3 comments/ 11985 views/ 1 favorites Sunset: For Her By: Haley__F Her Memories. ------------ When I opened my eyes I wished with all my heart that everything would be back to normal. That the air had been cleared and we could move on with our lives that had, for the most part, been eight perfect years, both professionally and personally. Last night had been one of the longest of my life and the scariest, a last desperate attempt to keep our marriage alive. Even without turning my head or smoothing my hand behind me across the empty side of the bed I knew I was alone. I lay staring through the window at the winter sky, watching tiny wisps of cloud brush like balloons against an immaculate blue ceiling, hoping they would capture my attention so deeply they would block out any other thoughts. But even as that very notion formed inside my mind I found the events of the previous night flooding back to me. I sighed and closed my eyes, fresh tears already forming behind my eyelids. I wasn't upset because it was over, at least that would be a starting point to move on from. No, I was upset because there had been no result, no finality to anything. There was no clear cut yes, "we need each other, all is forgiven, to hell with the rest of the world" or "no, we need to get the fuck away from one another and stay there." I was still in limbo. We were still in limbo. And that meant one thing, more fighting, more accusations and yet another day spent throwing the argument back and forth like some weird game of pass-the-parcel, come play, every layer reveals more juicy lies with which to bash your opponent with. I was tired of the game. Tired of of it all. I was emotionally drained, an expression I hated to hear, and wanted, no -- needed some relief from the never ending battle. Was it so bad of me to desire a quick separation rather any force any kind of reconciliation just to get it over and done with? That kind of thought made me feel guilty, like I didn't care, that I was capable of being so cold as to throw away a huge part of my life to easily. I wasn't like that but to carry on felt like torture. The tears rolled down my cheeks and onto the pillow. I could already sense that hollow empty feeling inside my chest and stomach, the inevitable emotions of longing, desire, the death of love and companionship never to return. I pulled my legs up to my chest and hugged myself into a tight ball as the sob I tried to keep caged forced its way out. Beneath me in the kitchen I heard a chair squeak across the stone floor. Fran was still here. I lifted my head off the pillow, raised myself up and looked down onto the driveway. His VW Passat hadn't moved. I frowned. He said he needed space, time to think and mull things over, his final words when we parted last night. I was sat on the stairs in the dark, listening to him jiggle his keys in his pocket by the front door. God I hated him doing that, and coins, endlessly making that nasty tinny sound with his pocket change. But he was still here, not at one of his so called friends apartments in town or back in London, laying on a sofa, hungover. Or just waking up with his arms around some young sex-bomb he'd picked up in a bar some place and they'd spent all night... No. That wasn't Fran's style, well, not quite. Maybe he'd gone and come back? Maybe that was his answer, that he wanted to put it all behind us, he had come back to start afresh. I risked a smile but it quickly faded. Was that what I wanted? After all the shit did I really want anything fresh with him now? Could it even be fresh? At best it was stale, tarnished and dirty, second hand, well worn with scratches and a dent. Part of me thinks it could be cleaned up, turned around and made new and fresh, and even the idea of doing that was exciting like when we first met. But there would always be that thought at the back of my mind...the what if thingy. That was a big problem wasn't it? I became aware that I was rubbing my big toe around the knot in a floor board. The duvet lay slumped on my shoulders and my head down staring at the floor. I could sit and wallow in emotional turmoil for the rest of the day or I can rise up, grab the day by the balls and make it dance to my tune! The blue digits on the alarm clock told me it was I.30pm. I had overslept, but I had needed it big time, the last few weeks had consisted of long hours working and shorter and shorter hours sleeping, no time for anything else, the work was the only important thing until it was completed. I had never missed a deadline. I chuckled. I had promised myself a month off, no work, just rest. Peace and quiet, I had earned it. That had been 3 days ago when our first of the last arguments began. Since then I had spent more time shouting and crying with the one I love than I thought possible. Finally last night it hit me, my body turned to lead and I could no longer string a sentence together. After our hushed conversation on the stairs I was in bed and sleeping within seconds. For a brief moment I considered flopping back on the bed, tugging the duvet back over me and escaping to sleep. I fought against it and stood up. A second later habit kicked in and I quickly wrapped the duvet around me. The majority of the front of our coastal house is glass, floor to ceiling. We have huge blinds that operate on a remote control that swish across and shut out the world when we want privacy. I clearly hadn't thought about that when I flopped onto the bed last night. I don't mind admitting that we have both been spotted by passers by staring in shock at the naked person in the full heigh window. We even have a trio of horny teenagers hiding in the scrub by the cliff tops on the other side of the road, just waiting to catch a glimpse of naked flesh. I couldn't spot any of them that morning, I suspected they were more night owls hoping for some prolonged juicy one on one steamy action more than sky larks searching for early morning quick flash of booty dashing for the shower. And with that thought I headed for the bathroom. The warm water felt luxuriously soft against my skin, as did the shower cream bubbles as I swished them all over. I was reminded of the time we discovered the trio's secret voyeurs hideout over two years ago. We hadn't long been moved in to the Long House by the cliffs, I remember boxes stacked in the hallway right up until Christmas. We had spent a small fortune having the house remodelled to our own design, and the new glass front had not gone well with local residents. The new shower was amazing, a pure joy to use. Previously we had been forced to huddle under a drip-drip nozzle in a bath tub, pushing away a shower curtain and never feeling totally satisfied afterwards. This new shower room was huge, we calculated there was enough room to get at least 4 people in with us, with a heated floor, side jets, and two overhead sprinklers it was total extravagance. There were even two seats ranged along each side, carved out of the granite & glass walls. It was heavenly and every time I stepped inside it felt like an act of hedonism. We spent almost an hour in there that first time, just enjoying a new found pleasure, enjoying each others company without intrusion or interruption. The bedroom and bathroom were pretty much open plan, separated by a wall of smoke tinted glass bricks. We had been in the shower so long that night had arrived and the bedroom was shrouded in the dying red rays of the evening sun. In the dark bedroom we dried off, kissing and laughing together, silly things but they were those perfect "in the moment" events that touch you deeply and become etched in your memory for a lifetime. Along one wall we have a long mirrored set of wardrobes, a small dresser near the door and a huge king sized out framed bed opposite. The only thing by the floor to ceiling windows were two large boxes that remained unpacked. I can remember the entire evening like it happened last night, funny how some memories you can almost just step into isn't it? It's lonely in the shower now, we don't share it these days and all that space feels a bit pointless. Despite the warm water I felt a chill and hurried to get cleaned up. I brushed my teeth, sprayed deodorant and towelled my hair in front of the mirrored wardrobes. I admired my body for a moment. I had never been a tan-when-you-can girl so my skin was quite pale, not that I was bothered, I didn't care for lounging in the sun. At 32 I was still in damn good shape, my exercise regime had pretty much vanished these days but I wasn't being punished for it yet. My boobs, while kinda small at a B-cup were still as perky as they were in my teens, no nipple droopyness for me! Pink and perky. My stomach has a slight bump to it, but I've heard men find that kind of thing sexy. I keep myself trimmed, no Brazilian or Hollywood, just a tidy V no one had ever complained about. My thighs retained their toned look, as did my butt, despite doing nothing to keep them looking lovely. I was lucky. Night of the Voyuers -------------------- The night of the voyeurs came back to me after my inspection. Not a top score but high enough, I awarded myself an 8.2 as a matter of fact. From my position at the back of the bedroom it was impossible to see the road or the bush and scrub on the other side, but... I padded forward a few steps to the side of the bed. ...yes, I could look down onto the road. I moved around the end of the bed and along it until I could see the thick green tangle of bushes that spanned the gap between roadside and cliff edge, about 20 feet or so. Enough room to hide a trio of lads amongst the greenery in the dark, but not much room to stop a car if it managed to split the barrier. I was so caught up considering the measurements that I forget to check if anyone was indeed passing by. No one thank God! Cliff Top Road was roughly eleven miles long and spanned the gap between Whitsand Bay Hotel Golf & Country Club and the quaint village of Crafthole. There were four houses along the road. Anyone not in a car were mostly tourists, walking, cycling or heading for the beach. Needless to say our late night fan club were from Crafthole, we'd seen them around hanging outside the village shop, a harmless bunch of college lads, bored and horny. I smiled as my recollection continued. After fooling around in the shower we ended up on the bed, kissing, tickling each other, laughing, loving each as intensely beautiful moment as much as the next. I could feel Fran's erection poking me as we rolled across the bed, hot and slick against my skin, nudging against my stomach leaving a faint wet trail behind, slipping down my thigh, almost slapping against my back when he pulled me over in a tame wrestling move. By the time he was about to start begging I was more than ready for him, no foreplay, I just wanted him inside me. Deep, slow and sensuous. I remember the deep burnt red glow on Fran's chest as he towered over me teasing me light quick kisses, and I saw millions of gold sparkles across the ocean as if the waves were reflecting the stars over head. That was why we had Long House remodelled with a chunky oak frame and giant picture windows, to let the outside in, to absorb that freedom of the endless horizon that simply wasn't possible in the city. I pushed Fran away and jumped over to the window to embrace the magnificent fiery sunset. I pressed my naked body against the glass as if desperate to push on through and escape, rush to the sea and embrace the horizon. It was, and still remains, one of the most memorable sunsets I have ever seen, each crimson ray of light stretching across the water from a half submerged sun lingering on the horizon. Such wondrous colours golden tinged with the deep blue and black of night, it was breathtaking. I leaned on the two unopened boxes and beckoned Fran over. He stood close behind me, his breath on my neck sending a rush of tingles down my spine. His erection was nestled between the cheeks of my bottom also sending a rush of tingles this time up my spine. He said nothing, gazing over my shoulder at the beautiful panoramic view, something we had struggled so long to accomplish. There was no need to speak, it would sound silly to explain it to someone but it was as if we communicated through our emotions, our bodies moved together in a harmony we had been so lucky to find in each other. As we stared at the sunset I felt Fran slide himself inside me. I leaned forward a fraction, arched my back and pushed against him, trembling as his length moved deep into me, slowly and steadily. When he came to a stop I swear I almost purred with pleasure! His hands had been on my hips, now they travelled up my body and gently cupped my breasts. How I yearned for him to suck on my stiff little nipples, tease them, take them between his lips and roll his hot tongue over them. His fingers reacted as if reading my desire, pinching my nipples, flicking them and teasing a long satisfied sigh from my lips. Fran took just as long when he withdrew, pulling himself back out, leaving me wet and quivering and longing for him to plunge back into me again. He teased me, he knew exactly how to drive me wild, sliding the very tip of his penis up and down my lips, slick with my own juices. I actually felt a few drips roll down my thighs. He probed upward, adjusting our position so his glans rested against my clit, making me tremble in his embrace. I'm pretty sure I tried to say something, but it came out as a mixture of groan and whisper, unintelligible lustful gibberish. That was when I saw something glint in the darkness outside. Fran had seen it too, yet neither of us dashed away to hide. Instead we remained in position before the window, in full view of anyone outside who cared to glance up at us. The bedroom was dark, no light cast a reflection on the window, but the soft light from the bathroom was enough to illuminate and make us very visible to the outside. The next time we both saw it clear enough, a flash light flicking on and off in the bushes across the road. The third time we glimpsed the faces of the teenage boys. A strange thrill hit me, before that moment I would have been horrified to think anyone had watched us making love, but I suddenly found it extremely exciting, a massive turn on to know someone was watching. A quiet chuckle slipped from Fran's lips as they brushed against my ear, he gave my nipples a hard pinch and I wriggled on his erection, needing it inside me more ever before. Fran wasted no time, he moved slowly, easing my legs apart ever so slightly, his hands moving back down to my hips. It was a feeling like no other when my soft wet lips yielded to him as I felt him moving between then and upward into me again. This time I didn't push, just let him fill me right to the limit and when he was fully inside I squeezed as if to clamp him in place. He didn't wait so long this time to pull out, moving with careful strokes back and forth, deep and slow, a steady gentle rhythm that sent wave after wave of pleasure rolling up from between my legs to cover my entire body. He moved a hand down over my stomach, pausing just enough at my pubic hair to tease me, then reaching down, down and finally between my legs, fingers seeking out my hot hard clit, making me yelp in surprise at the first touch then groan and groan and groan as he rubbed it deftly, timing each long steady stroke and rub with every upward thrust into me. We no longer watched the sunset, the sun had all but melted into the sea by then, we watched for sign of the teenage voyeurs in the hiding place across the road. And occasionally we were rewarded by a glimpse of 3 open mouthed faces staring at us. Both Fran and I were showing off now, putting on a real good show for our unexpected voyeuristic audience. I reached up with my left hand, gripped my boob tight, my right hand travelled up and behind me, grabbing Fran's hair. I twisted my head and forced Fran's lips to mine, our tongues clashing together, matching the actions of our bodies. I almost fell over when my first orgasm hit me, my body seemed to go into spasm, locking up, Fran's tongue in my mouth where I sucked it hard until the pleasure subsided and I all but collapsed. Fran held me in place, thrusting himself harder into me, his soaking fingers stuck to my clit despite how it had suddenly become the most sensitive thing on the planet! His moves became quick, almost seemingly deeper I was lifted off my feet at times. I held my breasts, gripping them like I do the chest guard on a roller-coaster. I felt beads of sweat roll down my chest and my back, and I could hear a slapping sound as Fran's stomach struck my bottom. My second orgasm washed over me when Fran finally came. He thrust deep inside me, his fingers pinching my clit as we strained against one another. I could feel him twitch and shudder inside me for a second then he pumped into me again, another shudder as he ejaculated again and again, filling me with his jism. We drooped forward like puppets with their strings cut. I could feel our juices rolling down my thighs, and after a few minutes he withdrew slowly from me, allowing a small cascade of cum to roll out over my lips and down my thigh. We then staggered backward, I hoped Fran was leading us to the bed since I didn't fancy hitting the hardwood floor. We made it. Collapsed in a huddle of hot sweaty arms and legs, our audience long forgotten. We had finished the show with a bang and now it was light out, no encore, just blissful sleep till the soft early morning light awoke us. From half closed eyes I saw my sweaty hand prints on the box by the window, the corners we crumpled where I had been gripped it tightly. It had been a workout, a physical and emotional journey, a union of body and soul, neither of us said anything but it was an unspoken understanding that we had somehow moved to a different level of bonding. I've no strong religious views but that night, our love making, our emotional merging felt almost spiritual. How long I had been stood there gazing through the window I couldn't say, but it was long enough for me to air dry without a towel, and long enough for me to realise I might need another quick shower since I was now quite aroused and more than a little moist. Breakfast awkwardness I was dressed and ready to face the challenge, my mind focussed on the task at hand, the future, our future. Night of the voyeurs. How we moved forward without more arguing, peacefully, like mature adults. Putting on a show. I was cool, calm and under control. I could smell bacon when I left the bedroom, making mouth water. As I made my way down the stairs other smells joined in the aromatic song and dance that wafted away from the kitchen, fresh coffee, quality coffee too, no instant shit this morning. There was a hint of croissant too, and I was so sure I could small real butter. The nerves almost got the better of me as I neared the kitchen but I pushed myself through the door. Fran shuffled his newspaper into order, folded it and placed it on the pine kitchen table. I could see croissants, butter, toast, jam, a plate of bacon, juice and a pot of coffee and prayed to God he wouldn't hear my stomach growl in hunger. He opened his mouth to speak but closed it, I sensed he was eager to make things right, like I was, but didn't know how to form the words without them being misconstrued as something else. In the end he just waved a hand at the food and invited me sit down. Before I could start to eat or talk I needed to stop my suddenly dry mouth from sticking together. When I stretched to grab a glass from the cupboard, a cold glass of water was a good way to start, I caught a smile on his lips as his eyes travelled up my body, from feet to face. Jesus fucking Christ! He was checking me out! Do I take that as a compliment? Or confront him about his disgusting behaviour, well...it wasn't that disgusting but still, I shouldn't be allowing that to happen. Sunset: For Her Should I? No. It's appalling and rude. Really? I was confused again, my mind awash with uncertainty just the same before I pushed the duvet off and stood up, ready to face the challenge, naked in front of the window. I had been powerful and eager to get the show on the road, for better for worse, for the voyeurs. And here I was back to that angry at everything, ready to snap and retaliate over the smallest silliest things. I could feel the panic rise in my chest. I took a deep breath and gulped mouthfuls of cool water from the glass. I was in charge of my body, my life. I was strong, athletic, toned, sweaty... Powerful and commanding for God's sake, not sweaty, where had that come from? I shook off my irrelevant questions and sat at the table. In silence I ate a lovely bacon sandwich, let baked croissants melt in my mouth and swallowed freshly squeezed orange juice. Fran waited until I had finished eating before lighting up a cigarette. I watched the grey, blue tendrils of smoke swirl in the air above the kitchen table and felt an unexpected pang when the smell invaded my nostrils. I hadn't smoked for over a year now, the craving and urge just left me around the same time we... The breath caught in my throat. Had it been that long? A whole year since the last time we were intimate. On impulse I reached across the table and snatched up Fran's pack of Royals. Before I could react to my own shocking actions I had lit one up and inhaled deeply. Fran looked at surprised as I was. With a shrug I took another drag and flicked a stub of ash into the ashtray. I'd had a year off, this was my reward. So what? In silence we smoked. The mid morning sun bloomed through the kitchen, making it seem like a mini fog bank had appeared inside the house. An automatic calendar was turning in my head. A year since we'd made love, give or take a few weeks. Fran had moved to the opposite side of the house, the Wing we called it, guest wing with 3 bedrooms, it's own kitchen, living room etc. That meant it was only two years ago when we actually moved into the Long House. After waiting for the endless building work to be completed we only enjoyed the house together for a year? Just one year? It felt much longer than that but even as I recalculated I knew it was right. In the last twelve months the only contact we'd had was for work purposes. We were civil, polite and professional. At the rear of the house we had a purpose built office, our own desks and so forth. We made a lot of money but it seemed that wasn't enough. We weren't stupid, just because our personal lives happened to be a mess it wasn't a solid reason to throw away a perfectly good business relationship. That much we agreed on at least. Something made me wonder about the timing, with Christmas only a couple of weeks away, and here we were trying to make something, anything work between us, it felt ominous that it was a year since we parted. Maybe it was a good sign, an omen of positive things to come, a much needed change for the New Year. But it meant one of us actually speaking! I stubbed my smoke out when it hit the filter and swallowed refreshing orange juice. "Lovely breakfast, thank you," I said. It felt strange to split the silence but it had to happen. "My pleasure," Fran replied with a genuine smile. "There'll be some talk in Crafthole this afternoon I think." I laughed softly. Crafthole had three shops, a butcher, baker and tiny supermarket/post office. Even before Long House was complete we lived in an old battered trailer in the garden, one that didn't have a freezer. So every other morning before the builders arrived we would cycle the eight miles to Crafthole, pick up ingredients for breakfast and cycle back. We got to know the shop keeps very well. New couple, building work, very much in love, moved out of the city to start a new life and family...you know the kind of gossip that drifts through small villages like Crafthole. However, we hadn't cycled anywhere since our parting, let alone arriving at the bakers at 6.30am, sweaty and smiling and hungry for fresh baked croissants. "You cycled there?" I asked with raised eyebrows. Fran nodded. "It's surprisingly warm for December," Fran replied. He shrugged. "I just felt the need to ride out along the cliffs, take in the scenery and be refreshed, you know?" I gazed out of the window. I did know, very well. "I get like that sometimes," I said. "It's that feeling of being free again, leaving your problems trailing in the wind far behind. Refreshing is the exact word I would use too." "Second best way since the shower in the Wing is pretty crappy compared to yours, it's like a standing under a McDonald's straw than a mountain waterfall," Fran said with a smirk. "Refreshing it ain't!" I chuckled softly. It was funny how we lived in the same house yet referred to various bits as your or mine. I had never made it clear he wasn't welcome anywhere, we just lived in separate areas. The reference to the huge shower brought back the night of the voyeurs, a flash back of that night swam into my mind, a montage of clips nudged all other thoughts aside: the steamy shower, rolling across the bed, leaning against the boxes with Fran deep inside me, seeing the voyeur lads across the road, arching and leaning back to suck on Fran's tongue... I shook my head. How could one simple, none sexual comment summon up such filth? I realised I was biting my bottom lip. I had to get a grip. "You know you can use it any time you want," I stated, hoping I wasn't sounding like hard nosed bitch but a comforting friend. "Really Jane? Oh thanks so much," mocked Fran with a roll of his eyes. I realised it was a dumb thing to say. Of course he could use it whenever he wanted, but he was a gentlemen. The lines had been drawn and he wasn't going to cross them. "Sorry," I replied, feeling the moment and the day slipping away. "That was stupid." I struggled to find a way to rescue the conversation. "Reckon even the en-suite isn't as refreshing as the morning breeze on your face as you push along the cliffs." At this Fran gave a nod and after a pause for thought said: "Not a truer word spoken." Our passion for cycling brought us together. Ever since we had known each other, and regardless of our work load, we always found time to cycle every other day. Every day felt like a chore, something you had to do, but every other day felt out of choice more than a need to exercise for health and fitness reasons. Silence descended on the kitchen. I watching a single cloud drift across the sky, as if moving with purpose whilst feeling free to float when it desired. I thought I was in the right frame of mind for a confrontation, upstairs in the shower, standing before the mirror I held the potential discussion in my head like a fortune teller on firm ground. Down here though...the energy and enthusiasm was pouring out of me, leaving me feeling painful and empty. I could think of nothing to say, no way of bringing out problems out in the open. It appeared Fran was struggling too, he lit up another cigarette and breathed deeply. I didn't blame him, if I was still addicted to that sweet nicotine I'd be there with him, sucking and praying it would make everything a-okay. I realised Fran was still wearing his cycling shorts and the bright yellow Dash hooded fleece top I gave him on our first Christmas at Long House. Just recognising the clothing prompted a yearning I had not felt for too long. I wanted to feel the rush of cool air on my skin, my legs pumping the pedals and pushing me along the cliff top road. I could almost feel the sensation of freedom on my face. The desire to be out there, cycling along and chasing that freedom, has so instant and shocking I made a sudden decision and stood up, knocking the chair back across the floor. Fran jumped and glared up at me, his eyes questioning yet not angry, no anger at all. I stared at him, a faint smile on my lips, my fingers fidgeting with the buttons on my pullover. "Is mine still in working order?" I asked Fran. "Tip top." He didn't need to ask what I was referring to. Had he worked out what I was going ask based on his attire? Based on our conversation about bacon and croissants? Intuition? Or had he just read me like he used to do? Just as intriguing was how he knew my cycle was in good working order... ahh, because he had maintained it for the last year when I haven't used it. But why...? "I want to go," I told him. "Out. Along the cliff road." Fran nodded but didn't commit himself. I came close to turning and leaving him sat at the kitchen table, smoking and reading the paper. I hesitated. "I'd love to come," he stated. A grin flashed on my face and I forced it away in a hurry. "I'll change first," I said, tugging at my pullover. "Meet you out front." We left the kitchen. I headed up the creaky oak stairs, rescued from a derelict sail ship during our remodelling because they had character, perfect for Long House, a beautiful blend of old and new. White walls, deep oak rafters lined the ceilings, solid timber frames, leather sofas, subtle lighting and ancient wooden floor boards soft under foot. The rescued stair case, I like to think of it as a pirates stair case, always reminded of everything I loved about Long House. In the bedroom I stripped, threw my clothes across the floor, pulled on my favourite blue Lycra cycle leggings, enjoyed the sensation when they snapped taught across my bottom. I found an Adidas sport bra I hadn't worn for a long time, it felt snug. Finally I shrugged on a light weight Puma windcheater and my Reebok trainers. It all fit perfectly despite my worries that I had bulged from no exercise. In the kitchen I fished out my Sony Walkman, checked to see what tape was inside, and the batteries were fresh. I wrapped the earphones around my neck, clamped the Walkman to my waistband and left the house. Fran was outside waiting patiently. I didn't insult him by giving my cycle the once over. If he had maintained it then it truly was tip-top. We left the driveway and turned left, slipping into our usual route -- keep the sea to our right for the eight miles to Crafthole, make a circuit of the village green, grab a drink and admire the view then back home with the sea to our left. The road hugged the contours of the land, dips and rises all the way to Crafthole, and it was incredibly smooth, no cracks or rough patch up jobs, a fantastic ride all the way. It was never a race between us, but we had delighted in over taking another, building up speed at the top of a rise and dashing past each other in the dips. I clamped the headphones over my ears, gave Fran a nod and set off to the sound of Whitney Houston singing One Moment in Time. I found my rhythm without effort and before breaching the first rise I was sailing along, legs pumping away like I hadn't missed a day. I looked out over the ocean, at the waves lapping on the sand, gulls floating on the up-drafts and the breeze, oh that was an unforgettable feeling as it tugged my hair out behind my head. It was cold but not unbearably so, the heat from the low sun was just enough to warm me. Fran caught me on the next rise, steaming alongside a man possessed, speeding over the crest and disappearing from sight. I switched gear just I reached the top, as Whitney filled her lungs to treat my ears with her last powerful vocals. It was like old times, as if the last year of distrust, anger and pain had been nothing but a daydream, gone in a moment. Halfway to Crafthole I found Fran stationary by the worn stone steps of the old church, abandoned a couple of hundred years ago and left to decay. There was a tourist information board half way up the path where we would often sit and eat a sandwich whilst looking across the bay. I coasted to a stop next to Fran and gave him a broad smile. "It's so clear today," he said and pointed. "You can see the light house on the other side." It wasn't often you could see the red and white striped light house from the church, once or twice a year maybe if you were lucky. Mist, fog, general haze from the sea spray shortened the view distance considerably. It was as if the air had swept across the coast, ridding it off debris, forcing the landscape to be clean and tidy, reborn and fresh. It had rained during the night, the road was wet in places. The environment had decided today was a good time to have a clean up, wash away the dirt and grime, and breathe new life into the world. The sun was on its low arc toward the horizon. It would be setting soon. "How you doing?" Fran asked. "Good," I replied and frowned. "No. Better than good. Amazing." Fran smiled. "Same here. Like I said, simply refreshing." "Not a truer word spoken," I said with a wink. "Shall we?" he gestured to the road. I pressed the Play button on my Walkman, Phil Collins and his Groovy Kind of Love made me smile. I kicked off from the ground and sailed down the dip, pushing hard against the pedals until I climbed the next rise. Fran caught me up and we stayed side by side. I shrugged my ear phones down around my neck, it's not that I didn't want any music, Phil had had his moment at the top of the rise by the church. It felt wrong somehow to be listening when Fran was right next to me, and that felt better than listening to music. I could hear his steady breathing next to me through the whistling wind. I caught myself checking out his legs and looked back at the road. Moments later I was glancing over at him, his thighs were muscular, his shorts stretched over his skin and... I slowed down just a fraction so Fran moved ahead by a couple of feet. ...his bottom was just fine! Smooth, lean, I would say exquisite. He was in perfect shape, perhaps even better than before. It had been a while since I'd seen him... Was it really that night? The night of the voyeurs? No way was that the last time I'd seen him naked. It can't have been that long. As we traversed the cliff road I pulled an imaginary calendar back and forth in my mind, making calculation yet again, and arrived at a surprising and slightly unnerving answer. The night of the voyeurs had been exactly 2 years ago today, and our parting had happened 1 year ago today. That was just weird, full stop. Coincidences were all well and good when they happened but stuff like this was too exact, pure oddness and no mistake. It must mean something, like an omen for good times, God I hoped it was for good times. I have longed for a resolution to our problem for months, and there and then I desired for a positive result, a joyous time to end the dark nastiness that drove us both to despair. Before I could dwell on the situation further we rode into Crafthole. As if in a daze I climbed from my cycle and followed Fran into the tiny supermarket. The journey left me hungry and thirsty, more than any previous excursion. Fran bought bottles of Lucozade from the supermarket and from the bakers next door he bought 2 freshly made cheese & pickle bread rolls. We headed out of Crafthole to a place known locally as the Stump. Where the road turned away from the coast toward Crafthole a small trail led further along, dipping down out of sight until it came to a plateau of hard sand, rocks and tall dune grass. Two benches set in concrete faced the sea. The Stump was considered a multi-purpose place according to the shop keeps of Crafthole. Referred to with a frown by Mick the elderly baker. "Tis a disgusting mess of a place where them lot goes to do their drugs. It ought be off limits." Although quite how he knew anyone did drugs was a mystery since he was close to 70. "At night they been there, everyone knows what for and why," Josie, from the butchers told them once. "I seen em once too, when the car broke down top of the trail." I remember Josie's cackling laughter as she recalled the event. "My head lamps was like putting them on a stage. Two on them, both naked as the day they were born. Like rabbits staring up at me they were. I'll not be forgetting how quick they dressed and scampered away. Not till they lower me in the ground." When we mentioned these amusing stories to Kathryn, the plump rosy faced owner of the bus shelter sized supermarket, she laughed and nodded as if acknowledging an ancient fable. "There's truth in many a rumour I dare say. Take your pick. In the sixties there was a camp-site at the other end of the trail, not no more, erosion see? Was washed away in '82. Poor souls." Kathryn rolled her eyes at our confusion. "I got to spell it out for you? It were a naturist camp-site. The Stump gave that section of the beach a barrier, kept it separate from the rest of the usual families and so forth. Naturally them on the top of the Stump took to spying down at all them nudists displaying their flesh." We ate in silence, admiring the view. It was easy to where the camp-site had been. The cliffs weren't so tall on the left of the stump after a vast section had sheared away, crashing down onto the beach below. I wondered what it must have been like back in the sixties, free love and flower power. Shedding your clothes at a naturist beach at a time like that, displaying yourself, naked, for everyone to see. I almost giggled to myself. The night of the voyeurs came back once again. That event was lodged in my mind, apparently unwilling to settle back into the pages of history. It seemed today was an erotic high point in our lives, destined to be the centre of passion and desire which the rest of the year fell away from. "Penny for them." I came out of my daydream. "Oh just thinking," I replied. I nodded at the mound of rocks at the base of the cliffs where the overhang had collapsed back in '82. They were red now in the evening light instead of beige. "Wondering how people got up the nerve to go naked at places like that, even these days too I guess." "Way of life for some," Fran stated. "Probably feel no more different naked than we do wearing clothes." "Guess it's how you look at it," I said in agreement. I tittered and added: "Wouldn't be able to resist looking at it all the time at a place like that." "You asking or making a statement?" I spotted the glint of mischief in Fran's expression. "The statement could mean I've got sex on the brain," I replied carefully, knowing it wasn't far from the truth today. "Whereas the question could imply I'm eager to know if you would indeed be looking at it so I could either mock or agree with you. Tricky, tricky you are. But I saw your trap." "Then my answer would be: indeed I would be looking, not too obviously but with keen interest in the goings and comings of naturist camp life," Fran said. He swigged from his Lucozade bottle and waited for my response. "Ha! The trap has been sprung," I said with a giggle. "I shall mock you, sir. For you are nothing more than a horny voyeur with one thing on his mind. Tut tut." Fran gave me a false look of shock and a second later we burst out laughing. It was long overdue more then welcome. There were so many things we had not done since we parted or personal lives a year back. That was a good quality joyous moment where nothing else existed other than the laughter. When we finally caught out breath I was thirsty and gulped from my bottle. "Everyone's a voyeur when you get down to it," Fran said. I considered this. "If everyone's a voyeur then surely that makes us all exhibitionists. We're all watching and showing off at the same time." "Sounds like a fact," Fran said. "Theory at best," I replied. "Wonder if anyone's researched it." "More than likely," Fran said. He stared at the ocean. "I know we have." I nodded along. Sure, probably some weedy gaggle of pale faced scientist types in white coats asking an endless string of volunteers sexually ambiguous questions. I imagined them hovering in darkened corners, voyeurs themselves, clipboard in hand, watching their volunteers stare through a two way mirror at other volunteers having sex in the opposite room. Recording their volunteers arousal time, making endless ticks in boxes on meaningless forms, all the while itching to relieve their own desires as.... Sunset: For Her I turned slowly to face Fran. I'd missed something. His last comment... "We have?" I asked him eventually. "Don't you remember?" he said plainly. "Probably around this time of year I think." I felt my heart thud in my chest. "Not Christmas last but the one before that," Fran continued. Was he talking about...that night? "We had boxes everywhere, the hallway was like a maze, there were some in the bedroom too, like sand, gets everywhere!" He chuckled at his own joke and returned his attention back to the sea. He was reminiscing about the same night that would not leave my head, or he was about to. "Eighty six," he prompted me and returned his attention to me. "December time. Remember now?" he asked me after a few minutes of silence. "Those lads in the scrub across the road," I said. My eyes travelling slowly over his face to his lips and back to meet his eyes. Fran nodded for me to continue. "In the darkness they were watching us, staring at us through the window." Exhibitionists once more I was aware of how close we were sitting all of a sudden. The hood of my wind cheater billowed in the wind around my head. I could feel the Lycra of my leggings brush against Fran's leg. It was like I felt faint, light headed, a pulling or yearning to move toward Fran. Part of me wanted to fight it, we could never get anything resolved if we kissed. But the other part....the burning desire part wanted to stick all the fuel on the fire and let that sexual bonfire burn until the sun came up! "We'd been in the shower," Fran added, prompting me. "Our first one after it was all finished," I said. I wasn't sure I could actually sit on the bench at the Stump and verbally relive that epic night of passion and emotion. I felt Fran's hand on my knee and realised I was going to try. "We couldn't stop laughing, tickling each other on our new bed. Precious moments." I felt his hand on my thigh and tried to force back a shiver. I wasn't cold. We were close together now, I feel his chest rise and fall with each breath. This was really going to happen wasn't it? Right here and the Stump. Oh come on! This was ridiculous, no way were we going to kiss now, it was laughable, impossible. "We hadn't even tested the new remote control blinds," Fran said. "The bedroom was so dark and that sunset...do you remember how amazing it was?" Fran nodded. "Most beautiful one I have ever seen." My hands had found their way under his fleece. They rested against his body, ready to wrap around him at a moments notice.... What? What they hell! My hands were cold, that's it. It was December. I was allowed to do that, men are hardy and proud, women are allowed to seek warmth and comfort. "I remember I wanted to run out and wrap my arms around it," I said, unable to stop my memories from bypassing my brain and joining forces with my mouth. "And we stood at the window together, naked and unashamed. Natural." I shuddered then. I had already relived the next event once only a few hours ago and I was about to speak it out loud to the guy who used to be my friend, lover, emotional twin, spiritual partner. My everything. Who was now....what? Business partner? Colleague? This could be very embarrassing, or it would be if I just admitted how aroused I was. "For all the world to see," Fran said. His hands had moved, they rested on the tops of my thighs now. I could feel his breath on my ear as we were virtually hugging. This was going to happen wasn't it? I wanted it. Needed it to happen. I just couldn't get the words out. "I can't," I said and lowered my head. The moment was slipping away and there was nothing I could do to prevent it. "Jane you are so...unbelievably beautiful," Fran said suddenly. He paused and added quietly: "It felt like pure silk when I pushed myself inside you." Warmth flooded between my legs. My heart pounded against my rib cage and I lifted my head, my mouth seeking out his with such urgency I hadn't felt before. Our lips forced together, I felt his tongue flicker over mine and I chased it with my own. When we parted I gasped for breath. "I wanted your tongue on my nipples," I said, my voice hushed. "I didn't even say anything and your hands were there. Teasing, touching, pinching them. I could feel you sliding in and out of me...slow and deep, so gentle and firm...and I was so wet...then you teased me, rubbing yourself against me and..." The words caught in my throat. I swear I was going to climax right at that moment without even being touched! I looked into Fran's green eyes. I felt his hands on my hips, his breath on my lips. "That was when we saw the flash," Fran said. "Outside across the road. We both saw it." "They were watching us make love," I said. My hands were under Fran's t-shirt, sliding over his muscular torso, feeling the springy hairs on his chest between my fingers. "We didn't hide. We just stood there." "We gave them a show," Fran added. I felt his hands under my vest, pushing the material upward until he met my sports bra. That didn't stop his intentions. The bra slipped up over my breasts. I sighed when his hands cupped my boobs and then trembled when his fingers began to play with my painfully erect nipples. "You practically lifted me off my feet when you entered me," I said. My lips seeking out his once more. We kissed quickly, hungrily. "You always had a perfect rhythm, but this time...it was heavenly...deep into me and pulling out almost all the way before filling me over and over...felt like nothing on Earth...and when your hands moved down to touch my...my..." "You were wet and slick. Your clit so proud and rigid," Fran said. "Beautiful." "I climaxed so hard the first time." I was panting, my hands moving over his body almost at a panic. His fingers were sending jolts of energy from my nipples out all over my skin. "I nearly passed out...but you held me tight. I could feel something else passing between us, more than physical pleasure...something unspoken..." I pulled back and looked into his eyes. He wore an expression of concern and doubt. "Emotional, kind of spiritual?" he asked. With a surge of happiness I embraced him. When we separated I felt my desire screaming inside my chest, crying out for my emotional and physical needs to be satisfied by this one man, the only one I loved. I kissed him long and deep and when I pulled away I was already yanking my wind cheater over my head. "Are you sure?" he asked. "Yes. Here. Now," I hissed quietly. "Do you want me?" Fran nodded. No other discussion was needed. I threw down my wind cheater and started tugging at my vest top and sport bra, flinging them to the ground. I kicked off my trainers and socks and stood in front of Fran. In one swift movement his hands hauled my Lycra leggings down to the ground and off my feet. I was exposed. Naked and more aroused than ever. His hands roamed up my legs, over my bottom to my boobs. He held them gently in his hands before moving down over my stomach, slowing as his finger trailed my pubic vee, he paused to pass a finger over my lips, grazing them gently, enticing a whimper from my mouth. Fran whirled me around and sat me on the bench. He tore at his yellow Dash fleece and t-shirt, throwing them behind him at the same time I robbed him off his cycle shorts. His erection bobbed in the cool air before my face. Fran didn't manage to bend and pull off his trainers because I took him in my mouth. He gasped as my lips wrapped around him, sucking his length in over my tongue. I was hungry to taste and feel every part of his body. I felt his hands in my hair pulled me onto him, thrusting himself into my mouth. I pulled back and licked him from base to tip before pushing him away so I could stand. We kissed. His cock straining against my stomach. "Make love to me, Fran. I want this to be our fresh start. Our way forward." "The past is dead," he said between kisses. "Except this day. Our day." "Our centre." Fran turned me to face the sea. The sun had just touched the horizon, long fingers of cirrus lay across the sky, tinged red and orange by the sun. Fran's strong arms wrapped around me, hugging me close. I moved forward, my hands grabbed the back of the bench, I wriggled against him, eager and ready. He trailed his hands down along my spine, gliding them over my skin. They rested on my hips for a moment before I felt him brush against my swollen lips. His helmet gently nudged my lips apart and slid between them, filling me, not stopping until he was completely buried inside my pussy. His hands gripped my breasts, fingers working on my pink hard nipples, pinching and squeezing them, making me squirm against him in ecstasy. Ever so slowly he withdrew, pulling almost all the way out of me, leaving his tip nestled between my wet tingling lips. I gasped loudly as he plunged back into me. "Deep," I said with a sigh. "Deep and slow and strong...it's soooo good...that's it..." We had never been very vocal when we made love, there was no need for instruction as we instinctively knew how to pleasure each other. But now I found myself speaking, hushed tones, often barely a whisper, words merged into a grunt or groan. I was aroused beyond measure, it felt like a mini orgasm rushed through every nerve ending when Fran pushed up inside me. I didn't want him to stop playing with my nipples yet I wanted more tingles between my legs, just how I remembered from the night of the voyeurs. "Pleasure yourself," I heard Fran say into my ear as if he had read my thoughts. "Reach down and feel how hard your clit is. Play with it until you cum." I did it. With my right hand gripping the bench I used my left hand to rub my clit, gently at first, but building up the pressure and speed to match Fran's rhythm. We moved together like the flow of the waves spilling onto the beach -- the sea pulling back then sending a wave crashing against the sand, over and over. "Jane, I'm close," Fran said, his words almost lost in a breathless pant. "Me too," I replied. His speed quickened, his length sliding back and forth with more urgency, harder and faster. Beyond my own desire for pleasure I wanted to feel his cum inside me, the feeling of his cock jerking as his sperm jetted in my pussy. There was a cool evening breeze in the air but I could feel the sweat rolling between my breasts and down my back. Somewhere above us on the cliff road came the sound of a car rolling by. If anyone came down the trail, dressed in evening winter gear they would have been more than a shocked to find the two of us, butt naked and sweaty, making love on the Stump. Another tale for rumour to spread into the pages of Crafthole village history. Our efforts increased to the ultimate point of no return. I yelled out when my orgasm gushed through my body, every last nerve ending was on fire as a storm of electric joy thrilled me to my soul. My skin was hot like instant sunburn had just struck me. My clit was on fire, sensitive beyond belief but I continued to rub it, sending out continuous waves of pleasure until Fran came. It felt as if the world itself was rumbling and roaring in my ears, celebrating my climax with me. I actually felt the earth move, bringing truth to the old saying. A moment later Fran tensed, pressing against my back, forcing himself deep inside my pussy as he came, grunting and exhaling a deep breath on my neck. He shuddered for several seconds, each time I felt him ejaculating long and hard deep inside me. Never before had we pushed ourselves to the the limits of our physical and emotional boundaries. We staggered back away from the bench and sank to the floor, resting against a sand dune. Fran remained inside me for a few moments until I shuffled around to face him. Juices escaped onto my thigh and I quivered a little at the strange sensation. I kissed him gently. His heart was still thudding and his chest hair was matted with sweat. He slid a finger over my breast, flicking up a bead of sweat from my left nipple. "This is the first day," he said to me, his green eyes staring into mine. "Our line in the sand starts here. I truly love you, Jane. You and no other." "I am so in love with you," I replied. "There is a connection isn't there? Something more spiritual like you said. You feel it too don't you?" Fran nodded. "An unbreakable bond." On that chilly day in December, two years since the night of the voyeurs and that amazing sunset, and one year since our split, we lay there on that sand dune, naked, in each others arms, watching the sky. The sun sat on the horizon like half an orange on a dark table top. It was a perfect sunset.