Taking off from Cape Town International Airport was always a slightly liberating feeling. Whatever the destination, a day or two, perhaps a week away from the family lay ahead. But this time it was different.
You were flying off to investigate a story in Northern Kenya, and had booked a secluded beach cottage, an old colonial retreat complete with huge fire place and leather couches in Watamu. By sheer coincidence, she had been booked to deliver a paper at a conference being held in Malindi, just a handful of kilometres north of Watamu, and was flying in from London, where she had been living for the past ten years.
The two of you joked about it, saying it was Kismet, fate, and agreed to get together. she had a hire car. You had been best friends for ever, but underneath it was always a frisson of risk, a frisson of lust, a frisson of "what if"? This week there was a chance the "what if" could be answered.
You had arranged to meet at your cottage on the first night you were both there together. You knew deep down that something would happen, even if it was just a touch, a glance, a slight caress, a brush of the lips. Because this was a love affair that had been building for many years, and somewhere, something had to happen.
She arrived, her eyes sparkling with mischief and love and you embraced, kissed briefly and hugged again, and then again, and in the confusion and the warmth she said "hey man, you look absolutely beautiful" and you said "and look at you, girl, you look gorgeous." And she did, gloriously feminine and womanly in a soft flowing, almost Mexican floral top and even softer jade green skirt, her wonderfully pert breasts unfettered and shifting beautifully beneath the soft fabric.
Both of you began talking together, then stopped, then you moved slowly together and hugged and held each other and gently kissed. A small kiss, a "hello I love you and miss you " kiss. A warm fuzzy hullo kiss.
"Let's sit on the stoep and drink our wine," you said, and you wandered out, hand in hand, settling on the plump cushions on the cane couch, the boom of the surf on the outer reefs singing to you, the sweet scent of the night jasmine a heady perfume.
The night was gorgeous, one of those hot, windless, breathless Kenyan nights, 25 degrees hot late at night. You sat together, touching in little gestures, brushing against each other in deliberately accidental moments. she took your hands in hers, stroking them, and then, in an erotically charged moment, lifted one hand to her mouth and sucked a finger. It felt as though an electric charge had run down your body. You were both content to sit there in the warm, sensual breeze, snuggling and muzzling each other, exchanging little kisses, whispering small nonsenses to each other.
Then you headed into the night, looking for a friendly pub where you wouldn't be hassled. You drove to Malindi, where you found a club with deep leather couches in dark corners where couples, many of them women, were cuddling in the deep shadows.
Like two giggly school girls, you settled into the couch, and called the waitress across. "A bottle of sauvignon blanc" you ordered, then cuddled up together, whispering, even though the music was blasting out.
"Hmmm, this is so nice," you whispered as your lips grazed her neck and her ear, and she took both your hands in hers, stroking, softly stroking. "Hmm," she said, "yes." Both of you were content to say nothing more, and just to sit like that, apart, but together, just the odd vagrant stroke, a breath against a cheek, a little nibble on the neck, just feeling the tension build.
Then the DJ cranked up the music into a sensual Latino salsa and turned down the lights, making your little corner virtually invisible.
"Shall we dance?" you asked, trying to find her in the semi-dark. Instead you found her lips, and she slowly kissed you, leaning over you, her soft silkiness opening like a flower, her tongue darting in little small strokes across your lips, her breath coming in small gasps.
Slowly you stroked her, across her hard stomach, across her hips, ruffling through her hair, stroking an ear lobe, her neck, caressing her face, then slowly cupping her breast, loose and unfettered under her soft silky shirt, her nipple hard and hot. Her hands were roving over your hips, your thighs, and then up to your breasts and "shit", she said, "you're wearing a bra. Go take it off." And she giggled, saying "I can't believe I said that."
And you said "YOU take it off. Shit, I can't believe I said that," and you both collapsed giggling again. she turned to you and hooked her hands up behind your back and unhooked your bra, her breath hot and sweet on your face, then gently kissed you as her hands came around and cupped your freed breasts, one after the other, rolling first one then the other nipple between her thumb and forefinger. "Go take it off," she said.
You got unsteadily to your feet, and said "don't go away." In a hazy blur you walked down to the Ladies, your thighs burning, your cunt beginning to get very wet. You sat down on the toilet seat in the cubicle, trying to get your thoughts together: your silky boy pants were wet, your nipples were exquisitely sensitive to every motion as you took your bra off and stuffed it into your handbag. Your mind was swirling, whirling, wondering where the night was going.
You wandered back, taking in the sights, the couples snogging in the corners, some of them into heavy petting, and realised that anything went in this club. Sliding into your seat, your breast shifted against the silky top and your nipples hardened, sending even more heat down to your cunt.
As you snuggled up together, she whispered in your ear "I soooo want to kiss you slowly, and to rub my hands all over you, but I'm afraid of being too public." You responded by pulling her head down and pulling her lips on to yours, and slowly, slowly kissing her, your tongue slipping between her lips, playing with her tongue, and you pulled back and whispered "nobody can see us here."
"Hmmm I want to make love with you, long and slow," she said, "but let's start here" as she slid her hand up your thigh, and began to caress your hip. You kissed her, tongues shyly darting together, savouring her lips, nipping little small kisses on her mouth, her cheeks, her ears, her neck. You lifted your hips, trying to free your thighs so she could get her hands down on to you, and she slipped her hand down between your legs, stroking you through the stretchy silky fabric of your boy pants.
