The curtains billowed in the gentle evening breeze from the Aegean Sea, but the room was quiet except for the hiss of the cicadas in the trees beyond the villa's balcony.
At dinner, my companion had worn a short summer dress with a plunging cleavage, which had brought frankly lustful glances from many of the men in the restaurant.
Now our few clothes were scattered around the room, and she was astride me.
For the hundredth time that summer, I ran my hands over her heavy breasts and the fine crisp curls between her legs.
It didn't matter that she was twenty years older than me; we had the same needs and drives. We could catch up on sleep during the siesta hours. The night was for sex.
She gripped my stiff cock in her hand and slowly lowered herself onto me, gasping as I entered her.
I was just a graduate student. How had this gorgeous, sexy woman come into my life?
* * * * *
I'd recently moved to a small but well-known university town in southern England, where the engineering department had accepted me onto a one-year postgraduate course. The university's accommodation office found me a quiet one-bedroom flat, and I settled in to the program of lectures and written work.
The first thing my parents had mentioned when I told them my plans was that Gillian lived there. Gillian was the younger sister of one of my mother's circle of friends, and my parents had known them both since school. Now in her early forties, Gillian was divorced with a twelve-year-old daughter called Bridget, and worked as a mobile mortgage broker for a local estate agency.
You needed a good maths background to keep up with the demands of the course, and I enjoyed tutoring. About two weeks after term began Gillian sent me an email saying she'd heard via her sister that I was living nearby. She asked if I wanted some extra paid tuition helping Bridget with her schoolwork, and gave her mobile phone number.
Which is why I was ringing her doorbell at ten one Saturday morning.
I hadn't met Gillian for years and didn't expect her to recognise me, for I had grown and filled out since school. Although I had little inclination for team sports, I'd developed considerable core strength from walking and climbing while doing my first degree, and kept as fit as possible for weekend excursions to the Welsh mountains.
As soon as she opened the door, I could see the resemblance to her older sister. She was a good-looking redhead with pale, freckled skin, tall but still a little shorter than me, with short curls and high cheekbones. A few wrinkles were set off by a dazzling, friendly smile, and a well-tailored business suit with a name badge didn't hide the fact that she curved in all the right places.
I thought she was one of the most attractive women I'd ever met.
In a soft Irish accent Gillian welcomed me warmly and introduced me to her daughter. We quickly arranged that I'd come round twice a week for half an hour at a time to help Bridget with her maths and physics homework.
* * * * *
The arrangement worked well. Bridget was a bright and enthusiastic kid whose only problem had been bad teaching. Under my guidance her grades started to improve rapidly, which delighted her mother. Also, Gillian was good company and often invited me to stay for a drink after the lesson. Despite the difference in our ages and backgrounds, we quickly became close.
In the second month I started to help out about the house, setting up a network router and a new printer, and even babysat one evening when her usual sitter had to cancel. Well, it wasn't much of an ask; I brought my textbooks and laptop and worked at the dining room table. She was very grateful when she came back from the client dinner, and told me how much she appreciated having someone she could trust to keep an eye on things. Of course I wasn't going to take any payment, so she gave me a bottle of whisky instead, which I couldn't refuse.
Gillian's sister and my parents were pleased that I was helping out a family friend.
And there things might have stayed. Gillian was an attractive woman, but she was almost twice my age.
Until I got a text from her asking me round for lunch, and to ask a favour.
* * * * *
Over grilled fish and salad she told me some personal details. She'd been out of the dating game for several years after her marriage had ended and was seeing a therapist. Her ex had been abusive in various ways, so much so that she'd lost confidence in her own attractiveness. Only a considerable amount of courage allowed her to leave him and take her daughter.
Now her therapist was encouraging her to start dating again, and had suggested she find someone with whom she could take things slowly and work on some 'intimacy exercises' that would build up her confidence. Gillian didn't really know anyone suitable in the town, and thought a mature singles site might link her up with someone.
Now she wanted to ask my help, both with setting up a computer dating site account - which was easy - and on how to write a profile. She'd had a good photo taken and had put some ideas down on paper.
She showed me what she'd written. To my surprise, it described a no-strings relationship.
"The photo does you justice. It's great."
"Thank you!"
"But I'm not sure about the text. You're looking for someone who will put your needs first. If you post this, you'll get plenty of replies. But I know what these sites are like. They'll all be from the wrong sort of man."
She looked downcast. "That sounds like good advice. Perhaps I should just drop it."
And then I had an idea, because I genuinely wanted to help her. "Can I suggest something? This might not be appropriate. But if it's just a question of finding someone to work with to build up your confidence, how about me?"
She said nothing for a moment, thinking about it. "In some ways that would be ideal. But I'm much older than you are. Would that be a problem?"
"Of course not. I'd just like to help you out. I certainly don't want to see you hurt by some creep off the Internet."
"That's very sweet of you. But only if you're quite sure you want to." She gave me a dazzling smile. "Actually, I did think of you. Several times. But I thought you might be too busy."
She wasn't sure what the 'intimacy exercises' involved. The therapist, one Doctor Macrae, would direct her from week to week, depending on progress. The only guidelines she'd given were that Gillian had to be comfortable and relaxed with the partner. Most critically, they each had to respect each other's boundaries.
Sensibly, her therapist had insisted we agree on a set of ground rules, and we added a few others. There would be two or three sessions a week. Either of us could bring the sessions to an end at any time, and we'd only meet when she had the house to herself.
We decided to be discreet about the arrangement, especially where our families were concerned. Gillian was almost twenty years older than I was, and what we were arranging was, at the very least, unconventional.
Which was fine with me. I was glad to be able to help her. But the boundaries would stay firmly in place.
Unless she asked me otherwise.