Jenna
The ice cream is what nearly undoes me.It’s not just the ice cream, it’s the way we eat it; walking hand in hand along the short waterfront promenade of Gialos, a fishing village further down the western coast of Crete.
More than the scooter, the snorkelling, the way he asked me how I liked to be touched in the ocean, more than talking about losing my mum and in a very different context, losing my husband, more than all that, it's the simple act of strolling along the water's edge together, my hand in one of his and the other holding a raspberry ice cream. I am stunned by how good it all feels, by how peaceful and affirming and downright comforting it is to have someone want to hold my hand; to be seen with me, as mine, and for me to be seen as his.
Even if it’s not true.
As it happens, Marty isn't in a talking mood either and so we walk and lick at our ice creams, sharing each other's with little more than nudges and nods. He went for pistachio and salted caramel and it works brilliantly together.
“Want to walk back, or sit here on the bench?” He lifts our joined hands to point out a wooden bench looking out over a small harbour of fishing boats, a few metres away from where the promenade ends.
“Let's sit,” I say, and we do. Then the race to finish our ice creams before they melt is on, and even though I give it my best shot, I still end up having to lick most of my fingers clean. I give our surroundings only a quick glance before I lift Marty’s arm and do the same to his hand.
“And here I was thinking I could go an hour without an erection,” he says, watching me.
“Not if I have anything to do with it,” I say. When I let his hand go, I place it on my thigh because that feels like where it should be. I rejoice a little internally when I notice that the heart-shaped lump in my throat has sunk again, and my pussy has stepped up again, throbbing between my crossed legs.
We don't talk again for a while and I find my eyes focusing on the bobbing up and down of one faded green boat. I close my eyes behind my sunglasses, wondering what Marty would say if I suggested going back to my villa now so we could...
“Jenna?” Marty says, and I turn to see him also looking out at the water, but not in the same direction, more straight ahead and further into the distance.
“Yeah?” I lean my head against his shoulder. A second later his arm is around me and I hope he's about to ask what I was about to ask because I need to move away from this dream-like place. I need to see him naked. I want to straddle him. I want to gasp as he enters me or maybe hear him grunt as one of my toys enters him. I want to be consumed by these filthy thoughts so no other thoughts can-
“I feel all kinds of stupid saying stuff like this after two days...” Marty begins.
“Then don't,” I whisper and turn my head to nibble on his neck.
Maybe he didn't hear me because he continues. “I just want you to know how much fun I'm having and how I don't take any of it for granted. The sex is amazing. You're so easy to talk to. And I just think you're fucken awesome.”
My limbs loosen and I smile then. Because they're the words I think I want to hear. 'Fun' 'amazing' 'easy' and 'awesome'. They're young words. They're words free from any connection or connotation other than exactly what they mean. I smile and yet I feel a small splinter of disappointment lodge itself inside my stomach. But what else did I expect? He’s twenty-four, he lives in a different country, and he’s still mourning the loss of his first love and best friend.
I kiss his neck again before lifting my head up. I look at him for just a moment before I change the conversation’s direction completely. “Can we go back to my villa now and fuck until we break each other’s backs?”
“Only if you beat me back to the scooter.” He darts up and is gone before I'm even standing.
“Marty! It's like twenty-seven degrees!” I shout, but he's not stopping, and I realise I'm going to have to run for my orgasms. As I do, the sweat trickling down my back, I feel young and free. I feel like I am living in the moment and in every one of his young and free words.
*****
We don't make it to my bed when we're back in the villa. We don't even make it to the shower I so desperately need. We don't even manage to take off each other's clothes - his shorts are around his ankles and my bikini is still on, the bottoms moved to the side - and he takes me hard from behind as I feel the cool of the floor tiles on my knees and palms just inside the entrance of my villa. As he fucks me, he slaps me ten times on each butt cheek, checking in with me every few strikes and the only thing I say is, “Harder.”
After, as I lie on top of him, enjoying the chill of the air conditioner above me and the heat of his body, he strokes my tingly and sore butt cheeks. I let him do it until I feel things swirling in my stomach and up into my chest, things I know are logical to feel after a day like today, but feelings I could really do without right now.
“Thank you for spanking me,” I say, and it hurts to talk because my throat is sore from the noises I made when I came.
“Those are five words I thought I’d never hear, but you are very, very welcome.”
“Shower time.” I stand up and hold my hand out for him to take but he doesn't.
“Go ahead,” he says. “I need a minute.”
I arch an eyebrow at him but walk away, hoping he's watching my arse.
After switching the shower on, I go to the mirror to brush my hair, which is once again hopelessly tangled. I think I hear him talking to someone, presumably on the phone, but I resist the urge to move closer and listen, and instead brush my teeth and take my bikini off, laughing a little at the visible skin colour difference where it was. Then I walk into the shower.
Less than ten minutes later, Marty comes in, his shorts on but still not done up properly. He sits on the bench I sat on last night and he looks at me.
“My turn,” he says, and I turn my back to him so he can't see my smile. I continue to lather up my body and then wash the suds off. When I go to shampoo my hair, I turn around and lift my arms so he can see my body like this, my breasts raised, my waist more defined. When I lean back to wash the shampoo out of my hair, eyes closed, I want to bottle up how I feel; sexy, sensual, confident. And spanked. It is the very tip of an iceberg I want to discover, but it is my iceberg and I am now not ashamed of it. I still have my eyes closed when I feel his arms circle my waist and press his naked body to mine. I feel the heat rise, thinking we are about to fuck in the shower again, not in the least bit angry about that, but then he gently turns me around, pressing my back to his chest, and I see him reach for the conditioner bottle.
