I missed the early ferry by half an hour and the next one wasn’t till 1:30, so I settled down for a three hour wait. “Settled down” isn’t really accurate, in fact, because the only vacant seat was in the middle of the room, with no back support, so there was no chance of dozing. I would just have to twiddle my thumbs and wait.

This was in Guadeloupe, a French island in the Caribbean, and the ferry was to the smaller island of Marie Galante. There were plenty of people waiting with me and they had bagged all the comfortable seats against the wall and in the recessed area.

The only good thing about where I was was the breeze that swept through the room. That and the view, that is.

As luck would have it a middle aged black woman was sitting opposite me. She was probably in her sixties, pretty, short and rather plump, with a nice gap in her front teeth which is supposed to indicate sensuality or at least naughtiness. She was wearing a knee-length pale green dress, an old, functional number she probably wore all the time.

The array of shopping bags around her suggested she had come over to use the big supermarket because Marie Galante wasn’t populated enough to have a decent one. The bags were bulging with corn flakes and flour and all the rest of the weekly shopping.

The woman sat in typical old-lady pose, with the skirt of her dress riding up a little, which made the fact that her knees were parted very interesting. I couldn’t see anything but a dark road, like an underpass, but that was enough to keep my eyes glued to her.

She wore a pink floppy hat, set back on her head in a carefree manner. She looked like an ordinary, family-oriented woman doing what she had done hundreds of times and which always passed without incident.

And today, so far so ordinary, with the one slightly unusual element of a white man apparently looking up her skirt.

I could tell that she had become aware of me and my inquisitive eyes. But after all, what harm was there in such a thing?  She had seen enough of her peers wearing similar dresses to know you couldn’t really see anything, and anyway, a little unspoken flirting was what made the world go round. She had decided to relax and enjoy it.

She didn’t look directly at me, but her eyes flickered across my face from time to time as they swept the room. We quickly entered an unspoken arrangement that transcended country, nationality, age, race and every other difference, real or arbitrary.

My imagination was permitted to roam the dark space between her thighs and conjure up images of her crotch. I imagined the savoury aroma of her, the slightly sweaty, vaguely urined succulence of her. I pictured her sparse, tightly curled pubic hair and I daydreamed of having my head up there, my nose delirious with the smell of her sex and my tongue lapping up her juices.

For her part, she conjured up images I could only guess at, but which surely involved the two of us naked and enjoying our nakedness.

One thing she probably didn’t expect was my strange, perhaps perverse interest in her arsehole. She didn’t know I wanted to get her on her knees and sniff her like a dog, then lick her there until it drove her crazy with wild, rude thrills, a primeval excitement that modern sophistication had pushed deep into the area of undiscussed urges.

Or maybe I was wrong and that was exactly what she was thinking, wondering if, after all these years of fantasising about it, this white guy might be the one who would finally lick her fucking arse like her husband and the few boyfriends before him had never done. And although she had presented herself to each of them to make it possible, she hadn’t actually asked for it and they had seemingly no inclination to do that.

They hadn’t really spent any time on oral sex, just a quick lick of the pussy to tick that box before getting up close and ramming heir cocks into her doggie-style. And humping and jiggling and coming inside her before climbing off, satisfied and pleased with themselves.

I had no idea if this was really going through her mind, but I knew something was, because her right hand had settled in her lap at the top of her pubic area, several inches above her clitoris, and she was very gently and discreetly rubbing herself from time to time, her fingertips just tickling the flesh beneath the dress and, presumably, her knickers.

Maybe what she was doing was pulling the knickers because they were in her slit and transferred energy to that female trigger.

By the time the ferry arrived, in my mind the woman and I were an established couple and all that remained was to make a few arrangements. The ferry was almost empty and I did a tour of it to check out the toilets in case there were any possiblility of dragging her in there, but sadly I concluded that would probably result in our being arrested for public lewdness.

The woman had, though, parked herself in a very handy, private row of seats under the stairs. I sat next to her and we grunted hello, or in her case bonjour. Guessing that my French was better than her Engilsh I started a conversation in faltering, school days Francais.

She had, as I thought, been on a quick shopping trip to the bigger island and had lived in Marie Galante all her life. We shared a bag of peanuts and I bought her a Coke.

I touched her bare arm when talking, in a way many people did and which wasn’t an obvious, deliberate touch with an ulterior motive, but merely a way of emphasising a point or making sure the other person was paying attention.

Her name was Micheline and she was a widow with four sons, all of whom had left the little island for better things. We agreed that she would take her shopping home and get changed, then meet me for a drink at my hotel. She lived in the capital, Grand Bourg, and the hotel was not far away, close enough for her to decline my offer of a taxi, as she would walk it in five minutes. At the hotel I quickly showered and changed before finding a quiet corner of the bar from where I could see the door.

I was aware that in such a small place everyone must know everyone else and that gossip could destroy reputations in an instant. On the other hand, Micheline had told me she was footloose and fancy free and determined to enjoy the later years of a life that had been short on both variety and luxury.

She arrived halfway through my first beer and said she wanted a sweet Martini with ice, which she sipped nervously. I tried to work out if she was nervous about what she and I might be about to do or she was more concerned about it becoming public knowledge.

I suggested we drink up and go to my room, and she surprised me with her eagerness and relief. The room was in a separate building, so when we left the bar we could have been going anywhere.

As I closed the door of the room I found her standing very close to me, perhaps wary of appearing to be heading for the bed.

I took her in my arms. She was wearing a fresh dress in the same style as the earlier one, and the hat was still perched jauntily on her head. I took it off and threw it onto a chair before kissing her and she gave herself to the kiss with guileless abandon. Then she licked me right across my lips, sideways, while guiding my hand around the back and setting my fingers between her buttocks. I unzipped the dress and it slid to the floor to reveal a new-looking pair of big pants, pale pink with flowers. She sat on the bed and took off her bra. She was dark and shiny and full-bodied, with lovely big firm breasts and a rounded, mother's stomach.

I struggled out of my clothes and stood before her with my erection swaying in front of her face. Micheline smiled and took my balls in her hand, as if I had given her a present for which she was grateful. She examined the head of my cock and gave it a little kiss, then looked up at me expectantly. I pushed her back on the bed and pulled her knickers off. Her pubes were more abundant than I had imagined. She was quite hairy, in fact, but I like that, so I dived right in and licked her beautiful mature slit. She was freshly showered but there had been enough time for the delicious smell of her womanhood to return. I licked her excitedly and she gasped as I sucked her clitoris.

After a few minutes of this she said something in French which I didn’t catch, before turning onto her knees. She was presenting her rump to me and she gave it a little wiggle, like perhaps she had seen some cheeky teenage girl do on TV. I licked Micheline’s pussy from behind, which meant my nose was almost in her arsehole. I pushed forwards so that it was really in there and I smelled her wondrous aroma. She leaned forward a little and I got my tongue in there, in this woman’s crack, and I licked her with delight. She moaned her agreement and shivered slightly, then began to mutter in a language that was not real French – maybe the island creole.

What she was saying needed no translation. She was saying yes, lick my arse, I’ve always wanted someone to do that and you can have it all, as much as you want, for as long as you want, just make me cum, you wonderful, dirty man.

"Ca te plait?" I asked, meaning do you like that?

"Je l'adore," she replied.

"J'aime beaucoup lecher ton cul," I said, enjoying myself and telling her I loved licking her arse. Then as I continued my business in there she grew quiet and I knew the sheer erotic power of what we were doing had her in its spell. I knew she was staring at nothing, seeing nothing, just enraptured by what was happening between us.

Suddenly she shook herself free and, pushing me onto my back, went down and sucked my cock. She slurped hungrily as she returned a favour that didn't really need returning, but it was a fabulous sensation as her big, soft, motherly mouth sucked me.

I was getting close to coming, so I pulled out and gestured to her to get back on her knees. She did so more than happily and I got back into pleasure central and licked her beautiful, bewitching anus. She began to mutter again and sounded agitated. And then suddenly a spasm raced through her and she cried out as she came, thrusting her backside at me as I poked my tongue into her little hole.

She gave a long series of happy yelps that subsided into grunts as she basked in the beauty of her orgasm. When she was quiet again, floating on some kind of cloud, I knelt up and masturbated behind her, brushing her buttocks as I did so. In a few moments my spunk shot from my cock and spurted into her crack. Again she muttered in her private language.

Then she reached around and put her finger in my mess, before taking her hand back and sucking the finger. I reached for the tissues beside the bed and wiped her arse clean of my semen. Micheline rolled onto her back and I lay on top of her and we smiled and laughed at the crazy, instinctive naturalness of the whole thing.