‘Do you want everything I have in me to give? Do you want to give me everything?’
‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘Yes please.’
Her lips were everywhere, all over him, driving him mad. Then she showed him what to do to send her crazy. He stroked her, he sucked her nipples, and his fingers played endlessly in the soft wetness between her legs. By the time she opened her legs wide and guided him into her he was so excited it was over almost at once.
‘I’m sorry,’ he stuttered.
‘Don’t be,’ she said. ‘You are so beautiful. You are going to give me so much pleasure.’
She began to stroke his body again, starting behind the ears, rubbing, teasing, gently prodding, using her hands and her lips. With her fingertips she traced a path from the pit of his throat to the base of his belly, and by the time she got there he was erect again and dying to be inside her once more.
For the second time she took him in her mouth and ran her tongue around him, up and down, around and around his stiffness. Then she mounted him and rode him, rocking backwards and forwards until she reached a wonderful, extravagant climax. As it burst from her, so she tightened around him, almost hurting him, urging even more sensation from her body. He watched her face. Her eyes were closed tight and her lips were apart. Her tongue was moving inside her mouth and her glorious body was opening and closing even more deliciously around him and she made him climax again, squeezing every last drop out of him and into her. He really was in heaven.
But afterwards she sent him away.
‘I was alone and I needed it,’ was all she would tell him. That and: ‘You looked so handsome, so nice.’
Her eyes were full of longing and despair. She clenched her fists tightly, almost as though she were in pain.
He had asked if he could see her again and she had said no. Only when, in desperation, he refused to leave until she agreed, did she give in.
‘Can you get out at night?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ he had said recklessly.
‘Next week then, after midnight. I’ll meet you at the back door.’
And so for four wonderful months he had sneaked out of his house at midnight and ridden his bicycle to the golf club where he hid it in bushes before meeting her at the back door. At first they met once a week, then twice, then three, sometimes four times. No wonder Johnny was so sure he had flunked his A-levels. They just could not get enough of each other. She always made him leave before it was light. But he began to live only for those stolen few hours. She taught him so much. He learned to enjoy licking and kissing her sexy wetness as much as she seemed to like to take him in her mouth. He learned where to push with his tongue, where to squeeze with his lips, where to nibble, oh so delicately, with his strong white teeth. He would never forget the first time he brought her to orgasm with his mouth. She bucked beneath him like an unbroken pony. It was so exciting, he had come himself all over the bedclothes.
And he would never forget the first time he climaxed in her mouth. He was sitting naked on the edge of the bed and she was kneeling before him. She was so good at it and her tongue was so clever. She had begun to play with his scrotum with her hands when suddenly it happened. He hadn’t meant to do that to her. He had tried to pull himself away. But she had her hands on his bottom and was dragging him further into her. And as he pumped himself into her sweet mouth he realised that her throat was moving. She was swallowing his come. He found the idea so exciting he thought his orgasm was never going to stop.
Afterwards, when they lay in each other’s arms, warm and snug and satisfied, he had apologised. She had told him never to apologise for an act of love. And anyway, it made her feel that she was drinking his heart.
Drinking his heart! Oh, the glory of her.
He was so happy he wanted to tell the world about their love. But she insisted their meetings be the most carefully guarded secret. And so he had to creep in and out of the clubhouse in the dark to reach the joyous haven of her bedroom.
One night she had asked him what he would most like in all the world to do with her. He had replied that he would like to take her into deep woodland in the sunshine and lie with her among golden daffodils and gently tickle her entire body with a soft fern until she begged him to touch her with his hands and to enter her and give her all of his love. Other women might have mocked him. She was delighted with his answer. The use of language they shared was a great part of their pleasure.
Three days later, Marjorie told him to meet her at a remote crossroads early in the afternoon. She arrived in a borrowed car and they drove deep into the countryside. It was the only time they ever really went anywhere together, and the only time they met in daylight. She parked in an old disused quarry and they ran hand in hand like children deep into dense woodland. It was early May and the spring flowers were still blooming. With lovers’ luck they found a small clearing surrounded by big old oak trees. It was carpeted with daffodils and bluebells.
He had cried out: ‘It’s my daffodil glen.’
And she had replied with pleasure: ‘Blue and yellow, like a painting by Monet, only nature is an even greater artist. You are also an artist, my love, and I am your canvas.’
He undressed her the way she had undressed him that first time, gently, tenderly, deliberately. The sun dappled her lovely body as he laid her down, found a piece of fern and began to stroke her with it just the way he had told her he wanted to. She opened her legs and he brushed her there with it, just a tease of a touch. When she could endure it no longer she reached for his hands and placed them firmly on her body and he could feel the strength of her desire through his fingertips. When he rolled on top of her she was smiling at him, her lips parted in anticipation of shared joy. When they climaxed together under the big oak trees, she took him truly to heaven again. Only after they had finished and dressed each other did he think of the madness of what they had done. Other people did walk through woods on sunny days. But that day their dream had held.
Then one night he dared to tell her that he loved her. And he felt her whole being tense beside him. ‘Nonsense,’ she said. ‘Nonsense.’
But he meant it, from the depths of his soul he meant it.
‘It’s my fault, I should not have let it go this far, we’ve got to stop,’ she said.
At first he thought she must be joking. Then he started to beg her to tell him she did not mean it. Then he was just begging. There were tears in his eyes and he was trembling. She felt her heart melt. He had invaded her soul and she could not turn him away. But she told him they must be more careful. She was sure the bar steward was suspicious, and it was imperative for his safety that nobody knew about them. He neither knew nor cared what on earth she was talking about. All that mattered was that she had agreed that she would go on seeing him, although from now on they would meet less often and in the sand dunes. It was summer, she told him, it was warm enough.
Anywhere would have been warm enough for Johnny as long as Marjorie Benson was there. In the beginning he had thought that she was embarrassed because he was so young, and that was the reason for her demands for total secrecy. But gradually he realised there was much more to it than that. Marjorie Benson was a mystery. He told her everything about himself, his grandfather, how he had lost his virginity along with a string of other boys with a young school matron, even the court case he tried so hard to forget. She told him next to nothing. He knew that she was thirty-one years old, and that she wrote poetry. Her past was never discussed, any questions he might ask were ignored or skilfully fielded. She was intelligent bordering on intellectual and he sensed that she had been highly educated. She was certainly not Johnny’s idea of your average barmaid.