Red Hot

"Don't I know you from somewhere?"

She appeared to be around forty, about half a dozen years younger than me. A face that had probably once been called impish, but had grown into a calm beauty that comes with the years. Red hair that hung loose over her shoulders. Hazel eyes behind large round glasses, and pale skin with freckles that covered her cheeks and nose. They were also visible in her cleavage that peeked out through her low-cut sweater.

We were both sitting at a long table in a coffee place. I came here most days to get out of my apartment and pretend to read the newspaper or a magazine. Around us, there was a low buzz of voices, broken by the loud gurgle of the Infernal Caffeine Machine (TM) and the barista calling out for a Luke to come and get his drink, Luke, your iced latte is going cold, haha.

I put down my newspaper and smiled. "I used to go by Daz." Deciding my coffee was still hot enough to drink, I took a sip and waited for realisation to hit.

It took a moment. I could spot exactly when she worked it out. Her eyes lit up with excitement. "Daz!" she exclaimed, sounding for all the world like the girl she'd have been back then. "Daz! I had such a huge crush on you back in the day!"

I gave her my usual warm smile. "A long time ago, I'm sure. But it's always lovely to meet a fan." I let the smile transform into the standard rueful grin. "Or at least a one-time fan."

"Daz!" She sounded like she was in a daze. "I knew I recognised you. I had your poster over my bed and all. Saw your show here in town, back in..." The sentence trailed off as she did the maths. "Gosh, is it that long ago already? I'm old."

I'd had the same conversation hundreds of times. Of course, the realisation of the speaker's age was relatively new. For a while, it was "Wow, you're so much older now!" No, I never got tired of hearing that.

"Are you kidding?" I drained my cup and rose. "You're not old. You're a beautiful woman, and I'm proud to have been part of your life."

That pale skin flushed a bright red, and she stammered a reply as I said goodbye and left. It was a standard line that I used every time I met a fan, but in her case it was true. I glanced in the reflection of the glass door as I went out, and saw her bent over her phone, typing furiously. It felt good, I thought as I stepped out onto the street and headed back home, knowing that I'd made someone's day.

In case it wasn't clear, I used to be famous.

At the height of the nineties boyband craze, I was "the Dangerous One" in an act called Street5. Pronounced "streets", but with a "5" because there were five of us. The record company's marketing wasn't very subtle. Our logo was the band name with five silhouettes in front of it.

But they'd done their research. We each had a role. The Leader, the Pretty One, the Quiet One, the Dangerous One, the Kid.

I was set to be "the Kid", except I hit a growth spurt, and my eyebrows grew thick and dark, so I was recast. At least it meant I could grow facial hair, unlike the other four. They had to maintain their smooth, clean appearance -- not threatening, just masculine enough for young girls to realise that boys weren't all smelly and pimply. Safe targets for their first teenage crush.

On the other hand, that facial hair required a separate stylist, so I'm not sure who had the better deal. I shaved it all off as soon as I could.

We weren't brilliant. We didn't need to be. We were marketed, and we sold. There's a long blur in my memory, two years of nearly constant touring and fan events, interspersed with sessions in the studio and talk show appearances.

Mostly I remember the strain of playing the part. Street5 was presented as a group of close friends from the shady part of town. I'm not sure anyone really believed it, but the fans bought into the fiction and we played our roles. The truth was we'd never met before the record company put us together like a recipe for making money.

You'd think we'd have hated each other, thrust into a cage and expected to get along. But early on we were all too excited, and too worried to rock the boat. We knew we were going to make it big, and none of us was going to jeopardise our success.

Later, as life became that long blur, the others just faded into the background. We all did our bits on stage. We said our lines, danced our steps, played our part. Off-stage I don't really remember us having much to do with each other.

It all started to change when I went off-script. It's as clear in my mind now as it was all those years ago, the first moment when the world came into focus. We were on tour, staying at a hotel in Algeria, of all places. I'd woken early, chafing at how bored I was, and something someone said on the telly caught my attention. I probably misheard it, but there it was in my brain, a line of magic. "Tears like the stars in the sky at night."

Half an hour later I'd written a song. It was good, too, and not as cheesy as you might think. Better than the anaemic drivel the record company gave us. So I put it on a fax to our producer back home, and ten minutes later he was on the phone and we were talking arrangement.

"Tears Like Stars" was our biggest hit. We knew it was going to be. I understood Street5, I knew how our voices worked together, I knew all our roles. The song worked for us.

We'd reached maturity, the media said. Grown beyond the straightjacket of the boyband mould and evolved into serious artists.

I wrote more songs, and tweaked the songs that were already written. I enjoyed it, and I was good at it. Hit followed hit, and we nearly reached the top spot for Christmas with "Heart In The Snow". I still think we'd have been the Christmas number 1 if that blizzard had come just a week earlier.

But it was the beginning of the end. Or the middle of the end, or something. The others resented my new value to the record company, and the extra money I got from the writing credits. And after the initial rush of performing my own songs, I started to dislike the whole act that we were putting on. I wanted to spend more time writing, and the shows got in the way.

I wasn't the first to leave the band. That was Gaz (real name Rupert), who played the part of the Leader. I was stealing his spotlight, he claimed, and he'd be better off on his own. He had a couple of minor successes, then dropped into obscurity. Looking back I feel sorry for him, but at the time I took a great deal of delight in it.

Street5 survived for another year, but the spark had gone. For the band, at least, and I think for the record company too. The fans were still as passionate as ever, but we'd reached the end of the road. The Kid, whose real name I don't remember but who went by Danny, went into acting and became a regular on one of the long-running soap operas. Pretty Dev and Quiet Kev (or Sammy and Peter, as their mothers called them) became co-hosts of a surprisingly insightful travel show.

And I became a songwriter and faded into the background.

It was a quiet life. Mostly just me and my keyboard, in my fancy apartment overlooking the city. There was enough money coming in that I could do as I pleased, and lately that meant staying inside except for my daily outings to the coffee place.

I didn't meet many beautiful age-appropriate redheads.

*

The day after the encounter in the coffee place I did something I never did. I went back. Usually when I encountered a fan there, I'd give it a day or two before returning. Leave them a bit of time to cool down. I'd had a few awkward experiences where an old fan had been waiting for me the next day, and the next, and the next.

But there was something about this woman that made me think it might not be so bad to run into her again. For a start, as the years flew by my days of being a stalk-worthy heartthrob had slipped behind me. And the fans were quite a bit older as well, and hopefully less starry-eyed.

So I ordered my usual and sat in my usual spot. I'd brought my e-reader, because I'd just bought a new book, and in moments my mind was drifting off in a combination of the story and an idea it triggered for a song.

"Hi." It was the same woman, sitting down opposite me in the same spot.

I'd almost forgotten why I was there. Yes, it was a very good book. I blinked while my brain made the long journey back from fantasyland. "Hi."

"Listen," she began, almost in a rush, "I hate to be that person, but... would you mind taking a selfie with me? After you left yesterday, I was kicking myself for not asking, and... Well, I almost didn't come back today because I didn't want to creep you out."

She must have misread the blank look that I knew was on my face, because she added, "I'm not a stalker. You probably get bothered all the time by fans."

By now all of me was back in the real world. I managed my warmest smile. "It's not a problem, truly."

She gave a girlish squeal and rose, phone in hand. Her boobs bounced in her soft green sweater as she almost skipped round to my side of the table, removing her glasses as she went. We arranged ourselves with our heads together -- I was glad I hadn't had any of my coffee yet, and my breath was still fresh -- and she held the phone up before us.

I could see us both on her screen. She was bending forward so that her cheek was pressed against mine, mouth wide in a huge grin. Her sweater had fallen forward, and my own smile was probably more natural than any I'd ever put on for a selfie.

She clicked, then straightened up and fiddled with her phone. A frown appeared on her face, and she shook her head. "It's out of focus. Would you mind...?"

Of course I didn't mind, even though I was sure the image on her screen had been crisp. But there was a delightful warmth in her body, and she smelled of bergamot and vanilla. And when she bent forward again I enjoyed the sight of her boobs on the small screen.

So my smile was still a happy one, and that's what would have appeared on the selfie, except just before she snapped the shot she turned her head and sucked my earlobe into her mouth.

"Much better!"

I looked up at her, mouth open in shock, and saw her grinning back down at me. She held the phone out for me to see.

It was funny, I had to admit. The look on my face was one of utter surprise: eyes wide, mouth open. It was almost comically exaggerated.

So I laughed while she made her way back to her seat and put her glasses on her nose. Her boobs moved slightly in her sweater again. "Good one. I'd like to have a copy."

"Give me your number and I'll forward it."

I gave it, taking the opportunity to admire how her breasts rested on the table as she leaned forward on her elbows. A moment later I heard a pling, and saw her message. The picture, captioned "Myrna and Daz".

"Myrna, that's your name?" Of course it was, and I felt stupid as soon as I'd asked. "It's pretty."

"Thank you! And sorry about just now." She put her phone down and took a sip of her coffee. I realised I hadn't touched mine, and drank as well.

"It makes a change from the usual selfies with fans." To be fair, I knew I'd have been upset if Myrna hadn't been so gorgeous.

"I bet you get loads of women my age hanging all over you." There was something of a twinkle in her eye as she spoke.

"Not as many as there used to be. I haven't really been in the public eye for a long time."

"Do you miss it?"

Her question took me by surprise. I hadn't ever really thought about it. I considered for a moment, then shrugged. "No, not at all. It was fun while it lasted, but--"

"I bet you got loads of pussy."

"What?" I gaped at her, certain that I must have misheard.

"All the fans, throwing themselves at you. You must have been drowning in it."

"N-- no," I managed. I felt like I was two steps behind the conversation. "No, none at all. Too many young girls. The risk of a scandal... The record label kept us on a tight leash."

Her eyebrows rose suggestively. "That can be fun too." She laughed as I floundered, then rose and took her handbag. "I need the loo. Will you still be here when I get back?" Without waiting for an answer she walked towards the back of the place, arse swinging in her denims.

I took a gulp of my coffee, draining the cup, and sucked in a deep breath. My hands were trembling slightly, I noticed. The situation seemed to have run away with me.

For a moment I considered making a dash for the door before I made even more of a fool of myself. Myrna must think I was slow in the head or something. But I decided it would be rude to leave without saying goodbye.

Besides, she was very attractive, and there was something erotic about how frank she was. She seemed very comfortable with who she was and what she wanted.

So I decided to wait for her to return, and then offer her another coffee. To kill the time I checked my phone, even though I knew it would just remind me that I had songs to write.

I'd barely picked it up when it chimed with the arrival of a new message. It was from Myrna's number, with an attachment. Without thinking -- assuming it was the first selfie she'd taken -- I opened the file.

Right away, even before my brain processed what my eyes were sending me, I knew it wasn't the selfie. Too much pale skin. The wrong angle. No middle-aged bloke squinting at the camera hoping for a better view of the cleavage.

Instead, it was Myrna's reflection in the mirror of what was presumably the ladies' bathroom. Her sweater was pulled up to cover her face and reveal her bare torso and a lacy green bra cupping two firm mounds. In case I scared you off, the caption read.

I was still staring at it when she emerged through the door at the back. The look on her face was prim, as if nothing had happened, but her nipples were poking through her sweater. She sat down and rested her chin on her hands. "You're still here. I was sure you'd be gone."

"I thought about it." I wasn't sure why I admitted that. "But I'd made up my mind to stay even before you sent the pic."

"I hope you like it. You seemed to be fascinated by my boobs, so it seemed like a good way to apologise for making you uncomfortable."

It was happening again. My brain was moving at half the speed of her side of the conversation. My body wasn't, though. I could feel the blood rush to my cheeks, and I became aware that it had already started to make its way to my cock as well.

"Maybe you can get us coffee while you try to think of something to say?" She smiled sweetly.

I rose, mumbling something incoherent before I managed to ask, "Black?"

"Yes please. If I want cream, I'll get it myself." And her gaze dropped to below my waist where I knew there was a bulge visible in my trousers.

By strategically holding my phone before me I managed to make it to the counter without drawing any stares from the barista or the other customers. I placed the order, and bought a large chocolate muffin as well. I wanted to see what Myrna would do with it.

I returned to the table feeling a bit more in control and put the plate with the muffin between us. "Here, in case you want something to nibble." I saw her mouth open, and added, "Something besides my earlobe."

She grinned. "I'll settle for a bit of muffin for now." Her hand reached out, and with slender fingers she tore a piece off and popped it into her mouth. She savoured it for a moment, then swallowed. "That's good. Nice and moist. How about you, Daz? Do you like nibbling on a moist muffin?"

I'd been expecting it, though. "Me? I love a sweet muffin." I took a piece, but before I could raise my hand to my mouth Myrna's fingers grasped it. Her eyes met mine, her lips parted, and she guided my fingers toward her open mouth.

I felt her warm breath, then her lips closed around the cake. Her tongue licked at my fingers again and again before she pulled them away. All this time her eyes hadn't left mine.

An ache in my chest reminded me to breathe. "Uhm..."

"Sorry." She didn't sound very sorry. She didn't look it either as she took a napkin and used it to wipe my fingers. "There. As if that never happened."

"Uhm..."

Just then the barista arrived with our coffees. Another surprise. Usually customers were expected to collect them from the counter, even minor local celebrities like myself. I was grateful, though, because there was no way I could have hidden the bulge along my trouser leg now.

I was out of practice with people, I realised. Too much time locked away at home, writing songs. Not enough interaction with people outside my comfort zone.

The thing was, my comfort zone was pretty damn comfortable. I didn't need to do anything I didn't want to. Didn't need to see anyone I didn't want to. Didn't run into predatory redheads very often.

So my mental reflexes weren't as sharp as they might have been. There was a time I'd have a witty response for each of Myrna's sallies, with some subtle flirting of my own to see how she responded.

Now I was left floundering by the appearance of the barista whose name escaped me as I stammered my thanks.

Myrna was aware of this. I could tell from how she looked at me that she knew just how out of my depth I was. I might have thought she was having fun at my expense. But there didn't seem to be any nastiness or malice in her teasing, and even feeling like a bumbling halfwit I was getting enough out of it to enjoy it.

So I took a sip of my new coffee and wondered what she would do next. Well, what she did next was smile, then ask about life on tour and how things like coffee and food compared with normal life. It appeared that she'd taken pity on me.

We talked for another half hour or so before I made my excuses. Much as I enjoyed Myrna's company, the bad acoustics of the coffee place were tiring me out. Besides, I'd come up with inspiration for three new songs and I wanted to get to work on them.

We walked outside together. It was a lovely day, warm and sunny. I stood awkwardly, unable to gauge quite where our relationship stood in terms of closeness. After a moment I jerked my thumb over my shoulder. "That's me, in that block there."

She glanced past me and raised her eyebrows. "Looks posh!"

"Yeah, well." Every Christmas brought a fat royalty check for "Heart In The Snow", and that by itself was enough to pay for the fancy apartment at the top of the tower. Suddenly I wondered whether she was expecting me to invite her up, and I realised in a panic that I didn't want to. Even if she teased me more, and even if that teasing led to sex, just now I needed to be alone.

Luckily she seemed to sense it. She leaned forward and pressed her face against mine. "Goodbye, Daz. Will I see you tomorrow?"

Trying not to heave a sigh of relief I kissed her on the cheek. "Tomorrow sounds great."

It was with a feeling of double happiness that I returned to my apartment. Happiness to be back, and happiness that Myrna wanted to see me again. I took out my phone to take a good look at the picture she'd sent.

I was just zooming in, one hand idly rubbing myself, when a new message popped up. I recognised the number as Myrna's, even though I hadn't added it to my contacts list yet.

Are you looking at the photo I sent?

I am, as a matter of fact I replied. I was more comfortable texting than dealing with people face to face.

Then I'll leave you alone for a few minutes. Have fun!

Well, with that kind of encouragement, what else could I do? I went to my bedroom and had a wank.

*

I spent the rest of the day writing. It was as if my brain was on fire. Lines flowed from my mind onto the paper and from there onto my keyboard and into the air. It was like I'd never tapped into the muse before, and now she was bursting with eagerness to escape.

It was early evening, and I was relaxing on my balcony with a glass of wine, when my phone chimed again. Myrna.

Did you have fun with the pic?

I did. Thanks! Although my fantasies had gone beyond what the picture showed, and explored what her actions had implied.

I had some fun of my own :) This message came with another photo, and I had to put my glass down carefully to take a good look.

It showed Myrna -- her face wasn't visible, but it was her form, with the clothes she'd been wearing earlier - with her jeans unbuttoned. Her hand was shoved down all the way to her wrist.

I was hard instantly. Nice! I hope you had as much fun as I did.

I have all the fun I want.

There wasn't much I could say to that, so I just sent a smiley face.

After a moment a new message came in. This time it showed Myrna's face, without her glasses, smiling at the camera. She was wearing something in lilac with a square neck that displayed the mounds of her breasts.

Guess where I am?

I managed to focus on the background. Looks like a bus.

Clever you! Now guess where I'm going? This came with another picture, one of her bare knees and legs under the lilac dress, with high-heeled sandals on her feet.

Wherever it is, I'm sure you'll have plenty of admirers.

Just the one. He doesn't know how lucky he is.

Was that a stab of jealousy I felt? I gritted my teeth and ignored it. I'm sure he does.

He will shortly. What do you think of this? This time the picture showed her pulling the neckline of her dress aside to reveal a very lacy bra of dark purple.

Hot! It was. My cock recovered some of the hardness that it had lost a moment earlier. Do the knickers match?

Hang on. There was a long wait before the next picture arrived. When it did, all thoughts of being jealous vanished.

It was the same shot of Myrna's feet as before, except now there was a pair of knickers bunched around her ankles.

Matching undies. You like them?

Love them!

Are you hard?

So hard! I was beyond hard. I was almost ready to explode. It had been a long time since I'd wanked on my balcony.

Good. Because I'm nearly at your place.

What? I stared at my phone. Myrna was on her way here? I must have stared for longer than I thought because a new message popped up.

You've gone very quiet. Don't you want to see me?

Of course I do! I'd never typed a message so fast. Just surprised, that's all.

The phone almost slipped from my hand, and I realised that my fingers were sweaty. I was trembling like a teenager about to kiss for the first time.

You have a few minutes to recover. I'm at the bus stop now.

The bus stop was about five minutes' walk, even allowing for high heels. I jumped from my chair and threw a hurried look inside. The housekeeper had been that morning, so the place was clean and tidy. Some papers scattered around where I'd been writing, but I was conceited enough to hope they'd make me appear more interesting.

I darted into the bathroom to freshen up, and has just made it to the kitchen to clear away the remains of my dinner when my phone pinged again.

What's your number?

For a moment I was confused -- she was messaging me on my number, after all -- before I got it. Press PH

A second later my security system buzzed, and I dashed to the intercom in the hall. On the black and white screen I could see Myrna, looking around her in a cool way. Out of habit I scanned the rest of the lobby. She was alone.

I pushed the button that sent the lift down and watched as she disappeared from the screen. My security system informed me that someone had pressed the button to the penthouse suite.

The lift had never taken so long to crawl its way the lobby up to my floor. Well, except perhaps that one time I really needed to pee. It felt like forever, but then suddenly I heard a soft thump and the doors opened, and there she stood.

Myrna stepped from the lift into my hall, cool, almost aloof. Her heels clicked on the stone tiles. "The penthouse," she said. "Street5 must have been a bigger deal than I remember."

For a moment I wanted to correct her, to tell her about the money I made as a songwriter. Then I just grinned. "I live frugally."

"I can tell. A penthouse suite and buying coffee for strange women. Aren't you going to show me in?"

I stammered an apology and led the way. "Can I get you something to drink? Wine, tea, coffee?"

"Wine would be lovely." She stood in the centre of the room, taking it all in: the sitting area, the open-plan kitchen, the balcony.

My own glass was still outside, but I quickly retrieved the bottle from the fridge and a glass from the cupboard. When I turned round, Myrna had dropped her purse on the sofa and was stepping out onto the balcony. Every move seemed to be smooth and controlled.

I halted and admired her. The lilac dress hugged her form, and the heels brought out the shape of her legs and arse. I tried to imagine the knickers I'd seen in the picture, but they'd been bunched up and all I had to go on was the colour and the bit of pattern I'd seen on her bra.

She didn't look round as I joined her outside. It wasn't until I'd poured wine into the glass and put the bottle on the table that she glanced in my direction. Then she smiled and took the glass from me. "The view is magnificent."

"I was just admiring it." I was proud of how smoothly it came out, and was rewarded with pair of raised eyebrows.

We sipped the wine, and she turned back to look out over the city. The slight breeze twirled at her hair. "You must feel on top of the world when you stand here."

"I suppose." I considered adding that it depended who was there with me, but decided it would be too cheesy. "I was lucky to get my break with Street5. And the success was thanks to a lot of hard work by other people as well."

Myrna turned around at that, and leaned against the railing. The look on her face was sceptical. "Are you saying that to sound modest?"

I grinned. "Back in the day it was a line. But after I had to make my own way in the world, I realised how little of it was down to me."

"Hmm." She sipped her wine and eyed me over the rim of her glass. Putting the glass down, she turned her face to the setting sun and closed her eyes. "I'd love to have a picture of this. Would you be a dear and get my phone from my purse?"

She was bossing me around in my own home. Part of me resented it, but mostly I was happy to go along. A gorgeous redhead in total control. Better men than me have let themselves be commanded.

I put my glass next to hers and went inside. Her purse was what a woman would probably call a clutch, handily geared to fit a modern phone in it, plus whatever other treasures she felt she couldn't do without.

Even at her instructions, it felt like snooping. But I opened the purse and looked inside.

The first thing that caught me eye was lace, in a familiar shade of purple. I stared, then glanced outside. She was at me, with a knowing smile.

"Have you found it?"

Oh yes, I'd found it. I retrieved the phone, then the lacey knickers. Watching her as she watched me, I raised them to my nose and inhaled. Mostly what I smelled was fabric, with perhaps a hint of leather from her purse. But underneath there was a warm, womanly smell.

"Just put them back when you're done."

Myrna's voice startled me, even though I was staring straight at her. There was a slight flush on her neck. She smiled, and added, "I won't be needing them. Just the phone."

I'd almost forgotten about the phone in my hand. I grinned and made a show of sniffing the knickers again before balling them up and stuffing them in her purse.

My legs were trembling slightly as I stepped out onto the balcony again and handed Myrna her phone. Knowing that she wasn't wearing anything under the dress -- apart from her bra, presumably -- and more than that, knowing that she wanted me to know... Well, I didn't bother to hide the bulge in my trousers.

She flipped the case open and handed the phone back to me, unlocked. "You do the honours."

Fair enough. I knew the best view, and it would be better than a selfie anyway. So I moved round to take position and framed the shot. I was pleased to see that Myrna didn't put on an exaggerated pose, or a fake casual pose. No duckface either, just a happy smile as she placed her hands on the rail behind her and leaned back.

I took the pic, but before I could hand her back the phone she let her hands fall to the hem of her dress. Raising it slightly, to midway up her thighs, she wiggled her eyebrows at me.

Very well, I could live with this. I took another picture, then another as she pulled her dress up even further until it was just below her arse. Her skin was smooth and pale, and enticing. I lowered the phone and stared.

"That's probably enough." Her voice broke through my reverie again. She smiled as I handed back the phone. "For now, at least."

My heart pounded. It wasn't so much the idea of racy photos as anticipation of what might come. What was probably going to come.

She placed the phone on the table without looking at the pictures. And without uploading them anywhere, which would have been a mood killer. Nothing says "I'm not really in this moment" like sharing it with all your friends and family.

I reached for my wine glass, but she stopped me with a hand on my arm. "This morning you mentioned that you enjoyed nibbling on a muffin."

My breath caught. If my heart was pounding before, now it felt like it was about to burst from my chest.

The question must have been clear on my face, because Myrna moved her feet apart and gave a slight nod to the floor. The flush on her neck had spread, and the rounded front of her dress was now marked by two clear nipples.

"Here?"

"I've never had sex on the balcony of a penthouse suite." For the first time I sensed something of hesitation in her voice. "Even if it's old stuff for you."

"Not really. Not lately anyway." I dropped to my knees -- thankful of all the hours in my home gym -- and looked up at her. Her chin was raised a little, and she was gazing at me along her nose. From down here the flush was clear.

I deliberately pulled my eyes free and brought them down until I was looking straight ahead. Slowly, bit by bit, she pulled the hem of her dress up over her thighs. It took forever, and I relished every second.

I was close enough that I caught the same faint scent that had lingered on her knickers. It was intoxicating in the warm air, as intoxicating as Myrna herself was. I breathed in deeply, bringing my nose closer to her thighs.

Just then the first golden hairs appeared. Short and curly, brighter than the hair on her head. An instant later I saw her pink lips, pursed together. Higher and higher the lilac dress went, until her whole mound was revealed and I realised I was leaning in close enough that my nose was almost brushing the hairs.

I glanced up. Myrna was smiling, but it seemed there was something anxious in her face. I shut my eyes and inhaled again, pressing all the way against her. The scent was much stronger now, heady and feminine.

I opened my mouth and stuck out my tongue, pressing it against her lips. They parted at the slightest pressure, and I tasted her slick arousal. She tasted as wonderful as I'd imagined: warm and sweet. I ran my tongue up and down, feeling a slight tremble start in her legs.

She angled her hips forward, allowing me to reach her entrance. My tongue explored it, making rings around it, then I made my way back up to find her button.

It was hard and swollen, eager to be pleased. I touched it lightly with my tongue, then with more pressure. Myrna almost squirmed against my face. I felt one hand rest on my head, fingers twining in my hair.

I grasped her thighs and pressed my face into her. My tongue and lips worked, licking and sucking, looking for her sensitive areas. I moved one hand further round and down, until I could reach her entrance with the tip of my finger. Moving in slow circles while I sucked her clit between my lips, I pressed it in further and further.

By now her breath was coming in gasps and moans. That tremble in her leg was noticeably stronger, and her fingers were clenching in my hair. I let my finger glide inside her, then added a second. She was so tight that it barely fit.

Her button became even harder. I sucked it into my mouth and flicked at it with my tongue while my fingers probed at her entrance. Her moans and gasps became grunts, shuddering breaths and whimpers, then suddenly they were gasps again, shallow and fast and with an urgency behind them. I let my fingers and tongue guide her along, to steer her to where she needed to be, matching their motions to her breath, and then she tensed, gave a whispered "Nngh...!" and a grunt, and her body spasmed, and again, and again, as I assaulted her relentlessly, until she was wailing breathlessly, "Stop, stop..." and I slowed down, stroking her and licking her, squeezing her arse with my hand, kissing her mound and her lips and the soft, smooth skin on the insides of her thighs, listening to her breath come in deep and shuddering gasps, until she steadied again and I gave her one final kiss and sat back.

Her fingers let go of my hair. I looked up. I knew I had a proud grin on my face. It lasted until I rose and my knees groaned in protest. Apparently all those hours in the home gym hadn't prepared me for this.

Myrna's hair clung to her face, a darker red where it was damp from her sweat. The flush had reached her cheeks and her lips shone.

Fighting to keep my face from betraying my pain, I leaned into her and kissed her cheek. "That was..." I didn't know how to finish it.

"Yes." Her voice was breathy. "Yes, it was." She turned her face until our lips brushed against each other. "Will you hate me forever if I don't return the favour?"

I didn't answer immediately. Desire fought with relief. On the one hand, my cock was ready to burst out of my trousers. I could taste her arousal on my lips, smell her scent on my face. I wanted to seize her, feel her naked skin under my fingers, slam my cock inside her and let her heat envelop me...

But at the same time my knees were crying out in protest at the idea. And even if Myrna threw me on the bed and did all the work, they'd be a distraction.

Besides, I was enjoying this slow game she was playing with me. I liked how she managed to surprise me again and again. I felt alive with desire and anticipation.

"Part of me hates you," I murmured, brushing my lips against hers.

She smiled. I could feel her breath. "I think I can guess what part that is." Suddenly her hand was rubbing at my trousers, stroking the length of my shaft, teasing me through the material.

A whimper escaped before I could stop it. She smiled again and her hand went to my back. Drawing me close, she pressed her lips against mine and we kissed, slowly, then hard and fast, and my body was telling my knees to go fuck themselves, this was what we wanted, we could power through the pain, all we wanted was to feel her warmth against us and--

She pulled away, leaving me gasping. Her own breath was rapid and shallow too. "That was nice too," she murmured. "We'll have to do it again tomorrow."

*

I was up early the following morning. Just as I finished up in the bathroom my phone chimed. I almost dropped it in my eagerness, and when I saw Myrna's name my cock gave a twitch.

It was a photo of a cream blouse of what looked like linen, and a dark green pleated skirt. This is what I'll be wearing today.

I pictured her wearing it. Nice!

Another message came in. This time the picture was of a set of gold-coloured bra and knickers, lace with satin. And this is what I won't be wearing.

That twitch became a full-on erection.

The hours dragged by until it was time to go to the coffee place. It was another lovely day, and as I left the lobby I felt the sun shining on my face. It reminded me of Myrna on my balcony the night before.

I was dressed sensibly in loose trousers, with a shirt that came down to below my arse. It would help to cover the reaction I predicted she'd elicit from me. I'd rolled up my sleeves before I left. I hated having my forearms covered, and besides, I wanted Myrna to touch me.

Before I'd taken more than three steps my phone chimed again. It was Myrna, of course. Look to your left.

I did, and there she was. Across the street, by the entrance to the park. Wearing that cream blouse and the green skirt, with high-heeled sandals and a purse on a strap over her shoulder. The skin of her legs gleamed in the morning sunlight, and her hair was like a golden waterfall.

As soon as there was a lull in the traffic I dashed across to join her. She smiled as I approached, and turned her cheek for me to kiss.

"No coffee today?" I asked. I wanted to look down at her blouse, to see whether she was really braless and whether her nipples were showing. But that would be rude, I decided, at least immediately. Besides, I was quite happy to look at her face.

"Do you mind?" She put her arm in mine and steered me towards the park. "It's too nice to be sitting inside just now."

"I have coffee. We could drink it on my balcony."

From the look she threw me, it was clear that she understood what I was implying. "Perhaps later. Who knows, you might be bored of me after we've finished our walk. Come, let's head for those trees."

"Do you intend to be boring?" Now I risked a glance. Her blouse moved as she walked, but the material -- linen, as I'd guess from the pic -- was too thick for me to see through it.

"Have I been boring so far?"

"Not for a second!"

"I'm glad you think so." We'd reached the shade of the trees by now. The path twisted and soon it was as if we were alone. "There's a bench over there."

"I thought you wanted to walk?"

She shrugged. "We could do that, I suppose. I was going to climb on top of you and ride your cock, but if you want--"

"No!" I almost dragged her off the path. "The bench is good. We can walk later."

The bench was set a little back, surrounded by trees and shrubs. Two empty beer cans spoke of an earlier occupant, but otherwise the tiny clearing was tidy.

I checked the wood for sticky stains while I tossed the cans in the bin. It was clean, and I parked myself on the bench and took Myrna's hands. She came to stand before me, feet apart so I could slide my legs between.

She placed my hands on her waist. "Have you been looking forward to this?"

"Oh yes!" My fingers slid down from her waist to her arse. It was deliciously firm and plump. I could feel her heat radiating through the material of her skirt.

"So have I." She took off her glasses and slipped them into her purse, then placed it carefully on the bench. With one hand she reached under her skirt and made a rubbing motion. Then she withdrew it and held out two glistening fingers. "See? Here, taste."

I opened my mouth and sucked them in. They were tiny compared with my own fingers. Much cooler, too. Her other hand came up to rest on my head like it had the day before.

She tasted as delicious as she had then. I licked her fingers clean, then sucked the tips and teased them with my tongue.

"Very good," she murmured as she withdrew them. Her other hand grasped my hair. "Now watch."

With her free hand she pulled up the front of her skirt and folded it into the waistband. Her pussy was level with my eyes, as beautiful as I remembered. I leaned in to inhale her scent, to taste her arousal, but the hand in my hair held me back. "Watch."

With her legs spread wide she reached down to rub herself. A faint squelching sound reached my ears, then she pressed two fingers inside herself. She worked them in and out, then withdrew them and stroked her lips until she reached her clit. A few tight circles and back to her entrance.

"What am I doing?"

I glanced up. Her eyes were locked on my face. She wasn't having doubts about being here. She wanted to hear me describe her actions.

"You're... you're playing with yourself." I winced as her fingers tightened their grip on my hair. "You have two fingers pressing against your entrance. Just the tips inside. One's coming out, the other is pushing further in."

"Uh-huh." Her voice was breathy.

"Now you're rubbing at yourself. Your... what do you call it? Your clit? Your pearl? Your button?"

"Call it my clit."

"Well, you're rubbing at it with two fingers. Circles, now up and down. More circles." I shifted on the bench. Despite my loose trousers, my cock was uncomfortable. It was pressed against the inside of my leg, and it wanted to be upright. Well, it wanted to be where Myrna's fingers were, but the upright thing was more pressing.

"Take it out." It was soft but commanding. "Take it out and show me."

It was a bit awkward, but I managed to unbutton my trousers and free my cock. There was a large bead of clear liquid oozing out, and I rubbed my head until it was slick.

Myrna's breath was ragged. Her fingers were rubbing hard at her clit. The hairs all around were sticky with her arousal.

"Grab me," she said. "Your hands on my arse. Squeeze with your fingers."

I reached out and slid my hands up the back of her skirt. Her arse felt wonderful, firm and soft and smooth. I dig my fingers into her flesh and was rewarded with a moan.

"What am I thinking of?"

This one took me aback. I gaped for a second, then hazarded a guess. "You're nearly there. You can feel yourself getting close. You're imagining... you're remembering last night when it was my mouth there instead of your hands."

"Uh-huh." It was a shallow gasp. "Go on."

"You're imagining what it will be like when you're straddling me." I squeezed her arse, dragging my fingers across her flesh. "You're looking forward to me squeezing you. You-- you're imagining putting your knees on either side of my legs. And my head sliding along your folds--"

"Yes!" The word came out in a hissed whisper. Her fingers were faltering. I felt her tense in my hands, almost trembling.

"And you're imagining it pushing against your entrance, and then you press down and it forces its way inside you..."

Myrna's breath caught, and she bent forward, pressing her hand against her mound. A spasm made her shudder, and another. I glanced up. Her eyes were screwed shut, but her mouth was open in a silent, wordless scream. Again she shuddered, and I raised my hands to her waist to steady her as she began to sway.

After a long moment she recovered. Her face was red and her breath still quick and shallow. She smiled, then drew her fingers from between her legs and brought them to her mouth. They were sticky, and she licked them clean one by one, her eyes never leaving my face. Neither of us spoke.

Hiking the sides of her skirt up, she raised one knee and placed it on the bench beside me, then the other. Her body was close enough that now I could see her nipples through the material of her blouse. I leaned forward and pressed my face into her breasts, breathing in. There was a subtle perfume about her, the same bergamot and vanilla from in the coffee place, that came alive with the warmth of her body.

That same warmth was magnified above my cock. I felt her slide along my shaft, spreading her slickness, joining it to my own. Suddenly she seized my face between her hands and turned it up towards hers. An instant later our lips found each other. Her kiss was as hungry as mine, and we gave muffled moans against each other's mouth.

My hands were still on her arse, and I squeezed, pulled her cheeks apart, then pushed them together. She responded with more moans, then she moved her body forward until the head of my cock was angled against her entrance.

She withdrew from the kiss. My face was still between her hands, an inch separating our lips. Her eyes were wide, her mouth open.

Then she pushed back slowly, onto my head. I felt her stretching to accommodate me, felt her heat envelop me.

Her eyes narrowed to slits, still locked on mine. With her mouth still open, her tongue came out to lick at her lips. She let go of my face and rested her hands on my shoulders. I leaned forward to kiss her again, but she gave a slight shake of her head. "Not now," she whispered. "I want to look at you."

Fair enough. I was enjoying looking at her too. Seeing her body's reactions painted on her face. Feeling her tense and relax, enjoying the press of her boobs against my face every time she drew a shuddering breath.

My head was inside her now, and she held still before rising ever so slightly. Then she pressed down again, and this time she slid along my entire length. A low keening moan came from deep in her throat, punctuated by gasps, until her arse was on my thighs and I could feel her short hairs tickling my stomach.

"Now" she said, "now you kiss me."

It was slower this time, more deliberate. I brought my arms up to her back and drew her against me. Her breasts were like two pillows pressing against my chest. Our breath came as one, and my ears were filled with her soft moans and gasps as she began to ride, every so carefully, ever so slowly.

She was tight. I'd noticed the previous evening, when I could barely press a second finger inside her, just how tight. Now it was like our bodies had never been apart, that they were a perfect fit, designed for each other.

Her lips pulled away from mine again. "This feels good," she whispered.

I nodded. It did.

"Here," she went on, and reached round to take my wrists. "I want your hands here." And placing them on her waist, under her blouse, she drew them up to her breasts. "Pinch my nipples. Squeeze my boobs like you were squeezing my arse."

I was happy to obey. Her nipples were large and puffy, and each time I pinched them she gave a gasp and a shudder. She placed one hand on my shoulder, and with the other she reached behind her back. A moment later I felt her fingers between my thighs, on my balls, tracing her entrance as my shaft went in and out.

Then her finger vanished. A moment later I felt a slight pressure on the underside of my shaft, and I realised she was probing her arsehole. In and out, in and out, matching the rhythm of our fucking.

I pinched her nipples again, pulling them out. She tossed her head back, arching her body towards me. Her moans filled the small clearing, mixed with my grunts and gasps as I tried to keep my body under control.

My climax was approaching. It wasn't just the physical sensations -- her tight heat gliding up and down my cock, the teasing of her finger through the membrane that separated it from my shaft, the firm plumpness of her breasts in my hands -- or even the closeness of our bodies. It was also the idea of this gorgeous woman taking such pleasure in herself and in me, enjoying herself to the fullest and not letting herself be inhibited.

"I'm not... sure... how long... how long I can last," I muttered.

She didn't look at me. "Come for me. Come for me!"

That was enough. The spark arose inside me, and I held it in check until it burned like a white flame. My body trembled with the effort, with the anticipation of what was about to come, and my head swelled up like it was going to explode.

Myrna straightened and placed both hands on the bench beside my head. Her eyes stared into mine again as she lifted off me, then lowered herself again deliberately. Then up, and down, a little faster this time.

I let go of her boobs and cupped her arse with my hands. Lifted her up, guided her down. Up, and down, up and down. Faster, faster, all the while moulding the fire that was growing inside me, until I could feel it in every cell of my body, fighting to escape, battering against my eyelids and my will, and then I couldn't hold it back any more and it burst free, swelling my cock and surging out for release in an all-consuming explosion, and another, and another, and Myrna gave a strangled cry and I felt sharp teeth in my neck, and her hands were on my back, clawing at me, pressing me against her, and there was another explosion of white fire, only a little less this time, and even less the next time, and I could breathe again and I became aware of the world beyond my own body, even though my face was pressed into Myrna's chest and my eyes were shut, and all I wanted was to hold on to her and breath the scent of bergamot and vanilla and feel the warmth of her body.

The only sounds were our breathing, and somewhere the song of some bird, and in my ears the pounding of my blood. I angled my head slightly until my lips were at her neck, and I kissed her and she gave an appreciative murmur.

"I think I bit you."

I remembered the sudden pain that I'd felt. "That's alright. I'm sure you had a good reason."

She snorted, then pushed herself upright to look at me. "We can't stay here. Sooner or later someone's bound to want to use this bench."

"Selfish bastards." My hands were still under her arse, so I squeezed. She really did have a nice arse.

"Don't do that. Not unless you're prepared to start this again."

My cock gave a twitch at the thought, then settled down again. "Give me an hour."

"I'm not staying like this while you recover." She swung her leg over me and stood. "Hand me my purse, would you?"

I did. "You don't have to pay me, you know."

She stuck out her tongue as she opened the purse and dug inside. An instant later she pulled out something shimmering and gold. The satin and lace knickers from the picture she'd sent me.

She handed me back the purse and I watched as she pulled them on, leaning one hand on my shoulder as she raised first one foot, then the other, then let go of me to pull the knickers up her legs. A few wiggles, and when everything was in place she drew the hem of her skirt from the waistband and let it fall free.

Her boobs jiggled in her blouse, but I realised the show was over. Tucking my cock back into my trousers, I rose and took her hand. "Shall we have that walk now, or are your legs as unsteady as mine?"

She smiled and stroked my fingers with hers. "How about I buy you an early lunch? I think it's probably time we get to know each other." She leaned her head on my shoulder, and added, "Something light, though. We still have a whole afternoon ahead of us."