"Fine!"
"Fine!"
We stormed off in separate directions. I was fuming, raging really. There was just something about the way I couldn't get through to him that just infuriated me. I heard his footsteps pounding the pavement getting imperceptibly quieter as the distance between us increased. Meanwhile, try though I may, I couldn't really emulate him. I mean, I tried, I stomped with conviction but I was barefoot so all I could hear was a slapping sound of my flesh against stone. Of course, I was not only barefoot but stark naked, my entire body, including my very recently waxed pussy lips, on display to anyone who cared to look.
I was too angry to be embarrassed though and anyway, every other woman on this island was in the same position. Though I hoped they all weren't as pissed off as I was. Welcome to St. Colette, the romantic paradise island. What a way to spend our first night here. To be fair, the warning signs had been there in the way we bickered intermittently on our journey here.
The trip was his idea. Though I have to admit I've always been fascinated by Les Trois Soeurs, the islands devoted to female beauty. I'd often fantasised about spending time on St. Jeanne, the strictly female island where no men are allowed and also mysterious St. Josephine whose women were all enslaved. But St. Colette is the island I planned to actually visit. It looked so beautiful with this wonderful vibe. The fact that men are always clothed and women are always naked just always stirred something in me and I often wondered what it would be like to experience this for myself. So when Alan mooted this trip to me he was pushing an open door. I readily agreed, even though this was something of a Hail Mary pass for our struggling relationship. Change of scene and all that.
I don't think either of us were ready to admit it quite yet, but at the back of my mind was this nagging sense that we were ultimately incompatible, Alan and I. We had what you might call a dead bedroom and we hadn't had sex in over six months. It wasn't so much that either of us had a low libido but we just seemed to have mismatched timing and if I was honest, needs. Any time he was in the mood, I wasn't and any time I felt like sex, he didn't. But perhaps more fatally, neither of us seemed to be able to give the other what they wanted.
I love sex, I love affection, I love kissing, I love cuddling, I love making him happy. One of my favourite things to do is suck cock. I absolutely love every thing about it. I savour and crave the sensation, the scent, the taste. When I have an erect cock in my mouth I just feel completely at one with the world. If I was only allowed to engage in one sexual activity for the rest of my life there's no competition, it's not even close.
I do enjoy receiving oral sex, I find it very pleasurable to have my pussy eaten, my ass too, but the enjoyment and satisfaction I receive from sucking cock far exceeds that from cunnilingus or analingus. Dream girlfriend right? I mean, what man wouldn't want a girlfriend who enjoyed fellatio so much? Mine apparently. I mean, he enjoys blowjobs, for sure, but what he really wants is PIV, good old, penis in vagina sex and this is the one thing I haven't been able to give him.
For as long as I can remember, I've had vaginismus. I can barely fit a little finger inside me, never mind a tampon, never mind a penis. It doesn't really bother me, I figure it's just the way I am. Any time anything looks like it's going to go into my vagina she just tightens up like a clam. This has absolutely not stopped me from enjoying sex and orgasms. It wasn't an issue with previous boyfriends who were completely sold when I told them that although my vagina wasn't on the menu for penetration my asshole definitely was. Every guy likes anal, right? Not my Alan unfortunately.
This wasn't a problem at the beginning of our relationship. I enjoy anal sex immensely and I love the feeling of being fucked but I'm a cock sucker at heart and was quite happy for our sex life to be exclusively oral. I was happy to compromise with the fact that anal was off the table but somehow Alan never quite accepted that for vaginal. He persisted in seeing this as a "problem" we had to solve in some way and though he terrified me many times by rubbing his cock between my pussy lips and making me think he was going to try and force his way in anyway, he never actually took things that far. He even bought these horrible vaginal dilators for me to use to try and prise open my vagina for him. I tried them out for him one time but absolutely hated everything about the experience. He seemed to take this personally somehow and sulked about it.
It was probably the sulking that created the dead bedroom in the first place. All it took were one or two occasions where he made it quite clear to me with his body language that he viewed the oral sex I was offering or performing to be some inferior substitute for what he really wanted. And so we settled into this semi-amiable, semi-fractious cohabitation. We still did lots of normal couply things together, we seemed, outwardly, to be a happy pair, but sex just became this hot button for conflict so we just stopped having sex. Alan knew of my interest in Les Trois Soeurs and one evening over a glass or three of wine, we just booked the holiday.
It was unspoken between us, but each of us hoped that we would find some way back to each other, far away from the quotidian grind of work and home, in a magical romantic place. For me, I hoped he would see what we had together, I hoped to look sexy for him, I hoped he would not want to lose me for the sake of this impasse between us. I was hoping for a compromise. I felt that we could meet in the middle. Maybe he could see that, as with all my previous boyfriends, I actually had a lovely warm welcoming asshole that could grip and milk his cock, just like any vagina. Maybe in this tropical heat, he might be enticed by the way my ass jiggled and want to ravish me, sodomise and possess me. But if not, I wouldn't mind. I would be happy to return to our oral-only sex life, lovemaking which had hitherto been mutually satisfactory at least at the beginning of our relationship.
It was only when we actually arrived here that I understood what his hopes were. I was travelling light, naturally. I didn't bring a stitch of clothing and arrived to the airport in the sundress provided by the airline and duly handed that back upon boarding. I just had a handbag with my phone and a few bits and pieces. Alan packed a suitcase and this was inspected by a nice naked redheaded customs officer when we arrived on St. Colette. Policy is for strict checks to make sure no female clothing is smuggled on the island. I didn't pay attention to his suitcase then but when we got to the hotel and I saw it opened out on the bed I noticed the unmistakable shapes of the dreaded dilators. My heart sank but I chose not to say anything in the moment.
It became clear to me that Alan was hoping for "one more heave" and I feared that for him, anything short of me prising open my pussy for his cock would see our visit here deemed a failure. I held my tongue but it was nagging at me all the way as we took our first stroll around the town. It was a fantastic place here and everywhere I looked there were beautiful naked woman of all shapes, sizes and colour, locals and tourists alike. Outremer is what they call the rest of the world on these islands and you could definitely tell which women were from Les Soeurs and which of us were from Outremer. Nonetheless, though it was still startling to be nude among so many clothed men, I felt a certain pride to be among my naked sisterhood. And yet this thing with Alan wouldn't let me enjoy the moment.
We were heading to a cafe for a little aperitif and I just couldn't keep it bottled in any more. I raised the subject of the dilators and he didn't even look guilty. That's probably what infuriated me more than anything. He gave the impression that he was entitled to the use of my vagina and that my continuing reluctance to use these horrible devices to facilitate this, to "solve" the "problem", represented some sort of injustice. I felt from his demeanour that he expected some sort of apology from me for this neglect on my part. Like he felt that seeing the palm trees and naked women, all with fully functioning "correct" vaginas of their own, would make the penny drop for me. I dared broach the subject of anal sex and with disdain he said that he was not going to put his cock into a "sewage pipe". It made me feel just awful to be described in such a manner and that pretty much ended the prospect of a pleasant evening.
There was nothing more to be said but as I pounded the pavements down the road I just kept replaying the conversation in my head. I felt like such an idiot and here I was, naked alone in an unfamiliar place and absolutely enraged. I needed a drink, I think, or some sort of distraction. At the edge of the street I spotted a reasonably well occupied bar, it looked like it would do. It was a hotel bar so I guessed there would be a decent mix of islanders and "outremer".
I stepped through and strode to the bar. There were indeed plenty of people there and just over half of them were stark naked like me. I wasn't sure if I would ever get used to the idea of women walking around, boobs, bum and shaved pussies on display for all to see while the menfolk got to cover up. But I did notice that the women seemed to be comfortable in their skin. I wasn't quite there yet but perhaps that was as a result of the recent contretemps with Alan. Perhaps with a little lubrication and distraction I might find a sense of relaxation. Perhaps I could enjoy this holiday, with or without Alan. I was here now, for another while yet, I wasn't going to pack my non-existent bag and go home. I might as well enjoy this incredible place while I could. I ordered a gin and tonic and then I remembered that I had nothing with me. In my rage, I forgot that, wanting to emulate the local women, I had gone out without a handbag. My purse was back in the hotel and Alan had my phone and bank card in his pocket. I heard a deep male voice.
