The Conception of Salome

We grew up in the same street, shared the same interests and dated the same girls. It was natural that Richard and I were best mates and equally natural that I was best man at his wedding.

I was an honour to be asked. I really liked his bride. Allison was beautiful, sexy, intelligent and mature with a solid, supportive family background; in short everything a guy could want in a wife.

They met at university in Leeds but chose to marry in the little Hampshire village Allison came from. They did it in traditional style, tails, white dress, quaint little church, confetti, horseshoes and a reception in the local hotel for family and friends followed by a disco in the village hall for the younger guests; university friends, Richard's rugby team mates and Allison's work colleagues.

Everything went off beautifully but Richard and Allison didn't go to the evening party. They had to leave for Southampton airport and their honeymoon in the Canaries.

"Thanks for everything," Richard said on his way out. "Enjoy the party! Oh. And one more thing. Can you take care of Rachel?"

"Is she here?" I asked surprised. "I haven't seen her."

"You know what she's like with strangers." Richard sighed. "Try to get her to mix a bit tonight and enjoy herself for once."

"I'll try." I promised but knew it might be easier said than done.

Allison's bridesmaids and her brother in law, who was a local radio DJ, did a great job getting the party started. All I had to do was enjoy myself. Actually it was not that easy. Most of the guests were couples and I was between girlfriends. Everyone was friendly and making casual conversation was easy but once the dancing started I found that I had nobody I wanted to spend the evening with. Then I remembered that I was supposed to look after Rachel.

Richard was slightly tawny but his sister was a real redhead and stood out in a crowd. But I couldn't see her. When I eventually tracked her down she was standing in the back yard on her own star gazing. In profile from the left she was actually rather cute. Her long, wavy Titian hair was blowing in the wind showing her elfin face with its pert nose, hundreds of freckles and dreamy green eye.

Richard was a strapping guy and a good rugby three quarter. Rachel was much more petite. Perhaps the accident and the years of surgery that followed had restricted her growth. But she wasn't the little girl, rarely seen or mentioned by name but often alluded to, we had grown up with. Neat, shapely breasts were thrusting at her white linen gypsy style blouse.

"How are you getting on with your history degree?" I asked her looking for some safe topic to start with.

Rachel tried to answer but it was hard to make out her words. She fumbled in her handbag for the little notebook she had to carry everywhere and wrote "I have finished now. I got an upper second. I am looking for a job now but it's tough."

Aloud I congratulated her on her degree and sympathised about the job situation. Inwardly I knew tough would be an understatement for her. For the thousandth timeand I cursed the petrol can and the cretin who had thrown it onto our bonfire.

I think Rachel read my mind. "Don't worry about me," she wrote. "You go inside and have a dance."

"Why don't you come with me and have a drink?" I suggested.

"You know why," she wrote and turned away to lean on the fence.

I deliberately went to her right side. "Nobody's going to worry about your face here. They're all Richard and Allisons's friends. They're a nice bunch. They'll be sympathetic."

But it was no use. The doctor's had done their best but the burning petrol and shrapnel had left very obvious evidence. With strangers she was still shy about her squint and particularly her speech impediment as well as the burn scar on her right cheek and temple.

The long sleeved blouse covered the scars on her forearm where she had tried to protect her five year old face. She juggled a bottle of Baccardi Breezer and the notebook and pen so dextrously with her left hand that I hardly noticed the stump of her right hand anymore.

We had a lot of catching up to do but there was something she needed to clear up first. "Did Richard ask you to keep me company?" she asked.

She was too intelligent and knew her brother's lingering guilt and protectiveness too well for me to be anything but honest with her.

"I'm not a baby anymore," she wrote "But thanks anyway."

Actually I found that I didn't mind all that much. I was used to the patience it took to communicate with her because of her writing speed. But as long as I allowed for that she had plenty of interest to say and three hours passed very quickly.

Academically she had caught up the two years of schooling she had lost and then some. But she was still socially naïve at twenty three even though university had taught her to drink and dress like any other young woman; especially dress.

The gypsy blouse not only suited her it allowed tantalising glimpses of a skimpy white bra to show between the buttons. Lower down she had an apple green and yellow cotton print skirt on. It became interestingly short as the alcopops got to her.

Her safety factor of leg cover wasn't entirely gone. But instead of the thick woollen tights she had grown up in she was wearing white satiny stockings. They had pretty pink and green flowered lace tops which she allowed to peep. They were still opaque and hid the scars on her right leg but nothing could completely smooth the twisted, grafted, shrunken bones.

White sandals and a delicate perfume added to the fresh, spring like vision. Rachel had never occurred to me before as being a woman let alone as sexy. I found the effect disturbing especially in that romantic atmosphere, a warm, moonlit night on the edge of the New Forest with the door open and smoochie music wafting out on the breeze.

Her dot and carry walk didn't allow her to do true disco dancing but she could hold onto a partner. On impulse I asked her to dance. She got up with alacrity and staggered before grabbing hold of me. I realised that it was not only her disability. She was decidedly tipsy and clung not only for support but with unexpected ardour.

Her body was warm and her clothes intimately thin but she didn't know what to do with her one and a half hands. Nor had she a clue about how to respond to my hands as I caressed her hair, shoulders and waist gently. Nevertheless three dances blurred into one as we awakened hitherto unsuspected desires in each other.

They don't keep big city hours out there in the sticks and the party ended before either of us was ready. I had already had enough to drink but Rachel finished hers; almost a full bottle of Baccardi Breezer, the light green one, and she slugged it down in one.

There were a lot of people to ferry to homes and hotels and not many sober drivers. So nobody minded when I called out that I would walk Rachel as far as the Forest Hotel. From there it was only a couple of hundred yards to Allison's elder sister's place where she was staying.

I was happy to sober up and enjoy the balmy spring night air. Rachel could limp quite long distances, albeit slowly, when she was sober. The trouble was she wasn't sober. The last bottle had taken her over the top and she was well and truly pissed. After a minute holding my hand wasn't enough. She lurched against me and put her left arm round my waist. She was gripping tightly but her slim fingers felt quite nice. To give her more support I put my arm round her waist. She liked that, squirming and giggling until she got my hand where she wanted; under her loose flaired blouse. Her waist was slender and firm and her skin warm and creamy to the touch. Like that we made slow, erratic progress down the village street.

By the time we got to the hotel she had kicked off her shoes, and was giggling and singing. When I let her go and said goodnight before staggering five yards and almost cannoned into the stone gatepost.

"You'd better come in for a coffee and sober up before you go to Sharon's. Just ssshhh now and don't wake the hotel."

She still had enough self possession to obey and we got to my room without mishap. I went straight to the bathroom to fill the kettle. When I got back she was lying on the bed flat on her back, eyes closed, her beautiful Goldilocks hair cascading over the pillow, chest rising and falling gently, knees drawn up and wide apart.

Every moment of that night in 1991 is etched on my memory. Rachel had been facing me, sideways on to the bonfire, a sparkler in one hand and a baked potato in the other, dancing with excitement in her new primary school uniform and dark red woollen coat. That coat restricted the area of scaring when the blast came as did my father's quick response with a hosepipe. I knew exactly where she was scared. But I had never thought about the bits that weren't; until that moment of revelation.

Three inches of her thigh tops lay above her stockings, slim, firm, slightly flushed and gossamer smooth. Between them she had a tiny pale orange thong, decorated with little yellow flowers. The spaghetti strap lay just above her hip bones and it was stretched and lifting on her stretched, prominent pelvic muscles, leaving little peep holes at the sides and pulled tight to her cameltoe suggesting that she was completely smooth underneath. The effect was cute but not quite virginal and riveting.

She gave no sign of being aware of my attention and I tore my eyes away, made coffee and tried to figure out what to do next. I could try to sober her up and take her to Sharon's but it might not happen quickly or easily. I thought of going down stairs and trying to book another room. But then I recalled having seen a sign saying No vacancies so I quickly ruled out that idea. I could leave her on the bed and sleep on the floor. Or, a naughty thought stirred in my brain, I could just put her under the covers, get in beside her and go to sleep.

Meantime I had to phone Sharon and Rachel's parents who were also staying at the farm.

I heard a lot of female voices whispering in the background then Sharon came back on the line and asked "Can she stay at the hotel, Peter? We've got a house full as you can hear," I thought I detected a hint of mischief in her voice. Had she seen us smooching, put two and two together and made five? It seemed like it but above the background racket it was hard to be sure. My quiet voice didn't wake Rachel. But others from the wedding were also staying in the hotel. Some of Richard's rugby team mates came in singing and shouting in the corridor. That did rouse Rachel. She showed no embarrassment at showing her panties and I thought I detected a secret smile of satisfaction when I told her that Sharon wanted her to stay with me. I got her to drink some coffee then laid her gently under the covers fully dressed, took off my shirt and lay next to her with the rest of my clothes on.

She sat up and despite her damaged mouth I could make out what she said as she unbuttoned her blouse. "I'm not a virgin, Peter."

Maybe but she was inexperienced and still drunk. She fumbled with the tiny buttons, becoming increasingly flushed. There was also a look appearing on her face as if she was making herself focus to pull off some long cherished plan.

I moved across the bed and helped her starting at the waist. She sent out mixed signals. Signs of her new found sophistication included a butterfly tattooed on her firm, flat belly and an emerald green stud in her belly button but her skin was as soft and creamy as a baby's. I worked slowly enjoying its sensuality and her evident pleasure in being touched. She continued grappling with the top buttons.

I eased the linen off her shoulders and slowly, gently down her arms taking care to caress her scarred right arm as well as the left. She indicated that she couldn't feel me touch the furrowed scar but appreciated the gesture. Finally her bra and contents were revealed in all their suggestive glory. The bra was even more exciting than the glimpses at the party had suggested. The cups were very shallow, the top halves were almost sheer with just two embroidered flowers framing her tits; and she had breasts to flatter them. My hands instinctively went round her back and under her soft tresses and I asked the question with my eyes. She gave a murmur of assent and nodded. I didn't hurry letting my eyes and fingers feast. She wasn't big, B cup at the most, but her breasts were perfectly proportioned, firm and curved into lovely points. As for her tits they were not quite in the centre of darker rings, pink and puffy to begin with but hardened deliciously when circled with my tongue.

They were sweet to play with and as her breasts became more aroused so her hands became more active. Slowly I taught her how and where to touch me with the two remaining fingers of her right hand as well as her left. She was a quick learner and her smouldering sensuality made things more awkward.

I didn't want to take unfair advantage of her intoxication and I had promised Richard to look after his sister and help her mix not fuck her myself.

I hoped that a long joyous session of licking, kissing and sucking her breasts coupled with the alcohol would sublimate her needs and we could sleep. It might have worked if my cock hadn't burst out of the waistband of my trousers and underpants. She saw it, pushed them down, darted down the bed and flicked her tongue along the length of my shaft.

"Oh my God! Rachel, do that again," I couldn't stop my self saying. She did; then slowly and repeatedly lapped her tongue round my balls as I pushed my clothes the rest of the way off and my cock grew enormous. She wasn't phased by its size. In fact she was delighted, increasing the speed of her tongue and bringing her hands back to my chest, tweaking my nipple and playing with my chest hairs.

Her bunched up skirt was now defenceless and I sat up, unzipped it and pushed it clear of her small, pert, high set, invitingly bare buttocks. Kneading them gently caused her to motion for me to lie down. Satisfied with the hardness of my cock, she rolled on top of me and slithered like a little viper up my body. The position was perfect for my hands to control her bum and sway her from side to side sliding the satin of her panties across my cock.

The booze hit her again and she went limp with her face buried in my chest but so happy she was purring like a kitten. The tips of my middle fingers gradually eased down her bum crack until they found the delicate white trimmings of her thong. I tweaked them with my finger nail and she turned enough to ease my finger underneath. She had the smoothest, slipperiest little pussy I have ever touched, its inexperienced lips tucked inside but the pink ball of her clit was just beginning to sneak out. I found it and pressed gently with my fingertip. Her whole body tingled and the surge of warmth passed from her belly into mine, making my cock throb and creamy, slippery cum ooze from her pussy.

In a second her redundant little panties were at the bottom of the bed and she was kneeling over me. Hesitation over I tried to ease myself in. Booze and lust had banished her inhibitions but not her tightness. What really worked there was when I submarined between her legs and licked her out. The taste was divine and the luxurious feel of her stocking tops on my cheeks made me prolong the experiment until she threw her head back, arched her back until her hair was brushing my belly, closed her eyes and screamed.

I came up for air and thrust again. This time her door opened wide and she took me, an inch at a time as I spread her lips with one hand and gyrated her bum with the other to help me in. Her hot pussy was so slick that I was sure I wasn't hurting her and so intimate that I could feel each throb of her clit and each pulse of cum as it ran down my cock.

When she had taken my whole length I gripped her waist firmly and rolled her over onto her back. Propped up on my arms looking down to her navel I saw that she had the most erotic front and pussy I have ever seen, with her little ginger landing strip slick with juice and sweat topping a subtly curved mound, perfectly formed pelvis and hips, girlishly smooth thigh tops and her pussy stretched in a snug fitting circle round my cock.

I paused for breath and just admired her. But the proof of the power of my manhood plus the way she looked up adoringly soon made me get to work again. I pretended to pull out which made her actually cry out and pant for more. She got it with a hard, decisive thrust that bucked her body up underneath me. I repeated this a few times as she became more and more wild, then stilled her by lowering myself on top of her and nuzzling her neck.

The second cycle lasted three thrusts before I exploded deep inside her. I hadn't meant to come in her but the look of consummate satisfaction on her face as she turned over and went to sleep meant that the consequences could wait.

Our daughter, Salome, was born exactly nine months later, perfect in body as well as mind.