A Summer With Gina

Here's my entry for the

Summer Lovin'

contest. I hope it gives some enjoyment.

An aging bachelor is smitten by a much younger woman after a chance encounter in the local park. Gina is a language student from Russia: gorgeous, nineteen years old and already has a local boyfriend.

It seems Andrew, at close to fifty-nine, has no hope of experiencing the girl's lithe attentions.

Anyway, here's the piece. Feedback is good. I'd like to hear your comments -- the good and the not-so if you're that way inclined.

Thanks for reading.

GA -- Chester, England -- 4th of September 2014.

One

June

The nation held its collective breath. Everyone wanted good weather. Not necessarily a Mediterranean heatwave, just some sunshine, enough to get our knees brown, perhaps enjoy a few weekend barbecues.

It hadn't happened the first day I saw her. That morning had seen rain, a typical start to a British summer. But the afternoon was a brighter prospect.

We were in the park, with Buster making his usual forays into the undergrowth. The lazy drizzle had ceased, and the sun was making a valiant effort to break up the cloud. The dog sniffed and snuffled amongst the bushes while I stayed on the path and strolled along. There was no rush, I had nowhere to be, no meetings or appointments ruling my days. Workaday stress was a thing of the past. I'd made my money and retired early at fifty-five. I own the house outright and have money put away. I'm going to travel sometime, but, at the moment, the Border Terrier keeps me anchored to England.

Buster was behind me that afternoon, just a dog doing his thing as we made the gentle ascent towards the deserted play-park.

And that's when I noticed her coming towards me. The moment marking a significant change in my life.

****

The girl moved along at a fair clip, Cuban heels pocking against the pavement in a quick, metronomic beat. I had time to notice blue jeans, a red hooded top and long, straight, fair hair before she drew level with me. As she went past I glanced out of the corner of my eye and was immediately struck by how pretty she was, a very cute girl who ignored everything around her, her eyes set on the pavement.

It crossed my mind to say something, to greet her with a cheery "good afternoon" or some-such, but her eye-line remained fixed on the ground a couple of feet in front of her. Then she was beyond me, those heels marking her departure while I considered her disinclination towards eye contact.

My face warmed when it occurred to me that her complete avoidance might be a defence mechanism against pervy old men in parks, but I still turned to look, compelled to do so, drawn by the brisk peck-peck-peck of her boot heels and the lingering image of her face imprinted on my mind.

The time from me spotting the girl to her passing might only have been ten seconds or so, but she had affected me on a level I couldn't articulate.

My natural inclination was to turn and watch her walk -- a young woman with somewhere to be.

She was slim and agile, her gait purposeful, round buttocks packed into tight denim making a very pleasing sight as she hip-swayed away. The way she moved was almost hypnotic, and I could have stared at her taut posterior all day had propriety and distance not curtailed my lecherous inclinations.

Buster finished his exploration and trotted up to me, his return bringing my focus away from the girl. We walked on, homeward bound, with tight jeans and flowing hair lingering in my mind.

She remained in my thoughts for the rest of that afternoon, just a vague impression, oddly disturbing, dangerous, like a hint of smoke in the air with no visible fire.

****

The weather picked up over the next few days, turning warmer, with assurances from the chirpy presenter on television that it was set to get even better. We were in the park again, just approaching the playground, Buster running free around the bushes when I saw the girl for the second time.

I swear my heart fluttered, although there were other physiological effects too, carnal urges that I tried to supress because decency demanded it. Regardless of the effect she had on me, it seemed to me there was something slightly off about a man in his fifties lusting after a girl who could be no older than twenty.

I tried, I really did, but I couldn't get away from the fact she really was something special: a petite little thing, very slender, her long legs and willowy arms bare, scant clothing chosen perhaps in deference to the kinder weather. As she came on I saw she was wearing a skimpy top in pale yellow with bootlace straps, brief denim shorts and a pair of pink Skechers.

She looked wholesome and full of vitality. The way she moved gave me the immediate impression she was very agile, her slim body putting me in mind of an athlete, her slight frame perfectly formed for gymnastics or dancing. As before, when I'd first seen her, she wore her long hair loose, the fringe cut high in a style that put me in mind of Central and Eastern Europe.

Could she be foreign? The idea wasn't beyond the bounds of possibility.

My quick appraisal continued as she came towards me, my eyes flicking to her legs, the sight of such lean thighs and smooth, shapely calves tugging at me on a visceral level. It was no use, despite my attempts to quell my desires the attraction was immediate, near breath-taking. I was drawn to the girl by some primeval instinct, a dark urge stirring inside me. Yearning flared suddenly, a flash of heat in the pit of my stomach that spread outwards and left a void inside me; a hollow ache of impossible ambition, the need to possess her physically an infinite vacuum in some deep and indefinable place.

Then she was past me, her going turning my head.

"Oh, God," I moaned quietly, the sight of her swaying rump. The brisk flick of her hair only exacerbated my longing.

I stood and stared until the girl was out of sight, my slack-jawed appraisal of a young woman probably three decades or more younger than me earning a couple of disapproving looks from the mothers at the play-park.

Their pursed lips and mutterings between themselves set me walking again, with Buster following in his own good time as I fled from the coven's venomous verdict.

The next day, at the same time, in almost the same spot -- thankfully with a different set of mothers and their noisy offspring in the playground -- I saw the girl again.

****

Another warm day saw her in a sleeveless blouse with a tiny red and white check pattern. The blouse was unbuttoned and tied in front to reveal the girl's navel, her modesty intact because of some cropped white vest she had on underneath.

She moved as quickly as ever, hair bouncing, hips swaying in tight three-quarter length leggings. When I turned to look I saw the high, tight globes of her buttocks clearly outlined, the stretchy fabric moulded to her backside.

It was obvious the girl was on a timetable. The timing and her purposeful stride made it clear she was on her way somewhere with an eye on the clock. So, of course, blessed with continuing sunshine, I was in the park at the same time the next day.

And there she was, right on cue. Even though I'd expected her, the girl's appearance still caused a brief surge of the same deep arousal, a need I had to satisfy with a masturbatory frenzy when I got home.

It went on like that for a day or two more. Then, one afternoon, Buster caught her attention.

****

As was becoming usual, while I walked along the path, with the playground busy again, the girl appeared. For unfathomable canine reasons Buster was close by that day, sniffing along the edge of the pavement, lost in the doggy world of fascinating scents and the instinctive cocking of a hind leg every few paces.

On her approach the girl saw my Border Terrier and grinned broadly, slowing her pace until she was level with the little dog.

When she spoke, her accent confirmed my theory regarding her origins: Russia as I would find out, the city of Omsk in Siberia of all places.

"What a wonderful little dog," she enthused. "Would he bite if I wanted to pat him?"

I looked into those huge brown eyes and fell dumb. God, she was striking. Every nerve tingled in her presence. I really did have it bad.

Then I noticed her watching me, her expression wary. The look she gave me suggested she might be thinking I was a little deranged. Why was I just gawping at her?

"Oh," I spluttered, spurred into speech. "No, he won't bite. He's too lazy to be bothered." I chuckled at my own weak attempt at humour, wincing inside when the girl didn't respond.

"What is his name?" she asked, her diction deeply inflected.

"Buster," I replied before she squatted to scratch the dog's ear.

I had to look away when her short skirt rode high. There was only so much I could take, and I really feared for the girl's safety with so much of her lean thighs on display. If the hem of her skirt crept any higher I'd be able to see her underwear.

"He is very cute," she said, rising to her feet.

The skirt dropped an inch or two and I breathed again.

"What's your name?" I asked, hoping she wouldn't walk off.

"I am Gina," she told me, pausing before she offered her hand.

We shook, with her looking at me as though she expected more.

The penny dropped. "Oh, sorry, how rude of me," I blurted, embarrassed by the effect she had of turning my brain to mush. To my continuing chagrin, I felt the heat rise in my face when I added, "My name's Andrew."

A brief conversation ensued: she told me where she was from; that she was in England for the summer to improve her English; said she was living in a house with three other girls and a local woman who owned the place and let rooms to students.

She said she liked the United Kingdom, what little she'd seen, her experience limited to London and this town in the Home Counties.

I felt an illogical stab of jealousy when Gina informed me she had a boyfriend.

Of course she had, a gorgeous girl like her wouldn't avoid attention for long. It was only natural I suppose, and I had to accept that a beauty like Gina wouldn't go unnoticed. Some randy young stud would have swooped in soon enough. Still, I couldn't help but feel an intense dislike for the lucky dog who had claimed the cute Russian as his girlfriend.

"Well, I must go, Andrew," Gina said, flicking her hair away from her face. "Nice to meet you."

She dropped down again, squatting to rub Buster's furry head. "Bye-bye, Buster," she trilled, chuckling and waggling her fingers at the dog.

I wished her a pleasant afternoon and then watched the hem of her skirt flick against the backs of Gina's thighs as she walked away, my mind filled with her.

Nineteen. Jesus Christ, she's nineteen and so fucking lovely.

****

The weather grew chilly during one of those desperate weeks where temperatures fluctuate considerably day to day. When I looked out of the window that morning I could have groaned at the glowering clouds, disappointment curdling inside me when I thought I'd miss my Gina fix that day.

Thankfully, despite the threat from the sulky sky it didn't rain, and I muttered a prayer of thanks when my watch finally showed it was time for Buster's walk.

In deference to the lower temperature, Gina wore jeans, a short leather jacket and the same Cuban-heeled boots as the first time I'd seen her.

Joy rushed through me when I saw her approaching, her boot heels signalling her approach.

It seemed I wasn't the only one pleased to see her, with Buster trotting up to greet the girl, Gina going down to make a fuss.

"Hello, Andrew," she said when I walked up to them. "How are you today?"

I said I'd been concerned about the weather, holding back the impulse to tell Gina I'd have been disappointed if it had rained and the weather had kept her from pausing to chat. It didn't seem right to say such a thing. Not since I was basically a stranger to her, just a man in the park with a cute dog. If I came out with any crap like that it might give the young woman some concern about talking to me again.

We chatted and I noticed an edge to her. Gina seemed a little off, distracted about something.

The girl's slightly agitated air prompted me to enquire: "If you don't mind me asking, Gina, you seem a little glum, is everything okay?"

I don't know what I expected her to say, after all, she didn't know me from Adam. It was just a polite question, a way of making conversation and selfishly holding her attention so I could soak up her loveliness as much as concern for her welfare.

After hearing her speak the day before, when I got home, I'd settled Buster and then tugged myself to a grunting orgasm, my mind filled with the girl's voice and accent, imagining her tight buttocks bared for my appreciation. I'd yanked my dick and sprayed cum everywhere, a vehement outpouring that erupted with such force it could have come out of an eighteen year-old. I was rampant, so desperately aroused by Gina's allure that I managed to work another urgent climax out of myself a few hours later, which is why I greedily wanted her to stay and chat for as long as possible. The longer I spent in her company, the more detail I could store in the wank-bank.

But, after noticing she appeared a little down in the dumps and I'd asked her what was wrong, her candid reply left me feeling awkward and a more than a little embarrassed.

"It is my boyfriend," Gina told me, shrugging and looking down at her boots.

I had a fleeting idea that she was unhappy with him, that he'd done something to upset her, but Gina soon blew that idea away.

"He lives with his parents ... I live in a house with four other women. Someone is always around..."

She fixed her brown eyes on my face and said, very seriously, the epithet coming out of her so naturally I thought I'd misheard, "We can't go anywhere to fuck in private. He is very," Gina searched for the word, her cute face scrunching as she thought about it, "fussy about where we can fuck."

I was gobsmacked, standing there like a right pillock as I blinked at Gina, too taken aback with her casual delivery to reply straight away.

"Oh, well," I finally managed. "That's ... erm ... unfortunate."

Gina shrugged and waggled her fingers at the dog to get his attention. "Yes," she said, watching Buster as he ignored her entreaty, the dog too caught up by a fascinating scent some ten feet from us. "It is very, how you say ... frustrating. I would be happy to fuck outside," she shrugged again, "but he is worried about the police catching us."

I wondered, vaguely, if all Russians were as candid about sex. I found it most disconcerting, the way she simply came out with it. It wasn't what I was used to at all, and it was probably in an effort to stop the girl going on about such an intimate issue that I made the offer.

Before my brain registered what my mouth was about to put out there I'd blurted, "Well, Gina, I live alone. I've got a big house, and I don't suppose you'd need much room anyway," -- I think I chuckled idiotically at that point -- "but, if you like, you can use my place for ... uhm ... your romantic interludes."

It sounded ridiculous as soon as it came out, and my first thought was Gina would decline straight away. But, to my surprise, she pulled a face as if she was seriously considering my odd proposal.

"You would do this?" she asked, head tilted to one side while she studied my face.

Having made the offer, it went against the grain to retract it. Besides, at that moment, with my brain catching up with what I'd just said, there was a certain illicit appeal about having Gina in the house.

Okay, she might not be fucking

me

, but if I could grant her this favour it would mean there might be a chance of seeing her more often, and for a longer period. Not necessarily for any carnal purposes, I wasn't delusional, I was living in the real world and understood I had no hope of snagging Gina, but I think I was already half in love with the girl, even at that early stage of knowing her. And, if it wasn't love, I was most certainly besotted enough to make any offer that might earn me one of her bright smiles.

So, I reasoned quickly, if she accepted I might then have an opportunity to suggest we might meet for coffee, which would mean more time together.

At that moment my imagination began to spiral: she might even accept an invitation to dinner at the house, or a picnic in the garden...

"Well," I said in response to Gina's question, "like I said, I live alone ... except for Buster that is. It's a big house. If you give me some notice I could make sure I'm out. You can use the place for ... uh ... as long as you need."

She didn't need much time to consider the proposal.

Gina nodded and said, "Okay, why not? Thank you, Andrew. But I wonder, is it possible to have a look first?"

Two

The plan was simple: Gina would call my mobile and I would leave the house. When they had done what they had to do, and I didn't want to think about that too much, Gina would call again to let me know the coast was clear.

On the day I spent the morning in the garden. It was a perfect time to do some tidying up out there: a blue-sky day without a cloud in sight, temperature just south of sweaty, although the prediction was for some hotter air rolling in from Europe in the coming days. If I was going to get rid of the weeds which had sprouted up because of the rain, I had to get it done soon.

Gardening helped to pass the time. For some reason I was as nervous as a teenager on a driving test. Odd, considering all I was doing was lending the use of my house to a friend for a few hours. But that was the effect of Gina. It was a difficult admission, and one I constantly denied, but I also wanted her for myself, and the work outdoors went some way towards dispelling the simmering jealousy bubbling away inside me.

As I worked I considered how twisted the situation was, my mental state a growing concern.

How could I accept another man fucking that lovely girl in my house when I coveted her lithe form myself? What was I thinking of by inviting her in? There were years and years, decades between us -- What possible outcome could I hope for at best? What could I expect at worst?

I dug soil and pulled weeds and thought that I should have forgotten about Gina instead of obsessing over her. I vowed to put her from my mind, to end it. After all, what good would it do me in the end?

Okay, I'd said she could use the house and that was that. But when it was done I would give Gina a call and tell her it was a one-off and she couldn't use my place again.

Decision made, I checked my watch and was surprised to see the work and my internal reverie had distracted me for longer than I'd anticipated. It was almost time for Gina and her beau to arrive.

Calling to Buster, who had spent a less than energetic day laid on the patio, I went into the house, my intent being to clean myself up and be set to leave when Gina's call came in.

Then, while I was washing my hands it occurred to me that I had no idea what Gina's boyfriend was like, and did I really want to have a complete stranger of potentially dubious character in my home while I wasn't there.

That's why I made the decision to hide in my room instead of leaving them alone, a decision fated to have enormous impact as summer progressed.

The call came and, after telling Gina the place was hers, I took Buster upstairs. A few minutes later I had to place a calming hand on the dog's head when he heard the front door open, his more sensitive hearing picking up the sounds of entry. Not long afterwards, with the dog calmed by my touch, I was able to make out muffled voices coming to us from the floor below.

Buster settled, adopting his usual recumbent position -- that dog would sleep his life away if he had the chance.