The old man, whose name was Calvin, woke up startled. He had been having a dream. Vague images now, nothing clear. Pain was there in his dream. Laughter too, but there had also been grief. Oh, and always there was lust. Before Laura, many women had willingly parted their thighs for him, a promising young artist.

He tried to dredge up the dream again. Nothing remained. He couldn't even recover the lust. Ah, sweet desire. All such thoughts had died with Laura, it seemed. He allowed himself a sorrowful smile, as his hands searched under the covers and touched what was left of his shrunken little manhood.

Wide awake, in this massive bed, in this large house, which was too large for his needs now, just as the bed was too large for a single body. But he would never voluntarily leave the house. Too much of Laura still lived with him here. So many images of her were displayed on the wall in front of him.

It was three years since the pneumonia had taken her from him, and he would go on seeing her in every room, at every table, in every stage of undress. Quite apart from all his depictions of her around the house, she was locked firmly inside him.

He knew too that before long, this very bed would claim him. At present his two faithful assistants, (he refused to call them servants) served him breakfast, and then they would bathe and dress him. After that, they would ask which view he wanted to paint that day, and he would tell them.

Given his restricted movement he could only paint what from positions close to the house, but they gave him mountain views, forests and Laura’s garden to represent in oils or watercolours. And, of course, the sky.

Calvin’s one regret as an artist was that he had never done justice to the glory above him in the night sky. Living out in the country, far from false light, the heavens blazed with stars, planets, constellations, shooting stars, comets and the shifting debris of millions of years ago, giving movement, which he tried to capture in his work. But always he had a sense of dissatisfaction with himself. But one effort, he had kept, because Laura had so loved it.

The Great Bear, sometimes called the Plough, pointing to a bright north star.

“My guiding light,” Laura had said, “like you’ve been with me.” Then she added with genuine admiration, “You’ve made it appear that it is a finger pointing to heaven.”

“Thank you. That is what I was trying for. To a heaven that is veiled by a trillion, brilliant stars.”

Her response to his work had always lifted him.

Now, most of his work brought back a panoply of memories related to Laura. But memory inevitably took him back to that circumstance when, as a young man, for a while, he had been unable to distinguish a dream from reality. No problem recalling that.

He had been twenty years old and should have still been attending university. But, having already sold two or three of his paintings, a lucrative career lay ahead of him. When he announced his intention to drop out, his tutors were disappointed. Their warnings of hard times ahead fell on deaf ears, but, apart from one brief fallow spell, he had never regretted his decision.

He rented a small flat in the city where he could wander out to paint landscapes, or, by curtaining off part of the large bedroom, he made a studio where he could do still life, portraits, or the ever-popular nude studies of the female form. Searching out models to pose nude had not been as difficult as he had feared, and the nearness of the bedroom had been very convenient when the occasional model welcomed his attentions.

Detecting such amorous availability became quite a skill for him. Best done while handling a nude model into a required pose, he would ensure that one hand somehow slid along an inner thigh. At that moment he would glance up into the model's eyes, and quickly learned to read what he saw there. Desire was hard to disguise. So, his artistic ability increased along with his sensual experience.

In the summer of '47, he rented a seaside cottage, newly refurbished, since the coastline had opened up after the war. His main intention in the two weeks he was there was to try his hand at coastal scenes, but he also intended to continue to paint naked ladies. Sales indicated how much rich gentlemen appreciated his skill in catching the lascivious qualities of a nude.

His depictions of the coastal features were also popular and likely to sell. However, although he was happy working on such pictures, he had no response to an advert he'd placed in two local shops for female models. In consequence, he was carrying a degree of sexual frustration after a blank fortnight.

In bed the night before he was due to return home, Calvin just could not sleep. Too hot, too worked up, he rolled around in bed, over onto his stomach, but the friction on his cock only increased the discomfort. Outside he could see bright moonlight, and he wondered if the cool night air might calm him down. It was turned two o'clock when he clambered out of bed, donned shirt and pants, before moving outside.

For that time in the morning, the air was unusually warm. Calvin wandered past other cottages, all in darkness. He wondered whether taking a plunge in the sea would help lose his tension.

Approaching the last cottage on the edge of the sand dunes, Calvin detected a faint light. Then came the sound. An unmistakable sound, a sound that Calvin was so familiar with. The grunts, groans and gasps of passion, were coming from around the side of the cottage.

Changing his direction slightly, so that his approach might be deeper in darkness, Calvin moved beyond the last corner of the cottage, and found that, over a very low wall, this cottage had a reasonable-sized patio. What he saw there set his temperature up a further notch.

On cushions scattered liberally around, a naked man lay back with his legs spread. A woman, who he could only see from the back, her buttocks continually twitching, had her head down where the man's legs joined. The man's mouth gaped as Calvin watched what the woman was doing to him.

Calvin's cock had gone as rigid as it had ever been, and if he had watched for any greater length of time he would have had to either try to join in, or take himself in hand. Agitated more than ever, he moved away into the night and along the border between dunes and beach.

With the image he had just viewed still in his mind, he began walking along the beach. The dunes rising on his left were white hills in the moonlight. From his right came the gentle slapping of a quiet sea, like a muted slow handclap, as it touched the sandy beach.

Calvin, walking in the moonlight, was just beginning to believe that this was perfect solitude, when a figure appeared on one of the higher sandbanks up in the dunes, walking in the same direction as he was. Just as quickly the figure disappeared. A dip in the dunes, Calvin presumed, as he quickened his pace. When the figure reappeared on another rise, Calvin noted, the lightness of foot, and the kimono style robe, which when the breeze pressed it to the body, emphasised a shape that could only be a woman.

After disappearing once more, she reappeared, moving swiftly, and steadily on a lower level, which kept her in continuous sight. Calvin realised he would need to increase his own pace if he wished to keep her in view. They walked for a while, with Calvin staying just a reasonable distance behind her.

At a point where the dunes pushed further out into the beach, the woman stopped, looked out to where the sea was sequined by moonlight. Calvin was startled when the robe, kimono, whatever it was, suddenly dropped to the sand, and she stood there naked, pure white curves glowing under the moon. The artist in him longed to hold that image for reproduction on canvas.

The woman unexpectedly ran, naked, towards the sea and plunged into the water. Without even considering exactly what he was doing, Calvin stripped off his shirt and pants and followed her into the surf. She saw him as soon as she surfaced. He was standing with water lapping around his hips.

At first, she just stood, perfectly still. It was hard to say whether she was eyeing his body. Calvin had no worries on that score. He knew he had a young, well-proportioned body, and he was already excitingly aware of her sensuous shape, as her breasts jutted in his direction, firmly promising.

He smiled, and she showed no sign of dismay by his sudden appearance. Crazily, he thought the look on her face could have been one of relief. Then she returned his smile, and he swam towards her. And there was nothing that could be distinguished apart from the brightness of their shared smiles and the moonlit perfection of their two bodies.

She swam out to deeper water, and he followed to swim under her body. His back felt the sensuous stroke of her breasts before moving on. For a moment he saw an uncertain look on her beautiful face, as her eyes looked out into the darker waters. Then she began swimming again, as though to go deeper, but suddenly turned so that she swam in a circle. Calvin repeated his earlier action of swimming under and around her, and she did not protest. What was on her mind?

When she stood in water deep enough to cover her breasts, they exchanged quick smiles, before Calvin dived down and passed between her parted legs. As he resurfaced they both laughed. To Calvin, these events just felt as though they had to happen. They both moved through the water, easily and casually.

Deeply enchanted by this meeting, Calvin knew very well that he was swimming with his cock hardening all the time. They came close, feet digging into the moist sand, each crouching as though preparing for a wrestling bout. With unexpected daring, Calvin placed his hands on her waist and drew her willing body close against him. She would feel his hardness.

Her body gave a slight twist, and Calvin felt his cock lie easily, and quite naturally it seemed, between her thighs. Her hand dropped under the water to touch it. Calvin's hands caressed everywhere over her body. But he just could not read the expression on her face.

Not fear, certainly, nor wanton desire, a possible curiosity perhaps, but then, for a moment, he thought it was a look of gratitude. Hardly. He was doing her no favours. He was the one who should feel grateful, having her treat his cock so intimately. They had exchanged no words, only open looks.

Then she swam away towards the beach, and he went after her, swam under her once more, and when she stopped he caught her gently, and again his erection rested along the length of her labia. He drew her more firmly against him, and all his earlier frustration and heat was centred on entering her. How could their paths have crossed like this?

She broke free, and ran out of the water, laughing, and Calvin thought this might mean the game was over. She ran to where her kimono had fallen, and, grabbing it, the woman mounted up into the dunes. Dripping and wildly alive, Calvin chased after her. She had thrown down her kimono and immediately fell backwards on to it. So maybe the game wasn’t over.

Calvin, on fire for this mysterious woman, reached her and spread himself over her. At that moment, when he was certain his burning need for her was at its peak, his passion suddenly died. How was that? He had never failed like this. She lay there, breast heaving, smiling, waiting for him, and his cock had wilted.

Calvin was stunned. He had been in a heated lustful state for hours. This woman had appeared, gifted to him, by some god of the sea, it seemed. Now, she lay beneath him, ready, and he longed to take her, but couldn't rise to it. Had he ever been so humiliated?

Strangely, her voice was kindly.

"There's no hurry," she said. "Don't pull away. This is pleasant."

Her first words, and so understanding, they might have been spoken by an angel.

Calvin felt the warmth and wetness of her. Nothing could excuse his physical failure, but just feeling her was a joy. His belly was against hers, his thighs rubbing on hers, her breasts pressed to his chest, sea water welded them together, as her lips meshed with his.

For this occasion, touching was not enough. Calvin needed to view the completeness of her. Slowly he slid his body off her, broke the kiss, and just let his eyes play over her delicate sea-shining skin, those slender legs, vibrant thighs, dark curling bush, flat belly, the rise of her full breasts, her shoulder length hair straightened by the sea, her wide generous mouth, still smiling at him. Every inch of her was perfection. His fingers touched a small L shaped scar he'd noticed earlier on the left side of her neck. She drew his fingers away.

Calvin was sitting back on his haunches, and his heart leapt as she leaned across him to take his traitorous, flaccid cock into her mouth. Her tongue moved in tender licks all around it, tickled at the tip. Calvin was sure it flickered just a little. He could not believe this sight of her pink lips, delightfully curved about his weak cock, and now her hand was gently pulling on it.

Sitting up and moving her legs around, she moved his slightly risen cock between them, and rubbed it over her clit, repeated the action, and again. Her fingers held him so tenderly, and he thrilled at the contact made with her clit, but his cock, although hardening, but not enough to slide inside her.

She continued her rubbing action, and Calvin could see the moisture on her inner thigh, enjoyed the friction of her warm skin. Without stopping manipulating his prick between her labia, she said, "Give me your tongue."

She leaned her face close to his, taking his offered tongue into her mouth, just touching it with her own. There was an electricity that Calvin was sure made a two-way connection between tongue and cock.

In a huskier tone, she demanded, "Tongue, further out, way out."

It went deep into her mouth and as it did, Calvin felt his whole-body tremble, knew his blood was running hot in his veins. His cock was still between her fingers, but now, she parted her legs in anticipation. Calvin knew that his pounding blood was pouring into his nether regions, and he was hard.

He was now panting like a dog, as he saw her open sex awaiting him, saw her eyes heavy upon him, expectant, longing, and suddenly the desire that had deserted him returned like an explosion, as his erection heaved. He collapsed over her, his tongue deep in her mouth, his pulsing cock humping deep into her warm, wet, welcoming passage.

But he did not cum, even though he longed for the release of it, inside this amazing woman. His control in these situations had always been good, and he could hold back to really surprise, and please many women. Now, when he longed to cum, his scrotum would not supply a finale.

They rolled together for a while, but then they got up, without a word, and walked, carrying their clothes. Calvin's cock was huge and taut in front of them, and she delightedly clapped her hands at the sight of it. A few times they fell to the sand, and Calvin churned inside her, before unspent, he left her, hot and moist.

Once as they walked, she in front of him, he threw his arms around her, and she fell forward into the sand, and they did it in that doggy position. He rolled his erection inside her, pushed, pulsed, hands over her breasts.

"Want it this way?" he murmured in her ear.

"Yes, yes," she replied, "this way, that way, any way, but keep it going. Please do not cum. I like it like this, doing it repeatedly."

He could not believe how moist she had been. But, once more they were on their feet. Each time they stopped she gave a sensuous sigh as he thrust her into the sand, plunged his throbbing cock into her, stirring her up, he could tell by her heavier breathing. Then he was out, before she could cum, and with each stop, he was realising that he was in charge now. Calvin was having to use that skill of holding back because that was what she'd wanted.

Each time they stopped, his hands searched over her eager body, his mouth caressed her everywhere, while his cock penetrated ever deeper. As they walked, her hands busied themselves too, closing around his wet erection, and at one point she knelt and took him in her mouth.

That did take some control on his part. As did the moment she delivered his cock between her generous breasts, letting it sway in their soft embrace. They were both woozy, unsteady, with hearts pounding as though they'd overdone the alcohol.

When the cottages appeared, he held her back behind a high dune, laid her down, pulsing to cum inside her. She had waited for him. She deserved his best delivery. Inside her, he was shaking, heaving upwards, and finally, he was cumming with such violence as he had ever experienced. All the frustrations of earlier were compounded into his massive ejaculation.

The way she reacted, in climbing onto him, over him, told him she too had hit her own orgasm. Their joint cries rose up towards the moon. Lying still, she, leaning over him, he moved to touch that L shaped scar on her neck. But once again she pulled his hand away from it, glanced away, before squeezing his hand.

"You are what I needed," she whispered.

"And I'd like to capture you in an oil painting," he said quietly.

"Oh, yes?"

The silence that followed was long, and Calvin must have dozed, because when he looked up she was gone, out of his life as quickly as she had appeared. The sky was lighting towards dawn, and Calvin wondered how long he had slept. Had he dreamed what had happened? The tenderness in his groin told him that was unlikely. Yet there were so many dream elements in it.

The way she had appeared; her acceptance of him in the sea and in the dunes; her ease with his failure; the collapse of his potency itself made it a bad dream: as did his inability to cum for so long. The whole episode was so dreamlike. When he stood up and looked around there were sets of random footprints in the sand, leading away through trees beyond the dunes, towards the village. But they could have been anyone's.

The next morning, he packed up his gear, knowing he had appointments that afternoon in his home studio. Before leaving, Calvin asked in the village about a dark-haired lady in her early twenties. Everyone he asked wanted a name, but of course, he didn't have one.

They had spent the night in total intimacy yet had not exchanged names. How was that? The whole experience had that mystical quality about it. Yet further proof that it wasn't a dream had come when the erotically charged aroma of her rose from his body when he undressed. But his enquiries came to nothing.

Calvin drove sadly back to the city to take up his artistic career. And he took it up most successfully. Yet his mind was so full of his experience by the sea that he set up a separate canvas, selected silver, white, and grey paints, to fashion a painting which showed a woman standing waist deep in a moonlit sea, her round naked breasts appearing almost buoyant. Her arms reached forwards with her fingertips just touching the speckled surface of the sea. But he could not get the face right.

He erased it over and over, but the expression so full of promise, and capturing the real woman, just would not come. In the end, he had the dark hair wafted across the face, which was less than satisfactory to him, but others were fascinated by it. They asked where his subject had come from, but he refused to talk about it.

Calvin also reproduced that moment when the woman had dropped her kimono to stand naked under the moon. With the head turned towards the sea it created fewer problems, and in the end commanded a very generous price when he did a copy, reluctant to let the original go. That was because his head would not release those vivid memories of their time together.

His paintings became very popular, from displaying and selling through local shops, he was soon earning good money. Soon he could afford to buy himself a small shop in which he could display and sell his work.

Next, he was able to purchase a small house, where he adapted one bedroom into a workshop/studio complete with a roof light. Business flourished along with his sexual exploits with his various models. Yet none of these encounters meant anything to Calvin. None matched up to what he had found back in '47. That lady was never very far from his thoughts. And he never stopped looking around him on, busy thoroughfares, ln shops, at exhibitions, anywhere there were people.

Then in the December of '52, he visited a bi-monthly market day in a village that bordered the city. Calvin had got into the habit of going there occasionally, since the village was within walking distance of his house. For one thing the masses of people who attended occasionally threw up an idea for a painting or sketch. But apart from that, the stalls were many and varied and always interesting.

It was particularly busy pre-Christmas, and he was standing casually viewing the offerings on a second-hand bookstall, when he happened to look up. Through the book tall and the bakery stall beyond, on the other side of that row was a stall that seemed to specialise in lady’s scarves.

As Calvin looked, a dark-haired lady, wearing a thick dark blue winter coat had obviously been trying on one of the scarves. With her back to him, she was just unwinding the scarf from her neck and shaking her head. Obviously, the scarf was not quite what she wanted.

She half turned, almost apologetically, and Calvin stopped breathing. That profile might have been recognisable, but, as the scarf dropped away, something much more definable came into view. On her neck was that so well remembered L shaped scar.

She turned fully as she moved away from the stall. That face, those eyes, that warm sensuous mouth, there was no mistake. It was her, after all this time. Desperately, he waved an arm, but she was looking elsewhere. There was no name that he could call out as she moved away to his right.

Anxiously, Calvin struggled that way through the crowd, trying to keep her in view. His heart thudded in his chest. She must still live in the area. In the other lane, he found that speed was not a possibility in the crush of people. A crowd was watching an escapologist. This was near where she had been. Getting some angry stares, he ploughed through any gap, without any success.

At last, he found the scarf stall. Somehow, he had missed her. Before launching a fuller desperate search, he approached the lady selling the scarves.

"You had a young, dark-haired lady trying a scarf on a few minutes ago. Do you have any idea who she was?"

The lady shrugged, "Never know any names. Dark hair you say?"

Calvin nodded.

"Wearing a dark blue coat, was she?"

"That's her, yes."

"Oh, I've no idea who she is, but she's quite a regular. Every time we're here, I'd say."

Calvin spent a fruitless two hours scouring the crowds, but he had lost her, once again. Still, now there was a glimmer of hope. The lady who had filled his mind for five years was still in the area, and maybe, just maybe, the February market might prove lucky.

Trying to lead his normal life, was near impossible. With her in his foremost thinking, time dragged unmercifully. When the February market day arrived, a quiet month, he hoped, with fewer people he might spot had hoped his chances of spotting her would be high. No such luck. Back to reality, utterly depressed.

He painted a picture depicting market day crowds, and among them was a ghostly figure in a dark blue coat, looking out and pointing at him. Painting it, hardly helped his peace of mind.

April came. Someone somewhere had said that April was a lucky month. Doubting the value of that assertion, Calvin set out to carry out his market search. He was strolling the lanes of stalls from nine thirty. For April, the air was agreeably mild, and many men were in shirtsleeves, and ladies could get away with a blouse and skirt. But, by midday, there was still no sign of the lady his heart yearned to find.

Deciding to take a quick lunch, he glanced at his watch, which showed ten past one. When he looked up something deep and warm leapt inside him. There she was. Just standing there, staring at him. Having no breath, Calvin could only stand and stare back. Unlike their only other meeting, there were no smiles.

She was wearing a light blue blouse, with a white cardigan draped over her shoulders, and a wide dark blue skirt. The cardigan had pulled at the collar of the blouse, and there it was—the L shaped scar.

How long did they stand staring at each other, uncertain and voiceless? To Calvin, it seemed like an age, but at last, he was the first to find his voice, and surely it wasn't as crazy as it sounded.

"I don't even know your name."

For him, it was amazing to see the half smile that came to her face as she told him, "I'm Laura."

"And I'm Calvin."

It was as if that exchange of names, broke a glass wall that lay between them. With a murmured, "Pleased to meet you," Calvin took a step towards her, and the next second, they were clasped in each other’s arms, as Laura met his advance with her own eager rush.

“I've looked for you," she whispered into his ear. "And now, by chance, you've turned up just as you did in the sea."

"This was no chance meeting for me. I've searched for you. I saw you here before Christmas."

"But didn't speak?"

"You disappeared, as you did in the dunes."

“Where you saved my life—or at least brought me back to life."

Calvin leaned back to look into that lovely face, puzzled by her last remark. "Look, let's go somewhere and have a coffee. And talk."

Her smile was wide, yet teasing, "Yes, we haven't talked much, have we? There's a neat little place just off this main street."

The cafe was neat, as she'd promised. Calvin ordered two coffees with buttered scones. When he sat down beside her, he took her hand and loved her responsive squeeze.

"Awkward questions first. Are you married?"

She shook her head, "Are you?" When he gave his negative response she added, "Girlfriend?"

After only a moment's hesitation, he told her about his art and the models he'd taken to his bed.

“Oh," she said, a look of disappointment on her face, then it lightened as she went on, "I thought you looked more mature. “

“And you—are even more beautiful than I remembered.”

“Back then, were you serious about painting me?"

"I've done it. Repeatedly. Laura, those women they were never a threat to my memory of you. They were merely a release."

She looked astounded as she leaned towards him and gasped, "You've really painted me? From memory?"

"It was all I had. You vanished---like a dream. I woke up wondering if it had been a dream. Anyway, I haven't asked you about boyfriends."

Her face became serious again, "I've been taken out a few times—but I haven't been—" She stopped, as though searching for a way to put it, "—I haven't - done it—with anyone since you."

Calvin's face must have shown some doubt at her words, "That's the truth, Calvin - I like that name. You need to know---you must have asked yourself how I was there that night---like that," She gave a weak smile, "When I acted like some wild nymphomaniac."

"That never entered my mind - a sea goddess, maybe," he said truthfully.

She laughed at that, "That's amazing. My first sight of you was that you were some god from the sea come to save me."

Calvin laughed with her, before asking, "So, what about that night?"

The laugh faded from her eyes as she said, "I do need to tell you.” She paused while a waitress delivered the coffee and scones, and then she went on, "My experience with men has not been happy. At eighteen I lost my virginity to a man two years older than me, a handsome charmer. Mr Right, I thought. Within days he had packed me in, saying I wasn't his type. Brokenhearted is the cliché for it, isn't it?"

"All men aren't like that, " Calvin told her.

She took a sip of her coffee, wiped her lips, and pointed at the L-shaped scar and said, "Not my experience. This was the result of a wonderful man trying to force his will on me, at knifepoint. A couple saved me, but I caught this." Calvin squeezed her hand and she squeezed back, before touching the scar.

“L for Laura." She smiled bitterly, "Ironic, eh? I let a year or two slip by before I made my final mistake.”

“There’s more?”

"How old were you when we met?"

"Twenty."

She nodded, "I was twenty-two and that night was the end or would have been. For two years I was practically living with this guy, Paul. He schooled me in most of the things I knew about sex. Yet I always had the vague notion that he was getting more out of it than me. Oh, I liked it, and despite my uncertainties, I was sure we were set for marriage. He talked about it, almost like a promise. I was so sure."

She stopped, and her eyes looked into Calvin's, "The evening of our meeting on the beach was shortly after I discovered that my dear Paul was doing, and saying, precisely the same things to at least three other women. When I confronted him, he became quite contemptuous, told me to grow up, and to come up to his expectations. His attitude changed completely—no more respect—nothing."

Tears showed on her cheeks, and Calvin leaned close to her, "I'm sorry. I wish I had that guy in front of me now."

She smiled, and pointed at the tears, before wiping them away, "You see? Five years ago, and it still cuts me. I was stupid. What hurt as much as anything was that I knew he was wrong about my sensuality. I knew that deep inside me I had this longing to give.”

Calvin, while sympathetic and a little angry, had been unsure about how this all fit, but then a little uneasiness crept into his mind. Her reason for being on that beach at that time.

Laura continued her tale, “But, at that time, I took his cruel words to heart. I felt broken and useless. How could I face up to a life of rebuttals like that? I could see no other escape from the hurt. Wearing nothing that would indicate my identity. I walked along the dunes where nobody would see me."

Calvin was shaken, by the revelation he knew was coming, "You were going to kill yourself?"

She nodded, "I told you, you saved my life. I was so determined that there was nothing left in life. Then I came up from my first dive and there you were—my god of the sea. You smiled, and I had to smile back, despite the pain in my heart. You were a man, but I found no mistrust for you. Please don’t ask me why.”

“Then I won’t ask. I only remember I wanted you from that first moment. You might have taken a different view if I’d followed my instincts then.”

“I might, but I doubt it—your timing was perfect. I don't know whether you remember, but I swam out deeper, still not sure---"

"And you swam in a circle," Calvin affirmed, he found his legs were shaking. That night, viewing her naked perfections, he’d had no idea of her intentions.

"Calvin, you can't know my state of mind. As I swam out I was telling myself that your arrival had to mean something. I had been vaguely aroused when my breasts touched your back. You touched me, and it was like a balm to my pain.”

Given her serious manner, Calvin had to suppress a little smile at the idea that his back had caressed a lady’s breast. That was a first.

“Doing that circle brought us face to face, with me feeling so sexually curious about you. One minute in pieces, and then you, your body, your smile, you freed my libido—and please don't be hurt---when we got up into the dunes, it was your initial failure that so delighted me. You were real, you were genuine. I trusted you and wanted your cock inside me. Yet, when it was over, and we'd cum together, I needed to be on my own again to register the change you'd encouraged in me. You had given me a reason to live—a freedom of sensuality which I feared had been destroyed."

Their heads were very close together now, sitting at the table, and to kiss her would have felt like the most natural thing in the world to Calvin. All the familiar stirrings of five years earlier were building inside him. God, it was the first time he had seen her face, her hair, her smile, in daylight. And she was magnificent to his eyes.

Laura was looking uneasy as he stared at her, "You don't believe me?"

"Believing you is not the most important thing. Now, just keeping you close is."

"I drove back the next day. But you had moved out."

"I asked about you in the village. They didn't know you."

"No, they wouldn't." Laura said, "I only parked my car there."

There was a moment's silence. Their hands were locked together, and she squeezed his as she said, "Might I see your painting of me sometime?"

Push it, Calvin told himself, and he said, "Why not today? Why not now? I only live a mile away. In fact, I walked here.

To his delight, there was no hesitation from her as she told him, "My car is parked in the next street. I'd really love to see your work."

Within minutes, Calvin was seated beside her as she drove, and he was as excited as a schoolboy on a first date. On the way she told him of her apartment in town and that she wrote articles for various women's magazines.

When she saw his house, a neat detached three bedroomed villa in a quiet estate, she voiced her surprise. "Big house for one person."

"I have a working studio, plus a client's room where I do portraits."

Inside he led her upstairs and into the room that he'd converted into his studio. Against the walls were several completed canvasses. There were Two easels, an assortment of paints, paint brushes and utensils were scattered. Under the high window was a flat sofa type bed, large and wide, like an oversized cushion.

"Where my models pose, if I'm doing a reclining study."

"Is that where I'd be if you painted me?" she asked, rather coquettishly.

"It could be, but I would like to do a portrait of your face."

"Not my body?" She placed her hands on her hips and adopted a pose, before adding, "What's wrong with my body?"

"Nothing at all," Calvin replied, adding with a gentle smile, "if my memory serves me correctly." And he was thinking that if they had been in the sea, he would be swimming around her now, occasionally touching her body. A familiar flicker started in his groin.

Laura had moved to where the canvasses were lying and began flicking through them. "Where's the picture of me?" she asked.

Calvin was thinking, gentle steps, gradual approaches, as his longing for her grew, and he said, "They have a special viewing place.”

Laura looked at him from across the studio and he saw her eyes travel down to his waist. "And where would that be?" she asked.

He turned away and gestured for her to follow him as he led her out of the studio to the door to his bedroom. He pushed the door open and said, "See if you can find them."

As she moved past him, the first thing she saw was the bed, and her eyes looked back at him, not questioning, more hopeful. At least that is what he read in them. He followed her in, and by the time he reached her side she was standing slightly open-mouthed, looking at the three framed pictures on the wall facing the bed.

First was the nude figure with the kimono falling at her feet, as she stared out to sea. Then came the one in which she stood waist deep, her breasts prominent, her hair over her face. A third picture doing a front crawl with her head turned to one side. In this one, Calvin had tried to give a vague impression of a figure swimming underneath her.

Anxiously, he tried to see her face for a reaction. She said nothing as her eyes moved from one picture to the next, and then back again. At last, she said, "If you got the body right, I'm flattered. But my face didn't show on any of them."

Calvin tried to explain his difficulty in catching her expression, "That's why I need to do a portrait of you, to capture that gorgeous face."

"Oh, Calvin, I so feared that if we ever met again there would be nothing there.” Her voice was barely a whisper, but it took on a more lascivious tone, which also showed in her eyes, as she added, “Maybe you need a closer look.” The next second she had her lips pressed on his, her tongue found his, while her whole body turned to press against him, her arms around his neck.

Calvin delighting in the rematch of their tongues, wrapped his arms around her waist, and as she snuggled against him, he wondered if she was surprised at his speedy erection. They stood like that for a long time, and her movements clearly informed him that she welcomed the press of his hardness against her belly.

As they broke away, Laura said, "You make me feel so wanton, so uninhibited."

Keeping her held close he said, "Not wanton, you are my lady in silver. See?" And he nodded his head towards the painting of her standing in the sea, her breasts prominent. "And I'm hopeful that you are only uninhibited with me."

"I've told you. No one, since our last time." She freed one hand to give him a little nudge in the ribs. "More than you can say."

Calvin pressed his lips against her neck, near her scar, and he said, "You make me ashamed, but I was the one doing the searching. You only found me by accident." They hugged and laughed together, and it just felt so good.

"That kiss was a first," Calvin told her, holding her tight as though she might try to escape.

"How?"

"Back then, we'd done plenty of touching before we got to the kissing stage."

Laura eased her head back so that she could look into his eyes, "It's a first in another way."

"Is it? How?"

Her face creased in a wicked grin, "First time we've been belly to belly with our skins not touching."

Calvin happily returned her grin, "Is there nothing we can do about that?"

Her head nodded slowly and deliberately, "There is, but we should make it another first. Oh, God, Calvin, I can't believe I'm here with you."

They kissed again, before Calvin said, "You can't know how I feel about finding you. How do we make another first?"

Her hand had dropped briefly to stroke over the bulge in his pants, and she sighed and said, "That first time I dropped my kimono myself."

Calvin nodded at the wall, "As shown in painting number one."

"Quite. Now, I want the change to be that you remove each article of my clothing, and touch whatever is revealed."

Calvin gave a shudder of anticipated pleasure. Delighted that she was as open as she had been five years ago. He put on a grouchy face as he said, "Oh, if you're going to insist." But already his eager fingers had unfastened three of her blouse buttons. Within seconds he was slipping it off her shoulders, stroking his hands over those wonderful curves, before reaching around for her bra fastening.

Laura had begun unfastening his shirt, and Calvin was happy to hear her moan as his fingers stroked over her bared breasts, as her bra fell away. She whispered, "They're not as big as you made them in picture two."

"They are exactly like that," Calvin replied proudly. "I'm a very good artist." And he bent to run his lips over her nipples, and his tongue around the areola. He felt her tremble, and he moved his hands under the waistband of her skirt.

Laura had pulled his shirt away and now peppered kisses all over his chest, while her fingers fumbled at the belt of his pants. Calvin could feel that, however large his erection had been a few moments ago, it was now twice that size, and his desire for her was rising by the second.

Pushing her skirt downwards he encountered the waistband of her panties, so speeding things up, he took them down along with her skirt. Almost simultaneously he sensed his pants slipping downwards, and Laura's fingers pushed at his boxer shorts.

They were both completely naked at just about the same time, and Calvin laughed, "Dead heat."

Laura's finger closed tightly around his cock, as she laughed, “Nothing dead about this hard fellow.”

For Calvin the thrill of her touch was exquisite, and he laughed as he trailed his fingers along her moistening labia, and said, “Oh, but he might drown in all this wetness.” Her breath quickened. Then she gasped as his fingers probed deeper into her moistness to find her clit.

Calvin eased her away from him, so he could view the full length of her naked body. Just as he had done in the dunes those years ago. Every curve, every rise, every tingle of the skin was as he recalled, and deliberately he moved her backwards to the bed.

Willingly, with her excitement written all over her face, she lay back with her legs spread. He lay over her, and she reached for his hardness. As her fingers closed around it, and she drew it between her thighs he grunted, "Laura, I hope you don't want me to hold back and not cum."

Calvin normally proud of his staying power, knew that this was a different situation.

She looked up from clouded eyes, and hissed, "God, Calvin, it's been five years for me. Do you have any idea what a frustrated libido is like? If you hold back, I'll kill you. I want all of it now. Right now. I'm nearly cumming already. " And she was pulling his cock frantically towards her entry.

His erection placed at that precious opening, Calvin could not resist a vigorous heave of his hips, which sent his cock coursing deep into Laura, causing her to gurgle incomprehensibly, then her own hips were rising to meet his next thrust, which rode him up to her cervix and he feared he was going to cum too quickly. He had become so steamed up at the prospect of possessing this dream lady once again.

Laura saved him from that embarrassment as her vaginal muscles hauled at him and her hips heaved faster to match his own pace. "Do it, Give it to me. Oh, God, I've waited so - Calvin, I'm cum - " Her voice crumbled into a gargled screech as her orgasm hit her, and her head shook, her body heaved, her thighs clasped and opened around him.

Calvin was so relieved to feel the desperation in her, and he was no more than five seconds behind her as, with one final lunge, he felt his cock strike up against her cervix and he was pumping his fluids deep, deep into her, drawing more cries of delight. His lips tried hard to kiss her, but her frantic movements prevented that, so his gasping mouth played and sucked over her warm vibrant breasts

Holding her close, the length of his body against hers, skin on skin, Calvin slowly cooled. Laura was lying, with her eyes closed, still panting slightly through lovely parted lips

Not for the first time, Calvin was thinking of the magical qualities of this whole situation, and the circumstances that had drawn back the curtains for it to happen. If he had not been in the market, on that spot, at that time, he might never have known she was so close.

"What are you thinking?" Laura's voice was still a little breathless.

Calvin told her, adding, "Fate, pure fate."

"No. Stupidity. My sheer stupidity." She sat up and looked down at him, her hand stroking his chest. "Why did I run away like that? When you had just brought me back to life?"

"We're here now. Let's be thankful."

"I need to wash myself down," she told him.

"A bath?"

"Sounds good."

Within minutes Calvin was lying back in the warm sudsy water of his corner bath, and Laura lay between his parted thighs, with her back against his chest. She sighed as Calvin's hands soaped down over her breasts, down over her belly, and his fingers glided to part her thighs and touch her clit.

Laura reached behind her to gently grasp his almost limp cock. "Is he so tired?" she chuckled.

"You killed him."

"But I can give him the kiss of life—I did it once before."

Without any further words, they climbed out of the bath, picked up large towels and began drying each other. Further intimate touches were involved but shielded by the towels. When they were both dried, and still standing in the bathroom, Laura dropped to her knees, and took his almost limp cock into her mouth, and treated it just the way she had in the dunes, her tongue lavishing eager licks all around it, probing, as it rose, the tiny outlet in the head.

While throwing his head back at the pleasure of it, a random thought troubled him, and he knew he would seek to open it out with Laura very soon. For now, he reached down, placed his hands on her shoulders, and said, "Shouldn't we try to make it to the bed?"

Laura looked up at him, and allowing the more swollen cock to rest on her lower lip still managed to ask, "Don't you like it?"

Calvin gave her the kind of smile which, he hoped would tell her what he was saying was a total lie, and he said, "No, it's disgusting."

She laughed, and stood up, "Okay, I've let floppy go. He might get over excited."

Standing in closer to her, Calvin put one arm behind her knees, swept her up and carried her to the bed, where carefully and with great care, he laid her on her back. Looking into her face, which frowned in curiosity at the deliberateness of his actions, he spread her legs apart, as they trailed over the side of the bed.

Then kneeling on the floor, he slid his hands up her legs, along the super smooth of her inner thighs, and over the bump of her dark bush. He continued the glide up, reaching for her breasts, and that manoeuvre drew his face directly over her pussy.

Now with his hands providing a million different caresses to her breasts, he lowered his lips and ran his tongue back and forward along her wet pinkness, allowing it to push between those lips of promise. Laura's little squeals were a delight to his ears.

His tongue found her clit. He'd a fair idea that it would already be up and ready, and it was. Briefly, he closed his lips around it and sucked tenderly, before sliding his tongue to her portals of heaven. He stuck his tongue way out to jab at her most tender part, and as she jerked, he knew his cock had hardened further against the calf of her leg.

She had felt it too, and her hand came down to touch the head, her voice coming on a shudder, "That's what I want, Calvin. Up inside me. Your tongue will take me, if you do any more of that."

Keen to please her, Calvin pulled himself up alongside her, and she closed her fingers around his bone-hard cock.

"Can you play it inside me, without cumming? Like we did in the dunes."

For a brief second Calvin's mind seized, there it was again, that misdirected sense. He would continue now, give her what she wanted but then he had to clarify something. Laura was trying to pull his erection between her legs, and he had no argument with that. Using it inside her without cumming might be a challenge.

His cock head rested at her entry, and he felt Laura try to snuggle down on to it. He pushed and slid into her with such ease that she grunted her appreciation. Upwards until it struck the obstruction of her cervix, then slowly back, as her hips tried to match his rhythm.

Several forward strokes, and suddenly she twisted as he made a draw back and his solid cock came free. Instantly she bent to it, taking it into her mouth, despite her fluids layering it. She sucked on it with great tenderness. It was so joyful that he had to warn her about his promise, not to cum.

As she released him she murmured, "Oh, I love you so much, some time, I'll swallow whatever you have for me."

He slid his cock back up into her inner sanctum. His heart was pounding with sheer delight. Laura's comment put her thinking on the same path as his.

"Lie still with it inside me," Laura pleaded. “I just love that sensation. Not aiming anywhere for a while, just being together, with that ultimate sense of closeness."

Calvin did not mind that kind of action What she said was true. Just being inside her, without the ubiquitous desperation that came with the thrusting, was so stimulating.

He wasn’t sure how long they lay like that, joined, without movement, simply for the comfort of being like that. Eventually, she whispered, "That's so good, Calvin. May I be selfish and ask you to finish it now. Lift me to where only you can."

Their movements became mutual, her hips lifted as he thrust forward, all the time their pace and pressure were increasing. Twice she circled her hips and it felt that she was able to roll his cock inside her. The tremors in his scrotum signalled how close he was, and he tuned in to the sound she was making and the eagerness of her thrusts. It had to be right. He so wanted them to break through the rapturous barrier together.

"Oh, yes, Calvin," came from her and her head began swinging from side to side.

He pushed more strongly and deeply into her, reaching for her very core. She was whimpering, and if she was trying to say something it came out as a breathless garbling. Another thrust, and she cried out and then it was all heaving, twisting, grunting, as his dam burst into her. Her nails raked across his back as she twisted in a wonderful kind of agony.

They lay silently triumphant for a long time, after exchanging brief words of gratitude. Then Calvin hoped he could find the right words to reveal what had been passing through his mind.

"Laura, can you remember what you said as you took your mouth away from down there?"

"About swallowing you? You want me to now." She sat up.

He laughed at her haste, "No, but you broke into my own thoughts. All the time we're talking about what happened five years ago. And I’m not pushing things here, but, although the dunes will always live in our memories, I would like to think we could talk more about tomorrows. Do you believe we could spend all our tomorrows together?"

She kissed him very gently, "If I didn't hope for that, you wouldn't have got near my body." She snuggled close to him, "Tell me - tell me about our tomorrows."

The look on her face at that moment would live with him forever.

"Well, I want to have a big house, with plenty of rooms. I want it to have plenty of land we can walk in."

"And a big, big garden. I haven't told you I love gardening."

"I will keep painting, you can go on writing, but only if you want to."

Laura's face put on a mock severity, "And what about all these models."

"You will be my model. I'll paint you in all aspects of your being."

"Naked?"

"I said, all aspects. But the challenge will be that lovely face. I want to catch you laughing, see you serious, the studious look you must have when you're writing something, the seductive smile you give me, the wildness of your expression at the moment of orgasm. All of that.”

“Of course, your body has to be high on the list.” His hand traced her breast, waist and hips as he spoke, and they both laughed, before Calvin went on. That body, fully clothed or naked, ready for a passionate embrace, looking graceful, running, maybe gardening. And then what I'll do---"

"What will you do?" she asked eagerly, all caught up in his enthusiasm.

"In our big house, there will be a big bedroom, with a big bed, an extra strong bed—"

Calvin shivered at the sound of her delicate laugh, before he went on, "And on the wall opposite the bed, just like here I'll hang all the paintings of you that most appeal to me."

"Yes, oh, yes," she said gleefully, "and when you wake up before I do, you can lie and look at those paintings so that when I wake up--" Her fingers stroked lovingly along his limp cock,"—you'll be roused and all ready to come into me."

"You'll be making an old man of me before my time," he laughed.

Calvin, aged eighty-seven, lay back on the pillows, looking at the pictures he had promised her that now decorated the wall. A single tear ran on his cheek.

"No, Laura, my love, I was wrong. From our first dreamlike meeting, you kept me young, time and time again."