A Summer Romance

Note: Over a period of a few years I wrote three stories with a mystic theme. The first two were 'The Man' and 'Lunchtime shopping'. This tale completes the trilogy.

*****

This is probably not the kind of story that you want to hear. At the time of the two incidents they seemed almost unbelievable and now nine months later the memory has all the elements of a dream. The trouble is that my wife Debbie has the same memories and she was more directly involved.

My name is David Pike, I am 30 years old and employed as computer manager of a small software office. I am just better than average height and I like to think slightly better than average in looks. To finish the picture, Debbie will laughingly tell you that I also just manage to beat the average in more intimate physical respects - though how she came to be an expert on the subject I thought it better not to enquire. We have been married for six years. My wife is three inches shorter than me and three years my junior.

To adequately describe the light of my life requires a separate paragraph because to simply say ' a sight for sore eyes', though true still does not do justice to Debbie. Some girls peak at sixteen when the appearance of untouched freshness is a large part of their appeal but most of these suffer from the fact that after their mid twenties they are definitely past their best. Debbie is the opposite, a self-confessed wallflower at school; she has improved over the years like good wine until now (aged 28) she has matured into a vibrant exiting woman. At some point in her family tree we suspect Greek ancestry because her skin retains an appealing olive darkness even in the midst of the longest winter. She has black shoulder length wavy hair, dark flashing eyes and a face that makes my heart melt. Figure wise, she is just slightly on the voluptuous side of perfect and her legs are far better than just good.

Had I dedicated myself at school instead of wasting my time chasing girls it is possible that I might have become an archaeologist. Now with what I feel to be my true vocation barred to me, the best that I can do is avidly read up on ancient history and visit the sites whenever I can. Last year Debbie suddenly asked, "What do you think about us taking separate holidays this year?"

I was immediately suspicious. "What are you planning to get up to?"

"I'm not planning to get up to a damn thing except have a proper holiday instead of trailing round after you from one godforsaken pile of stones to another."

I have to admit that our holidays for each of the previous three years had borne more resemblance to an archaeological field trip than a conventional sun and sea holiday. Until this small rebellion I had managed to convince myself that Debbie got almost as much out of historical holidays as I but now I quickly looked for a compromise. "How about a Greek island? There are some with a lot of history. We go together, you visit some ruins with me and I do the things you like and where there is a real conflict we can separate just for the day."

My wife was very pleased with the suggestion and gave me a warm kiss of approval. "I'm glad that I am not going by myself," she said. "I don't think I would have had any fun at all."

Looking her up and down in a blatantly lecherous way, I said, "I think that you might have had a great deal of fun - but not the kind that I would have been very happy about." This remark was enough to set her slinking towards in a sexy way and the next moment my hands were all over her. Suffice to say that it was much later that we returned to perusing the holiday brochures. After nearly six years of marriage we still enjoyed a full sex life as they say, 'full' - at times it was positively running over the top of the cup.

We eventually arrived on our Greek island. For a good reason I will not mention which one and neither will I name any archaeological remains that could identify it. Not that I actually saw much, apart from a couple of popular excursion type sites. The first day we arrived, as I turned away from the desk I saw a swarthy gigolo type male talking persuasively to Debbie but he hurried away as I approached. "What did he want?" I asked.

"What did he want or what did he say?" she laughed. "He said that he had a spare ticket for something or other and wondered it I would like to join him. He wanted what all men want."

I joined in her laughter. "A handsome guy like that - you should have snapped up the offer," I joked. "Then I could have gone to see the Cretan obelisk in peace."

"You are the only handsome guy that I want," she said sincerely squeezing my arm. By the afternoon of the following day I was drawing a great deal of reassurance from her declaration because men seemed to come out of the woodwork to pester her. I only had to leave my wife unattended for a couple of minutes to find some male talking intensely to her often with an arm draped casually round her shoulders. I puzzled why she was suddenly such an attraction when there had been no similar phenomena in previous years. The answer was possibly twofold. On other holidays we had tended to only come in contact with more serious minded people but I think the true reason was that Debbie had recently bloomed into an exceptionally desirable woman. The net result was that I cancelled all my private plans for the rest of the holiday, deciding that to leave my lovely wife unaccompanied for any length of time would be asking for trouble.

On the fourth day we had booked to go on an excursion to visit a famous cave. The Tourist Guide said it was a very large cave complete with subterranean lake which had to be crossed by dingy in relays - this making the full tour just over two hours in duration. My non geological interest lay in wall markings on one of the levels, reputed to have been made by prehistoric men. We had walked halfway to the bus when I glanced sideways to notice that Debbie was still wearing the high heeled sandals that were seldom off her feet, (she claimed that flat shoes made her legs look fat). I pointed out that they were hardly suitable for climbing about in caves so we hurried back to change. While back in the hotel room, I said that although her low cut blouse and short wrap over skirt might be adequate, it might pay to take a warm jumper that she could slip on in the depths of the cave. The net result of this delay was that instead of being early (as I liked to be), we were the last couple onto the bus.

It was obvious as soon as we climbed aboard that there were no longer two seats together. This was rather annoying because I knew it was a good hour's drive to the cave. Looking ahead as my wife preceded me down the isle I saw that the two spare seats would both mean sharing with males. The first was a young guy aged about twenty. He had almost white sun bleached hair worn in a ponytail which was balanced by a short whispy beard on his chin. He was wearing sandals, very short cut off denims and a tee shirt - it was also obvious even seated that he was unusually tall. I mentally slotted him automatically into the student, beatnik, beach bum category. Some three seats behind, the other choice was an elderly man with rather long white hair and wearing very old fashioned pince-nez spectacles. Not surprisingly Debbie plonked herself down in the first available seat. Passing by I saw no danger - the kid was hardly a threat and I would be sitting where I could keep an eye on my wife.

I found myself seated next to my dream companion because he turned out to be a world famous archaeologist. I had read at least one of his books and remembered it very well. I think that the old chap welcomed having me as an avid disciple for during the journey he told me at length about his long career. He had worked at all the places that I had read about, Egypt, Turkey, Greece, Mesopotamia and South America, excavating Assyrians, Tolteks, Sumerians and a host of others. The journey seemed pass in a flash and I was so engrossed in his revelations that I quite forgot my wife sitting three seats in front. He had just started telling me about a startling new excavation in Egypt that had not yet been published when the bus pulled at our destination. Frustrated that he could not continue divulging this privileged information, I stood up and said, "Please tell me the rest on the return journey."

He shook his head and said that he was being met and taken on to a non public excavation. "The car will come for me in about an hour and I will be staying on the bus until it does."

Thinking fast I got off the bus and went to where my wife was waiting. "I hate to spring this on you darling but would you mind going round the cave by yourself. Couldn't you go with that young bloke you were sitting with?"

To my surprise there was a look of absolute dismay on her face. "It's not a good..." she started to say but I was not in the mood for objections. I had bent over backwards to accommodate her wishes and I was never going to have opportunity to get data straight from the horse's mouth again. "Look," I said firmly. "I want to stay on the bus to hear lots of stuff about Egypt. I will never get this kind of chance again so please be a good girl just this once and don't argue."

For a long moment her eyes held a torment of indecision, she started to speak, stopped and then the look in her eyes changed. I cannot say what to because I had never seen anything quite like it before. With a smile she stood on tiptoe to kiss me quickly, murmured, "Whatever you say", then scampered eagerly away to join the other sightseers already lining up to start the tour.

It turned out that I had sacrificed my wife's company for very little. My guru had lost his flow, there was not that much more to tell and to cap it all, the vehicle he was expecting turned up in less than half an hour. The old chap registered my disappointment and gave me a consolation. "You may not know that there is a much smaller cave but it is far the more interesting of the two. It is believed to have been used for over 10,000 years if the earlier occupation levels are contemporary with the wall markings in the large cave. Few people know about it and the locals that do won't go near because they believe it is a mythological site - they might very easily be right." The old gentleman then told me that there was free access to the cave and gave directions how to reach it. We shook hands and as I walked away he was being helped into an official looking limousine.

Starting where the group had gathered I followed the path round towards the entrance to the main cave but paying particular attention the left hand wall. As expected I found what would appear only as an alcove to any casual observer but stepping inside it turned into a narrow passage which led in a rising clockwise direction. The passage was so narrow that any fat person would be unable to pass through. I could tell that sections had been made by the erosion of water but the lager proportion showed signs of having been laboriously cut by hand untold years ago. After ten minutes, round a final bend I arrived at the cave entrance, ducked my head and stepped inside. It was small only in comparison to its larger brother for it was quite a large cave. The floor looked like deep dry sand and high above there was a hole in the roof, blackened by millennia of wood-smoke from ancient cooking fires. I took in no more detail because at that moment I realised that I was not alone.

My first intimation was the heavy breathing, which seemed amplified by the acoustics of the cave. Seeing nothing, I was on the point of deciding that this was just some weird effect of the wind when I saw two pairs of legs sticking out from behind a boulder on the opposite side of the cave. The fact that one pair legs was on top of the other told me that it was a couple having sex and that knowledge gave me an immediate voyeuristic thrill.

I must point out that there was limited light coming through the hole in the roof and even less from the entrance so the interior of the cave was comparatively dim. They must have been taking a short rest because I saw the female's legs rise up on either side of him as he resumed movement. As mentioned, a large boulder concealed most of their bodies and a much smaller rock further blocked my line of sight. Taking advantage of the fact that the pair were fully engrossed in each other, a quietly moved a few paces to the left to where I could se much better.

From the new vantage point a discarded wrap-a-round skirt of the type my wife was wearing could be now seen - it was also the identical colour. I found no significance in this because it was a popular garment, (much more feminine than the equivalent mid length shorts) and there were a limited number of suitable colours. I did scan my memory without success for a female amongst the assembled of sight-seers wearing the same skirt as Debbie but I had hardly given that crowd a glance. It was very apparent that the male had an exceptionally long dick. He was slotting it into her with real gusto and without being able to say why, I could tell that she was enjoying every second of it.

After watching for some minutes I was sporting my own quite substantial erection and contemplating the risks of moving closer to appreciate the action in greater detail. I had actually taken three paces forward when the screwing stopped and the male pushed himself up so that his head appeared over the top of the boulder. I froze thinking how foolish I would appear should he spot me but immediately my immobility was prolonged for a far more dire reason because I had recognised the very fair hair, pony tail and whispy beard as belonging to youth who had shared his seat with my wife. I looked hard at the female legs. They were very nice legs but I could not be sure. You may wonder how a man cannot recognise his own wife's legs but I must point out that the light was bad, it was at a distance, my view was obscured and the legs were waving in the air. I also wanted desperately for the legs not to belong to my wife.

When she spoke I knew for sure. "I'm cumming. Ok Colin, fuck me hard." The words were so familiar - but not the name. She even used the same intonation that she used with me. I have to say that he hit the bell. With me, on the scale of the fairground hammer game, I gave her orgasms scoring consistent 70's, 80's and 90's, only actually ringing the bell about one time in twenty. This bastard got the jackpot on his first fucking try.

The question was - what should I do? If I dashed forward playing the outraged husband to cause the ultimate 'coitus interruptus', what would it achieve? Penetration was effected, he had already made her cum and I could easily be too late to prevent him ejaculating his stuff inside her - (had Debbie not been safely on the pill it might have been a different calculation). To make my presence known would embarrass my wife and create a crisis in the marriage of a magnitude that might be avoided if I handled the matter in a subtler manner. I should mention here that I was not in the position where I might throw the first stone. There could have been a deal of satisfaction in beating hell out of the man but, although we were possibly of equal weight, he had four inches and ten years on me, not to mention the fact that he looked a damn sight fitter.

From the sounds issuing from my wife's throat I knew that she was enjoying one of the minor orgasms that with her always followed a big one. From my own experience I thought that he would soon be unable to prevent matters moving to a conclusion and that placed me in imminent danger of being discovered. The argument against causing unproductive embarrassment still being applicable, I proceeded to make a stealthy retreat from the cave. Making my way back down the narrow passage, I was amazed to find that I had been watching them shagging for about half an hour. Back in the bus, I had just finished smoking my second cigarette in succession when the large cave exploration party reappeared. Debbie and the beach bum were among them but walking separately.

As Debbie walked down the bus isle, I tapped the seat beside me to indicate that it was free for her to join me. She sat down quickly, leaning over to plonk a kiss on my cheek as she did so. "How was it?" I asked.

"Fantastic," she said.

At that point her recent lover walked past on the way to his seat, looking studiously the other way. Debbie was looking at me, her eyes aglow, and failed to see him pass. I said nothing and neither did she but unusually she held my hand tightly all the way back to the hotel. It was not until after we had eaten and retired to our room that I started to question her. "Tell me about the cave," I said.

"I don't know what to say - it was just marvellous."

"While I was waiting, I spent time reading about it in the brochure and there are a couple of things that are puzzling me," I said, holding the leaflet open where I could glance at it but my wife could not. "How long is the subterranean lake - I mean how long were you actually on the water?" She sat pretending to think so before she could even attempt an answer, I asked. "How many could get into the dinghy at a time and how many trips did it take to ferry everybody across?"

Debbie looked uncomfortable. "I didn't actually..." she started to say but I broke in with a different question, "Tell me about the young man you sat next to on the bus."

She gave me a look of sudden understanding and said slowly, "I was going to tell you about him...I think."

"Got to know him well did you?"

"You seem to know that I did," she said. "His name is Colin and he is just finishing a year out from university. He was born in Sweden but spent a large part of his childhood on this island. For the last eight years he has lived in Australia. In three weeks he goes back home to finish his studies but during the past year he has worked on a kibbutz in Israel, he has unloaded boats somewhere and also spent some time in Thailand. During the past month he's been revisiting his childhood haunts."

After giving this succinct summary my wife paused. "That's all that there is to tell is it?" I prompted.

Debbie shook her but her words were almost inaudible, "No, I'm afraid there's more." She lit a cigarette slowly and when she continued speaking her voice was much stronger, "when we first got on the bus, there were some of his things spread on the seat that needed to be moved before I could sit down. He looked up with the irritated expression that you get when you have to share a seat at the last moment but when he saw me he just stared. I had a similar reaction. His eyes are an incredible blue and when I looked into them I got this incredible jolt. In a strange way, I felt that I knew him very well and yet I am sure that I have never met him or anybody like him in my life. I was so flustered that I sat down without thanking him, my heart was pounding and I could not understand what had happened to me. After a few minutes he offered me a sweet. By this time I seemed to have myself back under control, so I turned to him and smiled, trying to make up for my earlier rudeness but a soon as I looked at him the palpitations returned even worse than before. I sucked the toffee in silence and when it was almost finished he held out the packet offering me another. This time I shook my head taking care not to look at his face. 'At least tell me your name exquisite creature,' he said."

My wife stubbed out her cigarette and lit another, taking a quick glance at my face as she did so. "I told him 'Debbie' and then he asked me to tell him about myself. I realised that I had to talk to this man because the only alternative was to sit beside him for another hour feeling like a lovesick schoolgirl. My emotions were totally out of control - I knew that he was too young but that didn't seem to make any difference. I said that women liked to remain mysterious so he must tell me about himself first. He was eager to talk. I listened, only taking occasional glances towards him and always avoiding his eyes. To do this I had to keep my eyes lowered and this meant I had to look at his legs, which was nearly as bad. They were really long and he was wearing only tiny shorts. His legs were very brown and covered in thousands of curly golden hairs - and just looking at them made me feel hot. It's the first time in my life that I have ever been turned on by a man's legs. They were so long that, to fit in his seat, he had to bend one sideways into my space. It did not actually touch but the hairs kept brushing against the hairs on my leg and it felt as if millions of tiny electric sparks were leaping across the gap. I could feel myself getting so wet."