Summer was fading, with the temperature cooling early into nightfall and the sea taking till mid-afternoon to warm sufficiently to really appeal to swimmers.
This prelude to autumn was Luke Green's favourite time of the year.
Right now, Luke was in paradise, alone in the family beach house with his parents and two sisters in Sydney for the weekend to attend a rock concert.
Rock, ugh!
Personally, he wouldn't cross the street to attend a rock concert, which was the reason why he hadn't crossed the Tasman Sea with the family.
The telephone rang.
Luke rolled off his slumber bed on the deck, landing on to his feet in a crouch as he went over the side. Rising, he jogged to the phone.
"This is Luke."
The caller was Mrs Winslow, one of his mother's friends. She was the cute one, much younger than all of the others. She said she was calling to check that he was doing okay and eating properly.
"Mum only flew out this morning."
Oh, really, Mrs Winslow had replied, sounding rather vague. What had he cooked for dinner?
She had sounded very upset when told Luke hadn't felt hungry, so he'd just had a beer and a packet of chocolate biscuits. Right, she was on her way to cook him a proper dinner, adding that a young man of nineteen needed to look after his body.
"Okay, please yourself. But it's a long way to come just to feed me."
Oh, that hadn't occurred to her, she said. Perhaps she could stay the night as her husband was attending a medical conference in Queenstown until late Sunday.
"Okay, please yourself. There're plenty of beds but I can't provide a chaperone."
That sent Mrs Winslow into a peel of laughter. Still giggling, she'd said something really odd: it was he who might need the protection of a chaperone.
What the fuck did that mean?'
"See you," said Luke and replaced the handset.
Actually, he didn't mind her barging in like this. He'd sneakily watch her shapely body, the body of a fit 30-year-old, which she was, aged thirty or close to it.
Although playing old woman's bridge with her mother and friends, she apparently swam most days, played competitive night tennis, played off a golf handicap of thirteen and according to his mother, and she and Doc Winslow had converted a bedroom into a gym with electronic controlled equipment galore.
She was his kind of woman!
Yeah?
He still had red spots on his skin and was skinny whereas Doctor Winslow was broad-shouldered, handsome and very athletic. It was a wonder Mrs Winslow wasn't down at the conference being on hand for her husband to fuck as required. Wasn't that the role of a wife?
The thought of fucking turned Luke's mind to his new girlfriend, Wendy, who worked in a beauty salon. She was a pain, not wanting to eat this or that, refusing to drink beer, only agreeing to be fucked if it were in a bed with the lights out, and then as soon as they cleaned up, she was gone.
Initially, that had been a relief after his stint with Brenda, a near nymphomaniac. She'd drained him on three or four occasions, leaving him trying to pump fluid but the tank was dry.
What was Mrs Winslow's first name? He had no idea.
Ninety minutes later, Mrs Winslow arrived.
Boy she must have scooted as his father often took longer than that and he liked to floor it. Of course, Mrs W had a Porsche, a somewhat dented, yellow and oldish model.
"Hi, you look cool in just your shorts. I should be topless, too."
"Why don't you? We are pretty well concealed here."
Luke couldn't believe he'd said that. What a jerk.
"Hmm. Well that's something to think about," she said, kissing him lightly, not on the cheek but right on the lips. She smelt great.
"Come on, throw on a shirt and lock up. I passed that Italian café on the way in and it looked only half full. They'll welcome our custom and I certainly don't intend cooking."
No? Wasn't that the reason for her coming here? She was confusing him.
Mrs Winslow used the bathroom. Luke wished she'd come out topless. She came out, the only noticeable changes being fresh lipstick and her hair looked smoother.
Again, he though she smelt good enough to eat; eying her boobs Luke wondered if that's where he'd start eating.
"Come on," she said brightly, tossing him the keys.
Awesome!
But not only awesome. Once inside the car, he was put off by the smell of rotting carpets.
She made no attempt to brief him on driving the aged vehicle, apparently assuming that he was mature enough to drive a speed machine like her one without being lectured.
She was all right!
Excellent, the gearshift was the same in reach and layout as in his mother's car. He worked out how to start it as he scanned the dashboard, noting the petrol tank was three-quarters full.
It was a very smooth take-off and he entered the village quietly and accelerated up to the legal speed limit on the other side, with the café some four kilometres to the south.
"Floor it if you wish."
She said floor it, and gave no caution. What a babe.
He hit the accelerator, although not driving it to the floor, and she squealed, "I love it!"
He couldn't help it, his dick just leaped upright. It was either the influence of her or the car, or both.
"I love it!" yelled Luke, thinking if she would only place her hand on his erection he'd be in heaven.
He didn't feel disappointed that it hadn't happened as the expectation had been rather optimistic.
In the restaurant, they sat together on a curved leather seat. Her thigh pressed against his, not heavily, but neither was it withdrawn.
His erection returned.
"What do you feeling like?" she asked, studying the wine list.
His dick strained to answer and then, thank goodness, slowly deflated.
"I would prefer a lighter alcohol white wine and then I'll not go to sleep on you."
