Simmer

He rings me at work.

"This is important," he says. "I need to know what colour your cunt is. The outer lips."

"Do you want me to go and look?"

"Yes."

I get up from my desk and go into the women's toilets. There is no one in the cubicles. I lift my leg and balance my high-heeled boot on the washbasin. I hike up my short skirt, pull my black lace knickers to one side and look at my cunt in the mirror. "Pink," I say into the mobile phone cradled to my ear.

"What kind of pink?"

"A soft pink."

"Like a shell pink?"

"Yes."

"What about the inner lips?"

I glance around. I am still the only one in the toilets. I peel back my outer lips. My cunt is now fully on display, the lips swollen and moist. "A deeper pink," I say. "Almost red."

"Thanks," he says. "I just needed to know."

He hangs up.

We have been fucking each other for nearly two years now. He is much older than me. (Yeah, I know. Older man, younger woman. It's a cliché. But it's a cliché because it happens.) He's happily married with two children. (Yeah, I know.)

"We like each other, and we like fucking each other," he repeats, like a mantra, until I start saying it to myself. I'm not sure that it's quite true, though. I don't know that we actually like each other. We like fucking each other, though. We love fucking each other.

He rings me at work again.

"I was just thinking about you in the toilets here," he says. "It got very messy."

"What exactly were you thinking?" I ask. There are people standing around my desk.

"I was imagining you and me and another girl in a backyard. It's hot, and we're not wearing much. I call you over to me and you lie down over my legs. I spread your pussy lips wide and ask the other girl what she thinks. She says your pussy is beautiful and she'd like to kiss it."

It's a long afternoon till I can get home to my bed. I imagine lying over his legs, and him holding me tight to stop me from squirming as the girl licks my pussy with long slow licks, tentative at first then getting more confident. I imagine coming as he holds me there. My groans are smothered by the pillow. My thighs are wet.

"Was my story helpful to you last night?" he asks the next morning.

"Yes," I say.

"I have another story for you. It's at a nudist beach. You'll love it."

"Tell me," I say.

"Not now." He hangs up.

I am constantly on edge. Every time the phone rings it might be him.

Sometimes he rings five times a day. Sometimes he doesn't ring for three weeks. His calls are an extended foreplay. The lust is simmering constantly.

I am spending too much time masturbating. I fall asleep lying on my back, my legs spread, my vibrator still clutched in my hands. I keep a supply of batteries by my bed.

One night after we have fucked I walk home and feel his warm come dribbling out of my cunt. My flimsy panties are soaked and cling to me. I stop in the dark doorway of a shop and slip my panties down my legs, stepping out of them. I go to drop them in a bin but first I hold them to my face and breathe in the smell of his come. I worry that this means I'm in love with him.

The thing with love is that the more you love someone, the more you're going to suffer for it later on. When lust ends, there's nothing. You just find someone else to fuck. There's always someone else to fuck.

He rings. "What are you wearing?"

"A skirt..." I begin.

"Meet me on the corner in five minutes."

I stand on the corner. His car pulls up. I can't smile because my mouth is dry. I get into the car, and for a second I see him like a stranger, and wonder what I'm doing with him. Then he speaks. "What have you got for me today?"

His eyes are on the traffic as he pulls away from the curb. I lift up my skirt. Today I am not wearing any underwear, so when he glances over he sees the dark curls covering the soft pink lips of my cunt.

"Show it to me," he says.

I spread the lips wide.

"Beautiful," he says, staring at my cunt.

"Tell me your story," I say.

He turns his eyes back to the road. "We go to a nudist beach," he says. "There's a nice one north of the city. You're wearing a little sundress and a hat and sunglasses. We're standing on the top of the cliff looking down at the beach, and you say you'll go down and find us a good spot. You get there, lay down your towel, and take off your dress."

I let my fingers slide to my cunt.

"You start to put the sunscreen on. You rub it into your arms, into your legs, into your tits, slowly, round and round. There are two blokes on the beach watching you. They go there a lot and they're really deeply tanned, really dark. You realise you can't rub it into your arse properly so you ask them to help."

I am dipping into my cunt now. It is wet and my fingers slide in easily. He glances at me to see what I'm doing.

"So these blokes think this is all right and they start rubbing the lotion into your arse. When you're covered in sunscreen you thank them and then pick up your magazine, lie back on the towel and start reading. You're lying on your back, with your little hat on, with your sunglasses on, and the magazine in front of your face. Your legs are spread apart and the blokes on the beach and in the water can see right into your cunt."

I have found my clit now, and with my fingers wet from my juices, I am rubbing it gently from side to side. We stop at the traffic lights, and the man driving the car in the next lane stares at me, at my cunt. I wonder if he will go home and pull himself off thinking about it.

"These two blokes come up to you and say they haven't seen you at the beach before. You say it's your first time. They say they like to go behind the sandhills, and they ask if you want to join them. You say sure. So you head behind the sandhills with these blokes. When you get there, one of them says blokes go there to have their cocks sucked. You think that sounds all right, so you start sucking his cock."

He looks over at me, sees my head tilted back, my eyes half closed, my chest lifting up and down with my breathing, my legs spread wide, my fingers desperately rubbing my clit.

"And then the other man says that blokes go there to stick their cocks into girls' cunts. And you can't say anything because your mouth is full, but you nod, and he shoves his big cock into you. And he's fucking you so hard that your little hat falls off. And meanwhile I'm standing on the top of the cliff wondering where the hell you've gone."

He has made up the story for me. He knows I like to show off my body and he knows I would like to fuck two men. He has made up the story for me. He doesn't even fuck me in it.

His fingers find their way to my clit and take over from mine. They are dry and cool and smooth. With one hand he is driving the car down the highway, with the other hand he is bringing me to orgasm. I lie back with my eyes closed and let him take me there.

He licks his fingers, slowly, one by one.

Some men say they love going down on women, but it's like a dog fetching slippers – they only do it because they want a pat on the head. Other men just love going down on women. He does. I have never met a man who loves cunts as much as he does. He wants to get inside my cunt so badly – his fingers, his tongue, his cock – not to possess, but just because he wants to be in there.

We turn off into a sidestreet. He is looking for somewhere we can fuck. It's one of those posh suburbs, so there's a nice park with lots of trees and no one around. There will be toilets there, and the toilets will be clean.

It's dark inside. We face each other for a moment. He pushes me up against the wall and kisses me deeply. Then he drops to his knees, lifts my skirt and begins tonguing my clit. My legs are shaky.

"Turn around," he says.

I grab the washbasin and bend forward. He rubs his cock along my pussy lips and over my clit. His cock feels hot to my oversensitive flesh. Then he plunges in. It is a moment when suddenly it's all right. Every moment before this and every moment after this what we are doing is wrong, but now, at this moment, it is right. This is what fucking is all about.

He grabs my arse cheeks and thrusts deeply, again and again. With each thrust I cry out. He shushes me.

Then he stops, turns me around, and lifts me so I am sitting on the washbasin. I wrap my legs around him and pull him towards me, pull him into me. I am looking into his eyes. I don't know what he is thinking. I never know what he is thinking.

"I love...I love fucking you," I gasp.

He stops mid-thrust. "But you don't love me, do you?"

"No." It slips out, and I know I'm telling the truth. "Do you love me?" I ask.

"No, I think you're a fucking idiot."

I laugh. He fucks me harder and then he comes, with a long, low, shuddering sigh.

I slide off the washbasin, pull on my clothes and head outside, where the late afternoon is still bright.