First Summer: Celebration Sex

Greg suggested we should go out for a special dinner to celebrate it being two months from our first day; the second monthversary if you will.

Much as Greg admitted to caring about what I wore, he almost never tried to influence it. So it was unusual when he gave me strict instructions what I should wear for the night – my red Brazilian bikini under the low fronted cocktail dress I had worn the night we went out with my parents (which also happened to be red). I sarcastically asked whether he wanted to specify the shoes I should wear too, to which he simply replied that men don't notice anything below the ankles – so the choice of shoes was mine. But apart from that he wouldn't tell me where we were going or what he had in mind.

When he came to pick me up I flashed my bikini pants at him to show I was following instructions. However, he could see that I wasn't wearing the bikini top (because the tie string would be visible across my chest due to the deep plunge of the front; and in any case I rather enjoyed giving Greg a nipple peak while he was sitting next to me). So he asked if I had it with me. When I told him I didn't he sent me back inside to get it as I'd definitely be needing it. This was all very strange.

Instead of driving toward the main part of town where most of the food places were, we drove back to Greg's house. Now Greg's family have a rather nice house located on the riverfront. This is only a small town, so you don't need to be a multimillionaire to have one, but it's definitely one of the better parts of town. But there's no restaurants near-by and he still wasn't telling me what was happening.

He led me down the side passage to the backyard which fronted on to the river and where they had a ramshackle jetty out over the river. At the end of the jetty I noticed Greg had tied up the small outboard powered inflatable their family owned. It was one that they had acquired when the surf lifesavers had updated the ones they used in the surf and sold off their old ones – so it was nothing more than an open boat with a tiller steered motor. There were no seats – you sat on the sides.

At his invitation, I followed his lead in taking off my shoes and heading out along the jetty and stepping down in to the boat. I noticed it had been cleaned and tidied up from its usual well used state. And then he started to undress.

"Isn't it a bit early in the night for sex and won't the neighbours object?"

"I don't know it's ever too early for sex and I'm willing if you are, but I actually thought you might not want to get your good clothes wet as we go out by boat." Whereupon he handed me a plastic bag to match the one he was now putting his shirt, slacks and shoes into. So that's why he was so specific about the bikini! Of course I didn't have the top on. I'd become quite brazen in some ways since meeting Greg and for a moment I was tempted to just whip off the dress and then put the top on, notwithstanding that it was not yet dusk and we were in full public view from the river. But discretion became the better part of valour and I slipped the neck string of the bikini under the halter of my dress and tied it at the back before slipping the dress off.

As Greg cast off and headed up river, it occurred to me that this was a rather strange way of going out to what was supposed to be a fancy dinner – dressed in swimmers in an open boat.

Greg explained where we were heading. The river wasn't a major one, but had two towns on it. Greg's home town was near the entrance and there was another smaller one – which was little more than an old fishing village - upriver where it opened up in to a reasonably sized lake. I'd never really explored upstream before, and while the geography of the river and lake were apparent from the map I'd looked at when the family were planning the holiday, I hadn't really focused on whether the river continued upstream of the lake or it was just feed by a series of streams.

The upstream town had a fancy restaurant with its own jetty. We could have gone by car, but Greg thought the boat was a more novel way of going and in any case, because he was a provisional driver he wasn't allowed any drink if we went by car, but could have a couple of glasses of wine and still stay under the legal limit for operating a boat.

Being mid-January it was a beautiful warm late afternoon as we set out; with daylight saving meaning that sunset was not until nearly 8 pm, so it was a delightful trip up and it gave me a chance to check out the scenery of the river as we went. This was all familiar territory to Greg so as far as I could see he spent more time checking out my boobs as they bumped up and down with the waves – more so after one jumped out of my top.

Our arrival at the restaurant was somewhat amusing and Greg admitted afterwards it was part of what attracted him to the idea. The jetty came directly off an open deck covered in white linen encased tables which was part of the eating area. It was no doubt intended to let customers with fancy boats and clothes to match make a 'grande entrance'. Instead, up rock a couple of kids in a beat up old inflatable dressed in swimmers who then proceed to get dressed on the jetty in full view of those customers already there. Greg at least did make a point of mooring the inflatable around the side of the deck so as to leave room for the fancy boats at the main part of the jetty.

As I completed my dressing, I made a point of turning toward the eating area as I pulled the string on my bikini top to let me slide it out from under my dress. We certainly got the waiter's attention and we were quickly seated and our order taken.

Half way through the main course, I'd looked down from Greg to concentrate on carving myself off another morsel of steak when I felt something slide up between my thighs. Fortunately before I squealed out and clamped by knees together I realised it was Greg's stockinged foot. I looked up at him and he had this look of studied innocence.

While he engaged me on some trivial conversation he pushed his foot up between my legs and started stroking my pussy with his toes. He quickly managed to locate where my clit was; massaging it. At first it was such an enjoyable sensation and the whole idea was such a turn on, I actually spread my knees apart to give him better access. But it didn't take too long before I was starting to squirm a bit with the intensifying pleasure and it was certainly difficult to keep a straight face, maintain a normal conversation and politely eat my meal while I was on the verge of an orgasm.

When I realised I could well be heading toward a Meg Ryan type moment in the restaurant, I slid my hand under the table and while looking him directly in the eye and giving him a smile and a wink to let him know he hadn't done anything wrong and there was a good prospect of a follow-up later, removed his foot from its provocative location.

After the main course we scanned the dessert menu. It was quite funny the way we both looked up at the same time and said almost in unison "no chocolate". Since nothing really appealed, Greg said he had a better idea for dessert and in a leisurely fashion he called for the bill. I must admit, because Greg was limited in what he could drink, I ended up finishing the bottle of wine, so I was quite tipsy by the time we finished.

Getting undressed to go home again was just as much a spectacle as our arrival; probably more so since those who arrived after us were probably wondering why these kids on the jetty were starting to take off their clothes. I resisted the temptation of putting my bikini top on after taking the dress off, but now I was a little drunk it was even more tempting than it had been when getting ready at Greg's place if only for its shock value.

Greg's dessert plan soon became apparent when he pulled in to a beach at the outskirts of the town and raced across the road to a convenience store there to buy a couple of magnum ice creams. Instead of sitting on the side of the boat and going fast, Greg sat down inside the boat and drove slowly. Somehow he managed to handle the tiller and his ice-cream in one hand. I sat next to him, my bum a bit further out so that I could put my head on his shoulder in a way that let me enjoy having his other arm around me. I loved snuggling in to his strong body like that and being wrapped protectively in his arms. In that position we started to move slowly back down river; just enjoying each other's company, the ice creams and the romantic half-moon light.

Greg, as is his habit in this situation, mainly cupped my bikini clad breast in the hand around my shoulder; just occasionally pulling it away far enough to let him circle the nipple with his finger and tease it up. Every now and then his hand would take a trip down my stomach, his fingers meandering a gentle course down my body, circling my belly button before rimming the waist and leg hems of my bikini bottom and lightly stroking the material covering my crutch. In this he wasn't targeting anything in particular and I know his intention wasn't specifically to arouse me - just to lightly pleasure me and amuse himself - but it had that effect just the same.

What he didn't know – because I'd never told him – is that because of my bikini fetish, his playing with me in this way is actually massively arousing. There have been times when I've thought if he just did it a little bit more or a little bit firmer I might well come from that alone. And certainly the high state of arousal it leaves me in before he does finally strip me and we get down to business is what I think is the reason I do often seem to come so quickly when we're having sex.

What he also doesn't know is that my swimwear fetish has been transferred to him. I love to see him in his speedos, love to play with him while he's got them on and love just to wrap my hand around his erection while it's sheathed by their stretchy material. I know speedos are meant to be deeply daggy clothing items – as does Greg. His view is that as long as he's seriously exercising on the beach they're OK. As he says, Annette Kellerman, the famous Australian female swimmer, made the point a 100 years ago that you can't swim while dragging around metres of material, so he doesn't know why people are so keen to do it now. And since most of our beach activities involve a fair bit of such serious exercise, so far I've been lucky in what he's been wearing.

So here I was in my ideal world. Drifting along slowly by boat on a romantic night both dressed in swimwear, my boyfriend's fingers bringing me to the edge of orgasm without him even knowing it, my hand wrapped around his rock hard erection just as I like it and all of this while eating my ice cream.

But if you've ever eaten a magnum, you'll know they're diabolical things, in that random bits of chocolate tend to break off and be lost. Sometimes a whole slab of chocolate will be lost that way – often with a thick ice cream coating too. Which is exactly what happened to Greg.

I heard him let out a bit of a yelp as the cold ice cream first contacted his chest before I felt it slip between his chest and my back. I couldn't let a chance like that go to waste, so holding my ice cream in the air, I turned around and went ferreting for it with my mouth. Naturally that took a fair bit of working over his body trying to find it in the dim shadowy moonlight. I figured the best approach was to start by tasting him where I last knew it was – his upper chest – and follow the ice cream taste to where it ended up.

And wouldn't you know. Where it ended up was trapped between Greg's erection as it pushed his swimmers over its waist band and his stomach underneath. As I slid first my tongue and then my lips down the gap between the two it did nothing to lessen Greg's arousal. His shaft surged furiously; the material stretching outwards as the shaft elongated, the tip swelling and all the while threatening to open up a gap between his waist band and his stomach and have the chocolate piece slip down and be lost amongst the hairy contents of the front of his swimmers.

Still, after a lot of tongue work, I managed to end up holding the edge of the chocolate piece between my lips. Then rising up, I brought it up to Greg's mouth and fed it to him. Once I made sure it was firmly in his mouth, I followed it with my tongue, kissing him deeply and helping myself to a good lick of the chocolate piece while I was at it.

I was tempted to expose us both and just go for it then and there, but we were only half way through our ice creams and I was rather enjoying the romance of the trip, so I held off, repositioned myself on his shoulder and continued eating my ice cream – Greg's hand back stroking all my sensitive areas as I snuggled ever deeper in to his upper chest.

When we'd finished our ice cream Greg directed me to a carry bag he'd bought for our clothes and some towels, indicating that there was a bottle of celebratory champers and some glasses there and that maybe I'd like to open it and pour us both a glass. We toasted our relationship as I cozied back up to him

Greg had been counting his alcohol intake fairly carefully, but enough time had passed since dinner that he was now able to have another glass. Me - I was drunk before and uninhibited by the need to stay at a particular level, tended to sip just a bit too deeply. So I wasn't really sobering up with time. But I was also drunk with the romance of the night and the arousal that Greg's strong arm wrapped around me brought with it.

As we settled down again the nipple under Greg's hand once again engorged itself; pushing itself up between two of Greg's fingers in the process. He was moving those fingers every so lightly; while in Greg's mind he probably thought he had simply moved from play to foreplay I was wondering if I might actually have another nipple orgasm.

Before that happened Greg's hand started to move further down my body. For a while he circled my navel before he started stroking across my stomach just above the hem line of my bikini bottom. Knowing that things were starting to get serious I immersed myself in the pleasure, although I'm sure I don't need to tell you that sort of stimulation eventually leaves you wanting something even more direct. I sucked in my stomach; trying to leave the sort of gap between the bikini hem and my stomach that would entice his fingers inside the former.

It worked and his fingers penetrated inside the hem line; at first only just but gradually inching downward always stroking gently from side to side heading towards the base of my mons. As he did so, we sipped our champers and talked about the stars in the sky above us as I pressed myself ever closer in to him loving every minute of this special night.

I think I quivered slightly as Greg's fingers poised on the edge of my valley. I certainly let out a little moan as they first slid in to the valley and across my clit. There are days where you can be driven by an insatiable lust; desperate to pound away at your partner until you find a release from the desires that draw you to him. I'd been like that in the first week of our relationship when we'd got together after a four day break. But there are other times when it's not so much the destination as the trip itself that should be savoured; where you know an orgasm is at the end, but the feeling of being aroused by your partner almost to the point of bursting – by his very presence let alone what his body is doing to you - is something to be enjoyed for as long as possible. Tonight – especially with its romantic overlay – was one of those nights.

Once Greg's fingers had found my clit, they knew what to do. Two fingers slid back and forward along my valley; one each side of the engorgement that was bringing me so much pleasure. I could feel myself getting wetter and wetter; moaning ever so softly as my body relaxed further into his strong embrace. Even when Greg's fingers slid further down and entered my tunnel – pushing hard against the front wall before drawing back a flood of lubricating wetness – the web of his hand and his thumb continued the pleasurable work. How far can a clit engorge; mine felt ready to burst out of its skin and split open like an overripe piece of fruit. My body started to demand Greg's manhood inside it. My breathing got faster, every second or third breath accompanied by a moan. The pleasure built.

The orgasm when it came was beautiful. It felt like an enormous bucket load of pure distilled pleasure had been infused directly in to my crutch before spreading instantly through my whole body. I regretted sound travels so well over water as I'm sure the moan I made was heard in New Zealand. Hopefully they thought it was a whale calling a mate!

Sitting as I was I couldn't arch my back or press myself in to Greg. With one hand holding his erection and the other my wine glass, I couldn't even clamp his hand in to my crutch. So I just closed my eyes and tried to sink further into Greg's chest as I let it wash through me. By keeping his hand pressing into my crutch and lightly tickling my clit, he managed to prolong the orgasm seemingly forever. As I came down from the peak of the high, I rolled over, straddled Greg's lap brought my face in to his, wrapped my arms around him and penetrated his mouth with my tongue; pushing his head back with the near violence of my attack.

Releasing his neck from my crushing arm embrace for a moment, one of my hands fumbled with his swimwear to expose his shaft and pull aside the crutch of my swimmers to let me bring myself down on top of him; pushing down as hard as I could to bury him deeply in my body. As his arms wrapped around me, I savoured his embrace and kissed him again.

I wasn't sure whether he'd be in a hurry or wanting to take things more slowly, so I waited for guidance from him rather than started jumping up and down on him.

He separated our faces so that he could look me in the eye.

"Karen I love you so much it hurts. It hurts when I'm away from you because I want to be with you. It hurts when I'm with you because there is no way words can describe how I feel about you. The last two months have been so fantastic. It meant so much to be able to take you somewhere special tonight to celebrate."

I tried to say something, but the words couldn't come out. I choked on my emotions. The choke became a tear, the tear a flood until the flood culminated in a giant heaving sob. Then it was just tears again.

Greg was distraught.

"Karen, are you alright?"

I steadied myself, looked at him and tried to answer, but just burst in to tears again; another heaving sob. I tried again and at least this time I was able to get out between sobs.

"It's wonderful...sob...Oh Greg, you make me so happy...sob...I love you so much sometimes I think my heart will burst..." before I dissolved in to tears again.

Greg pulled my head on to his shoulder and held me tight as the sobs racked my chest again and again, transmitting themselves all the way down to where our bodies were joined as one. For the next fifteen minutes I just sat there on his lap; my head on his shoulder, his manhood inside me as he navigated the boat slowly along. We still had our glasses in our hands and from time to time, I wrapped my arm around his neck as I brought my cup to my mouth. I could feel him doing the same.

At last I'd recovered my composure enough to face him. I looked him in the eye and then I kissed him; a deep passionate kiss that I hoped conveyed to him how lucky I felt to have found him. I pulled away, looked at him once more and couldn't resist the urge just to kiss him again.

Something inside me told me it was time to bring Greg to a climax. It wasn't my body demanding anything; and nor really was it his. It was the mood; that time in an emotional exchange when the physical takes over from the brain. I gripped him inside me and started to move up and down on him. As I raised myself up I brushed my breasts across his face. On each downward movement I tried to bury myself as deeply as possible. This was not a night for pounding; each movement was slow and deliberate. With each stroke I gripped him a little tighter until I thought he might be on the verge of coming and then I backed off. After a while I sensed it was time to finish him. Squeezing him again I increased the rate. He closed his eyes and I felt his breathing stop.