Frozen Girls
- 4 years ago
- 21
- 0
Frozen Emotions Ch. 01 free porn video
The fresh sea air and isolation of their holiday place, a converted farm barn, was balm to their souls. It was ideal relaxation in their busy lives.
They got up late, he making tea for them to have in bed. After a lazy breakfast, he would drive to fetch the paper for her from the local town. They then sat outside in the glorious summer weather enjoying the warm sun and fresh air.
They sat in companionable silence, he flipping the pages of a magazine, she tackling the crossword. Occasionally she called out a clue, and they had fun tussling with the obtuse references. He was good at helping with clues, often seeing the ones she missed, but she was the one good at starting the crossword.
For some time now the pages of the magazine had been still, and he had a far away look on his face. ‘Penny for them’ she said. He had obviously heard her voice as if from a distance, and his head turned towards her, but his eyes had that glazed look. ‘Sorry?’ he asked.
‘What were you thinking about?’ ‘Just about you’ he responded softly, looking down to avoid her gaze. She was instantly aware of being fobbed off. ‘Exactly what about me?’ she demanded. ‘Oh just how good you look.’ She noticed a slight reddening of his cheeks, and her curiosity was aroused. She knew he found it difficult to express his feelings, but this was ridiculous.
‘Come on, you’re just evading the issue, as usual. Can’t you tell me for once what you really think and feel?’ Some of her frustration with his frozen emotions spilt out into the tone of her voice. If only she had known. If only he could tell her. He was far from frozen. What went on inside his head about her was romantic, sensual and sometimes downright erotic. In fact he was too frightened to tell her in case it put her off him big time.
He panicked a little and his brain raced. He was certain he was blushing slightly. ‘Just that I would like to kiss you and touch you all over’ he said finally. She humphed and went back to a difficult clue in the crossword.
A little later they walked out to the sea shore, holding hands and chatting about this and that. Eventually they came to their destination, a lovely quiet beach. As there was no car park anywhere near, there were very few people on the beach, even though it was peak holiday season.
Spreading out their mat, they started on the picnic, continuing to chat. Then he got out his book, and she the paper, and companionable silence reigned again. He started to think how he could do something to allow him to share his feelings and thoughts. One by one he rejected every idea.
Kissing and cuddling? Tried that. She just stiffened when he caressed her and said ‘I’m not a dog’. Since his way of expression was demonstrative, not talkative, that was a real blow.
Just holding hands was good. That worked, but didn’t seem to offer any way forward. He felt so strongly about her he tried to express it through telling her how good she looked, complimenting her on her clothes, comparing her most favourably, and in his opinion truthfully, with other women.
‘I’m just going for a wander along the beach. Wanna come?’ he asked. She was obviously comfortable and drowsy, and said she would relax and sunbathe. He set off across the beach, still thinking about her.
Recently she had started to wear those wonderful tops with black lace edges, which made her look so sexy he could hardly keep his hands to himself. ‘I wish you wouldn’t just grab me’. Then he remembered mornings when she was going to school and he didn’t have to be in work till later. He would lie in bed and secretly watch her lift her nightie over her head revealing her wonderful breasts with those gorgeous dark nipples, so well defined and coloured with beautiful tips standing erect. He longed to caress them and kiss them.
Then his thoughts moved downwards and he imagined laying a trail of kisses down from her breasts to her tummy button and dipping his tongue into the little depression. Knowing her apprehension and dislike of being touched, he blew a fuse at even imagining going any lower to her silky thighs. He grew hard just thinking about her, and wished he could share all this with her. As she turned away to her drawers to get out a clean bra, he opened his eyes fully and admired her beautiful back with its alluring hour-glass shape.
Then the memory of walking behind her flashed into his mind (he couldn’t remember where they were) and watching her fantastic buttocks moving in her red cord jeans as she walked, with little sexy flashes of her torso appearing between the waistband and her top. He remembered kissing her hard. She just asked for ‘a proper kiss’.
Another memory shot into his mind. She was in a play with three other women, one a very good looking ash blonde 10 years younger than she. They all had short skirts and fishnet tights on. He had been surprised and amazed that she had by far the best legs, both calves and thighs, of all four women. A drop of lubrication squeezed out of him at the thought.
At the same time he wished she could wear short skirts and low heels to show off those wonderful legs. He remembered a shopping trip when he’d almost found something for her to try on. She was in a mood where his pointing out of possible skirts did not irritate her as it sometimes did. While she was trying some on, he had found a lovely short corduroy skirt in a subtle shade of green. He had no idea whether it would suit her, but his idea was dashed as they didn’t have it in her size. But just thinking about her wearing something like it made him excited.
How was he even going to start a conversation that revealed all these wicked thoughts about her? During a previous attempt when he had said ‘I’d love to explore your body and you to explore mine’, she had bounced back with ‘That’s not a very helpful idea’.
Then he fell to thinking about himself. Remembering how he undressed thinking that one day she might come over and cuddle him while he was naked. Or even touch him and caress him. He wondered if she had any interest at all in his body? OK, it wasn’t the greatest in the world, but it wasn’t bad. What the hell was he to do?
Each time recently that they had had any time alone, she had been either exhausted or had a migraine. He was kind enough to leave her alone when she was under the weather. Another dampener was the sheer quantity of work she drove herself to achieve in the evenings. Although if he was totally honest the excuse not to have to ask for sex relieved him of something he found almost impossible to do. He much preferred to demonstrate his need by kissing and cuddling, waiting for her response, but she always saw straight through it and complained ‘Why can’t you just TALK about it and ask with WORDS.’
That was his problem — words. He could imagine actions. He could write words, but ultimately he was tongue tied, and just couldn’t say them, at least not those intimate ones. He mused that she was the opposite. She didn’t like actions. She could write words, and like him was good at it. But she could also say words. In fact it was one of the things he loved about her. Her stories about everything that touched her life. Her amazing ability to encourage perfect strangers to unburden to her and to help them on their way with such profound results. It was also one of the things that tired her out.
How could you be so much in love with someone, so comfortable with them, and yet not be able to tell your innermost thoughts? Then he had a brainwave. He would write them down for her. That way he would be able to draft and re-draft without upsetting her with clumsy words. He could follow his train of thought right through. He could insert sections where things were not clear (thinking about her, the word insert made his cheeks grow hot). He could leave the story and come back to it to make sure he hadn’t left out crucial bits or left in stupid bits. He could think about her body that he loved so much without an argum
ent breaking out.
So he wrote a lot of his thoughts down, and while he was doing it, she asked what he was doing. He told her quietly, and she said ‘How long will it be?’. ‘About two pages.’ She raised her eyebrows in surprise.
He was scared to give it to her. Would she be shocked? Would it depress the relationship even further? Would it help? He fervently hoped it would enable at least a discussion. Would it be too much to hope that he could open up more after that? He didn’t know, but he really hoped so.
Then later perhaps he could write more about how he wanted her touch, and how he wanted to touch her.
Nova
- 30.06.2022
- 27
- 0
