The Weekend

Tilda was sleeping, her hair spread luxuriantly across her pillow. I sat up and in the half light looked at her. I had only once had sex with a woman on the first occasion that I met her. That was when I was travelling in Asia and met an Australian woman about my age. We were staying in the same hotel and met in the bar. She said she was alone, as I was, and asked if I would like to have dinner with her. I agreed and we went out into the humid evening air to find a restaurant. Not that it was difficult, restaurants seem to be every other shop in that part of the world. Over dinner she had taken my hand and kissed it rather lasciviously and I think a mix of heat, wine and all too long absence from another?s bed led me to give in. The long absence of sex followed an extremely rancorous end to my previous relationship which left me bruised and determined to stay single forever. Kathy put and end to that. I stroked Tilda?s face and she stirred, rolled over and continued to sleep. I slipped quietly out of bed, borrowed a long silky robe that was hanging on the bedroom door and walked down to her sitting room. The fire had kaçak iddaa burned out it was still quite warm enough. I tuned the tv on quietly and watched, without hearing or seeing, some movie that was playing. Her clock showed four in the morning and I was lost in thought. I recalled that first sight of her, the sinuous way she had coiled herself back into her seat, the way her trousers clung to her and the way they had come down. But it was her words that kept coming back to me. ?Kneeling suits you.? What did that mean? ?Didn?t you know that about yourself?? What didn?t I know about myself? ?Know what?? ?Like I said, you?ll learn.? What did all that mean? I remembered the sequence of events that had led me to be kneeling at her feet. I was eager by then to get at her body and as she said, getting her shoes off was an essential first step to getting those trousers off her. She was sitting, I was kneeling, what could that possibly mean about me that I didn?t know. I gave up the unequal struggle and looked absently through her dvds. She had loads, arranged like books on a shelf. Nothing caught my eye and so I turned kaçak bahis to study her books. ?You?re not going to ransack my house and clear off are you?? Startled, I turned, dropping the book I had taken from the shelf. Tilda was naked, standing in the doorway with that enigmatic smile on her face. ?My robe looks good on you.? ?I couldn?t sleep. I thought I?d watch telly but I was a bit preoccupied.? Her eyebrow lifted in a wordless question. ?Oh, nothing, just pondering.? Tilda came across the room and slipped her arm around me. ?Come back to bed.? Once again she led me upstairs, this time holding my hand all the way. We got back into bed and sat side by side. There was a long silence between us. ?Regrets?? ?Absolutely not.? ?Good, nor have I. In fact I?d rather like to do it again.? She turned her face towards me, a grin spreading across it. I smiled at her. ?But I have a rather better idea.? She moved and sat facing me from the end of the bed. She pulled the duvet away from me. Our faces were the length of the bed apart, her feet between mine and slowly, so slowly, she used her feet to spread mine. Then, with her illegal bahis feet against the soles of mine, the pushed my feet so my knees bent. ?Open the robe.? I opened it and she seemed to take me in with her eyes. She lifted her won knees and put her right hand between her legs. She had that stillness I had noticed in the pub, her hand was there at her core but did not move. ?Do as I do.? From that moment I copied her actions almost exactly. Her left hand cupped her breast and she rolled her nipple between two fingers. As if looking in a mirror, I could see her puling her nipple slightly, squeezing it. Her right hand curled and her fingers spread her lips, opening her to my gaze. She stroked herself slowly, cautiously almost, a finger just rubbing between her lips. Her large clitoris was showing and she rolled it lovingly between her fingers. Her hand left her breast and caressed her leg with slow sensual movements. Her knees lifted more and her finger slithered down to her second entrance and stroked there too. I heard myself gasp as I did the same and saw her smile broaden. She stroked her finger back up and curled it inside. Then began a sort of shuttle been pussy and arse, our fingers, wet from our pussies stroking down the short gap between and then pushing gently at the dark pucker before sliding back up then down again.