounts of the warm fluid. Suzanne was soaked by the amazing amount of Tom's cum. She then took him back in her mouth and sucked the rest of his semen into her throat and drank it down. Tom released his grip on her hair and stepped back from her. He looked at the mess on her face and head and hair and smiled. Suzanne just squatted there before him and tried to catch her breath. "I think my white whore would do anything for old Tom. I think my whore is addicted to this black cock," he said snickering down at her and smiling. "Yes, Sir, anything you want. Anything you ask," she said as she looked up through her cum splattered face. Her expression was total submission and arousal. "Good, now suck his cock," he said pointing to the door behind her. Suzanne turned around; confused by his reference to someone else. That's when she saw him. "Oh, I can't, he's so young," she cried out as she saw a young black boy in his late teens, maybe 19, standing at the doorway with his pants around his ankles and his big cock fully erect. "Suck my son's black cock," Tom demanded.