Foreign Affairs

by Jacqueline George

  On the following day, he dared the beach again, arriving early enough to take the same sun bed. He had not been there long, in fact he had hardly settled down at all, when the girl appeared. Alone. She looked slightly ridiculous in her flat straw hat and over-sized sunglasses. She wore a loose tee-shirt as a beach robe. Surprised to see her unaccompanied, Peter gestured to the empty bed beside him, but with a tiny shake of her head, she went on to the neighbouring umbrella and started to spread her things over both beds.

  Peter rolled onto his tummy and waited. She knew she was on stage again and took her time getting everything ready. Slowly she spread a rush mat on the sun bed and dusted it free of sand. Then she rummaged in her bag for a book and her glasses. She threw her hat onto the neighbouring bed and went back into her bag for the sun oil. Peter knew she was toying with him, but that just made it more fun. In the end, she could delay no longer.

  She looked at him as before, but this time with a tiny smile that acknowledged his role as a spectator. She turned to him and pulled up her tee-shirt. Nothing. She had absolutely nothing under the shirt. She had come all the way from town by motor bike or bus wearing only a man-sized tee-shirt. Peter was shaken by her bravery. This girl had a right to be disdainful.

  Her body excited him even more than when he had first seen it. She had appeared provocative before, but what she had just done, coming from town dressed so close to the edge of decency, showed a fine appreciation of what sexual display meant to men. He dimly understood she must have had him in mind when she set out, and he found that comforting.

  Peter smiled at her and mimed wiping the sweat from his brow. His gesture seemed to please her, and she reached for the sun oil. Again she sat on the edge of the bed and started to rub the oil on her arms and legs, sometimes glancing at him to see if he appreciated the show. Now that he seemed to have established contact, Peter did not feel at all embarrassed to watch her. She stood up to oil the backs of her thighs and her bottom. She had turned partly away from him, and he stared in fascination as her little hand rubbed and caressed the bouncy cheeks and sometimes disappeared between them. She enjoyed her body, and enjoyed showing it off.

  Seated again, she poured oil into her cupped hand and started on her chest. Both hands rubbed down from her shoulders to the upper slopes of her breasts. Soon she was cupping them and oiling them carefully. One at a time, for Peter's benefit rather than because it was necessary, she pulled her remarkable nipples out between finger and thumb and rubbed oil into them with her other fore-finger, then rapidly over her stomach to the fur at its base. She looked quickly around her and, seeing no one else paying any attention, she up-ended the bottle over her mound and started to dress her pink lips with oil. Peter turned to stone as he watched her fingers run rapidly up and down, working the oil into every fold.

  She stopped and looked up at him. She seemed dare him to do what was in his mind, and he nearly jumped to his feet. Embarrassment kept him where he was. He could not bring himself to stand up and cross the narrow stretch of sand between them because all the beach would see just how excited he was. She shrugged her shoulders as if it was all one to her whether he came or not and stretched out on the bed.

  In a moment she was up again. The bed was not comfortable, and she decided to raise the head a little. Slowly, and taking care that his eyes followed her every move, she bent over and adjusted the bed. The sight of her so close, and especially her voluptuous bottom reaching out towards him, was a cruel torment. His pot was rapidly coming to the boil.

  He reached crisis point when she decided to oil her back before lying down. She could easily reach her lower back. By stretching her arms around herself, she could oil her shoulders, but there remained a substantial patch untouched. With a mocking smile on her face, she reached out the oil bottle to Peter.

  It was too much. He could no longer just sit and watch. Not caring who might see his excitement, he wrapped his towel around his waist and stood up. Two steps and he found himself sitting on the edge of her bed with the oil bottle in hand. His upright tail was tucked more or less decently between his legs. She had rolled onto her stomach and slid sideways to allow him a little space on which to perch.

  For a moment he did nothing more than look at her. Her skin was smooth and silky. From her narrow shoulders, where she had a small mole to one side of her neck, down to her ankles, she had no blemish. Uncertainly, he reached out and touched her between the shoulder blades with a fingertip. A slight shudder ran through her. Encouraged, he poured a small pool of oil onto her back and started to massage it slowly over her shoulders. She rewarded him with a sigh.

  Savouring every moment, and taking far longer than necessary, he massaged the oil first into her shoulders then down her back to her waist. He worked more slowly as he reached the pronounced upward slope of her hips. He was only centimetres away from the hills that had been stimulating him. He moved down the bed to be nearer. Pouring oil into his cupped hands, he reached for her resilient cheeks. She made no sound as he gripped and rubbed her delightful bottom.

  Peter was in heaven. Under his hands the luxurious flesh yielded and bounced back again. Still she made no sound, but bringing her elbows underneath her, she lifted her shoulders from the bed and buried her face in her hands. Peter rubbed on. He kneaded her cheeks firmly one at a time with both hands. He reached for more oil and allowed it to trickle a short way into her dark divide before rescuing it and spreading it more widely. First his fingers, then his thumbs probed deeply into her furrow. She shifted uneasily, and her legs moved apart.

  Although he still concentrated on her bottom, his hands wandered occasionally onto her thighs, and soon his fingers were slipping between them. His heart pounded as his fingertips brushed the lips of her sex. The girl showed no reaction at all to his caresses, but she could hardly fail to be aroused by what she was experiencing. He decided that her stillness was not just acquiescence, but more an invitation to proceed. With one hand pretending to massage her hips, he reached with the other deep between her thighs. His fingers touched her moist lips and slid between them. He had barely touched the focus of her pleasure when her legs closed tightly about his hand. She fell forward onto the bed and wound her arms around the top and back of her head. Her body trembled violently and she moaned deep in her throat.

  Peter waited without moving for the tumult to subside. Then she pulled his hand away and turned to face him.

  “This was very good. What is your name?” Her German had a soft singing accent. He guessed she came from Austria.

  Peter replied in English. “I'm Peter. And you?”

  “Oh, you are English. My name is Ingrid. You have very good hands, Peter. You make me much pleasure.” She sat up to look between his legs. “Poor Peter. You are very ready, but I can do nothing to you.”

  “I want to make love to you,” he blurted out.

  “Here?” she laughed in delight. “Before you will not come and talk to me even when I am taking off my clothing for you, but today you want to make love when everyone is seeing. It is not possible. I cannot do this.”

  Peter must have looked very crestfallen because she reached out a sympathetic hand and rested it on his thigh. He looked down at her pink-varnished fingernails only a centimetre or two from the raging cock concealed between his legs. “I want to do it,” he insisted. “You came all the way here in only a tee-shirt. You can't be shy.”

  Again she laughed happily. “Yes. I will tell you about that later.” Her attention moved down to his sex and she mused, “Perhaps it is possible. You will do exactly as I say and do not embarrass me? Good. Then I will let you make love with me. But not today. Tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow? Why not today?”

  “Because I am not ready. But if you will come here tomorrow at four o'clock, then it will be possible.” She sounded quite definite, and it was obviously not worth trying to change her mind.

  “Now, you will lie down and I will put oil on you.”

  He stretched himself ou
t and prepared to be cosseted, but to his surprise, Ingrid was no more than business-like. She briskly rubbed oil onto his back and thighs, and then, returning to her bed, she moved it so that while her head would be close to Peter, the rest of her would be safely out of his reach.

  They lay chattering for some time, and Peter drew out some of her background. She was a student nurse, together with her friend Helga. They had come on their first trip to Greece, and they were enjoying it very much because of the “freedoms of experience” they found. Peter silently hoped that he might be one of her selected freedoms.

  As the day drew to a close, Helga appeared and, after introduction, took Ingrid off for a swim. Peter declined her invitation as he was not sure that his unruly part would behave itself. He rested his head on his arms until the girls reappeared and announced they were leaving. “Auf weidersehen!” they called as they left. Ingrid lingered a few steps behind and added softly “Until tomorrow, yes?”

  The sun had begun to disappear, and in the cool of the evening, he risked the short walk down the beach to the sea. He saw nothing on the journey to upset his equilibrium, and the freshness of the water was a welcome antidote.

  In spite of deliberately staying out late that evening and drinking more than normal, he had a disturbed night. Memories of the afternoon filled his mind, and he could feel again the texture of the oil on Ingrid's skin, the childish delicacy of her back and shoulders and the urgent warmth that had bathed his fingers when he reached down underneath her. He lay dozing in bed until well into the morning.

  The hours until four o'clock dragged slowly by. He felt a wild elation, but at the same time the sort of fearful anticipation that normally came before an interview or examination. Unable to take an interest in anything other than his rendezvous, he decided to walk to the beach. It was several kilometres away, and the journey should at least waste some time. He followed the narrow, winding road out of town. He passed frequent houses and he enjoyed staring over the dry-stone walls at the little gardens that surrounded them, islands of green in a rainless landscape. The houses became fewer as the road dipped towards the beach.

  The sun beds they had used the previous day were occupied, and the nearest free ones lay further on. Not too far, he decided. She will be able to see me there. He made himself comfortable and then checked his watch. Half past two. It would be a long wait. He took off his watch and laid it where he could see it while reading.

  He awoke with a start and immediately looked at the time. Ten to four. What luck, he thought, being able to sleep the time away. Only ten minutes to go. What will she want to do? Obviously we can't make love here in the middle of the beach. The sea? That would probably be the safest place, in spite of all the kids with masks and snorkels. Apart from that, we could go for a walk over the rocks at either end of the beach. Not very comfortable and not a great deal of shelter either. Perhaps she would want to leave the beach entirely, go back to her hotel, or his. Warmth crept through his stomach, and his sex stirred lazily. He decided wherever she chose to go, he had better be ready to walk away beside her. Well aware of the effect her presence had on him, he decided to put on his swimming trunks for safety. He felt peculiarly embarrassed to dress in order to lie down again.

  His watch was so reluctant to move it must have been dipped in treacle. As four o'clock drew nearer, he turned his bed to give a better view of the entrance to the beach. Of course, she did not come at four. Or five past, or even ten past. Relax, he told himself, she will come. Auf weidersehen until tomorrow, yes? That's what she had said. Any woman is entitled to be late, and this one would do it deliberately just to make you suffer.

  All the same, he began to think she had made of fool of him again. The doubt had begun to harden into certainty when, springing from nowhere, there she was, walking towards him with her familiar smile.

  “Good afternoon, Peter. You are not so ready for me today, no?” She wore the flat straw hat from yesterday, and her face was in shadow. Yesterday's brave tee-shirt had gone, replaced with a brightly flowered summer dress. It looked conservative after her recent demonstrations. Thin straps over her shoulders, fairly tight to the waist and then flared out to above her knees. She caught the direction of his gaze. “Do you like my dress? It is new. I will use it to dancing the lambada.”

  “Yes, it's very nice,” he mumbled, imagining how it would fly out as she whirled and twirled. Just right for the lambada and its dramatic display of legs and knickers. What was she wearing under it today? he wondered.

  “Really, you are not ready for me. I think this is not how a gentleman should be.” She pouted as she dumped her bag on the neighbouring bed.

  “Er – you want to stay here?” he asked.

  “But of course we must stay here. You wish to make love, yes? No?”

  “Oh yes! But...”

  “Ha! You are again shy. Never mind. I will take care of you. But first you must take off your clothing. It is not possible to make love like that. Come.” Like the nurse she was, she took charge. First she lowered the head of the bed until he lay flat, then taking the sun oil from her bag, she briskly rubbed it over the front of his body. He tried to wrap an arm around her but she disengaged herself and put it behind his head. Just the sight of her, even fully dressed, was making him respond, and he blessed the foresight that had made him put the swimming trunks on.

  “Now you must turn over.”

  He did not resist, but he did summon up the wit to ask what she was doing. “I am getting you ready for making love. That is what you want, no?”

  Her little hands began to apply oil to his legs, and Peter's mind started to race. What was she trying to do? The excitement of being under her control was unbearable, and he knew his swimming trunks would do little to conceal his condition when they finally stood up to leave. Her hands worked up his legs, one after the other, right up to his trunks. Then without hesitation, she gripped his trunks at the waist and pulled them down.

  “What? I mean, you can't....” He was in trouble again. If she took off his trunks, he would be glued to the sun bed, unable to move without exposing himself to the whole beach.

  “Lift up,” she encouraged him as his trunks left his hips. “Up! That is right. Very good. Ah, now you are ready for me. As she eased his trunks over his feet, his sex lengthened between his thighs. She quickly rubbed oil onto his buttocks and the small of his back. Peter’s blood raced as she slipped a hand down to his secret place, and her fingertips trailed the length of him. “It is very good,” she said. “You are very ready again, just like yesterday.”

  To reach his shoulders, she stepped over the bed and sat on him, spreading her dress as she did so. Peter trembled. The heavy warmth of her bottom pressed against him. She oiled his shoulders and leaned far forward to leave a quick kiss on his cheek. As she did so, he felt a brush of hair against the centre of his back. She had no panties again! The thought of what she was hiding under the new dress was even more stimulating to his fevered imagination than the sight of her had been yesterday. “Now you will turn over slowly,” she ordered.

  In a daze, he wriggled onto his back. As he did so, his confined sex sprang free, only to be confined again when she sat on his hips and pressed it back against his thighs. The sensations and textures he felt under her skirts were incredible. The luxurious smoothness of her bottom pressed onto him, the roughness of the dress fabric against his skin and the warmth under the skirt she was arranging around her. Her cheeks trapped his sex beneath her.

  “You like?” Her blue eyes smiled at his confusion. “It is good?”

  “It is very good.”

  “Now it will get better.”

  Keeping her skirt spread around her, she moved slowly backwards along his thighs. Her cheeks slid along his shaft until the swollen head was pressed between them. “Yes?”

  “Oh God!” was all he could manage. Still moving with deliberate slowness, she put both hands on his chest and leaned forwards. He felt the weight leave his tip. She raised
herself slightly, and he felt her wetness on him. She offered her face to be kissed.

  Sitting down again, she continued the slow slide backwards. With relief, he felt the soft lips slide down to engulf his crest. As she sat there, his tip pressed against her entrance but could not rise up and slide into her. She looked flushed and much less composed. “Help me,” she whispered, reaching out both hands to him. He held her by the hands and supported her as she leaned back towards his feet. The moist warmth of her sex moved around him and welcomed him in. Pulling hard on his hands, she began to shuffle forwards, inching his shaft into her. She sat upright again, pinned on his cock and kneeling on either side of his hips. Once again she arranged her skirt demurely around her. Peter looked around. No one seemed to be watching them, and now they were locked together. Any onlooker would see no more than a girl sitting on her boyfriend's lap.

  His amazement was total. He lay in a daze and only came back to life when Ingrid sought his attention with a shake of her hips. He reached for her waist and attempted to move her up, but she resisted him. “No. You cannot do that. People will know.” Peter had reached the point where other people's opinions had ceased to matter, but she was adamant.

  “But what will we do?” he begged, pinned firmly to the bed.

  She smiled and reached behind his head for the bed. Pulling it upwards, she settled him in a reclining position. Her movements slipped her sex around him. She looked down on him with the same enigmatic smile. “Do you like me, Peter?”

  “You're wonderful!” he babbled. “So sexy, so beautiful. I want to do it to you now!”

  “Very good. I think you are interesting also. You are very shy and English, but in the end, you are where you want to be. And everybody on the beach will watch you if you are not still. Now it is possible to kiss me.” She took his head in both hands and bent over him.