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Perhaps the spectre of her had always been lodged deep in my brain, waiting, knowing. Maybe that image, misread by me, had lured me into triple pointless love affairs, and two failed marriages. Failed, because of my uncertainty, my inability to give everything. When Carol left six months earlier, her words had hurt but I could not fathom the truth in them, “Even when you're inside me, I feel you’re somewhere else. Fucking somebody else.”

Not true. Hell, I’m as lusty as they come, full of passion, always keen for the pull of a woman’s body. I’d never thought I had a problem on that score. It took that course in fiction writing to open a doorway to my soul.

That sounds so ethereal now, even though, in retrospect, hitting on that course was guided by the stars. Two novels, the first went immediately into bookshop offers, the second though, a thriller liberally peppered with sex had much better sales.

“See?” Arch Landers, my agent, had smirked. “Sex sells. Your next book must have the hero screwing like a rabbit.” That’s when he handed me the coloured fly-leaf, “Get yourself on this.” It was headed, ’Three-day Fiction Writing Course’

Reading the blurb, I found it was aimed specifically at those writers who had experienced some limited success. There were promises of added lectures from a few named celebrity authors. Pricey, it seemed, but the lure of a 5 star hotel, a single en-suite room, an exclusive limit of twelve participants, full hotel menu and plenty of coffee breaks, appealed to me, and the fates were quick to have me register.

Arch was pleased and had chuckled, “Maybe they’ll teach you how to write better sex scenes,” knowing there was a section on writing erotica. But neither of us could guess the practical, exclusively mine, I would receive when that locked door in my mind was opened.

The last Wednesday in May, I was pleased on viewing my single room on the first floor of the hotel, to find it very up-market. It was neat, compact and comfortable enough with views across lavish gardens that seemed ready to burst with summer colour. There was even a small desk on which stood a laptop with a small printer.

Casual dress was acceptable for most sessions, evening meals required men to be in suits with a tie, and ladies in dresses. Consequently, at 11.00am, I entered Lecture Room One dressed in green sports shirt and pants for our introductory session.

Two rows of six chairs were occupied, apart from the last one in the second row. So I was last to arrive. I sat and took note of my surrounds. In front of us stood a slightly raised central lectern. In the front row, there were three ladies and three men. From the rear, I guessed the men were maybe in their forties or fifties. Two of the ladies were silver-haired, and the third, seated at the far end of the row had tawny hair, curling just above the edge of a pale blue summer dress. I estimated that she would be the youngest in that row.

A Mr. John Eavis, tall, pencil thin, mid-fifties, I guessed, stood behind the lectern, introduced himself as the organiser, and a dark, rather pretty, young lady, standing to his right, as Linda, his assistant.

There was a brief introductory talk about why we “newly published” authors had been selected. He then told us that in the afternoon session we would be split into two groups, blue and red, to be involved with one of the well -known authors, kindly giving their time to the course.

Eavis waved a hand from side to side and said, “Front row will be the red group, and the second row will be the blue. More of that later.”

He coughed, licked his lips, before going on to advocate each person should give a five-minute outline of themselves, with emphasis on why they wrote and what they had written.He told them that they would proceed in alphabetical order and that meant a Mrs. Lily Breamer was first.

Mrs. Breamer, a grey-haired, plump lady, stepped nervously behind the lectern, and in a shaky voice, began relating how, being a widow, of independent means, she had plenty of time for writing.

Comfortably relaxed, I sat and listened with some interest to the experiences of others. Some very close to my own, in terms of chosen genre, and current employment. There were two other teachers, one male, one female.

Then John Eavis called out, “Mrs. Sara Reason,” and I watched as the lady with the tawny hair stood, walked to the lectern and turned to face her audience.

That was the moment the whirlwind struck me, tearing through my unsuspecting brain, opening a door I wasn’t aware of, before swirling around my head and down into my chest, where it felt to squeeze at my heart. And that old-fashioned organ was suddenly beating madly. A heart attack? No, because another organ which should have been at rest was beginning to twitch.

What the hell was it about her? Had we met before? No, that was impossible, yet it felt as though I’d known her forever. But, in that instant, I wanted to know her forever. Desperately, I tried to rationalise my thinking. Why had this Mrs. Reason suddenly become the only woman I could ever want? All others, wives, lovers, became irrelevant.

She was speaking, and her eyes, green, so green and so deep as they scanned her audience, I hoped would linger on me. They didn’t but moved nervously on.

Her voice was delicate and gentle, and I heard keywords she spoke, “I’m thirty-two, and an accountant. My husband--,” I didn’t want to hear that word from her. “—works for an oil company. I began writing four years ago---found it an escape from—” She paused here, and did those eyes look troubled? “—the humdrum of everyday life. I’ve written two books, in the most popular one, a wife plots to kill her husband.” head nodded, and there was a ripple of laughter from the others.

I watched as she returned to her seat. That dress fit her so well, and just before sitting did those green eyes glance in my direction? Some hopes. But the whole room went away as I tried to come to terms with the effect this unknown woman was having on me.

Attractive? Undoubtedly. Wasn’t she attracting me? But why? How? She was no Norma Jean. Yet, for me, she exuded that same air of sensuality with her round face framed by neat tawny hair, curling outwards just above her shoulders. And that mouth, small, with generous, oh, yes, kissable lips. And hadn’t there been something about the way she moved? No exaggerated sway of hips here, just a seductive glide which she seemed unaware of.

Two speakers had followed her at the lectern, and I hadn’t heard a word they said. Their voices were drones in the background of my thoughts.

“Mr. Winters? Brad Winters.”

“Huh? Oh, sorry.”

Somehow, my mind still in a whirl, I got to my feet, with the blessing that I could look at that face head-on, once more. Those green eyes were bright on me, a pleasure that helped me find my voice. I managed to give a broken account of my background and interest in writing, mentioning that ‘Dangerous April’ was the one that had the best response.

Returning to my seat, I tried to concentrate on what the two final speakers had to say, but my thoughts could not avoid this magnetic lady in the blue dress. God, this could not be happening. No woman had ever produced that kind of immediate longing in me. I had viewed her full-face for barely five minutes yet she had turned me into a gibbering idiot. Yes, I told myself, I could fancy any, even more, attractive woman like mad. But never as madly as this. That whirlwind was still whizzing in my chest, and lower.

For me, the course was virtually over. My mind could only dwell on the mystery of this lady and the ‘why’ of her attraction. All morning and into lunchtime, I tried to place myself where I had a view of her face. ‘Just talk to her, you idiot,’ I tried to tell myself. ‘You were never stuck for a chat-up line normally.’

But this was far from the norm. The lady was married, had hit me like a lightning flash, and the truth would worryingly escape from my lips if I spoke, ‘I’m Brad, and I want to touch and possess you for the rest of my life.” Oh, yes, brilliant.

The afternoon, because we were in different groups, deprived me of the privilege of gazing at her. I suppose it did allow a little chance of concentrating, on what the well-established visiting author had to say about plotting. I had read some of his work and would have loved to be fully focussed on what he had to say, but my mind kept drifting to Mrs. Sara Reason.

When the second group session ended, we were told to go back to the lecture room to be given our evening task. She was there standing with a group of ladies, as Eavis told us our first task. “Your most embarrassing moment in just three hundred words. Handed in tomorrow.”

Being nearest the door, I was one of the first out and on the corridor leading into the reception area, when a gentle female voice behind me said, “Excuse me, Mr. Winters.”

I turned and breathing became a struggle. There she stood, that face just lower than mine, but so close, those green eyes holding mine, and there was a subtle perfume, so gentle, yet filling my already crowded head. Responding took some concentration, “Hello,” I said, with an unusual wavering in my voice.

She smiled, such a bright smile, and shrugged, “Oh, I must sound so nosey.”

How would she take it if I admitted I wanted her to be nosey? All I could muster was, “How could I think you nosey?”

Briefly, she looked uncertain, almost shy, as she admitted, “I was quite surprised when you said that you wrote, ‘Dangerous April.’”

“You know it?” People weren’t there anymore. We were standing in a busy reception area, but no one else existed. There was only this mystical lady.

“I’ve read it.”

“Oh,” I muttered. Could I ask? Go on, Brad Winter, you need to know. “What did you think of it?”

“I was jealous.”

“Jealous?”

“I wish I could write so succinctly. And those love scenes—” Her face reddened as she added, “Wow!”

“You’re too kind,” I said before I discovered she was about to be even kinder.

“Seeing you at the lectern, I couldn’t help thinking that you must have based your main character on yourself.”

Did I blush? This was impossible. I had described Jeff Collins, as “a tall, imposing figure, handsome with black wavy hair.” Only my black hair, without a kink in it, was anywhere near that description. Those green eyes held mine for that few seconds before she began to turn away, “I’m expecting a message at reception.” She moved towards the desk, as she added, “Maybe we could chat later?”

“That would be good,” I said. Oh, God, it would be very good, but at the same time would I be in for much emotional pain? She was a married lady, even if she might be the lady I’d be stalking for the rest of my life. And was what I wanted to read into her comment about my character’s appearance pure foolishness? Forget all that, just to be near her was going to make my time here extra special.

I took a long, hot shower before lying back on the bed to try to sleep. That wouldn’t happen. I closed my eyes to have them met by a probing pair of green eyes, accompanied by a fetching smile. I was truly hooked.

Unable to settle, I went to the desk, sat down and began doing my ‘homework’. It wrote quite easily, telling of the time I was found balancing up high between cubicles in a lady’s public toilet. A longish tale that just made the three hundred word limit. It took me forty minutes.

Mrs. Sara Reason dominated my mind, as I puzzled on how I could stay within the aura she presented, without being too obvious. There was some time before the 7.30pm dinner, so I donned my blue suit and set out on a tour of the hotel’s facilities.

By the time I’d found the four bars, the fitness area, the pool and had a quick stroll out into the evening sunlight of the lavish gardens it was time to eat. Although the dining room was large, I saw her straight away, delightful in a single strap black dress, which revealed the smooth curve of her shoulders. She was seated at a four-seater table with three women from our group.

I found a seat at a table which gave me a neat view of where she was sitting, and, glory be, as I sat down, she caught my eye, and a slight smile flickered over her lips. An acknowledgement of my existence. My mind began working along a, maybe illicit, yet exciting path.

An excellent meal went down with me hardly aware of it, as I was constantly hoping to catch her eye. Maybe they were only quick glances, on me, and away, but I did catch them. Hopes from impossibilities claimed my mind.

It was almost 9.00pm when I put down my coffee cup to be surprised to see the table where she had been sitting was empty. With a sense of disappointment, I checked the nearest bar and lounge but there was no sign of her.

Should I roam around in the hope of making a ‘chance’ encounter? Probably not a good idea. Remembering that earlier, I had resolved to have a fair amount of wine to ensure sleep, I sat in an alcove in the bar nearest reception, with a carafe of good burgundy. Maybe she would pass. Members of the writing group did pass, gave a smiling nod, or stopped for a quick word. But, no Sara Reason.

By 10.30pm, the carafe was drained, and I felt heady enough to believe I might sleep. Just a little giddy, I slowly climbed the stairs to the first floor. As I turned towards my corridor, the lift doors to my left parted and Sara Reason, neat in black, staggered out, eyes glazed but widening on seeing me.

“Oh, what a pleasant surprise,” she slurred drunkenly, the ‘p’s especially plosive. “We were going to chat.” She tottered towards me, and I half-raised my hands, fearing she might fall.

“Those ladies sure know how to knock it back.” She stopped, almost bumping into me. Her breasts pressed against my chest. Desperately, I tried to calm my own foggy head. She was there, so alluring, the green eyes were dimmed, and I was telling myself that the lady I had suddenly discovered was here, and, I was sure, available.

Her next slurred words emphasised that. “Do you want to—" She paused, and produced a lascivious smile, “—chat? Or kiss me?” She made it sound like ‘kish’.

Controlling my own feelings, and the flexing in my groin, I said, “I’ll guide you to your room.” I took hold of her bare arm. That touch was like holding a roll of Indian silk. My senses somehow managed to cope with the thrill of it.

“Ooh, yes, please,” she sighed, leaning into my side. “I’ll need somebody to help me out of my clothes.” The door to her room was just two beyond my own, and her nearness, her suggestion, brought my erection to the halfway stage.

She had fumbled her key-card from her small handbag, I took it from her and opened the door, guiding her into the opening. I risked placing my hands on her bare shoulders. Hell, what was risky about that? She felt divine. But, despite, my own alcoholic haze, I knew that if I stepped inside that door, I would later regret any joy that might ensue.

My task here was to hold those smooth shoulders, look into those pleading, glazed green eyes, and convince her that sleep was her main requirement.

She licked those tempting lips, and murmured, “Kiss first?”

“No kiss. Please, Mrs. Reason—”

“Sara,” she corrected me, before adding, “Oh, the things your hero did.”

“Sara, listen to me.” Her brow furrowed, as I went on. “I am not Jeff Collins that you read about. Some time I’ll tell you exactly what I feel, but you’ve had too much wine, and you are a married lady.”

Her head shook violently, and she placed her hands into a familiar T-shape, “I’m taking this chance to call ‘Time Out’ on marriage, on domesticity, on work, on everything except the here and now.” She licked her lips before adding, “And you—if you want me.”

A little stunned by the sudden clarity of her speech, while she made that declaration, I told her, “Sara, the condition you are in, would any man not have got the same offer?”

She turned bleary eyes to look up and down the empty corridor before she slurred, “Certainly not.” Her weak smile tried to be sexy, “Not the way you’ve been eyeing me.”

God, had I been that obvious? I closed my mind to the promise in her offer to say, “You feel like that now, but tomorrow morning, when your head finally clears. What then?” Her face seemed to collapse, as her eyes, wide and pleading, stared into mine. Time for immediate action. I gave her shoulders a little nudge and she staggered back. Quickly I pulled the door closed between us, as I said, “Good night, Sara.”

Feeling slightly deflated, I leaned against the wall, listening. I thought I heard a little sob, but there was nothing more. Back in my room, I found that recent events had killed any affects the carafe of wine might have had.

I’d started the day looking forward to extending my writing skills. The vision of all I wanted in a woman had changed that. Sara Reason had shaken all sensibility out of me. Apart from her having read my book, she had seemed unattainable. Yet ten minutes ago she had dropped, warmly available, into my lap. Drunk.

And what had I, rampant lover that I am, done about that? Acted the perfect gentleman, hadn’t I? Because that is what I am, right? Wrong. The perfect chicken was nearer the truth. I didn’t want her as a one-night-stand, and in our wildly fuelled state that is what it might have become.

I don’t know what time it was when I finally slept, but the world had kept turning, and the disturbance in my heart and brain had kept spinning. The day that dawned was about to reveal a natural, stunning sequence of events.

Sara wasn’t in the dining room when I had breakfast. Probably nursing a sore head. She hadn’t made the Lecture Room either. Entering, I saw Eavis thumbing through a pile of papers, obviously the embarrassment tasks? I handed over mine, received a nod from Eavis, and turned to take my seat. There were only two adjacent chairs empty. Obviously, Sara wasn’t going to make it.

I sat down, nodding at the nearest couple, and wondered about Sara.

“Sorry, I’m late.” Her voice came from my right, where she was standing and addressing John Eavis.

“Good, then we can begin,”

I hadn’t taken, couldn’t take, my eyes off Sara, and, from my lower angle, the push of her breasts, against the pink blouse she was wearing, excited me. Dammit, had my thoughts dipped from that higher plain of fancy to the more lustful? As she sat, her green eyes turned to me and she leaned forward to whisper in my ear, “Thank you for last night.” Her perfume filled my head.

Our eyes held for a moment, as Eavis started to speak, and I became only half immersed in the art of character building. During the coffee break, there were so many of us crowded together that there was little chance for Sara and me to talk. She did manage a hasty, “I must talk to you about last night. After lunch, on the patio.”

I had a date, with the woman who had filled my life for only twenty-four hours. I felt like a love-torn teenager as I quietly agreed. The two hours until lunchtime seemed endless but having bolted my food, I was out on the patio promptly. To my relief, Sara was not far behind, and from my seat at one of the tables, I revelled in watching her shapely approach, in that pink blouse and black trousers.

I had resolved to be much more positive, and as she came alongside me, I stood and said, “Fancy seeing the gardens.”

“Oh, yes, I’d intended to do that.”

We strolled, quietly at first, towards a sunken section which a receptionist had called ‘the devil’s plunge’. When Sara finally spoke, her voice was very low, “Last night shouldn’t have happened.”

“Nothing did happen,” I said with remarkable calmness, given the way I was feeling.

“Yes, it did. First, I got drunk.”

“Oh, yes, I noticed that,” I told her lightly.

“But I never get that drunk.”

“Other ladies influence on you,” I opined.

She stopped, turned to face me, before she said, “No, your influence.”

I looked into that so honest face, baffled that she could make a statement like that. Her eyes looked a brighter shade of green. “Mine? I wasn’t even there.”

“Yes, you were. In my thoughts. I was trying to pluck up the courage to—to—”

I watched the expression on her face pass through several degrees of uncertainty as I urged, “Yes?”

She took in a deep breath, before blurting out, “To ask you to make love to me.”

Her eyes were fixed intently on my face, and I had no idea what it showed. I was wrestling with the notion that I had to be dreaming. The situation was all too bizarre. “But you hardly know me.”

“All the time I was reading your book, I was thinking, ‘I’ll bet this is a lovely man.’ When you walked to the lectern, I became very attracted, and then, Bam! You had written that book. That really set my juices flowing.”

My heart was pounding, “But I’m nothing like that Jeff Collins.”

“Yes, you are. You made him, up here.” And she reached up for her fingers to tap my forehead. “Only a good man could make him as he was.”

“But—”

“Did you ever cheat on your wife?”

“No, she left me.”

“Well, my husband had several women dangling. Divorce proceedings are already well on.”

We had reached the steps leading down into what they called ‘the devil’s plunge’, all dark shadowed and enclosing shrubs. I took her hand, knowing that, given her frankness, now was the time. I led her down three steps, drew her close and said, “I have something to tell you, but may I kiss you first?”

“I thought you didn’t want to last night.”

“Last night I thought you had a husband.”

“You see what a thoughtful man you are?”

Then our lips were together, gentle at first, and I thrilled at the first reach of her tongue sliding on mine, as our bodies slammed together. I could still not remove the dream-like nature of it all. Unless I misread the signals, this wonderful lady was ready to give herself to me.

Sara broke the kiss, “What were you going to tell me?”

Her face very close to mine, I told her of the effect the first sight of her had had on me. And it was lovely to hear the laugh that escaped her lips, as she touched my arm. “Oh, you are a good storyteller,” she whispered.

“No story. Truth. Totally unexpected.”

She moved her belly against what must have been my so-obvious erection. “We are going to do it, aren’t we?”

I couldn’t prevent my sigh as I said, “Oh, I hope so.”

“When? Where? Down there?” Her green eyes were glowing as she indicated down the steps. “Or do we skip afternoon lectures.”

The idea was so appealing, but something inside me had me saying, “I was thinking of a romantic dinner, and then—”

She kissed me, took my hand and placed it on her breast. Oh, God, she wasn’t wearing a bra, and the rounded, firm softness of her, had me hardening even more. “Waiting will be difficult,” she said, and grinning she added, “but should increase the need.”

“It’s groups, all afternoon,” I reminded her, “so we’ll be apart anyway.”

“So, it’s dinner,” she declared, and that lovely grin was back. "And I'll only have one glass of wine."

We walked quickly back to the hotel. The afternoon was interminable. I dressed so carefully, shaved showered and scented, and met her in the foyer. I stopped just ten yards from her. In a dark blue silken gown, she looked sensuous, sensational and a total treat for my eyes.

Sitting opposite each other, we ate what I suppose was a gorgeous meal, but which I hardly noticed, as our eyes devoured each other. As coffee was drained, Sara whispered, “Your room, or mine?”

“Mine comes first.”

“Good. I don’t think I could wait to reach mine.” We laughed, and in the lift, we kissed and stroked. As I opened my room door, my mind was racing around the idea of the whirlwind that had taken me yesterday. Now it was a bursting firework deep in my chest. As I ushered her in ahead of me, she whispered, "Unzip me. Unzip me."

With fingers that were all thumbs, I located the catch at the back of her gown and the ratcheting noise of the zip’s descent was one of the most sensuous sounds I had ever heard.

I kicked the door closed, aware that Sara had already shrugged out of her gown, and she was instantly in my arms. Keen as I was, I was almost overwhelmed by her eagerness to find my erection. It was all so dream-like, so perfect, as our lips meshed She was bra-less again, and my open palm glided over her wonderful breasts I slid my hands inside her panties and felt her fingers searching for my zip.

Any more and I knew we’d be doing it against the wall. Not the romantic promise I’d envisaged. I broke the kiss, and hissed, “Let’s find comfort.”

Her face was expressionless as she looked up at me and said, “I don’t want to be fucked.”

My heart sank and it must have shown on my face, as she smiled, kissed me, and told me, “He could only talk of giving me a fuck. I want you to make love to me. Okay?”

With some relief, I told her fervently, “I think I can do that, with some meaning.” Very true, as I stared in some wonder, as Sara stood there naked, with no trace of self- consciousness. Flawless, I thought, her body was flawless, as I had guessed it would be. Her breasts, just a good handful, were proud and tipped with pink nipples. Her waist nipped in and flowed out to her hips in an elegant curve. Her narrow, tawny bush topped smooth elegant thighs.

I quickly unbuttoned my shirt and kicked off my pants, watching as her eyes travelled up and down my body. "Quite well made," she observed lightly, "I’m curious to know what it will be like when it rubs against mine?"

I led Sara to the bed, where she lay flat on her back, while I sat on the edge, enjoying once more, a view of her delectable body. Her legs were slightly parted, and from my angle, I could see the pouting pink lips among the tawny pubic hair. So tempting, I would have liked to plunge down there to exercise my tongue. But discretion was called for.

I leaned over her, "How would you like this to be?"

“I’ve told you, with love. Good for both of us."

"I could just sit here and look at you," I admitted.

"Having your eyes on me is thrilling, but we could kiss, and have you noticed how sensitive my breasts are?" And she gave me a cheeky grin, which I buried with a warm kiss, deep and stimulating, as our tongues entwined. Trying to be gentle, I had my fingers play with her hair, before trailing down her neck, to drift gently over the skin of her shoulders. “Oh, yes,” she groaned, and that excited me.

Soon, her breasts were under my fingers, and she was already breathing hard. My delicate touch favoured her nipples. I pressed my body close to hers, and she had to be aware of the gentle prodding against her thigh.

That pressure on her thigh told me I was close to full hardness. But this new-found intimacy with this new mirage in my life was incredible. Mirage? No, miracle. I broke the kiss to lay my mouth on her bare shoulder. Skin this soft, this smooth, required being treated with some distinction. She was eminently desirable. So, with my lips moving over her shoulder, and my fingers caressing her breast, I told her that.

Her response was to run her hands her hands down over my buttocks, and there was just that hint of her fingers probing deeper. “You are such a considerate lover,“ she groaned, as she bent to kiss along my neck

I was very aware of the straining of my erect cock. Was it just the sight of her, the touch of her skin, or the fragile aroma that came from her? My lips caressed her breasts, such soft silkiness. My tongue tickled at her nipples, feeling them swell, and hearing her gasps of pleasure, as I took one into my mouth, sucking gently on it. Her intake of breath told me that she was well on course.
Sure that I felt the twitch down in her hips, I allowed the fingers of one hand to stray down over her flat belly. Then I moved them, to plough into her tawny bush. That was when she heaved and grunted, “Yes, oh yes, touch me. Feel me.”.

I had been constantly tuned in to Sara’s breathing and was positive that my latest moves were crucial to her. I moved my fingers to glide into the delicious wetness of her. That set her really panting, as my eager fingers trailed along her slit,

I was wondering how much more she could take before total entry. I was aching for that myself but wanted to give her ultimate pleasure. I moved my lips from her breast and down over her belly, twisting my body so her searching fingers could gently encircle my hardness. I could not withhold my grunt of pleasure at her touch.

My face was directly over her pubic area, and my fingers opened her up, to absorb the thrill of gazing into that moist, roseate wonderland. Then I lowered my head to dip my tongue into her pink flower and lick that nub, which I knew was her clit. Her immediate squeal and body twitch was magic.

I licked more thoroughly and felt the tiny nub become erect, while the fingers of one hand explored the wetness around her entry. Tentatively I inserted two fingers. She jerked again. Then, my turn to spasm as her fingers moved vigorously along my cock.

While my lips, tongue, and fingers worked tenderly between her thighs, filling my head her aroma, her creaminess and the excitement of her, I made myself aware of her every twitch, every heave of her loins. And there was no doubt that such signs were becoming more and more frequent.

Her action on my cock was building pressure in my balls. Time to bring her on for certain. My tongue needed to concentrate on her clit. I applied solid licks to that small trigger, before taking it carefully between my lips and gently sucking it. I was tasting her, smelling her, wanting all of her.

That did the trick. "Brad. Oh, God Brad, Quick." And her hips, impulsively, pushed up at my face.

That was all I needed. Rising and twisting my body, I turned her so that I was looking down into her reddened face, suffused with passion. Quickly I rolled between her jerking thighs, reached for a pillow, and tucked it under her hips.

Without further delay, I plunged my hard shaft into her, right to the cervix, I was sure. Having waited so long, I had quite forgotten how comforting, how sensuous, how powerful that first entry could be.

My cock was a piston thrusting deep inside her. Sheer rapture for me, but I wanted it to be for her. As I drew back and thrust again, I saw her face showing the ecstasy I wanted for her. Sara was raising her hips, as though urging me deeper. My lips hunted for hers, but her head thrashed from side to side, as she took all of me. I lowered my head to her breasts, where my lips gnawed at her nipples. Just added joy for her, I hoped.

Slowly withdrawing as though spent, I was delighted at the cry of despair as she thought I’d cum. Plunging in deep again was like placing my cock along an avenue of hungry little mouths, as her hips heaved into me. I raised my body over her so that each stroke managed to caress her clit. Faster and faster I pushed, and for every stroke I made, she responded equally. Now it really was time.

Madly, wildly, she was half squealing under me as my own climax hit, and the wonder of our whole fortuitous meeting was to know that we were sharing a joint orgasm. Me, pumping my fluids to mingle with hers, as she took it all, her insides squeezing every drop from me, as though there would be no end. Her head tossing, but not her head, her face perspiring, but not her face, my body afloat, but not my body, as we became one mutual body of passion.

Those final thrusts, as I emptied into her, had me moaning like a dying animal. It was a bonus to hear Sara’s impassioned gasps, with a final broken, angry seagull sound, that just filled me with extra joy.

We lay side by side, absolutely still for a few minutes, regaining some measure of composure. At last, she murmured, "Hell, Brad, I've never known---You really are Jeff Collins."

I leaned over her, and placed a finger to her lips, "No, Sara, no fictions---This was me, and it was you. It was us."

Her face clouded momentarily, as she asked, “And what happens when this course is over?”

I kissed her gently before saying, “I made my mind up about that when I saw you yesterday.”

“And?”

“I’m going to take you home with me and lock you in my bedroom.”

“And make love to me every day?” There was renewed joy in her voice.

On impulse I placed my hands in an inverted ‘T’

She frowned, “What does that mean?”

I turned my hands to the ‘upright ‘T’, “Oh, yes,“ she said laughing, “The time out sign. But—"

I inverted my hands again, “That’s me, telling you. Time in. Meaning--inside you.”

She laughed delightedly, “I’ll settle for that.”

That sign we’d share, for years to come.