I checked my boobs were tucked in properly before leaving the changing room. How many times now had I tried swimming lessons? Maybe this beginners’ course for nervous adults would help me show my husband I wasn’t a total failure.
The pool was a seductive turquoise as I approached the women waiting at the shallow end. A slim blonde in a navy blue vest and tracky bottoms stood, clipboard in hand, ticking off names. She looked up and locked gazes with me.
Her hair was the colour of ripe corn. She wore it scooped into a scrunchie but there was no disguising its shine. Her skin was a healthy honey tone even under the strip lighting. Beside her, I felt pasty, lumpy and inadequate, until she smiled as if genuinely pleased to see me.
‘Hi, I’m Megan Besant, your instructor. Hopefully you must be either, um, Ms Jelly or Ms Clarkson?’
I shouldn’t have laughed at someone else’s surname but I did. We both did. Suddenly it seemed the sun had come out. ‘I’m Julie Clarkson,’ I said. ‘But maybe Julie Jelly would be more appropriate this evening.’
Her eyes danced. ‘You’ll be fine, Julie. You’re going to lose all that fearfulness. You’ll see. And please call me Megan – or Meg if it’s easier. You’re happy with first names, I hope?’
‘Yes, please.’ I liked the way she checked with me. And her warmth was a real stress buster because I’d stopped trembling. I recognise now, it was at that moment I began lusting after Megan Besant.
Driving home later, the whiff of pool water clung to my skin. My hair was a mess of barbed wire so I let myself in and went straight upstairs. Greg would still be on the golf course. These long daylight hours were a godsend to a workaholic. He was at his desk by six in the morning and often not home till ten.
‘Wait till we go on holiday, Jules,’ he’d said the night before. ‘You’ll have my total attention then.’ He’d kissed me and turned over. Soon he was snoring. I’d been uptight about my swimming lesson and desperate to bring myself to orgasm. I risked waking up Greg as my fingers searched out my special places. But I couldn’t just lie there sleepless and longing.
Now I stood under the shower, lathering my skin. As the rich magnolia perfume banished the chlorine, all I could think of was being fucked. Greg was OK in bed, not sensational but OK. I was still trying to get him to loosen up a little, but since he got bitten by the golf bug, sex between us hadn’t always been too great. I was barely dry when I padded back into the master bedroom, wrapped in a fluffy bath sheet. I put on a Kirsty MacColl CD, let the towel fall and stretched out on the jade satin counterpane.
It was strange. Instead of my favourite movie stud appearing to spice up my fantasy, a slim woman with golden hair drifted into my consciousness. She sat on the bed, eyes travelling over my naked body. I watched her devour each and every curve. At last she met my gaze with a question in her eyes.
‘Yes,’ I said, letting both my hands roam over my breasts.
Her dirty chuckle sent waves of lust rippling from my nipples to my cunt. She stood up and peeled off her vest and trousers. Underneath, she wore a black sports bra and a pair of black silk boxers. The severe underwear clung to her honed body. There was nothing unfeminine about her but she was the exact opposite of me with my billowing boobs and marshmallow thighs.
She moved, kneeling in front of me, parting my legs. ‘Relax,’ she said. ‘I’m here to help you. Forget everything else in the world and just go with the flow.’
I could feel those fantasy fingers. I dragged my own fingers away from my screaming nipples and touched the soft skin at the top of my legs. It was my own fingers that parted my pussy lips and discovered how wet I was. But my oh-so familiar touch wasn’t right. I sat up and grabbed the vibrator from my bedside cabinet. The whirring lulled me as I settled back and closed my eyes, letting the lip of the phallic pretender lap my folds and frills.
I did sound effects too. I made her ... yes, OK, I made Megan talk to me, whispering words I knew could only come from another woman.
‘I know what you want, Julie. You want to feel yourself lifting, drifting until you’re floating. All you care about is riding the waves. Ride with me, darling. I’m using a little lube on your bumhole, Julie. Don’t be nervous. All I care about is making you come. I want to watch you come for me – watch you creaming and screaming. See you topple over the edge of that big, big wave we’re building.’
Her voice was liquid butterscotch in my head. I was hypnotising myself with my own erotic yearning. I imagined that saucy finger insinuating itself into my bottom. It was a terrific turn-on. I clenched my bum cheeks and felt the first of the chain of tremors signposting my climax. I imagined Megan’s finger pushing deeper. ‘Naughty finger,’ I scolded, ‘going where it shouldn’t.’ Again there was that knowing chuckle rippling inside my head.
My breathing was raucous as “she” played the vibrator like I knew she would. Slow and deliberate. Painting it around my slippery softness; edging its tip inside and inching it along the love tunnel. Another spasm and now I was panting, hovering somewhere in cyber sex-land.
‘Little tigress. I love watching you getting turned on. Come on, sweetie. Talk dirty to me. Say anything you want,’ her voice crooned. Nobody had ever before given me such an erotic invitation.
I was panting. The sound of my own arousal stimulated me as much as my own hand controlling the vibrator. But I still pretended it was Megan doing it. My legs were bent and parted, making me vulnerable although I knew I was in safe hands. At some point – can’t remember when – I’d dragged a pillow under my thighs so I could insert a finger inside my anus. I was so wet that I wasn’t sure which was lube and which was my own juices.
I spoke out loud. ‘I have to come. You’re going to make me. Then you must lie down with me. Put your arms round me. Push your breasts against me. Then I want you to suck my nipples. I want to feel you sucking on them, deep inside me. Inside my hot wet cunt. Then I want you to lick me down there. Suck my juices. I’ll watch you. Doing it. Please ... oh please, Meg.’
I pictured that corn-gold hair tumbling loose over her cheeks as she worked my clitoris, taking me to screaming point. Then she completed the sweet torture by fastening her lips round my engorged tip and sucking me till I came, thrashing and writhing under her like a snarling Mrs Rochester desperate to set fire to her husband.
But it was Megan setting fire to me as I roared towards the crest of that big wave we’d created. The tension relaxed as I was consumed by a big, bountiful orgasm.
Greg wined and dined me at the weekend. When we got home afterwards he opened more wine. I’d already drunk quite a bit so I went upstairs and put on the provocative outfit he loves me to wear. I never regard myself as a sex object because when I dress in fuck-me lingerie, he’s at my mercy. He’ll even behave a little out of character, if I get lucky.
I stood before the mirror and watched myself squeezing into the lacy two-piece. The balcony bra offered twin globes, creamy flesh spilling over burgundy lace ruffles. My nipples were almost escaping the fabric, but not quite. The high-cut knickers held a secret. There was a split crotch with jealous silver ribbons guarding the gateway but just waiting to be undone.
I walked downstairs. He’d opened the patio doors and the dusky July evening, ripe with musk rose and lavender, drifted into the room.
When he turned towards me, his eyes darkened. ‘I have to fuck you.’ He put down his glass.
I moved towards the open door. ‘Let’s make love outside.’
He was looking flustered. I knew he had a hard-on. I knew he’d been looking forward to his Friday night fuck, but didn’t I deserve a little consideration? A little sweet-talking after a week of solitary evenings. I didn’t intend telling him about my swimming lessons.
‘Come on,’ I coaxed. I reached for the crimson throw draped across the cream couch. ‘Nobody’s going to know. It’ll be romantic.’ I didn’t add, “For a change”.
No way was our garden overlooked. Greg had come from ambitious council house boy to savvy businessman with not inconsiderable help from moi. We lived in a sought-after village. Our four-bedroom detached house was encircled by a high wall. The nearby properties, screened by tall trees, were built at angles determined by some unknown architect. I can sunbathe naked if I wish.
‘Jules, I want you naked on the bed so I can fuck your brains out.’
The wine had loosened his tongue. And given me courage. ‘I thought you liked finger-fucking me when I’m wearing these knickers. What’s your hurry?’
He groaned. I walked slowly past him, still clutching the throw. I paused on the patio but opted for the lawn, swinging my arse as I went down the wide steps leading to the garden. He wanted to get his rocks off without the foreplay he knows I adore. And need. I recognised his need but the devil was in me.
He was beside me in an instant. ‘You win,’ he said.
‘G’boy,’ I said. I spread the throw over the grass and lay down, parting my legs and letting those silver ribbons beg to be untied.
He did his best to make me come. After alcohol he’s less inhibited, but he doesn’t like to hang around and even the crotchless knickers didn’t hold his attention for long. He’s tone-deaf when it comes to cunt harmony and I knew I should persevere and teach him. But that night my mind was awash with sensuous images of Megan.
I tried to keep pace as Greg pumped away, filling me but not fulfilling me. Suddenly I began whispering soft filthy words, half to myself, half to the evening air. I knew from the grunts that he was close to coming so I licked my thumb and slipped it down to rub myself. His rhythm slowed a tad. I only needed a little help and, as he sped up again, jabbing and grinding, I was there.
When I called out, it was her name I shouted. ‘I’m coming, Meg ...’
He took me in his arms, obviously delighted with the way I was smiling. And it occurred to me that if he’d heard me while he was lost in his own orgasm, he’d have assumed I was calling his name.
Next swimming session I tried to relax as Megan told us what to do. To my disappointment, she was avoiding eye contact with me. But I persevered with the tasks, practising moving my legs the right way but with the comfort blanket of floats. She didn’t single me out at all and, when a male colleague turned up as we quit the pool, I felt an idiotic pang of jealousy.
The following week Greg was away on business. The first day I made coffee for the cleaning lady and wandered round the garden, dead-heading roses. I was supposed to do stuff towards the looming village fête but felt too restless to settle to it.
Greg always said I was a man’s woman – sweet, vulnerable, lovely to come home to. I’d given up my job when we got married. I was a receptionist in the hotel where he’d booked accommodation one night. After I checked him in, he’d asked what time I came off duty.
Greg had waited till 10 p.m. when my shift ended. He took me down the road to a country house hotel where he’d previously stayed but which was chock-a-block that night. We had drinks and coffee and then he drove me back to my flat. We exchanged contact details and agreed to meet for lunch the next day.
He was a widower. He invited me to spend the next weekend with him. I swapped shifts because I thought he was sexy with his cropped grey hair and panther-like stride. I gawped in amazement when he drove up to this fabulous pad and I fell into his hands like a ripe plum dropping off the tree. I was bored with my job and starved of sex since my last relationship ended. We couldn’t get enough of each other and were married two months later. My life was transformed.
But after the initial floaty pink cloud stage, I began to feel undervalued. I had one or two jobs then tried playing Domestic Goddess. Boring. Now, with another evening on my own, I was at my computer, discovering websites. A whole new world unfolded.
The women on the sites I visited were mega beautiful. I clicked on image after image, seeing tongues tasting, lips kissing, fingers feeling. Blondes licked redheads and brunettes nuzzled women with rich brown hair, shaven heads even. I hit on a video clip of two naked girls kissing on a bed. One was blonde like Megan, one raven-haired like me. I was so turned on that I whimpered. My hand crept up my thigh and I pushed two fingers inside my panties so I could watch their bodies, slippery with baby oil and writhing, while I frigged myself to a climax.
Megan was in my head, in my fingers, in my bed. I wondered what she’d taste like. Whether she called out when she came. I wondered if she’d be horrified to know that a bored housewife lusted after her.
At the start of Session Three, Megan asked us all to sit on the edge of the pool and dangle our feet. She stripped off her tracksuit, revealing a shapely body in a sleek red racer back. I shivered with excitement as she jumped into the water and stood in front of our row of eight. I sat next to Ms Jelly who was a pleasant woman, a tad phobic about the water, but who’d confided at the first session she was desperate to learn before her children realised how petrified she was.
Megan asked each of us exactly what motivated us to learn. She wondered how we felt we were progressing.
When my turn came, I said, ‘My husband’s taking me to the Maldives in September. I’ve never learnt to swim. Greg’s promised to teach me on holiday and I’d like to surprise him.’
I sounded, even to me, the perfect, pampered wife. And I felt trivial and convinced that Megan would write me off as vacuous and well-suited to having too much time on my hands. I didn’t want her to think of me like that.
‘You need to do this for yourself, Julie,’ she said. And then she reached under the water and squeezed each of my ankles. The gentle pressure of her fingers echoed up both thighs and discharged a thunderbolt between them.
When Ms Jelly disclosed her reason, Megan folded her arms. I watched the cleft between her breasts deepen and swallowed. Hard.
‘Not one of you is incapable of swimming,’ she said. ‘You can do it, all of you. The question is, ladies, will you? You’ve practised the strokes. Now, into the water please ...’
As she instructed, I leaned forward; arms stretched in front of me, trying to convince myself I could lie on the surface and lunge towards the side. Three or four of the others achieved this. Jelly and I froze.
‘Stop thinking too much,’ a voice whispered. ‘Remember. Go with the flow.’
I never wear a bathing cap and Megan’s breath was warm in my ear. My nipples stiffened. I wanted her hands on me so much I had to close my eyes and take a deep breath. Next thing I was clutching the pool edge, leaving poor Jelly on her own.
I stood up and looked at Megan. ‘Well done,’ she mouthed.
I felt a hot rush of pleasure as I waded back to the point from where we were gliding. Once more I gave myself to the water and arrived poolside.
My fellow-learner staggered forward. ‘It’s no good,’ she wailed. ‘I’m useless.’
Megan held her elbow. ‘Julie, just stay where you are, would you?’
She spoke firmly to Ms Jelly. ‘Pretend Julie’s your little girl. She’s three metres away and she’s drowning. Nobody else is around. What do you do?’
I watched in amazement as Jelly plunged forward, arms and legs whacking in a wild doggy paddle. But she made it. She grabbed me the instant she was within reach and my swimsuit sagged, exposing my bare breasts. Ms Jelly was so joyful that she didn’t even notice. She was too busy calling out to the others.
I knew Megan was watching me hitch up my swimsuit. I felt my nipples graze the wet fabric. The urge to touch them was overwhelming. The beat between my thighs was unbearable. I almost sobbed as my throat dried, even though I’d swallowed gallons of pool water.
‘And you, Julie. Well done too. Walk back to me now and do it again.’
I waded towards her, forcing myself to drag my eyes away from her pert breasts, outlined by clinging lycra. A tiny smile played around her lips. At that moment I’d have done anything she asked. And I think she knew it.
After the session, everyone hurried to get off home, as usual. They were probably relieved another hour’s torment was over. Adult learners have a hard time overcoming hang-ups and bad memories. I was having a hard time in my cubicle. I’d showered but I’d forgotten my shampoo and couldn’t be bothered to use the dispenser. I wound a small towel around my head and started to pull my panties over my still-damp thighs.
Then I heard the connecting door to the foyer open and shut.
‘Am I the last one?’ I called, anticipating silence.
‘Julie?’ I recognised Megan’s urgent, husky voice.
My heart raced as I wrenched the curtain open and stood there, towel hugged to my breasts. Two steps and she tugged the curtain across and loosened her robe. My eyes dropped to those delectable round dumplings, nipples taut and firm as cherries. The triangle of pubic hair halfway down her body gleamed wet gold like the hair plastered to her head.
‘I tried to keep away,’ she said. ‘I know you’re not ...’
‘Just stay,’ I whispered.
I was drowning. Her skin was cool; her lips firm, her tongue precocious, flicking over mine to tiptoe inside my mouth. We were the same height and, when her breasts pressed against mine, electricity pierced me. My nipples reacted and she stopped what she was doing and began tasting them. I arched my neck, wondering what I was supposed to do.
She sensed it. ‘You’ve made huge strides tonight. Just go with the flow.’
It was déjà vu. I pulled her up so we faced each other then cupped her breasts in my hands, thumbing the nipples, coaxing them.
She groaned. ‘Fuck, that’s so lovely. But I wanted to make you come first.’
‘No. You first,’ I said. I knelt on my soggy towel and began tonguing her centre. Totally new territory. I couldn’t believe I was exploring another woman’s secret places. I knew what the anatomy was but I didn’t know Meg’s sexual wiring. And I didn’t want to flounder – in the pool or out.
I released her. ‘What do you like?’ My voice sounded more confident than I felt.
‘I like what you’re doing.’ She was breathless. How lovely.
I had to make sure. ‘Will anyone come in?’
‘I locked the main door after the others.’
I can’t describe my excitement at hearing she’d made a conscious decision. But still I kept the curtains closed. And in our private domain I travelled further along the erotic scale than I’d ever travelled with any man. All I had to do was do what I enjoyed having done to me.
Her squeals and moans accompanied the sound of my tongue lapping and my lips sucking her clit into a tiny erect penis. I brought her to the edge of ecstasy then felt her cream against my mouth as she shuddered in my arms. She sank down on the floor and we cuddled each other, letting the peace envelop us like a velvet cloak. I was waiting for more. And she knew it. She was as expert at this kind of loving as she was in the pool.
‘I don’t want this to end but there are things I must do. Are you free tonight? So we can go somewhere more comfortable.’
I caught my breath. ‘You can follow me back to my place if you like.’
‘Really? No jealous husband likely to rush out with drawn sword?’
I giggled. Blushed like a schoolgirl. ‘Nope. He’s away this week.’
‘And I’m here to lead you astray. Meet you in the foyer in ten minutes then.’
I got dressed knowing I’d opened Pandora’s Box and couldn’t wait to explore the contents.
Driving home in my ridiculously expensive car, with Megan following in her old Renault, I was trembling at my own audacity. I was bringing a lover onto my territory, the home I shared with my husband. But I didn’t intend his shadow to come between Megan and me, so to speak. I was aching for her, not him.
She made no comment about the luxury. We were both dressed casually. Our hair like a week of wet Sundays. I locked and bolted the front door before offering her a drink.
She stood there in her practical tracksuit. I wore leggings and a lightweight fleece.
‘You’re going all polite on me,’ she said. ‘A glass of wine will relax you. Can we take it to bed? I want to explore you.’
Not only was I introducing a lover into this home of married coupledom but I was taking her into my bed. She followed me into the kitchen as I went to the fridge, trembling fingers fumbling for the bottle.
‘Is white OK?’
She shrugged. ‘Whatever you like.’
‘Are you hungry?’
She just smiled. I found glasses and she unscrewed the cap and poured the wine. She dipped a finger into hers and moved closer so she could paint my lips with chardonnay. I was already dizzy with wanting. I wanted her to take me on a journey and she must have seen the longing in my eyes because she collected her glass and walked into the hallway.
I pulled myself together and preceded her upstairs, hesitating at the door of the first guest bedroom before continuing down the corridor to the master. I went over to the king-size bed and parked my glass. She too placed her wine on her bedside cabinet and kicked off her trainers.
‘Oh Julie,’ she said. ‘Would you prefer it if I had a massive prick?’
I didn’t reply. Just pulled my top over my head and reached round to unfasten my bra letting my breasts spill out for her. She sat down. Kept staring. I wriggled out of my leggings and stood there in my pale pink hip huggers. I pushed them down and stepped out of them when they pooled around my ankles.
I sat on the bed and sipped my wine. We’d smell the pool water on each other. Until the scent of our juices drove the chlorine away. I wanted what began in the shallows to deepen. There’s nothing quite as seductive as foreplay when it’s performed well. And foreplay comes in many forms.
She drank some wine before removing her clothing. She made no attempt to be provocative but the way she held my gaze accelerated the pulse between my legs. I clenched both fists to stop me from playing with myself.
‘There’s no law against touching yourself,’ she murmured. Then she was beside me on the bed. ‘Go on, Julie. I’ll drink some more of this fabulous wine while I watch you frolic.’
I’d never masturbated in front of anyone else before. I unclenched my fists and drank more wine too. Then I lay back and stretched. My hands found my nipples but the pounding below demanded attention. Slowly I brushed my fingers across the damp tangle between my legs. Tousled wet hair on our heads and our pussies – the thought was a turn-on. The evening was a domino run of turn-ons. And it wasn’t over yet.
Megan put down her glass. ‘You’re so beautiful,’ she whispered. She pushed her face against my cunt, nuzzling her nose and mouth into me. I pushed one finger into my mouth and sucked on it, groaning as I pushed in and out. I longed for cock. Was I going to enjoy girly play?
What happened next was a revelation.
‘I’ve got something for you,’ she said, pulling away to reach under the bed. I hadn’t noticed, but she must have brought her bag upstairs because she produced a tube and a brush.
‘Chocolate body paint,’ she said. ‘I’m going to paint your nipples then suck them. You get to do the same for me afterwards if you like.’
Afterwards? After what? After she’d played me like a tautly strung instrument and brought me to the end of my rope before she let me come. My whole body tingled. My mind, my heart, my stomach and my cunt were in thrall to this woman. I didn’t care about anything now. Just lay there while she did what she wanted. I’d known her for such a brief time and I was permitting intimacies it had taken me weeks to grant to any man.
I stretched my arms above my head, offering a bare canvas.
‘You’re beautiful,’ she said again. And I felt the first flick of sable resonate through my body.
I smelt the chocolate, sweet vanilla scenting bitter cocoa. I felt the stickiness as she painted layer after layer on my nipples. I looked down at two glossy, greasy, dark discs like the stage bling of an exotic dancer. I wondered what the chocolate would taste like when my turn came to feast. Then I stopped wondering as Megan began tonguing. She crooned as she set about her task. Slowly and deliberately. Eventually she chuckled and raised her head, displaying the smeary mouth of a two-year-old let loose in the sweetie tin.
‘Don’t stop,’ I called. I was on the brink of orgasm. She fell upon me again and there was no going back. For the first time in my life I was climaxing simply by someone sucking my breasts.
But my jealous cunt wouldn’t be ignored. I began to writhe and whimper as soon as the first delicious ripples ceased. I craved more powerful sensations. Megan again tuned in to my needs.
She turned away to take another dip into her magician’s bag. This time she held a dildo. I caught my breath.
‘Down to me to control,’ she said. ‘Like a man controls how he drives into you, I’ll decide how fast or ... how slow I slide this guy in and out. It’s formidable, don’t you think? I’ll go easy ... at first.’
It was certainly bigger than any flesh-and-blood one I’d experienced. Megan reached for the lube and I felt the cool gel slathering my pussy lips. No way did I want to close my eyes and miss seeing her play me with her awesome Technicolor dream cock.
‘Such a pretty little slit,’ she murmured. ‘How amazing it can take this huge, thrusting dick.’ She was pushing the dildo slowly inside me. First my fleshy lips, then my walls, accepted the big stranger eagerly.
‘She likes it,’ she sang. ‘Julie likes my huge cock fucking her.’
She increased the tempo.
‘Please,’ I gasped. ‘More. More and faster. Please. Yes.’
‘Greedy girl. Greedy cock-hungry girl. Shall she get what she wants?’
‘Yes. Do it. Do it.’ I was begging.
Megan rocked back and fore, sucking air through her lovely mouth as she fucked. I was taking almost all the dildo. With her other hand she was rubbing my clit. I was helpless and loving it.
‘Beautiful, beautiful fuck,’ I yelled. ‘Make me come. I have to come.’
* * *
So I’ve kept on coming. And learning. Greg knows that swimming nights I go for a curry with a friendly, single mum called Sharon Jelly. I leave a gourmet supper in the fridge for him. After each session, I follow Megan back to her flat where she continues her instruction helped by a shedload of sex toys.
We tease and we titillate, we suck and we strum. She’s bought me panties to stimulate my clit when I walk. I buy her violet creams she lets melt in her mouth while she’s eating me. We read one another’s body like we read our own.
At the end of the learners’ course I enrolled as an improver. By September I was swimming confident widths.
‘Are you ready to jump in the deep end?’ Greg teased me as I packed the day before our holiday.
‘No problem,’ I said.
I’ve decided to pretend fear in the water so Greg will encourage me to go on the residential course Meg’s planning to run. The venue is a fabulous country house hotel, though fortunately not the one where he sometimes stays. Now I’ve taken the plunge, I need to keep going with the flow.
And, slowly, I’m teaching Greg a few girly tricks.