Fine in June

This book is Part 1 in the ′June′ Trilogy.

Part 1 is ′Fine in June′

Part 2 is ′June on Top′

Part 3 is 'June at Home'

It had been many years since I’d visited my birthplace near the town of Mansfield but the chance came to house-sit for some friends, just as I had some leave booked. It seemed like a plan had fallen into my lap and I’d get a chance to visit family and look up some old friends. The day before I left home, my brother, John, rang, “Do you remember June?”

“How could I forget?” I replied brusquely.

He was referring to my childhood sweetheart. 20 years ago she unceremoniously dumped me on my 21st birthday and promptly married some bloke she’d been having an affair with for several months. I remembered her as a clever, analytical woman, a bit shy, who had hurt me badly.

“What about her, anyway?”

“Well, I bumped into her in ASDA the other day. In chatting, I said you were coming up and she asked me to give you her number and would you give her a ring?”

“I didn’t know you were on talking terms, where does she want the ring? Through her nose?”

“Don’t be like that, I’ll text you the number.”

And so it was, a few days later, I was sitting on a sofa of an old farmhouse on the edge of the village I grew up in. Outside it was a cold, wet, miserable October day. I was toasting my feet in front of a roaring log fire in the living room, nursing a glass of single malt. Being back on home turf after so many years away, plus the whiskey had me feeling a bit nostalgic and I was reminiscing about the past. I had a moment of weakness and reached for my phone.

“Hi, it’s me...” there was a silence at the other end, I went on, “John asked me to ring...”

“Oh sorry, I didn’t recognise your voice, you’ve got a southern accent now, thanks for ringing, can I come and see you?”

“What? Why?” I really didn’t know why I was making this call, suddenly it seemed like a really bad idea to rake up the past. Bad and good memories rushed through my head like a herd of trampling elephants.

“I can be there in 20 minutes, I only live across the green.”

“OK then, I’ll put the kettle on.” I hung up. Why had I said that? What was I doing? I went and filled the kettle and on a sudden whim, had a quick shower and put on a clean shirt and underwear. Why am I doing this, I asked myself? Old habits and passions die slowly and in the deepest recesses of my soul, a small candle of hope and unforgotten lust flickered precariously.

I’d just got back downstairs when the doorbell rang. Through the frosted glass, I could see a slim figure sheltering under an umbrella. I opened the door, it was her, June, still as stick slim as ever, older certainly but the same green eyes that pierced me.

“Come in, come in, here, chuck us your coat.”

She put down the umbrella and shrugged off the coat. She was just as I remembered her. Dressed, as always, in public, for a woman twenty years older than herself. A fine knit, pale green cardigan covered a thin white blouse above a below-knee, straight brown skirt and sensible shoes. I stopped staring at her and threw the coat over the bannister.

“Here, go through to the lounge and get in front of the fire, I’ll make the tea. How’d you want it?”

“Don’t you remember? White, one sugar.”

She went past me into the lounge. I brought the kettle back to the boil, made two brews and went into the lounge. She was sitting in the middle of the sofa, facing the fire. I took an armchair at one end.

“So what you been up to, still married to whats-his-face?”

She looked at me and tears welled in her eyes. Her fingers twisted her wedding ring around and around on her finger.

“Jeez, what’s up? June, tell me.”

It all poured out, how she felt neglected, how she was trapped in a loveless marriage, how everything had been a bad mistake. I listened intently and kept fiddling with the fire for something to do with my hands. By the time I’d thrown the third log on the fire it had gotten rather too hot. As she went on, my heart softened. At some stage, June removed the cardigan to reveal a sheer, white blouse through which I could plainly see a small, white lace bra cupping her small, pert breasts. They looked to be just as my memories of them. Before I knew what I was doing, I was sitting beside her, first holding her hand in a comforting way, then with my arm around her. I couldn’t keep my eyes from her bra, it was like a magnet tugging at me. I lifted my eyes and she stared into them, the mysterious green of hers seemed to stare into my soul. She leaned forward and kissed my lips. I kissed her back and the years fell away, we were teenagers again and the lust was raging. The kisses turned to serious snogging and my right hand crept up to undo the buttons of her blouse. It fell open. It was just as I remembered and just in time my memory prompted me. She hated her breasts being touched and I dropped my head and kissed the space between them. Then her neck, and earlobes and back to the lips. It all came back to me now, the way she internalised orgasms, on the rare occasions my inept fumblings gave her one. What she liked, and what she didn’t.

“Wait, stop!”

I pulled back and put some distance between us. Seeing the alarm in my eyes she added,

“It’s okay, just… hang on.”

She pushed her head back against the sofa back, raised her arse and slid her skirt up to her hips. This revealed sensible brown stockings held up with a white, lace suspender belt and tiny white lace panties. Always the conservative dresser externally, she always knew what to wear to get me going. I felt a lump in my throat and a hardening in my trousers. She took my hand and pulled me so I had to move to kneel in front of her. I reached for a kiss and this pressed our bodies together and I could feel her legs open and raise around my hips. I still wasn’t certain where we were going with this, I certainly wasn’t prepared.

“Do you want to go to bed?” I asked.

“No, just stay here and kiss me.”

I did as I was bid but the position had me effectively laying across her and my blood pressure was rising. I kissed her neck and worked down to the middle of her chest. I reached behind and flicked her bra undone. Between kisses, I lifted it gently until her rosebud like nipples came into view, Just as I remembered. I kissed each in turn, long lingering kisses with them fully between my lips. My hand reached down to her leg and I felt the stocking beneath my hand. I slid my hand up until I could feel the bare skin between the stocking top and panties. She groaned slowly and kissed me harder. Her legs were behind me now, pulling me in and my hand was crushed onto her mound. I felt downwards and she was wet. I pulled back and her hands were at my belt, trying to rip it off. I unbuckled and slid my jeans and pants down. My cock was hard as steel and pointing skyward. She stroked it with the fingers of one hand and lay back.

“Come on, bed,” I said.

“No, now!” she urged.

I reached down and pulled her panties to one side, my fingers coming away wet and sticky. I could smell her moistness and I wanted what I’d missed for all those years. I leaned in and without any guidance, my cock slipped past her outer lips. She had always been tight and muscular and once the head of my cock was in, she took a grip and squeezed. I nearly exploded and went to pull out.

“No, slowly,” she said, hooked her legs around my back and pulled me in.

It slid in for a long time and then, there I was, balls deep in her and well and truly trapped. We kissed without moving for what seemed a long time and then I felt her hips start to move. The pressure was intense. Her legs were around my back and her arms around my neck. I couldn’t move, couldn’t have set a rhythm if I’d wanted to.

“Wait, slow down, I’m going to cum!” I gasped.

“Cum, fill me, now.”

One last gasp of sanity: “Are you on the pill?” but it was too late and she wasn’t letting go. Weeks of pent up spunk pressurised by years of pent up emotions exploded into her. I slumped and felt her performing what I remembered as her party trick, a rhythmic squeezing of her vaginal muscles to suck me dry. Oh, how I’d missed that.

Eventually, she let me go and I fell backwards onto the floor. She stood above me, pulled the wet, white panties to one side and dripped a load of combined body fluids onto my groin. Straightening her skirt she said “Bathroom up the stairs?”

I nodded weakly.

A few minutes later she came back into the lounge. I was still laying on the floor. She had her coat on and umbrella in hand.

“Please stay and let’s do that properly,” I begged.

“I’d best be off. I’ve got hubby’s dinner to cook.”

“Don’t we even get to talk about what just happened?”

“Why don’t you come around tomorrow morning after he’s gone to work, no, make it about 10, the nosy neighbour across the road will be out shopping.”

And with that, she was gone.

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