A Perfect Day

Note: This is another excerpt from a longer story about Jim and Monique, two grieving lovers who find each other on a private island in the South Pacific. This is what happened just after they took that delicious shower together...

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We sat there for a long time before regaining enough strength to rinse off and step out of the shower. We toweled off, and toweled each other off, and stepped into a mutual embrace.

"Mmmm," Monique said. "All that exercise has made me hungry. "What's for breakfast?"

"Why don't you make the omelettes," I suggested, "since you are 'a graduate of the world famous Cordon Bleu.' I'll make some coffee, cut up some fresh fruit, and maybe . . . pour some Mimosas?'

"Yes!" she said. "Perfect." And so we put on a couple of the white terrycloth bathrobes hanging there and headed downstairs.

We were both giddy, humming "La Vie en Rose" and snapping each other with dishtowels while we worked. Monique sliced mushrooms and chopped onions, cracked eggs and whisked them in a bowl. She was thrilled to find fresh croissants in a white paper bag on the counter.

"Where do they come from?" she asked.

"I really don't know," I shrugged. "I just know that every morning when I wake up there is fresh food in the house and fresh flowers on the table. It's not that anybody brings them in. It's just a little more of that magic I was telling you about."

"I like this magic," she said, with a broad grin. And then, adding a wink, "I want more!"

"Oh, I think there will be more," I chuckled.

We sat down at the kitchen table with a couple of omelettes that could have graced the cover of Bon Appetit: absolutely beautiful. Monique seemed so pleased with the kitchen--apparently she had been able to find everything she needed, not only for breakfast this morning but also for dinner last night. Along with the omelettes we had fresh fruit, flaky croissants, real butter, strawberry preserves, Starbucks Caffe Verona, and a couple of Mimosas made with freshly squeezed orange juice and a chilled Veuve Clicquot. I raised a glass to Monique.

"To you, darling," I said, "and the way you have transformed this island."

"To you," she said, as she clinked my glass, "and the way you have transformed . . . almost everything."

There was a moment of meaningful silence as we sipped from our glasses, stared into each other's eyes. And then we dug into breakfast like two people who hadn't eaten in days.

"I have to make a confession," Monique said, at last, glancing up. "I couldn't sleep last night. You know . . . before I came upstairs. I was up, looking around, and I looked into your study. I found your journal."

I stiffened just a bit, wondering if there was anything in my journal I wouldn't want her to see. There were pages and pages of my private grief in there. I had written in an effort to get it all out.

"And?" I asked.

"Well," she said, looking down, "I know I shouldn't have read it, but I had to know what sort of man you were--on the inside. Your 'outside' is gorgeous, and I love your playful personality, but I wanted a peek inside your soul before I took the next step with you. Jim," she said, shaking her head slowly, "what I read was so moving, so beautiful. Wow. Tears were just running down my cheeks. And that's when I knew I wanted to join you in your bed. I was too nervous to do what I really wanted to do, which was hold you and heal you, so I just lay there beside you, and then--you remember--I reached out for your hand."

"That was so tender," I said. "My heart was pounding when you first got into bed, but in those next few minutes I felt a peace wash over me that I haven't felt in a long, long time."

"Me too," she said. "I slept better last night than I have in months."

"I woke up better this morning than I have in months," I said, remembering.

"Oh, my gosh," she said, shivering. "That was amazing. Everything has been amazing. You . . . are an amazing man."

"You," I said, reaching for her hand, pulling it to my lips, kissing the back of it gently.

"It's you."

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The kiss on the back of her hand didn't stop there. I began to kiss my way up her arm, lingering on the inside of her elbow, tasting her soft flesh. "Baby," I whispered. "I know I've just had breakfast, but I'm still hungry."

I didn't wait for her response. I stood up and pulled her to her feet, led her to the couch, and pushed her down with a kind of desperate urgency. She gasped, and looked up at me, wondering what I was going to do next. I dropped to my knees between her thighs, grabbed the lapels of her robe and yanked it open, exposing her firm, ripe breasts.

The nipples were already hard.

I leaned in and sucked the left one into my mouth, swirling my tongue around its hardness, tasting its fleshy sweetness. Monique moaned and let her head fall back. I moved up to kiss her throat, to tongue the hollow at its base. I squeezed her breasts in my hands, rolled the nipples between my thumbs and forefingers. I moved down to lick them again, alternating from left to right until Monique was gasping for breath, begging for more. I moved down farther, opened her robe completely, pulled her hips to the edge of the couch, and dropped my head between her suntanned thighs. I had my hands under the cheeks of her ass, her legs were spread wide, and her pussy was glistening with moisture.

I had been waiting for this moment since my first glimpse of her pussy, waiting to taste her. I leaned in close and inhaled her aroma. God, it was intoxicating! I leaned in again and exhaled warm breath onto her sopping vulva, making her tremble.

"Oh, yes, baby!" she crooned. "Do that!"

I did. I hovered just above her pussy, brushing my lips against her silky curls, breathing out warm, moist air on her quivering labia. I did it until I couldn't wait any longer, and then I reached out with the tip of my tongue and touched those sweet, pink lips. She gasped as my tongue made contact, and I murmured with delight. She tasted just like peach nectar. I ran the tip of my tongue along her slippery slit and then sucked her labia into my mouth; first the left and then the right, running my tongue along the smooth underside, making sure I got every drop of juice. I lifted her legs, spread her thighs, until that delicious pussy was completely exposed before me. I began to lick it like an ice cream cone, with long, hard, flat-tongued strokes.

"Oh, my God!" she cried. "You're going to make me cum!"

I hadn't even zeroed in on her clitoris yet, but now I did, circling it with the tip of my tongue, alternating with warm, wet, fluttering strokes until her back began to arch and her moans got longer and louder.

"Oh, yesssssss!" she said. "Just like that!"

And then I sucked her clitoris between my lips and strummed the tiny shaft with my tongue until she exploded beneath me, bucking and writhing on the couch, squeezing my head between her thighs, grabbing two thick handfuls of my hair.

"OHHHHH MYYYYY GODDDDDD!!!" she screamed, her whole body tensing for a full ten seconds, and then going limp as she fell back against the cushions, panting for breath. I waited between her legs, running my palms lightly over her calves and ankles, planting little kisses on her inner thighs.

"Are you OK, Sweetheart?" I asked at last.

"Baby," she moaned, opening her eyes, licking her lips. "That was the most ... mindblowing orgasm!"

"Well," I said, blushing,

"I was really hungry."

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We spent the rest of the morning recovering, snuggling on the couch, filling each other in on the missing chapters of our lives. When we got hungry we dug around in the fridge and found some yummy things to eat: ham and Swiss sandwiches on rye bread with honey dijon mustard, some of the fruit from breakfast, and the rest of the Veuve Clicquot. There was actually a good bit of the Veuve Clicquot. By the time we finished I was feeling a little lightheaded. I suggested we go out to the hammock and we did. It was another perfect day on the island--not so hot you couldn't bear to be outside but not so cool that you needed any kind of covering. We still hadn't changed out of our terrycloth robes, and so we lay back in the hammock enjoying the buzz from the champagne, listening to the sound of the surf, and letting the gentle breezes caress our faces, tickle our ears.

We slept; I don't know how long. One of the things I love most about this island is that it never matters when or how long you do anything. When you're tired, you sleep. When you're hungry, you eat. And when you wake up beside someone as beautiful as Monique and want to kiss her, well . . . you do. She kissed me back, and for the next little while we suckled each other's lips and tongues lazily, letting the time go by. I felt my cock stirring beneath my robe and moaned in a way that must have given it away. Monique reached down to feel for herself.

"Well!" she exclaimed. "What do we have here?"

And then, in one smooth motion, she pulled my robe open and sucked my cock deep into her mouth. Wow. It felt sooo good! I just lay back in the hammock with my hands behind my head, looking up through the leafy green palm fronds at the brilliant blue sky while Monique's head bobbed up and down on my cock. It seemed so . . . naughty, doing it out there in broad daylight, and she was doing it so well that it wasn't long before I felt my ass clenching, my back arching, my balls tightening until . . . unnnggggghhhhhhh!! I exploded into her mouth and fell back onto the hammock gasping.

"Baby!" she said, looking up at me, licking her lips. "This is amazing. You taste just like a warm vanilla milkshake!" And then she moved back up to where I was lying and kissed me deep and hard, sucking on my tongue until I could taste that she was right. I did taste like a milkshake (this must be part of the island magic, too. I'm pretty sure I didn't taste like warm vanilla milkshake when I lived in Boston, but I did now). And for some reason kissing her while my taste was still on her tongue was deliciously sexy. It went on for a long time.

Eventually we rolled out of the hammock and went down to the beach for a swim, shedding our robes on the way, enjoying the sensuous feel of warm water swirling around our naked bodies as we swam, splashed, and played in the waves. We showered off when we had had enough and ended up back in the kitchen.

It was my idea to do something simple for dinner and then watch a movie. It seemed to fit the laziness of the day. I grilled some jumbo shrimp while Monique fixed a big salad and we washed it all down with a couple of bottles of cold Bass ale. I let Monique pick the movie from the thousands of options available to us in the entertainment center and she chose an old favorite: "You've Got Mail," with Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan. We were just getting ready to settle onto the couch when she asked if we could have popcorn.

"Of course we can," I said. "We must!"

And so I dug around in the pantry until I found the butter flavor movie style microwave popcorn. Three minutes later I was pouring it into a big bowl and two minutes after that we were settled on the couch and the movie was beginning. It looked great up there on the big plasma screen, and with Monique beside me, and popcorn, it felt just like being at the movies on a date.

Until the movie ended.

"That was so sweet," Monique said, kissing me on the cheek. And then she kissed me again, on the mouth. And then again, with passion. She started fumbling with the belt of my robe.

"Monique," I said, chuckling. "We can't do this again. We've done it like, four times today!"

"I just want to snuggle," she said, opening my robe, throwing her leg across me, straddling me. That's when I felt her warm, moist pussy settle onto my cock and, without any further encouragement, felt it stiffen beneath her. She began to glide up and down gently, lubricating the shaft, until--with a subtle shift of my pelvis--I slipped inside her.

"Oh, yessss, baby," she cooed. "That's all I wanted. A little snuggle time." And so she rocked her hips back and forth as my cock worked itself inside her. She leaned back to let me suck her nipples and then leaned forward to suck my lips. Our sighs were soft as the breeze blowing in through the open windows, our movements easy and unhurried, and when we came it wasn't so much an explosion as the crash and hiss of a wave washing up on the shore and then sliding back out to sea. Monique fell against me, satisfied, spent.

"I love this island," she murmured.

"Sweetheart!" I whispered,

"I love you."