The river took its time and gave us several languid hours of grey misty observation, swathed as we were in woollens that cool, spring morning. A hungry kingfisher flew low over the water, seeking its breakfast. We stood on the quayside and rested our arms on an old bollard, disappointed by the unwelcoming weather. We had planned to row out into the rushes and to discuss things in private away from the prying eyes of the town and the whispered innuendo of the manor house. The boats were all tied up and the idea of rowing into that damp fog was distinctly unappealing. we would have to find another way of sharing our reservations and concerns.
I turned towards her and observed that the lines at the corners of her eyes tightened. I reached out and touched her hand, sensing that she was preparing to cry again. She looked at the kingfisher as it flew towards the bank, a minnow flapping helplessly in its beak. She watched for a long while, waiting until the bird and its prey disappeared out of site on the bank. Eventually, she turned towards me. She smiled, thin lipped. It was a bitter smile, but she massaged my hand to show me that the bitterness was directed elsewhere. Her fingers dug into the flesh between my thumb and my palm. It hurt a little. I winced.
"It really doesn't matter," I said, and to prove it I held her hand tightly in mine.
"I'm sorry,"she murmured and put her head on my chest. She tapped my chest with her fingers, indicating that she was listening to the palpitations of my heart beat through the thick jumper. I ran my fingers through her hair, letting the loose strands slide effortlessly back into place. It felt rough against my cheek as I kissed her on the top of her head. I looked up and raised my hand to shield my eyes from the rising sun. The mist was slowly beginning to dissipate, just like the closeness between us had been failing for some considerable time. Without even looking up I could sense her move away from me mentally and physically. I looked around to see her walking down the towpath towards the ramshackle wooden houses that were scattered by the side of the River Marel. I followed her, bringing the first hint of a smile to her face as we bumped and jostled playfully until our steps matched perfectly. She slipped her hand into my back pocket and wriggled her fingers possessively.
"You never do that," I said and I wrapped an appreciative arm round her shoulder. She stopped and turned towards me.
"There is always a first time, she gazed wide eyed for maximum effect. My fingers trembled as she put her hand on mine. She lifted it to her mouth, kissed it. She cocked her head to one side and then tucked my cold fingers under her chin. I felt her warmth spreading out into me. " and a last......".
"Let's not return to the manor house just yet," I said. "There's plenty of time."
"But will you give it to me?" I kissed her in reply, embracing her. Her mouth tasted faintly of the coffee that we had hurriedly supped before wending our way down the hill to this quiet stretch of river. She pressed her hips into mine. In the morning silence we could hear the sounds of people waking in the houses that dotted the riverbank on the outskirts of Ilmarel, the hitherto quiescent port that provided the urban backdrop to our exchange. Footsteps. Voices, low and secretive.
"You're good at hugging," she whispered.
"I've learnt with you," I responded truthfully.
"It doesn't matter right now though," she retorted sadly.
"Perhaps not," I agreed.
"Come with me. I want you inside," she whispered. I felt her hand on me, stroking, pressing, exciting. Her legs trembled, contradicting her words by trying to push me away. I thought I knew what she wanted and continued to press against her. I was well aware that she preferred concealment. The woods were nearby and she was looking away towards the firs and the ragged thickets unambiguously. Perverse as ever, I held her there on the exposed riverbank, waiting for the sun to rise fully.
"Please," she whispered impatiently. She arched her hips against me, shuddering silently. "Once more to remind me how it was before. Come with me. Come inside me."
Her fingernails scratched at me through the woollen jumper. She breathed deeply. Her body undulated against me, matching the pleasurable movements that she was already anticipating. I did not respond. I did not want some mercy fuck, rutting in the bushes like animals. It was simply not enough. Her body slid away from me as if she were giving up. I felt empty and turned around to view the rising sun, looking like a moist, orange over the river, reflecting on the surprised surface. She shivered as it rose, but still seemed distant and distracted. She curled her fingers into my hair, tugging at me and my thoughts.
"It could have been easy," she said.
"It should have been," I replied, slowly nodding my head and slipped my tongue into her mouth as far as it could go. She cocooned me there, as she felt my wriggling flesh within her. She bit down gently on my intruding tongue and I flicked away from her, brushing her lips with my saliva. The smell of frying eggs wafted from the street. The sound of a chair scraping against the floor in a neighbouring house and a door slammed in the distance. She looked at me quizzically and then stared up at the sky.
"Oh," she whispered. "It's too late now isn't it?"
"For the present, yes," I agreed. "There will be other moments though if we give it time."
"Will there?" She questioned again. The bitter smile returned. She turned away from me for a third and final time, lifting her foot into the stirrup of the waiting pony. She mounted the animal with great poise as ever. A certain reserve came over her. She felt exposed up there and needed privacy. The door that had rested ajar since we had risen together in the half light before dawn had to be closed. By ignoring the hand that reached up to touch her hip lightly, she did just that. I called up to her softly.
She continued to ignore me resting her head against the other side of that metaphorical barrier, that she had erected to keep me at bay. Her thoughts were hidden from me, the patterns as cloudy as the misted riverbank. I could see the tear running slowly down her face as she pressed her legs into the flanks of the animal and rode off towards the woods. She had trotted the best part of a furlong before I mustered the energy to shout out her name, calling her back to me. I am sure that she heard me before my cries faded out of earshot, but she didn't answer. She did not even turn back to look at me. I had no expectation that she would do either, really, or that she would give it time.
Click on the image to indulge your whims further