CHAPTER 1
Friends and family thought it funny.
And strange.
They still do.
But we loved that peaceful North Wales coastal resort and had been taking our breaks here since we married 22 years before.
It had a lot to offer us. For me it was the hill walking nearby and great stretches of shoreline to run to my heart's content.
For Kate my wife, there was a maze of shops, several extensive garden centres within easy reach and an award-winning theatre in walking distance of our regular hotel.
Plenty to keep us both occupied, if not together.
In our day-to-day existence Kate was a busy primary school teacher while I passed my days working from home as a cartoonist for a national syndication and sometime book illustrator.
Friends often remarked that we made a handsome couple, but in the real world the mirror had already begun telling us both another story.
Admittedly Kate weathered the years better than me.
Despite carrying a couple of extra pounds on her hips and ass she remained attractive enough to turn heads of men 10 years younger than her.
On more than one occasion I'd had to aggressively fend off lusting admirers bent on getting into her knickers.
As for me, I'd developed a few wrinkles around my eyes and my hair had begun that slow transformation from dark brown to a more dignified salt and pepper look.
Luckily a disciplined daily fitness routine maintained my body more or less firm. I still enjoyed road running but had recently begun to feel more comfortable with a half marathon then the full 26 miles.
It was that regular fitness regime that kept my skin tanned, giving me the misleading appearance of a rugged outdoors man.
Our marriage had been happy enough despite us not sharing any hobbies or interests. Our sex life was just about okay, albeit a bit too vanilla for my needs. I had always wanted us to be more adventurous but Kate, not wanting children of her own, always erred on the side of conventionality.
But all that changed the day we met Corinne and Adam Blakewick.
My story begins early one July morning three summers ago, a little before 5:30am on the steps of our hotel overlooking the great curve of the bay.
It was just past mid-summer and the morning air was already warm but ozone fresh.
At that time in the morning the promenade was still the domain of seagulls, screaming and circling. Only a few hardy souls were up and about so early.
But that morning there was another runner already stretching in the hotel foyer. She was early middle age, sun tanned, with long platinum-grey hair worn in a ponytail.
Well used, but top quality running shoes indicated to me a regular runner - as did her athletic physique.
As I came out the doors she was in a long deep leg stretch, but turned to critically examine me.
She wore a tight running bra, with matching black shorts.
Attractive rather than beautiful, I estimated her age was perhaps close to 50, but a very fit 50.
'Good Morning,' I said, leaning against a wall to begin my warm up, 'You're the first person I've seen out for a run this early in many years.'
She gave me a warm smile and said, 'The sun's been up over an hour already, seems a shame to waste it lying in bed, don't you think?'
I nodded agreement, changing legs to stretch an Achilles' tendon.
'I'm going hill walking later, so a circuit down the promenade and back along the beach will have to do,' I said.
Her stretches complete she had begun running on the spot, lifting her long muscular legs so her knees reached chest height.
'Sounds like we have the same idea, but if you're going my way watch out for my slipstream,' she said with a broad smile, 'And mind you don't get sand in your eyes from my shoes!'
And with that she began her run with a turn of the head and friendly wave of a hand.
Still stretching, I watched her cross the empty road and bounce off along the promenade, the low sun catching her hair which shone like burnished metal.
She moved easily with the practised gate and measured pace of a seasoned distance runner.
A minute later, having quickly stretched most of my muscle groups, I headed off, following the same route as her. Already she was receding into the distance.
A classy runner.
It took me almost to the far end of the promenade before I caught her up. She was heading towards the sandy beach down a sloping concrete jetty used to launch sailing boats.
It was tempting to breeze past her, showing off my superior speed and strength, but instead I slowed, matched her pace and ran along some 30 feet or so behind her.
Her body was moving with the ease and precision of a well oiled machine - arms low and legs not kicking too far back so not to waste any unnecessary energy.
The sun caught the thin film of sweat on her neck and shoulders and she looked like the cover of a running magazine. For a while I was hypnotised by her glorious body, happy to watch her feet splashing in the lazy foam of the spent waves.
Her platinum ponytail flicked from side to side like the tail of a fine pedigree mare.
My job as a professional cartoonist requires me to be ever inventive, to use mental tricks and other devices to generate quirky views of the world that will satisfy my newspaper editor's insatiable need for clever cartoons.
One downside of this is that I can't switch off my imagination.
As I fixated on her tight gyrating ass and feet rhythmically pounding in the surf it began playing one of those word association game I play when trying to come up with ideas.
'Pound - rhythm - tide - coming in - surf - spume - spray' and so on. Images grew in my mind of me pounding her ass rhythmically, waves of pleasure washing over me, rhythmically coming in her beautiful butt with my spume, spraying her, white and frothy.
Distracted by my wandering mind I must have closed the distance between us, making her aware of my proximity.
Inevitably she heard me, turned to look, then took off like a sprinter.
This time I really did get sand in my eyes from her pounding shoes.
She wanted to play.
It had been a while since I'd had to extend myself to such a fast pace, but gradually I caught her up again.
She moved out of the foam onto firmer sand so I drew along side her, my feet now splashing in the foam.
We were both working hard from our efforts and I sensed she was beginning to feel the pace. Then, turning toward me with a mischievous smile, and catching me off guard, gave a mighty shove which threw me sideways off balance into the crashing waves.
I managed not to tumble, but the few seconds it took to stop myself getting an early bath was just enough for her to gain ten or more paces on me.
Still looking back at me, I heard her whoop with delight and again quicken her pace.
She was not tiring and she wanted to play!
At length we approached our hotel and as I again drew close, she veered off toward a concrete slipway leading up to the promenade and the end of our run.
Here was my chance.
Still grinning like a Cheshire Cat, she leaped onto the sloping slipway now but a stride or so ahead of me.
But now it was my turn to play.
With a couple of extended strides I was along side her, then nudged her with my shoulder, catching her off balance and propelling her off the side of the ramp, falling awkwardly onto the soft sand below.
Looking back I saw her lying in the sand but not moving.
Immediately I leapt off the ramp and stood over her. Her eyes were closed and, although she was breathing hard, she looked unconscious.
Kneeling down beside her I asked if she could hear me.
Suddenly she opened her eyes and heaved me over onto my side in the sand. Then with another hoot of laughter she scrambled to her feet and raced off to the top of the ramp onto the promenade, where she punched the air with delight and whooped aloud in celebration of her victory.
I was still laughing when I arrived back at the hotel foyer where she had almost completed her warm-down exercises.
We beamed at each other, both still enjoying the fun.
In between heavy breaths I stuck out a hand in a friendly gesture and introduced myself, ' Hi, I'm Jack Race!'
'Corinne Black,' she beamed, shaking my sweaty hand, 'I really enjoyed bumping into you!'
CHAPTER 2
We were a little later than usual going down for breakfast.
Kate never has been an early bird, spending an annoying amount of time finessing her appearance.
As usual I took the stairs wearing worn cut-down jeans as shorts, a loud beach shirt and white deck shoes without socks, while she chose the elevator.
Kate always looked immaculately groomed and well dressed for every occasion. That day she wore a crisp white blouse with a knee-length grey pleated skirt and patent black belt.
As usual she wore tan stockings with white court shoes. Her makeup and hair were both faultless and she could have gone straight to a society function without changing.
Next to her I looked more like a weather-beaten beach bum than a professional artist.
They do say that opposites attract.
The dining room was almost full as we navigated between diners to our usual reserved table overlooking the bay. The room was filled with the sounds of waiters, chefs and of course the chattering classes tucking into their breakfasts. The welcoming smells of bacon and eggs wafted across to me, making me feel acutely hungry after my earlier physical effort.
To my surprise, sitting with a partner on the next table to ours were Corinne and a man I took to be her partner. They must have only just arrived as the waiter was pouring orange juice for them both.
