Elsa was a customer of mine, or rather she worked for one of my customers. This was on a Caribbean island where everything was imported, mainly from Holland. Many such islands don't grow their own produce, but there is no real reason why not; you just have to spend a bit of money on water and make sure your soil is rich enough.
I had set up a little business growing tomatoes and cucumbers and herbs, firstly selling it at a roadside stall and then, as word got around, supplying restaurants as well as private customers. That included a vegan operation run by an odd assortment of idealistic women. There was a pretty but very reserved Indian woman whose diet reflected her religious beliefs, and then a sparkling, lively woman married to a firefighter. And in the background, doing most of the preparation and deliveries, was Elsa.
She was of Dutch extraction, and white-skinned, although not of the typical elongated Dutch type (the women can tower over an average-height British man such as me). Elsa was fat. There is no other way to describe it. She had been born lardy and was introverted because of it. She had long, shiny, brassy hair and eyes that seemed to be operated manually, like in an animated children's TV show of the 1960s. I don't know if Captain Pugwash is known outside the UK, but that's what I mean.
Elsa has rosy cheeks and a shy smile that seemed to want to hide her small but perfect teeth. Her chest was not a caricature big-woman affair, because she wasn't big, just overweight. She had normal, good-size breasts that were made to look quite small by the bulk below them.
This detailed description came via my evening-long observation of her at a bar called the Hole In The Wall, where she sat with a group of friends while a pair of long-haired seventies survivors with guitars bashed out old rock songs. I was on my own that night and had caught Elsa's eye as I arrived. After that initial acknowledgement, she had not looked at me, although she knew my eyes hardly left her for the two hours we were both under the same roof. I was sure she could feel my gaze as it feasted on her eyes, her neck, her chest and the slim, pale legs that protruded from her dress beneath the table.
I could tell she was quietly revelling in the attention, and her interpretation of the thoughts behind my stares would be tailored to what she wanted me to be thinking. Clearly she didn't mind the fact that I was thinking something, that I was fantasising about her in some way. It was okay. It was our business and no one else's.
At about ten o'clock she and her friends got up and left and she didn't glance at me, as I hoped she might, but she probably wasn't accustomed to being desired in such a way and didn't know how to make the small move that would keep the train on track. But I was sure she could feel my gaze settle on her arse as she passed and my brain dispensed with her clothes, to show me her milky-white buttocks and her trimmed pubic area.
The next time I was in the little kitchen where they operated I confided a little in Gretel, the sparkly one, who seemed to be a woman of the world.
"Elsa's nice," I said. "Very shy, though."
"Help yourself," Gretel replied. "No boyfriend and she does like older men. She said she saw you the other night. She always goes there on Saturdays too."
I didn't labour the issue. On Saturday night I got there late, so as not to seem to be lying in wait for Elsa. The place was packed but there was a space right next to her on the bench against the wall. It was full of ex-pats; the locals didn't go for that kind of music, so I was among recent residents such as myself and American tourists just there for a week.
"Do you mind?" I said into Elsa's ear.
"Sure," she said, gesturing to the seat. It was a tight squeeze but she didn't flinch as I sat down. She was wearing a short khaki cotton dress and she smelled fresh and spicy. I think it was the shampoo as well as the perfume. Whatever it was, it was luscious and I had to stop myself from telling her so, because I thought that could be considered pervy. My glance wandered quickly to the buttons on her chest and I caught a glimpse of white, lacy brassiere.
Pervy? It's what we do, and not just men but women too. She noticed my glance and her own eyes flicked at my chest, then infinitesimally down to my crotch. She would never have admitted it, but she was checking me out.
I bought Elsa a drink and she bought me one and as the crowd grew, her friends, who had subtly allowed me to monopolise her, suggested going somewhere else.
"No, I'll stay here for a bit," she said, "if that's okay with you," she continued, looking up at me.
"Great," I said, and the friends left like a collective father who had just given their daughter away in marriage.
That meant we had to upgrade our conversation from fragments to larger, longer tracts.
Elsa lived with her mother, a larger-than-life character who acted younger than her daughter.
"She's out tonight," Elsa said casually. "Got a new boyfriend." Elsa's eyes rolled at the embarrassment of having such a person for a mum.
So, invite me back to your place, I urged through thought transference. It didn't seem to work, so I articulated it.
"It would be quieter somewhere else," I said. "I don't really like this guy, do you?"
The "guy" was a Venezuelan guitarist who was pretty good but insisted on playing Spanish language songs.
"The language of rock'n'roll is English," I said. "I'm sorry, but..."
"I know what you mean," Elsa said. She was struggling to imagine her lines in this script.
"Got any British or American music?" I prompted.
"You might like my Mum's stuff," she said and then apologised. "Sorry, I mean she's got more music than I have. I mainly listen to the radio."
Twenty minutes later we were at her apartment in a hurricane-damaged block by the sea. Her Mum had a big CD collection, which was a welcome sight in a world where people don't tend to have the physical artefacts anymore. I like to look at the cover and see who played what, who wrote the songs and who produced it.
I selected Joni Michell's Court and Spark and Elsa put it on.
We sat together on the small balcony and drank sweet, sparkling, girly white wine. Silence fell between us and then her phone made the Whatsapp sound.
"She's staying at Keith's," Elsa said. "So we've got the place to ourselves. Come ..."
She led me into the kitchen and stood, looking at her vast array of herbs and spices.
"You use all of these?" I asked, but it wasn't a real question and she wasn't really showing me. It was just a way of getting me standing close behind her.
I put my arms around her waist and kissed her neck. She quivered.
"Oh god," she said. "I'm no good at this."
I turned her around to face me, then pulled her to me and kissed her. Her tongue flickered nervously before settling down as mine ploughed her mouth and soon we were kissing intensely, sensuously, and she was standing her ground as my swelling cock ground against her pubic mound.
"Well, you're a pretty good kisser," I said. She looked deep into my eyes, searching for more reassurance, and what she must have found was a swirling magnetic field drawing her to me, telling her she was the undoubted object of this man's sexual desire and that he seemed to like her too.
She put her arms around me and we kissed again, she giving herself to me this time and even calling a shot or two as her arms roamed my back and felt my buttocks.
"Show me your room," I murmured, and she led me, holding my hand tightly, into a warm dark space. She turned on the airconditioning and closed the door. We kissed again.
"You're getting the hang of this," I said, stroking her bottom and moving my hand around to the front, under her dress, touching her between her legs.
She was stuck again, paralysed by uncertainty, so I unzipped my jeans, pulled my cock out of the top of my underpants, took her hand and placed it there. Her fingers closed around the shaft and she kissed me with increased passion. Then she took my hand and slipped it into her panties. I could feel her trepidation at this brazen act, and my tongue ministered to hers as my middle finger slid automatically into her hole.
She was, as I expected, trimmed but not shaven. I wanted to ask her how many lovers she had had, but it might have embarrassed her, so I said nothing. I just lifted the dress up her body and she completed the move, over her head and onto a chair. She quickly removed the bra, to reveal lovely, perfect breasts and large, smooth areolas with soft, smooth nipples. I took each in turn into my mouth and then knelt in front of her to pull her knickers down.
Elsa sat on the edge of the bed, awaiting my next move. I decided to fuck her first and lick her second, so I slid her up the mattress and lay between her legs. I kissed her tenderly and she pulled my head down and ground her mouth against mine.
I slid my cock into her beautiful body via the fabulous entrance of her silky vagina and fucked her gently, then harder as she grabbed my buttocks and pulled me in.
"Elsa," I whispered, "You are a beautiful girl."
"Thank you," she said, "but you know that's not true."
"Well, forgive me for having an opinion," I continued. "But I am lying in bed with a beautiful woman, with my penis inside her and she's kissing me like an angel and she feels and looks like a goddess."
I extracted myself from her and went down, kissing her all the way until I reached her crotch. I parted her legs and placed my face in her moist, fragrant, expectant parts. I licked her slit, sucked her clitoris and poked my tongue into her little piss hole.
Then I turned her over and started at the top. I kissed her neck and licked her all the way down her spine. I kissed each buttock and tickled the top of her slide with my tongue to test the water. Then I parted her buttocks and put my face into her arse.
"This is not in the manual," she said, perhaps playing for time.
"It is in the manual I wrote," I said, giving her a little spank. "Raise your bum for me."
She drew up her knees and presented her rump for my attention. I licked her little tawny hole.
"You are so beautiful," I said. She gave a dismissive grunt, but palpably relaxed and allowed me to worship her arse. She groaned as I licked her.
"What are you going to do?" she asked.
"I'm doing it," I replied. "Licking your arse. And you love it, don't you?"
"It is very nice," she said with deliberate simplicity.
"It's more than very nice," I said. "For me it is fantastic. I could do this all night."
"The mysterious bum-licker," she laughed. "Aren't I going to get fucked?"
I pulled away and slapped her hard on the buttocks, then climbed on and thrust my cock into her firmly.
"You want to be fucked," I said. "I will fuck you until you cum all over my cock."
She began to whimper and then wail.
"Oh god, I am cumming," she said, shaking and trembling and wriggling like she had never felt that before.
I pulled out before I had a chance to cum, then turned her over onto her back and pushed her legs up so I could get at her crotch. I licked her sweet, savoury juicy pussy and she squirmed and came again, basting my cheeks with her essence.
"Pull your legs up more," I urged, and she raised her bottom so her back hole was exposed to me again. I got back down there and licked her bumhole and she cried out in pleasure.
"Oh fuck that's nice," she trembled. "I'm going to cum again. Fuck, what are you doing to me?"
And with that, she came a third time and I allowed her to drop her legs and lie back.
As I collapsed on top of her and kissed her she put her arms around me and laughed. And laughed and laughed.
"You are a bad, bad man," she said happily.
