My girlfriend Margie and I had been in Corfu for three days and had made friends with a group of Spanish people now living in London, a couple, Didi and Maikel, and a brother and sister, Juan and Marika. It was an interesting group, and you know how it is on beach holidays: everybody is virtually naked all day long and you can't help looking at bodies.

Marika was an attractive woman. Aged 40ish with long brown hair and a nice slim body. She had never been married, and I suspected there was a heartbreak story in there somewhere. She and Juan went around together for safety and convenience. As brother and sister, they could pass for a couple, but there was no tension, no subconscious pressure. Plus, it seemed to me, if one of them were to meet somebody, they could do what they liked. Not that either of them appeared to be interested in the bonking side of the traditional beach holiday.

Margie and I had been together for two years and it is fair to say the spark had gone out of our relationship. We stayed together because it was comfortable, but I felt it could fall apart completely at any moment, and I just hoped it would be an amicable parting.

Juan and Marika would always appear at the beach fully clothed, whereas the rest of us put on our swimwear first thing and the only concession to getting dressed as such was a T-shirt and flip flops. Marika and Juan would shuffle around, getting changed under cover of their towels while Margie and I, Didi and Maikel were getting settled on the beach chairs. I don't know how she managed to do this, but Marika would then just appear, changed into her yellow bikini, standing self-consciously near me, and I was always struck by the size and shape of her pubic mound. Whereas most women have a fairly discreet shape like the top one-third of a peach, Marika had a large plum that suddenly emerged, lemony and flowery, from the front of her crotch, demanding my attention. I couldn't help it, I just had to look and hope no one noticed. And Marika would stare at the sand, her eyes flicking quickly towards me as if she wanted to ask if I approved, if I admired her topography.

Every time this happened, I would imagine taking that lovely golden plum in my mouth and sucking the juice out of it. I knew it would be hairy, because stray pubes would always be loitering there, hanging out of her briefs. The women who saw this - and maybe some of the men - probably took a dim view of it; she was letting the side down and should get waxed or at least trim it. Me, I liked it. I would very happily have spent a few moments picking her hairs off my tongue, as everyone had to do in the days before waxing became popular. It was sort of intimate, having a woman's pubic hair in your mouth. After all, it could only mean one thing: you had been down there, down in the valley of bliss, where real life combined beautiful natural oils and juices with sweat and maybe a little piss, and where silky feminine skin and intimate, pink tissue was surrounded and covered with short, curly black wisps.

I thought about this every day around the same time: the contents of Marika's yellow floral-patterned bikini, which was rather faded through wear and tear, sunshine and sea water. The top was almost as fascinating. She had nice large breasts and her nipples did the same job as her mound below: they made themselves known whether she liked it or not. It was as if her body was as frustrated by her shyness as she was. Marika's body wanted to be fucked.

As the day wore on, Margie became increasingly distant from me. Apparently absorbed in her pulp novel, she barely said a word to me all morning and at lunchtime she went for a walk on her own. She was gone for almost two hours and when she returned it was not to me but to her book. The others were good company, though, so we all just got on with it, chatting and going for swims, drying off and applying sun cream.

That evening we were going to a seafood restaurant, and as I was getting dressed after a shower, Margie sat down on the bed portentously.

"You know what I'm going to say," she said, sadly but firmly. I didn't, but her tone and demeanour told me all I needed to know. "Guess who I met in town," she said, conjuring up some brightness. "Andrew and Claire. They're staying at the big place along the street. They're driving around, a different town every day."

"Oh yeah," I said, waiting for a clue as to how to behave.

"They invited me to go with them."

"Uh huh," I grunted. "And?"

"I'm going," she said. "Let's face it, we're just going through the motions, you and me. You'll have just as good a time without me."

And that was that. Andrew and Claire were old friends of Margie's, and I had always suspected there had been something between her and one of them, if not both.

Margie moved out there and then, going to stay at the big hotel, and suddenly I was single. It was a surprise but not a shock. She seemed happy enough and I wasn't worried about her if she was going to be with those two.

As I sat in the bar along the street, early for the meeting with the others, I was just trying to come to terms with the situation. I could imagine Margie in bed with Andrew and Claire already, celebrating the end of her relationship with that boring guy - me - and the start of an exciting new chapter.

When my four friends arrived, I told them what had happened as simply as I could. I didn't want to sound blase, but I hoped they could see it was inevitable and also that Margie was in good hands, so they didn't have to worry about her either.

At dinner the girls sat either side of me and I found myself talking to Marika a lot. She was looking very beachy, with her hair having that slightly crusty wild look, and one of those cheap cheesecloth sleeveless dresses in a bold splatter of red and green. She obviously hadn't showered or changed after the beach, which I found oddly exciting.

When we had finished eating, we moved to a beachside bar and as we walked, my hand brushed against Marika's. We both flinched initially but then relaxed and our fingers entwined briefly and privately. We deliberately sat across the table from each other. At one point she put a hand up to shield her face from the others and gave me a wink. I had never seen a woman do that before and wasn't sure exactly what it meant, but a minute later she leaned forward in her chair and announced that she was feeling unwell and was going to go back to the apartment. She kicked me under the table and with Juan deep in conversation with a Spanish speaker at the next table, I gallantly offered to walk her back. Juan then made a brotherly fuss for a few seconds, asking me if I was sure and so on, and being reassured by his sister that she had just had a bit too much sun and some water and a lie down was all she needed.

We said our farewells and Marika and I set off on the ten-minute walk. As we approached their apartment, she said, in her flawed but perfectly understandable English, "Is a mess, we go to yours?"

The wink and the mysterious slight illness suddenly became clear, and I knew we were both about to have the time of our lives.

Once inside, Marika headed straight for the bathroom while I poured some duty-free white rum. When she came back in, she sat close to me on the small settee, and we spoke about Margie's sudden disappearance. Marika patted me on the knee, and I put my hand on her leg, which seemed a logical and permissible move.

We were in a clinch immediately and my hand slid up her thigh to find what were clearly not knickers but something thicker and more shiny. Bikini bottoms. She stood up as if I had flicked a switch or done exactly the right thing. She pulled her dress over her head and stood there, unabashed.

"Just like on the beach," she said, explaining and excusing herself. "You too, please." I gathered what she meant and flew into the bedroom, where I quickly removed my clothes and slipped my beach shorts on. I had just pulled them up when I heard the door close and saw Marika walking towards me. She stood very close, looking at the floor and, I thought, willing me to do something. I went for her golden plum, squeezing it firmly and producing a jerk from her as a bolt of lightning went up her clitoris. We resumed kissing and I thrust my hand into her briefs, feeling her furry mound. Then I dropped to my knees and pulled the briefs down and off. I kissed her triangle and got my tongue as far as I could between her legs. She smelled like the beach and tasted salty. Then she pulled me up and reversed the positions, she on her knees, pulling my shorts down. She kissed my cock and began to lick it.

Just then the door burst open and in came Margie.

"Sorry," my recently created ex said. "Oh. Forgot my charger." She pulled it from the socket and barged out again. Marika, who had not really had time to move, looked up at me and gave a nervous giggle. Then she plunged her mouth over my knob and gave it an inexperienced, slobbering suck that was crazily thrilling in its inefficiency. After a few minutes of this, she sat on the edge of the bed and put her arms up to grab me. I fell on top of her and her plum seemed to be looking for my cock, so hungrily did it suck it in.

Marika's knees were up by her ears as she got every inch, every ounce of sexual gratification that had been missing from her life. She came with shuddering, squealing satisfaction and I felt something deep within her spurt fluid on my knobhead.

"Oh my gosh," Marika exclaimed. "You make me squirt. Is a long time. You drink, please."

I sprang to the task, reaching her cunt just as a gush of her magic juice arrived, and I swallowed it all with a big, embarrassing slurp. But neither of us was even remotely uncomfortable. It was as if this had been scripted for us, and we were merely following directions. I sucked at her hole and pulled at her clitoris and labia with my lips, and she went into a rolling orgasm that kept on giving, that indescribable umami flavour of her juice all over my face and my tongue and down my throat.

Then Marika took a deep breath, nodded and said, "Yes. You cum in my mouth." And with that she went down on me like a parched woman at an oasis. She fumbled wildly with my cock and somehow managed to get it under control, which is to say out of control. I pumped my semen into her mouth and it was like the culmination of everything our lives had been leading up to.

She sent a text to Juan, telling him she was with me and would not be going back to their apartment. And we made love half the night before falling asleep, exhausted and sore but as happy as two people can be.