Her mother again. Damned Calves.
Ten minutes after that excitement, the phone rang, jolting them both wide awake after they had been dozing in each other arms. Fortunately, it had not gone a few minutes earlier when he could not have stopped what was happening to them.
Her mother had let it ring enough times that morning, so Sheila was not about to rush to answer it until she was ready to. Peter could move away from holding her first, though she was not sure how long that would be or even if she him to do that. Let it ring. This feeling was perfect where he was, and what he was doing to her.
He pulled back from her only slowly, reluctant to leave her, helping her up, pushing his underwear tighter into her between her legs as she clutched them up into her there, conscious of them being damp.
Before he let her go, he moved close to her again, kissing her, touching her breasts, and also touching her in a gentle way between her legs, giving notice of his continuing interest in her there.
He followed her, helping her, holding his underwear up between her legs and touching her breasts as she hobbled to the phone.
She felt some of him running down the back of her leg. Was there that much of it? There had been that morning.
She turned and kissed him, thanking him by her touch and her look, took a deep breath, and turned to pick up the phone.
Peter was close behind her, not wanting to leave her this first time, kissing her and still holding her breasts, pulling her back into him as she tried to carry on a rational conversation with her mother after what they had just done; wondering if she were risking too much, too soon.
“You sound out of breath, Sheila. That is, you, is it? It doesn’t sound like you.”
“Of course, it’s me, Mother. Who else would it be? I was doing something else and had to struggle to get to the phone.” She would not dare say what she had been doing, what she had been struggling with, or with whom.
“Did you have a good day today?
“It was an interesting day, Mom.” She’d better be careful what she told her mother.
“It was too hot, so I didn’t go out. I stayed in and painted the baseboards in the kitchen. Annie came over too. She thinks I don’t eat enough, or eat right, so she brought us something for dinner.”
‘Us?’ Damn! Though her mother might assume that Annie had eaten with her for her to use that pronoun, she hoped.
She moved her legs apart as Peter wanted. He lifted her leg, so that he could slide between them again and to position himself as before, opening her up with the tips of his fingers of both hands, and gently moving her inner-labia apart so that he could fit himself along there again, dropping his underwear on the floor.
“What’s that noise?” Has her mother heard them hit the floor?
“What noise? I think it might have started to rain, and it’s beginning to cool down. We might even get a thunderstorm; it was hot enough today.”
“No, that other noise.”
“I didn’t hear anything.”
Peter slid forward and was pushing along her between her legs from behind this time, even kissing her on the neck as well as holding her, caressing her breasts.
“Is Annie still there? Let me speak with her.” Her mother was hearing too many things in the background.
“Annie’s not here, Mom. She left earlier.”
“Then what am I hearing?”
Sheila bit her lip to stop crying out at what Peter was doing to her, but her breathing was becoming labored again. She was getting excited herself at what Peter was touching now between her legs, and at the front of her vulva with his fingers teasing at her in a very sensitive place; where her clitoris was, the same place that had caused her excitement as he had piggybacked her down that slope.
She leaned forward and closed her eyes.
It was beginning to drive her crazy, and Peter wasn’t even close to coming again, so soon after he already had.
“Yes, there.” She buried the mouth piece in her breast as she mumbled unconsciously, wanting him to continue touching her exactly where he was with that hand, as he held her breast with the other.
“What did you say, dear?”
“Nothing mom, just talking to myself. Something’s happening, and I’ve got to go, things… are… getting… ready… to boil over.”
More prophetic words were never spoken. She and Peter were coming to a boil together.
“No, wait, we haven’t finished….”
Nor had Peter.
“Got to go, Mom. Talk to you in the morning.”
Sheila hung up before her mother heard any more incriminating sounds, and at the same moment, Peter was coming again, and so was she as they both slid in slow motion to the floor; laughing. She was on top of him with her back to him, pulled back into him, both laughing at the surprise of it. How could they both be laughing at such a critical mind-blowing moment?
She saw a small fountain of whitish fluid erupt from that stiff part of his, poking out in front of her from between her legs, landing on her belly as he pushed hard between her legs again, pulling her into him. It even looked as though that penis belonged to her, sticking up from her there as it was.
So soon, again?
She reached down and held him there, tight up into her between her legs, touching him firmly at last and holding him close into her, trapping him, not wanting him to leave her just yet, and feeling more of him pulsing from him and into her hand.
At the other end of the line, her mother looked at the phone, understanding too little of what had been said.
Sheila had sounded very strange, but if something on the stove had been boiling over…?
She’d get more out of her daughter in the morning, but it was unlike Sheila to ring off so abruptly.
Sheila and Peter, both came down from that high, as he recovered his underwear from beside them and wiped himself off her belly then touched intimately again into her vulva at its apex.
“Sorry about that. I didn’t think I’d come again so soon.” Nor had she, but it had been a pleasant surprise. “You are having a very strange effect on me, young lady.” Just as he was with her.
“I hope your mother didn’t hear too much or she’ll guess that you are not alone, and what we were doing.”
Sheila laughed. “We should wait and see if she rings back.”
She struggled to sit up from him, turned and laid back down on top of him as before, facing him this time as he held her above him by holding her breasts as she struggled, giggling and blushing crimson, to place him for herself, back exactly where he had been between her thighs and along her inner labia. They kissed, and then relaxed again. Her fear of him going into her deliberately or by accident had faded now.
She liked what she was learning, and although it had been focused, and intense, nothing had happened that she would have objected to, apart from her mother hearing too much.
At this rate and the way things were going between them, they might neither of them be able to wait until she was properly finished before they became truly intimate.
She didn’t care. The sooner it happened, and she got this concern about such intimacy behind her, the better.
They waited, kissing, holding each other, resting, but the phone didn’t go again. Her mother had not been so worried or had not heard enough to cause her to call back.
“That noise your mother heard; the first one, apart from us kissing.... I think I know what it was. It was a fence-post breaking. It wouldn’t surprise me if the calves have broken out. We’ll have to do something about that if they did.” Peter listened, trying to regain consciousness of other sounds, and things happening away from them, outside of the small, turbulent envelope that was their world at that moment.
“You were right. It’s also raining hard.”
They could hear it on the metal roof of the garden shed, and cascading loudly off the roof of the house and onto the paving stones of the walkway between the garden and the house.
“Damn! We’ll have to get dressed and check out the calves, or I will. It will be a wet venture.”
“We’ll both go, Peter.”
She helped him to his feet. She would ask him more about this… she gently touched and held him… this part of his she knew so little about, sometime later, when they were able to relax again, and she would learn more about it and its moods and mysticism to her before anything else happened. It was time she asked and found out. The more she knew, the more at ease she might be when that next time came.
They helped each other dress, touching and smiling at each other. It would not be long, now.
“I won’t put that sweatshirt on to get wet and dirtied, just my panties and coveralls, and maybe a dirty shirt out of the hamper as we go out, just in case, but I don’t think it’s that cool out there.”
She moved into him again.
“Thank you for that, Peter, and for not hurting me. I have a lot to learn about myself and about you. I will have to learn to trust you better, and to not be so fearful.”
“You have nothing to fear, my love, though I know that is too easily said. You have to be comfortable with everything I do, before I do it. I will talk to you and show you what will happen between us before it ever does happen, and we will approach it slowly and gently when that moment comes. You will be in charge.”
She doubted that, but not because she did not believe him. She was just as afraid of disappointing him when they got to that stage, as of being hurt.
What woman really had a choice when it got to that sticking point?
She would need to find courage enough to give in gracefully and, when it happened, let him believe that it was indeed her idea that it should happen.
They got soaked the moment they left the house, soon seeing that the calves had broken off a couple of the posts.
It was a matter of minutes to decide what to do, and to get the ropes from the garden shed to make in interim repair.
The calves had churned everything up into a mud bath. In the fight to get them back in, she and Peter both slipped and fell, getting both muddy and wet.
What else could they do but laugh about it?
Sheila stood in the gap and watched Peter do what he needed to do to make a sturdy enough repair, kneeling or sitting in the mud to do get the ropes anchored around other posts as he needed to, and then they both retreated to the house, muddy and wet and beginning to feel cold, but happy.
“We can’t go in like this and leave a trail of mud.”
“No, Peter we can’t. There’s always the garden hose for the calves. It was coiled in the sun all day, so the water in it must still be warm.”
“Then we’ll use that to clean us off. I’ll hose the mud off you, and then you can take off your clothes—yes that’s always a good plan—and I can hose the rest of you down too, and then we can do the same for me.”
He used a fine spray so as not to use much of the warmer water, and between that, and the warm rain off the edge of the roof he got the mud off her clothes, helping her off with them as she stripped off her shirt and panties, and did the same for her body, smoothing his hands all over her as she turned under the spray of water.
They leaned-in to kiss and touch as they did that. There was no shyness now. She laughed and cavorted about as he wet her all over. The water was warm, and provided they were not too wasteful there would be enough to do them both.
He leaned in and kissed her again.She kicked off her wellingtons, letting him wash down her legs as she rubbed out her coveralls to make sure there was no mud left on them, setting her breasts moving in a way that she knew and hoped he could not ignore.
Oh, what memories could have been captured of that, with a flash!
She did the same for him as he stripped off each piece of clothing, rubbing the mud out of it, then dropped it under the drip-line off the roof with hers, to get even more of a wash. After that little adventure, there was no hesitation in them retreating, giggling into the house to shower together, and cleaning each other off once more, close together, slippery; soapy-body, against soapy-body, kissing touching, standing there under the warm water as their excitement built once more.
They didn’t even have to discuss the arrangements after that for that evening.
It went without saying that they would be sleeping together in each other’s arms from this moment forward, and very likely both of them completely naked, unless she really had to wear panties.
That evening they lay in each other’s arms and talked for hours, sharing stories, snippets of their lives, memories, ambitions.
“Peter, I need you to hold me close all of the time, please. I may have nightmares tonight, at the thought of how easily we might never have met. Two lives, and loves that never intersected. Too tragic for words.”
He felt her shudder at that thought.
“The tragedy of the ages. A path never taken. I shall thank providence every day of the rest of my life that you came to me and helped me as you did.” He felt the same way.
He thought of something else to get their minds of what would always be a depressing thought.
“Train or bus? When you go back to university.
“Train. This coming Sunday. Mom usually drives me to catch the train.” By Sunday they would know each other very well.
“I’ll travel with you. I should still be here then, if your mother hasn’t called the police and had me booted out. We will probably be inseparable by then if your mother or Annie hasn’t shot me.”
They already were inseparable, there was only one final step to take to solidify their relationship and that would happen soon enough.
“She won’t shoot you when she sees how happy I am, Peter. But won’t you need to go home first to pick up clothes and things?”
“No. Everything that I need or want is here with me, and my regular clothes are in that house I rent near the university. That’s where you and I will be living if we don’t decide on somewhere else.
“I can phone my sisters if I find I am missing anything, and they’ll get it to me. They are not so far away, and one of them lives near the university.”