He lies beside me, his face older, rugged, serious but softened by a boyish dimple near his mouth. His forearms are muscular, the skin darkened by the sun and decorated with tattoos which to my eyes are blurred, indistinguishable.
I should forget. I should open my eyes, but I don’t want to. I want to stay here in this moment with him. There is no-one else. I want to make love to him, just this one more time.
Reading my thoughts, he moves his much greater weight over mine. I open my legs, kissing him, running my hands down through his chest hair to caress him, to feel the hardness of a man who is desperate to make love. He slips easily inside of me, two of my fingers taking the place of his penis, moving in and out, in and out. To aid my growing excitement I try to recall a faded memory of past sex but it’s difficult to hold on to.
The voice of Logic opens one sleepy eye and smiles patiently. Oh honey, you are alone.
I open my eyes, and of course she’s right. The room is bright, the yellow curtains aglow in their effort to hold out the early morning sunshine.
As I rise, shower and dress, the mirrors of the bedroom and bathroom are waiting for me. They are the favourite hiding places of that cruel voice of Criticism, waiting to whisper her poisonous witch’s words from behind the glass. On bad days she tells me my long hair is dull and without style, those curves are not feminine and cuddly, oh no, they are nothing more than fat, and I can forget about looking pretty, my looks are average at best. She is the enemy within.
Whatever I’m doing, I’m thinking of him. He is never far from my thoughts. Tattoo Man, I call him, I don’t know his real name. It can’t be love, I barely know him. Is it infatuation? I don’t know. I might be in my thirties but I’ve had little experience with men, so I really don’t know. I just can’t get him out of my head. I think it’s a side effect of the fantasies. My imagination has tricked my heart into believing I’m close enough to someone to have strong feelings for them.
At first, I didn’t notice him. He was of no interest, but he kept watching me with a long, lingering gaze that made me think about him, fancy him, and ultimately fantasize about him. Then there were the winks and the careful ‘hello’s’.
It’s moving towards contact, I had thought.
One day I was standing in the local newsagent trying to decide which magazine to buy when someone quite deliberately bumped their shoulder against mine. I looked up in surprise, into a pair of icy blue eyes that weren’t cold but full of mirth. He was several inches taller, and being so close I could see a sprinkle of grey mixed in to his dark hair, something I hadn’t noticed over a distance. We smiled together as though we were sharing a secret or a joke. The words which followed were small talk, but his proximity was a stronger message than any words.
He left me to pay for his things, then walked back along the aisle towards me. I looked up at him with my heart racing in my chest, thinking this had to be the moment he asked for more. He met my eyes but his face was suddenly clouded, as though he were unsure. Then he pulled on a smile, gave me a confident wink and pinched the soft flesh of my side as he passed.
I was excited at making contact with him, but also disappointed that nothing had happened between us. While I was trying to decide whether or not to read anything into our ‘moment’, the voice of Criticism just had to stick the boot in. Nothing happened, nothing will ever happen. He doesn’t fancy you. Why would he?
I dress in a white racer-back t-shirt which leaves my shoulders exposed, and blue denim shorts, then tie my hair up in a loose ponytail. I check my appearance in the mirror and today I like what I see.
We have been promised that today will be the hottest day of the summer, and as I step outside its clear the weatherman is right. The sky is perfectly blue and cloudless, the temperature noticeably warmer than that indoors. I’m an outdoor girl, and there is no better day to be outdoors than this.
On my way down to the riverbank and the woods and the trees and the grass, I first have to pass his house. I usually don’t see a soul. Now I see more than I want to. Today, I see a removal van. It shouldn’t come as a shock. The ‘for sale’ sign was stabbed viciously into the centre of his (their) perfectly manicured lawn months ago. It shouldn’t bother me, but somewhere deep inside I feel the cold slice of a knife blade. He’s leaving.
His (their) house has a big front garden with a lawn, hanging baskets overflowing with trailing purple surfinias and a driveway bordered by two low hedges of lavender. The pale living room curtains are edged with frills and neatly tied back and the whole effect simply screams ‘wife!’. I ask myself yet again how I could ever have thought he was single and the answer – whenever I saw him in the street he was always alone – just isn’t good enough. I had seen her only a handful of times, going in or leaving the house, someone easily dismissed as a visitor. I saw what I chose to see, until late one night I looked out of my bedroom window and saw her with him, walking home together, clearly a couple. He had his hands in his pockets, she had both of her arms wrapped tightly around one of his.
I lay in bed awake for hours, feeling hurt and jealous. I knew it was ridiculous to feel that way about someone I barely knew, but my fantasies had fooled my heart, and my heart was suffering because of them.
He’s standing outside talking to the removal van man, his faithful chocolate Labrador at his side. He is wearing jeans and his usual grey t-shirt. From this distance the tattoos decorating both of his forearms are indistinguishable. As I approach he turns his attention on to me, it’s like not only can he see me and into my eyes and into my thoughts but straight into the depths of my heart itself to where my feelings for him are hidden.
My skin prickles with heat and embarrassment. My feet speed up to match the pace of my thumping heart, carrying me quickly past and out of his line of vision.
I walk down into the valley, only slowing my pace as I reach an area of mown grass and picnic tables, already filling with summer visitors. It is the only tame part of the country park, the rest is dominated by ancient woodland, massive trees and deep undergrowth which hugs the river bank. Birds sing and call through the trees. One tarmac path leads past the picnic area and into the wood, running parallel to the river. I follow it, occasionally passing familiar dog walkers who smile and nod as they go by, enjoying the weather, the beauty of the area and the pleasure of each other’s company.
Tattoo Man creeps back into my thoughts. Seeing him always makes me replay our ‘moment’ once again, as I search for a possible meaning behind it. Logic tells me over and over again that there is no ‘meaning’, it was nothing more than a friendly exchange, but I know he wanted to touch me, he wanted to make that contact.
It was nothing, it didn’t mean anything, and even if he did have a shred of interest in you, it doesn’t matter anymore, he is leaving today. Criticism’s voice is stinging and unwelcome.
I feel a strange mix of despair and relief at the realisation that after today, I will never see him again. I need to unhook my heart from him. I need to find someone else, someone my age, someone who can ask me out on dates and hold my hand, someone available. I wonder how long it will take after he’s gone before the longing finally goes away.
That is up to you, the voice of Logic says. She tells it like it is.
A small brown vole suddenly streaks across the path like it’s trying to win a dare. It teases a smile out of me. It’s a beautiful place, a fantastic day and I’m determined to enjoy it.
As I lift my spirits, my walk brings me to a fallen tree, and I leave the tarmac path and head into the woodland behind it, picking up a sturdy branch as I pass to keep the low nettles and weeds at bay which will grab at my bare legs as I move deeper into the forest.
I have a secret place. I will spend the day there, until boredom or hunger finally drives me home. Hopefully, by then the removal van and Mr and Mrs Tattoo will be long gone.
I’d found it during one of my winter rambles, when the weeds had been blackened and beaten down by the devastating frosts. It’s a place too far off the tarmac track for most walkers to find. I first have a long walk through the deepest, most ancient part of the wood, then out into the open along a thin track which leads to an empty field. A ‘Beware the Bull’ sign is nailed onto the gate, but I have never seen a bull in there. I climb over the gate without hesitation and make my way over to the opposite side, as I go running my hands through the meadow grass dotted with poppies, cowslips and red Campion.
On the other side there is another stand of dense trees, where on occasion I have been lucky enough to glimpse a red squirrel. After a short walk through the undergrowth I come to the bank of a small stream, half the width of the main river into which it feeds. I leave my protective branch on the bank, intending to retrieve it later for the journey back. A nimble crossing over naturally placed stepping stones takes me to the opposite side.
I scramble up a rise dotted with trees, then I’m brought to a sudden, unexpected halt. My favourite place is occupied. From the top of the rise, I can see where the stream bends and drops down slightly. Beside the mini waterfall of only a foot or two, there is my grassy bank. A young couple are there, lying on a tartan picnic blanket. I can’t understand how they have found my place, they could not have found it by the same route I had taken, there was no disturbance of the weeds until I had beaten my way through with my trusty stick. I make a mental note to check out the surroundings for pathways I have not yet discovered.
The couple are gorgeous, young and both sport tans which could only have come from a tanning tube or another country. Their bodies are firm, athletic and a perfect match for one another. He is wearing only denim shorts, while she wears an almost matching short denim skirt, and a white vest top. Clearly one size too small, it is stretched tight across her ample chest, emphasizing the obvious fact that she isn’t wearing a bra.
They are lying close together, noses almost touching, talking, gently caressing each other, her bare foot with red painted toe nails stroking his leg. He entwines both of his hands in her brown, curly hair and kisses her, long and deep. Even from this distance, the sexual electricity between them is strong. I can’t help the pang of jealousy.
From my elevated position they can’t see me, but just to be sure, I hide behind a tree. I watch them partly because I’m curious, partly because I feel that I can because they are using ‘my’ place.
Through the hum of the river insects and the gentle gurgling of the stream as it pours over the drop beside them, I hear the girl’s voice, soft and loving. “I really like you, John.”
The man called John smiles. “I like you too. I can’t get enough of you. In fact, I’ve planned a special night for us.”
“Who says I’m spending tonight with you?” the girl replies, with a mock tone of conflict. “I might be washing my hair, or going out with my friends, or watching TV, or going out with David…”
On hearing the name, John dives on her and tickles her until she shrieks with uncomfortable laughter. “You are not going out with Mammy’s boy David…” John says as she tries to wriggle and writhe out of his clutches, “…you are going out with me!”
Normally when I’m alone in the woods and well off the tarmac path, my ‘danger’ radar is on full alert. As a woman alone I am aware of my vulnerability, so my senses become more focussed, sharper. My hearing becomes more acute and my eyes take in everything, even the changing levels of the light. So I’m completely surprised when I hear a rustling sound right behind me, too big to be a bird in the undergrowth.
Suddenly tense, I look around quickly.
A familiar chocolate Labrador is snuffling around amongst the bushes behind me. His legs and chest are soaking wet. Before my mind can even fully process what I am seeing, I feel Hope leap to her imaginary feet and clap her hands.
Tattoo man is standing there. His lips are tight as though he wants to smile, but he’s trying to gauge my reaction to his appearance first. It’s almost like he fears rejection as much as I do.
My body floods with nervous anxiety. He has followed you, Hope whispers, beaming.
I think she is right. He is too far off the main path to have stumbled upon me by accident. I can’t understand how I didn’t sense his presence behind me.
He smiles at me, and I return his smile. I try to tell myself to stop shaking, I don’t want him to see the effect he is having on me.
A giggle from the couple behind me gives me an excuse to move my attention away from him and the limbo of not knowing what to do or say. They are kissing again, John’s hands roaming over his lady’s body.
Seconds later Tattoo man is standing beside me, right beside me, resting one hand on the tree trunk. He is within my personal space again, his shoulder an inch away from touching mine. “What’s going on?” he asks me, his voice soft.
I’m about to reply when I feel his hand rest on my bare shoulder. “They… they are in my spot,” is the best I can manage.
The girl is kneeling now, her hands resting on her bare knees. “So, what is it you have planned for me tonight?”
Tattoo man watches them for a moment, then I sense rather than see his head move to face me and I feel his breath on my cheek. “What’s your name?”
His features have softened to a gentle smile and his eyes move from mine, down to my nose, then my lips, then back to my eyes again. I read somewhere that if a man studies your face that way it is a sign of real affection. I hope it’s true. My facial muscles relax and I match his smile. Suddenly we are closer, the awkwardness has gone. “My name is Sarah,” I tell him. “What’s yours?”
“Gerry.”
The man called John has moved himself into a cross-legged position opposite the girl. “Well, first I’d like to go to a lovely little restaurant I know, where I can have some good food, good wine and good conversation with the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen…”
The girl beams, her beautiful face glowing. “Mmm… sounds good!”
“… and then with my arm around your waist, we have a nice, slow walk back to my flat where we make love, passionately… but slowly… and sensuously… and at least twice,” he punctuates the last few words with kisses.
“Oh, yeah,” Gerry mutters, making me smile again. Then his hand moves down from my shoulder to sit on my waist. I realise the hand on the shoulder was a test, to see how I’d react to him touching me. Now he moves behind me, holding me, pressing his face into my hair. This isn’t like my fantasies. His touch is what I have been aching for, but I have no control, no idea of what is coming next. I take a deep breath and try to relax.
The Labrador has bored of his explorations and appears at our feet, gazing up at us, possibly wondering why his master is touching a woman other than his mistress. Whatever is going through his doggy mind, it doesn’t concern him for long. He twists around and around like dogs do to flatten the undergrowth where he stands, then lies down, resting his head on his paws with a deep sigh.
The girl is leaning forward, stroking John’s thigh. “Sounds good. Will you be gentle with me?” she purrs.
His lips seek hers out again. “Like it’s your first time.”
They kiss, harder this time, urgent. His jaw is moving as though he’s working his tongue deep into her mouth. His hands reach for her breasts, but she pushes him away.
“Oh, come on darling,” he complains.
She straightens up and shedding the ‘shy-girl’ persona, grins like a whore. “Do you fancy a taster?” She pulls both shoulder straps of her vest top down to release her breasts into the warm summer air.
“Oh…” Gerry echoes John’s moan from behind me. He wraps his arms tight around me and pulls my body against his. I feel myself melting against him. From somewhere far off I hear the voice of Criticism hiss, he’s married! But she sounds far away and is easy to ignore. His forearms are wrapped around my middle and I look down at those tattoos. On his right arm there is a highly detailed snarling wolf’s head, while on the left, a brightly coloured dragon is twisting its way up towards his elbow. I run the palms of my hands over them, burning the images into my memory.
“I know how you feel about me… Sarah,” he says quietly.
I feel my cheeks redden at his words.
John reaches for his girlfriend’s body and pulls her towards him, his lips seeking out her breasts.
I am pulsing down below, my arousal caused by a combination of being held tightly in Gerry’s arms while seeing two young lovers exploring each other’s bodies, for what appears to be the first time. Suddenly it feels okay to watch them. Gerry and I are watching them together, a pair of voyeurs, partners in crime.
He nuzzles my face and whispers, “Can I kiss you?”
I feel as though time has stopped, the world is standing still. I know I should be a good girl, I should move away from him, say goodbye, and go back home. Yes, you go back home, I tell myself, he will go back to his wife and you will go back to being alone, to wake in the morning with only your hand to kiss and and to wonder how long it will be before you feel the touch of a real man.
I turn my head and feel his lips on mine. His morning stubble tickles my skin. His touch is gentle, slow at first, then his tongue presses between my lips and into my mouth, and I meet it with my own.
The girl’s panting voice drifts over towards us. “Ooooh, that’s so good, baby. What are you going to do to me tonight?”
Gerry’s lips leave mine. I study his features, trying to memorise every detail of a face I’m sure I’ll never see again. Time is frozen. It’s like we are in a globe, the four of us, but it’s not a winter globe that fills with falling snowflakes when shaken, it’s a summer globe, filled with the lilting sounds of birdsong and floating rays of sunshine. There is nothing beyond the woodland, no-one else in the world.
“You are the loveliest, sexiest girl I’ve ever seen,” Gerry breathes.
Down near the stream, John lifts his head from his girl’s nipples. Both of them are now hard and moist. “I’m gonna fuck you, baby,” his voice is hoarse.
The girl wriggles out of her vest top, pulls her denim skirt up round her waist to reveal a tiny pink thong and climbs into his lap, wrapping her long legs around him. His hands roam freely over her body, on her face, in her blond hair, down her shoulders and back to grip her bare buttocks. Then he returns his attention to her nipples.
“Oh suck it… harder!” she cries.
His hand moves down between their bodies. She gasps then giggles as his hand moves quickly back and forth between her legs.
“Oh… look,” Gerry murmurs into my ear as he moves behind me again. His fingers trail across the bare skin of my shoulder blades and trace a line under the material of my racer-back top. I’m so glad I decided to wear it. It gives easy access to my skin, something he is taking full advantage of. “He’s got his fingers inside of her,” his voice is husky.
The girl is grinding herself onto John’s hand. Her face is up towards the sky, her long blond hair hanging down her back. She suddenly moves away from her boyfriend and sheds her clothes until she’s sitting on the blanket wearing nothing but her tiny thong. Her body is toned and sleek, her tummy perfectly flat.
“Fuck me…” Gerry mutters. One of his hands is holding my hip while the other is gently squeezing my behind.
John watches, clearly excited as his girl uses a red painted fingernail to push her thong to one side and continue what he started. “I have to fuck you… do you want it here?”
The girl laughs, wriggling. “Why not?”
John stands to remove his shorts. Naked now, he proudly holds his slightly upward curling erection. His backside is strikingly white, a strong contrast to his tanned torso. They are totally unaware of their more than appreciative audience.
The girl immediately pulls herself to her knees and shuffles towards him to take his penis into her mouth. John groans and wraps his fingers in her hair.
Gerry’s kisses trail from my ear down my neck. His hands are still working their magic on my body. “Do you want to say goodbye to me?”
For once, the voices of guidance are silent. They have no advice to give. This is a decision to be made by me alone. I almost laugh out loud. Alone? I am always alone. Day after day, I go to sleep and wake up in an empty bed.
He looks at me with gentle eyes, as if reading my thoughts. “It’s okay, it’s just you and me.”
“Yes,” I say, a little shy again.
He presses his body against mine. His hands slide up to cup my breasts. “What are they doing now?” he murmurs into my ear.
Over by the stream, the girl is now lying on her back on the blanket.
John peels her thong down her long, silky legs. “Let’s get this out of the way.”
“He’s lying on top of her now, kissing her,” I tell him.
Gerry’s hands move down to undo my shorts. They slip easily to the ground. I am wearing a thong too. His fingers slip underneath and rub my neatly trimmed pubic hair. “What now?”
“He’s licking her nipples… now he’s moving down… he’s kissing her belly… she’s opened her legs…”
His fingers move between my legs to stroke my softest flesh. He kisses my bare shoulder, his tongue tracing circles on my skin. “Is his head between her legs?”
I can hardly breathe. I feel moist down there, he must be able to feel it too. “Yes.”
“He’s licking her out?”
“Yes…oh…”
“Do you like that? Do you want me to do that to you?”
It takes an effort to speak. “Yes.”
He sinks slowly down behind me, caressing my body as he moves, kissing my back, my buttocks. Then he pushes my legs apart and crawls between them. Kneeling, he turns to face me. He leans back against the trunk of the tree we have been hiding behind and guides my hips towards his face. “Keep watching them,” he says with a boyish grin which makes him look younger than his years.
His fingers gripping my thighs, he pulls my groin to his face and kisses my thong. It’s teasing, erotic. I rest my palms on the tree trunk above his head. I ache for him to do more, to feel his lips and tongue on my sex. For a moment I have an image of Hope as some red-haired girl with green eyes and cheeks covered with freckles pretending to cover her eyes with her hands, but peeking through a gap in her fingers and giggling.
His thumb latches under my thong and moves it to one side. I look down. With his eyes fixed on mine, his tongue begins to caress my clitoris. “God, you taste good.” His moans are exciting me as much as his tongue. It touches the entrance to my vagina briefly then flicks forward to catch my clit. His stubble rubs against my softest parts as his mouth does its work.
His hair is so short I can see his scalp through it. I run my fingers over it, it feels soft. Mother Nature carries me away and I rock my hips back and forth as my orgasm quickly builds.
“Oh… baby… oh baby….” the girl is crying, her man’s head bobbing between her open thighs. They are completely oblivious to our presence. I wonder what they would think if they knew that we were sharing their moment with them.
Gerry’s mouth encircles my labia and he sinks his tongue inside of me, like a man trying to suck the last of the crème out of a chocolate egg.
Every muscle from the bottom of my ribcage down to my groin clenches hard, then my clitoris sends out a wave of pleasure which races upwards, convulsing the muscles and relaxing them in its wake.
Gerry stands up slowly and kisses me, holding my face with both of his hands. I can taste myself on his lips. “You’re gorgeous,” he tells me quietly.
He turns to look at the couple. The girl is still lying on her back, while John is sitting up beside her, wiping his face.
“They don’t have the slightest clue they’re being watched, do they?” Gerry says with a grin. We share our conspirators’ quiet smiles. He has just made me come with his tongue, I remind myself, and the thought makes my grin even wider.
He kisses me again, and I run my hands down his chest to his groin, where I feel a snake of a bulge heading down his leg. I wonder what is going to happen next. He moves round to hold me from behind again, so he can watch the couple.
The girl stretches and wriggles her body on the blanket. “I’m sorry baby, I should have told you, I need lots of stimulation!”
“What you need, is some of this.” He proudly strokes his cock. Her knees come up and part to allow him entrance. He penetrates her slowly, all the way in, then all the way back out. Her fingernails grasp his broad back and she wraps her legs around him.
I hear a zip coming down behind me, then Gerry’s gentle hands are on my back. “Kneel down, sweetheart.”
Oh god, he’s going to fuck me! Despite my orgasm I am still aching with desire. He manoeuvres me on to my hands and knees. I’m like a bitch in heat waiting to be mounted. I feel his palms on my buttocks, pressing them apart, then a length of warm meat is pressed against my softest flesh. Instinctively I clench my pelvic muscles, wanting to clamp onto him, wanting to draw him inside. He begins to move himself up and down, the length of his manhood caressing both of my holes at the same time. My pelvis is on fire, my sexual juices lubricating him. I ache to have him inside of me.
“Oh, please… please…” my whisper drifts up into the air.
I feel pressure, then that stretching feeling as his glans pushes the entrance to my vagina open and the rest slides inside me easily. He watches the man – John – and matches his strokes. He moves slowly within me. In my position, I can feel every inch of him. I put my hand on my abdomen, as though my fingers will be able to feel him through my flesh. One of his hands joins mine there.
John’s behind begins to pump faster and the girl cries out, pressing her palms against his stomach as if she can’t take any more. He stops moving, kisses her, then goes back to a slower rhythm, punctuating their lovemaking with kisses and words I can no longer hear.
As his speed increases again, I know I’m going to get the same. Oh yes! Gerry grasps my shoulders and fucks me hard, the flesh of his groin slapping against my backside. I cannot help the groans of pleasure as I feel his manhood pressing against my womb, over and over again.
John’s shiny white backside pumps faster and faster between his lover’s thighs, then with a loud groan and a push, his orgasm begins. He continues to thrust inside her, slower now, deep thrusts, pushing each release deep inside of her. She claws at his back as she cries out her own orgasm.
Gerry is older, more experienced. He makes it last longer for me. I hold back for as long as I can, until finally my muscles convulse once again, this time wrapped around him, and I have to bite my own arm to muffle my cries. At the same moment he groans through gritted teeth and fills me. The young couple below are too busy with their post-sex kissing to hear.
He gently pulls out of me, and as I straighten a trail of his sperm makes its way down my inner thigh. He retrieves my shorts for me and looks away almost politely as I redress my lower half, then he pulls me into his arms and kisses me, a loving kiss. He holds me close, his forehead and nose resting on mine, one thumb gently stroking my cheek as though my face were some exquisite thing. “I’ll never forget you, Sarah. My lovely, sexy girl.”
The chocolate Labrador is restless. It scratches its neck with its hind foot until Gerry orders it to ‘Come!’. It looks up at me for a moment with big brown eyes that have witnessed a secret it can never share with another, then climbs to its feet.
Gerry smiles at me as he turns to leave. “Goodbye, sweetheart.”
I smile back at him, and wave. “Bye, Gerry.”
I watch until he’s almost out of sight. He looks back once more, waves again, then disappears. My eyes hang on to his dog, following behind him, then the Labrador is gone too.
The couple have also dressed themselves, though they are still lying on their blanket, holding one another. I think it was their first time together. I leave them now, and wander through the woods, glowing with post-sex euphoria and pleasantly sore down below. I soon come across a tree trunk lying on the ground. It must have been there for years, it’s covered with moss. I climb up onto it and tilt my head back, closing my eyes as I take a long, deep breath inwards.
I’m not sure how I will feel, as the hours pass and this time, this day becomes a memory. Maybe it will make the longing and the loneliness worse. Maybe. But that is up to me, isn’t it?
I half expect a jibe from the voice of Criticism, but she is strangely silent. I imagine Hope and Logic have gagged and bound her, determined not to let her spoil my day. I laugh to myself at the thought. I know without a doubt that she will have far less to say, the next time I look at myself in that mirror.
I want to remember this day as I feel now - good and happy, warm and beautiful. I can choose how to feel when I remember him, and this is what I choose.
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