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October. The melancholy month when autumn mists filter the heat of the sun. Time to head for warmer climes. Margo was flying to Italy. Long ago she had discovered an agency that hired out villas in the south during the season; now she had a standing order for the first two and last two weeks; during school term time she could enjoy the locality without the presence of many of her compatriots. Anonymity suited her. She travelled light: clothes for the climate, bikinis, shorts and tops, a couple of dresses because she liked to change before venturing into the village at night to dine at one or other of the restaurants around the square. And books. Winding down from an office where she needed two secretaries – one to keep her diary and do her typing and filing, one to keep order among the clients who clamoured for her time – winding down meant a routine of sunbathing and reading, country wine and unpretentious cuisine.
And there was sex, which had become sadly complicated. At one time she had invariably travelled with Malcolm whose sexual appetite kept her frequently and fully satisfied; until she discovered that it also served the needs of a succession of other girl friends. Margo and Malcolm had lived together but they were not married so it had been relatively painless to remove him from her life. And to replace him from time to time when the urge took her – but on a one-night-only basis. Permanence could wait. The problem was that she had missed having a male companion during her spring and autumn breaks. She could masturbate, of course, and did, but it was a poor substitute on a hot afternoon for prolonged performance with an equally hungry and imaginative partner. Sometimes in the past they had driven to the Casa dei Sogni, a relatively discreet sex club in the nearest town. With Malcolm she hadn’t minded exploring some interesting group activities, but subsequently she wasn’t enthused about making the journey alone and exposing herself to unfamiliar hands, not to mention more intimate appendages.
However, there had been a solution, unusual, unexpected and in one aspect unique, and for that reason all the more exciting. Normally, during the outward flight, she would have been experiencing a sensation in the groin as she contemplated what lay ahead. Except that during this year’s spring fortnight there had been a void. Nothing. The delightful arrangement had failed to materialise. And she was fearful that it had disappeared permanently. Could it have been her own fault? How else to explain it? She simply didn’t know.
As the plane came in to land, her mind went back to her first trip following the separation from Malcolm…
Spring, the first visit of the year, the opportunity for a fresh start. She had considered finding a completely new location, free from associations with the man she had recently ejected from her life but she hadn’t had the energy to undertake the research. Instead, she asked the agents to find her a new villa in the same village. They presented her with what they said was a token of appreciation for her long-term custom: the best property on their books. Expensive but she could afford it. A family villa, three bedrooms, two bathrooms, satellite television, VCR, DVD player, swimming pool, situated just outside the village with a large walled garden, fruit bushes, some cypress trees. Total privacy, everything taken care of: a maid came in for an hour each morning to make the bed, clean and dust, refill the fridge.
That first time she had been startled in the early morning by the appearance at the door of an elderly Italian mama in a black dress and shawl: the maid. Not wanting a visit at this time every day, Margo told her gently her services wouldn’t be necessary. There was no family and little housework. When the woman’s face fell, Margo assured her the Agency would know nothing of their arrangement; when the rep came to check the inventory on departure day all the papers would be signed and the maid could collect her money. “Mille grazie, signora,” said the crone and departed. Margo, watching from an upstairs window, saw a man outside the gate sitting on a motor scooter, smoking and reading a pink sports paper. Doubtless her husband waiting to ferry her to her next job.
Having arrived late the previous night, Margo explored the villa and found it just as the Agency had described it. Perfect for someone seeking privacy and relaxation – albeit lacking one important ingredient. No point dwelling on it, she thought, though she couldn’t help feeling a mite sorry for herself as she slipped the box with the vibrators into a drawer beside her bed.
A trip to the village to stock up with supplies cheered her mood somewhat: there were shopkeepers who always remembered the Signora Inglese, welcoming her with a broad smile. They appreciated that she could speak to them in reasonably fluent Italian. Enquiries after the Signor who usually accompanied her she deflected. Happily, her favourite restaurant was still there. She sat at a table outside, drank ataşehir escort a cafe nero and watched the somnolent life of the piazza.
Back at the villa, she tested the water in the pool at the rear of the property and found it pleasantly warm. Now she saw the true virtue of the walled grounds: in this solitude she could strip off and swim naked, relishing the freedom for her limbs as she lazily propelled herself backwards and forwards. She turned on to her back and floated on the surface, embracing the heat of the early afternoon sun. Pure bliss.
She climbed out and went to the garage to drag out a mattress for the recliner, arranged towels and lay back to let herself dry. She closed her eyes against the glare but she couldn’t shut out unwelcome memories. Her mind wouldn’t let go of Malcolm, heartily though she wished it would. She remembered how they would retire for an afternoon ‘siesta,’ their code word for uninhibited sex. When it was over she would turn on her side to sleep and Malcolm would mould his body to hers. Soon his penis, folded against the cleft in her buttocks, would harden, he would begin to move against her and the idea of sleep would be abandoned. Following his first orgasm, he seemed able to maintain his erection almost permanently, no matter how she used her body to bring him to the point of no return.
Malcolm, she had always recognised, was more a partner for sex than a true lover. Without a bed their relationship wouldn’t have lasted as long as it did, and that had made it easier to let go. Yet, remembering his skill with tongue and fingers and penis stirred a lingering residue. Margo’s hand strayed to her mons, resting lightly on the outer lips. Should she try to sleep. or would masturbation relax her into drowsiness? She sensed a shadow falling across her face even though while she was swimming the only clouds had been high and scattered.
Margo opened her eyes. A man, wearing jeans but no shirt, was standing beside her looking down on her naked body. Her first instinct to cover herself was unproductive: she was lying on the only available towels.
To her surprise, she found that she felt no threat from the stranger, a feeling reinforced when she realised that he must be the gardener; a petrol mower stood on the lawn beyond him. But when she spoke to him, he didn’t reply. His only reaction was to shake his head. Margo tried to appraise him: early twenties, tall, muscular, bronzed. Nothing to be read in his dark eyes. But while his expression remained impassive she was aware that he was taking in every inch of her body. Only one thing gave away his emotions: Margo noted the bulge at the front of his jeans.
What happened next, Margo decided later, would have been inconceivable in any other circumstances. But this was in the heat of a spring afternoon in the languorous Italian south, at a moment when her mind was virtually subservient to the demands of her body. She had been without sex for too long. The privacy of the walled garden contributed to an atmosphere of dream-like fantasy which could effortlessly encompass this stranger.
She tried to speak to him again but couldn’t find the words. In any case, the man shook his head as he had before. What did that mean? Did it imply that he didn’t approve of Margo lying naked in the sun, having the effect it obviously had on him? If she had paused for a moment to consider, Margo would have stood up and walked into the villa with whatever dignity she could muster. Instead, she reached up and ran her fingers down the front of his jeans. She spoke now, asking him in Italian if it was good. This time, she thought she might have detected a nod. But still he didn’t speak.
It occurred to Margo that if the gardener could just walk in, walled garden or no, so could anyone else. What she had in mind wasn’t for public view. Taking the stranger by the hand, she led him into the house and up to her bedroom. He offered no resistance then or when she unbuckled his belt and removed his jeans and undershorts. He stood naked before her and she was not disappointed by what she saw: a penis that wasn’t exceptionally large but was already primed for action.
The situation, she realised, was almost comic. A man and a woman, both unclothed, both in the early stages of arousal, were face to face at the side of a large bed. And they had reached this point without exchanging a word. Why shouldn’t nature now take its course? When she asked him the question, he remained silent. It seemed that he would not speak.
That was when understanding dawned: he couldn’t speak. He was dumb.
Taken aback by the realisation, Margo considered another possibility: could he also be deaf? Did that explain why her words failed to disturb the impassive expression? There would be time later to ponder. Margo’s mind was still in a losing conflict with her body’s urging. Whatever the shortcomings of verbal communication, the man was far from unresponsive physically. It was time to take charge.
She knelt at his feet, took the kadıköy escort bayan cock in her hand, briefly fondled the hardness of its shaft, surveyed the circumcised head and then guided it to her lips. It was as though an electric current passed through them both. With one hand Margo clasped the gardener’s buttocks to pull him on to her, while the other hand retained its grip on the penis to prevent it driving too deeply into her throat. For his part, the man placed both hands on the back of Margo’s head and began a slow gentle back-and-forth motion, allowing her to withdraw his member almost totally before reapplying the subtle pressure that eased him centimetre by centimetre back into her mouth.
It was good, so good that Margo was reluctant to break the spell, but a sudden tension, a tightening of the buttock muscles beneath her fingers, a pause in the rocking motion, an awareness of deep breathing and concentration, all combined to send their message. Margo had no objection in principle to carrying fellatio to its ultimate conclusion but this was a man whom she had just met, who spoke not a word, and whose background remained a mystery. Just yet, swallowing didn’t seem the most sensible option. In any case, there was other pleasure to be had.
Carefully, Margo removed the penis from her mouth, kissing the tip to let him know there was no offence taken, reassuring him that there was more – and better – still to be enjoyed. She urged him to the bed and gestured that he should lie on his back. The bedside drawer that hid her vibrators also contained the supply of condoms without which Margo never travelled (out of caution, it should be said, rather than expectation). Deftly unrolling one over his still erect penis, she applied her mouth once again for no reason other than to remind herself of the excitement she had felt while sucking him a few moments earlier.
Her next intention was to squat across him and lower herself on to his engorged instrument. But she was taken by surprise. As soon as she removed her mouth, the man rolled on to his side and, in the same movement, took Margo in his arms, pulling her on to the bed. There was no sense of force then or when he went on to arrange her body as he clearly desired it: legs wide apart, knees raised. Mesmerised, aching with anticipation, Margo complied. The gardener bent his head and, using his fingers to part her lips, slid his tongue into the opening.
The effect was instantaneous. The gardener may have been mute, but nothing could have prevented the prolonged moan of pleasure with which Margo received his tongue’s initial thrust. She pulled her knees up to her chest the better to open herself more widely to him. She was not disappointed. Whereas the departed Malcolm had been a cold, calculating sex machine, the gardener was a lover, no less inventive than Malcolm had been but also tender, thoughtful, brilliantly reading the responses of her body, the tiny quivers, the sudden bucking, interpreting the signs and matching his efforts to her needs. His hands and tongue explored every inch of her body. Her breasts were caressed, kneaded, teased until the nipples were purple with desire. He turned her on to her stomach, parted her buttocks and licked at the tiny aperture between them.
Somehow he recognised the moment when she could wait no longer and needed penetration. He knelt beside her, fingering her wetness with one hand while the other brought his penis to its full pomp. She noticed him check quickly that the condom was still securely in place, then she closed her eyes and concentrated all her thoughts on her inner depths as he entered her for the first time. The copious internal lubrication his foreplay had generated certainly helped, but there was infinite care about the slow insertion, doubtless allowing him to accustom himself to her warmth and wetness without losing control, but also letting her know that her feelings were important to him. The rigid penis made its way steadily until its full length was buried inside her, the weight of his body partly supported by his arms but still ensuring a welcome contact with her clitoris.
When he began to move, it was still with an innate understanding of the rhythm of her movements. They changed positions when he saw that she wished to be taken from behind. When they returned to missionary coupling, he increased the tempo, not suddenly, but gradually, almost imperceptibly until Margo realised that, almost without her knowing it, she had embarked on the ride to the crest from which it was impossible to turn back. The climax, when it came, was huge, forcing her body up from the bed as though to remain impaled for ever, suffusing her whole body until the orgasm subsided into a series of delicious tremors. When he withdrew and removed the condom she saw that he, too, had come, though so deep had been her own involvement she could not tell when it had happened.
Perhaps the most remarkable thing of all, Margo reflected later, was that when it was over neither of them felt any embarrassment. escort maltepe He accepted the tissue she offered, wiped himself, retrieved his clothes from the floor, dressed, bent to kiss her forehead and left. Shortly, she heard the sound of the mower outside. By the time she had taken a leisurely bath and dressed, he had gone.
With a bump, the plane touched down, disturbing Margo’s reverie. She had been remembering the delight with which she had discovered during that first visit that the gardener’s duties brought him to the villa three times a week. Each time, their wordless rapture – though not entirely silent on Margo’s part – was repeated. Before their final opportunity, she drove into the town and bought a leather jacket which she gave him at their parting. He accepted with the same seriousness that had characterised their whole strange relationship.
Eight months later she returned and, to her joy, so did he. There was no change in the pattern. Spring and autumn, three times in each of two weeks, Margo would lie naked beside the pool until she felt the shadow across her face that was the prelude to the most intense, the most rewarding sex of her whole life. In the intervals, back at home, she would occasionally relieve her need for a man’s body next to hers, but it invariably resulted afterwards in empty disappointment. She began to believe that she only came alive in Italy. For three years, spring and autumn, they met and resumed their other-worldly passion. At each parting she found a present to remind him during her absence.
Until last spring when mysteriously, the grass was cut and the gardens tended almost at first light. When she realised what was happening, she looked out one morning from her bedroom window and saw an elderly man weeding a border. Of her lover there had been no sign. Why had he not appeared? If the fault inadvertently had been hers, would she have a chance to make amends? Daily, desperately, she had waited beside the pool but no shadow fell across her face.
So on this visit Margo was reconciled to two weeks of solitude, sunshine, the pool, the books she intended to read. But, aware also of the emptiness of the long days, she had decided that this would be the end of Italy. The memories were too painful. Next year, another destination, another adventure. She had brought some brochures for preliminary investigation. By the end of the fortnight she would have decided.
She was sunbathing nude beside the pool trying to choose – Greece, perhaps, or the Seychelles, Barbados even – when a shadow fell across her face. She looked up and her heart leapt. Standing, just as before, was the gardener, his face, as she had memorised it, impassive. But there was a difference: at his shoulder, half a pace behind, was a young woman in a plain blue dress, dark-haired and dark-eyed as her companion, and similarly unrevealing in expression.
Margo was perplexed, unsure of what would follow. The gardener held out his hand, reached down and helped her to her feet. He turned and took the familiar path to the villa. Everything was just as before except that now he had a female holding each of his hands. They went to the bedroom. Margo sat on the bed, feeling that at the very least she was entitled to some explanation. It couldn’t come from the man; perhaps the young woman had something to say.
She did, but not with her lips. The two intruders began to converse in sign language and immediately, Margo understood: they were a pair of mutes. Somehow they had found each other. Possibly not in the village. Perhaps that explained the gardener’s absence in the spring. Margo saw that the young woman wore a ring. It all seemed to make sense of a sort.
But what now? An answer was quickly forthcoming. The gardener removed his jacket and held it out towards her and then drew it back to himself. Until then Margo had not registered that the jacket was leather – the first present she had given him. His gesture, repeated twice, seemed to be saying yes, this was a present she had given him. Margo nodded. Whereupon, the man took the young woman by both hands, ushered her towards Margo and made the same gesture. Was he indicating that the young woman was his present to Margo?
Any doubt was removed by the young woman herself as she turned her back to her partner, allowing him to unzip the simple dress she wore. When it fell to the floor she was naked. Unselfconsciously, she moved to the bed and and lay down. The gardener eased Margo down beside her before removing his own clothes. In that moment the intervening months rolled away. Margo felt the old remembered excitement rush through her loins.
The man made the first move, recreating their first encounter by parting Margo’s legs and raising her knees. But this time he stood back and motioned to the young woman. She turned on her side and let her hand slide from Margo’s right breast, across her stomach to the triangle of pubic hair. Margo trembled, not with apprehension but with expectation. Many years ago, not entirely sober, she had found herself in bed with a female acquaintance; the exchange of soft caresses and titillating tongues had been as exciting as it was different from anything she had known before. But the experience had never been repeated. Until now.
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