Last year I related the tale of the first time that my girlfriend Christine (who is now my wife) and myself spent a first weekend together in her parent's home. I was nineteen, she was eighteen and we spent a great deal of the time having sex or resting until we could have sex again.
It was a memorable weekend and you can read the details elsewhere but the connection to this tale is that I set a record that weekend which was not matched for another eight years. In that intervening period we bought a house, lived together, got married and generally laughed and played a great deal. Inevitably, we began to discuss starting a family and we agreed that Christine should stop taking the pill.
In my earlier tale I stated my views on keeping count (there's rarely much to count) so I must stress that these were two extraordinary days. My wife and I are unremarkable people, we are in good health and we keep quite fit but several days can often go by before we go bump in the night.
It was in early 2010 and it coincided with an offer from a good friend of mine to holiday with him and his wife for a week on the island of Majorca. He was a plumber and could pick his own holiday dates but his wife Emma was a teacher so they were tied into the school half-term week in mid-May. We had been to the island a few times before so we gladly accepted.
It turned out that Conor had spent a few evenings working on his brother-in-law's house and had been offered the use of his villa in old Pollensa rather than payment in cash. Conor accepted his brother-in law's offer and I accepted Conor's offer. My contribution was to pay for all four flights and when I learned that the villa was actually available from Wednesday to Saturday ten days later I was bold enough to ask if Christine and I could set off early and when Conor and his wife arrived three days later we would be waiting for them at the airport with our hire car.
My proposal was accepted, flights were booked and plans were made. Part of the plan, weather permitting, was to have two clear days of our-time which translates as sunbathing, barbeques, nakedness and open-air shagging until Conor and Em arrived. This wasn't just my plan although I was not objecting, my insatiable wife had made it very clear that she expected to be fucked in a variety of ways and, by way of reminding me of this, she surreptitiously squeezed my cock a number of times on the plane.
Our 3pm flight from East Midlands landed at Palma at 6.30pm Spanish time and for a while things went downhill. Our luggage was delayed and nearly an hour passed before we had our suitcases. There was a long queue at the car rental counter and within seconds of leaving the airport I took a wrong turning and it was long after 9pm before our little hire car turned off the mountain road into the long and winding gravel drive described on our location instructions. Our humour began to return with our first view of the villa, it was a peach, a solid converted farmhouse situated high above the bay with a long distance view eastwards down to the sea. We inspected the deep front porch, the swimming pool, the large rear patio and grass lawn with its shaded dining area and the surrounding scrub landscape before moving inside to examine the rooms with their dark and heavy rural furnishings.
With no time to waste we set off in the car to buy some groceries and find something quick to eat. A late night shop on the downhill strip between old Pollensa town and Puerto Pollensa provided us with enough food and drink to tide us over for day or so and a very average Chinese restaurant near the marina staved off the hunger pangs. It was a warm evening so we finished off with a short stroll along the famous Pinewalk where we discovered some far more tempting menus than the Green Pagoda's. As we lingered at each restaurant I couldn't help but notice the admiring glances that Christine was receiving from other men (and women).
Before leaving the villa she had changed into a white linen dress with narrow string straps and the fact that I could vaguely see the shape of her nipples and the outline of a tiny pair of panties through the flimsy material was giving me an erection. It was growing dark so I suggested that it was time to get back to the villa, neglecting to mention that I had a desperate desire to fuck her.
When I last described Christine she was eighteen and pretty with a trim figure, small breasts, rounded bottom and an all year tan. The next eight years had been kind to her and she had grown more attractive and sophisticated as the years went by. Naturally she disagreed, saying that her calves were too muscly, her chin was not firm enough, her bottom was too big etc but the truth was that she was a head-turner despite these real or imagined deficiencies. She had a pixie-like face and a long graceful neck which made my grandmother liken her to Audrey Hepburn.
She ate sparingly and exercised often, her breasts remained small but she weighed little more at 26 than she had at 18. Whatever she wore suited her and with her all over tan she looked good in a bikini, jeans or an evening dress. Even more importantly, she looked great from any angle when she was naked and I looked forward to admiring those angles over the next few days.
We drove back to the villa which was now encased in darkness and double locked the solid door behind us. We both headed to bed but I had already tuned in to a few comments from Christine about how tired she was and how long the day had been and all of a sudden the prospect of sex seemed distant. It was too warm to wear anything in bed but Christine decided that a nightshirt was necessary and as I snuggled up against her and parked my dick in the crack of her ass she asked if I would wait until morning and she would make it worth my while. I took the hint and told her that it better be good before I turned over and fell asleep.
