The Sun Also Rises

I leaned toward her and she was leaning toward me in the same fashion. It was literally a magical, compelling moment.

That first touching of lips was the sweetest and most natural kiss I had ever been given, no hot open mouths or wildly dueling tongues. There were also no skyrockets or pounding symphonic music.

It was plain and simple a total and unqualified merger of two people.

As we kissed every missing piece fell instantly into place. And I was whole again. You would be an utter fool to ignore the significance of that miraculous event.

We broke apart. She moaned just faintly. You could see the wild passion flare in those exquisite grey eyes. But then the blast doors slammed shut.

She had Bret's white-hot inner fire. But it was under strict control.

I knew I would see that passion again. But it would only be at a time and place of her choosing.

I appreciated the fact that she carefully controlled her sexuality. No man in his right mind wants to be with a woman who can't regulate her own base urges. That was the problem with Janet and Brett.

Britt's rigid self-discipline and her moral strength were two of the things that I loved the most about her.

I said, "As far as I am concerned, that kiss seals our bargain. I can't believe my sheer good luck. Things like this have never happened to me.

"But the instant I touched your lips I knew that you were the woman for me. I believe you are for real and we can make it."

_____________________

We didn't fuck that first night, or even while we were in Monte Carlo. In fact we had been committed to each other for almost a month before we eventually got around to THAT part of our relationship.

We watched the race from the Kuwaiti's boat. Romero had a bad day, eventually pulling off complaining of fatigue. More likely, the DNF was due to bruised ribs.

Britt stood out, even among the rest of the beautiful people. But her exceptional beauty meant nothing to either of us.

We were alone together in that crowd. We were always connected by glances as we circulated. And she constantly communicated to me that she was by my side. Even if she was standing 50 feet away talking to other people.

Her resolute and unconditional comradeship was a lot better than hot sex. After 34 years and one failed marriage I finally experienced what having a true life's companion was like. I was not outside on the porch any more. She had brought me inside. And I was at peace.

The crowd of cheerful partygoers was getting to be too much. So I was leaning on the rail of the boat trying to find a little alone time. She came over to lean next to me. She bumped me with her shoulder.

In my opinion that playful little bump was a lot more intimate gesture than her sister waving her ass at Cohn, the night before. And it was a hell of a lot more meaningful and significant.

She looked out over the harbor toward the Exotic Garden and said, "I wish we were up there instead of here."

Of course I had been thinking the same thing. It was interesting for the first time in my life to be linked to somebody who shared my interests and outlook on life. Watching the race was frankly boring. And interacting with rich people was an exercise in tedium.

Britt was raised as nobility. I am sure that a well brought up young English aristocrat could never shirk her social responsibilities. But since triviality and small talk stifles my very soul I also had the sense that her growing up must have been excruciating.

I had two thoughts. The first I kept to myself. But I still couldn't help thinking it, "Seriously!! An English blue-blood who is as beautiful as this woman has chosen me? I am clearly living in some kind of Lewis Carroll tale."

The other thought was more important. I said, "You are as bored as I am aren't you?"

She nodded her eager agreement and said, "I would rather be some place quiet with you, just reading and talking. Do you like to sail? I love the peace and quiet of being alone on a boat with somebody."

I didn't ask. I was pretty sure that I couldn't handle a story about her and Sir Percy alone on Windermere."

I said, "That is my idea of a perfect afternoon. My ex couldn't sit still long enough to ever do it, let alone enjoy it. I have a little 32 footer that I sail on the Potomac. But my only companion has been my old dog Buster."

She laughed and said, "We have a lifetime of that in front of us. And I am the best deck hand in the entire fleet skipper."

She stood to full attention and gave me the Brit's open handed salute.

The impish smile on her beautiful face was only equaled in its impact by the movement of those big breasts as she threw her shoulders back.

Old Lucifer stirred. Then he ALSO stood to full attention.

It was the first time that had happened in almost 15 months. If miracles are a condition for sainthood, the woman should be beatified.

Of course she had her travel plans and I had mine. So we parted company that evening.

I wasn't even remotely upset. I knew that we would be together for a lifetime and so our going our separate ways only whetted our appetite for each other.

She flew out of Nice. I drove the boys back to Paris.

Then it took me a few weeks to tie things up at home. The primary hang-up was simply clearing the decks to be together permanently.

Her father was a hereditary Earl. Her mother had died the year before and Brett had been disinherited years earlier. So Britt was his only direct relative.

Since the inheritance rules of the British aristocracy haven't advanced much past the days of William the Conqueror. Britt couldn't inherit the Earldom.

But a large portion of the estate in Gloucestershire went to her. Her father was still hale and hearty. And short of something unexpected happening it would be a while before we lived in the Earl's House.

Neither of us were Lord or Lady of the Manor types anyhow. Britt was doing complex and to some extent ground breaking work at Oxford. And she didn't want to give it up. I would have never expected her to.

Where I eventually ended-up was not an issue. With my money I could have settled in a yurt in Patagonia. And if Britt was there a yurt would have been just fine with me. So, Oxford was the logical spot.

Britt had her own money of course. But I had so much of it lying around in the bank gathering interest that I offered to buy a place near the University should she decide to move in with me.

Or at a minimum I could rent something near enough to her that we could ease into the relationship more slowly.

Being a level headed woman she chose the latter.

She said, "I want this to work and I want to lay a durable foundation before we just dive into the relationship.

"I love you. I will always love you. But I want to live happily ever after with you too. And living is something we need to approach intelligently."

And THAT folks, more-or-less summed up the difference between Britt and every other woman I have ever known.

We talked and messaged constantly while we were apart. She called me a couple of weeks after our parting to tell me that they had a position at the OCL. If I took it we would be able to work together. That decision required about a nanosecond of thought.

I checked out of the Hotel the next morning and headed up the A1 for Calais. It is theoretically only a three hour trip. Of course when you factor in the traffic getting out of Paris it is closer to four hours.

Consequently I didn't get into Dover until early afternoon. And I didn't reach Oxford until the early evening.

I took a room at the Randolph and called her. She had expected to hear from me the following day. And she sounded absolutely delighted by my early arrival.

The contrast with Janet was blatant there. It was like our time apart had taken a toll on my wife-to-be. That was polar opposite to the attitude of the wife-that-USED-to-be.

Janet normally treated separation as an opportunity to do other things. Whereas, by the tone of her voice it sounded like the only thing that Britt was eager to do, was ME.

We met in the Morse Bar. Yes! With eight hundred years of unbroken academic history the main bar at Oxford's only five-star hotel is named after the TV character.

I was sitting in the back bar with all of its fancy wood paneling when she came in off of the Beaumont street entrance.

For a change it was a warm clear evening. She must have walked the five minutes from the OCL down St Giles to the Randolph.

She was dressed in a little light silk dress for the lovely weather. The way the dress lay showcased her magnificent round ass like a frame around a Renoir.

She was searching for me smiling her enigmatic smile. Her face absolutely lit up when she saw me.

Was that a choir of angels? Or were they just tuning up somewhere for Evensong?

It was like we had never parted. It had been three and a half weeks since we had last seen each other. And she was as captivating as ever.

I was sitting with two fingers of Balvenie in front of me. We hugged and she kissed me on the cheek in a sisterly fashion and ordered the same.

Even after almost a month it was no big production. We are not big production people. Anything different wouldn't have been us. And that reinforced our subliminal link.

She just glowed with energy and happiness.

I said, "Working late my dear?"

She said, "I wanted to get all of the project work out of the way for the rest of this week. I intend to spend a lot of time getting to know you much more intimately, so to speak."

There was no mistaking what THAT meant. We spent a polite and well-mannered period catching up. We wanted to make our hasty scramble out of the bar and upstairs to my room decorous, if not exactly subtle.

Shortly thereafter I was lying expectantly on the bed. She came out of the bathroom and into the muted light from the drawn curtains. She was exquisite. Her perfect body, with its big, high round breasts and the flat stomach and flared hips was highlighted in shadows.

Those long muscular legs propelled her in that hippy way that women run. She arrived in a rush and landed next to me with a bounce, laughing joyfully.

She arranged herself so that she was lying naked on her back on the bed. She was just staring up at me. I was lying next to her supported by one elbow. I looked into her bottomless grey eyes, so overpoweringly deep and beautiful.

I could see the intellect and strength playing across her soul like summer lightning on a broad prairie. I could also see her immeasurable passion crouching there like a ferocious predator.

I felt her gaze pulling me into her with the feminine power that is the essence of woman, enfolding, and nurturing, ardent, restorative and strengthening. The power of her mind and her absolute humanity were all open and on display in those unfathomable eyes.

She was giving herself to me totally, unselfconsciously and without reservation. That sense alone spoke volumes about how profound her soul was and the depth of the reservoirs of passion that she was willing to share with the right man.

Wrapped in a sense of wonderment, I put just a single finger on her perfect cheek. Its healthy natural beauty glowed like an orchard on a sunny fall day. I slid the little visitor past her long narrow aristocratic nose to her wide sensuous mouth.

Her lips were lightly colored with cosmetics, moist and full and at this stage of the exploration. They were also slightly parted. She was delicately panting. I touched those generous lips and she let out a very faint gasp, enfolded the tip of my finger and lightly touched her tongue to it.

Then she released it and my little traveler passed on over the exquisite point of her chin. I traced down over the solid ledge of her jaw to that perfectly muscled neck. It felt both soft and hard at the same time, smooth dusky and exposed.

It was exceptionally hot to the touch as the blood pulsed through it. She let out a much louder gasp and then a long sigh, steadily holding my gaze from the depths of her soul. She was communicating her total commitment to me.

My finger moved across her collar bones to caress her womanly shoulders. I felt the urge to kiss those vulnerable things, so small in proportion to the rest of her powerful female body. But the time was not right, yet.

I moved up the precipitous swell of her full left breast to the aureole. It had wrinkled to a much smaller area as her nipple hardened. But it was still as expansive and brown as a newly turned field. The nipple itself stood there, proud and quivering, round and high as a solitary castle at the top of a great mountain.

I circled my finger around it, wondering at its symmetry. It grew redder and wider as her hot blood engorged it. She let out a little yelp. This feature would require considerable special attention at a later time but the exploration wasn't done yet.

The breast itself was heaving with increasing passion as I passed down the impossibly long slope from the nipple to her ribs, where the breast folded in to create a vast horizontal space like a crack in a canyon wall.

My finger traced slightly uphill along her torso, which rose rather than fell away from her breasts. My little traveler came to the highest point on her ribcage, where he encountered the deep drop off to the wide flat plain of her belly and hips.

It was a breathtaking vista, like coming to a cliff after a long journey and seeing an incredibly broad and fertile valley spread out below you. The hip bones stuck up far in the distance and framed the valley's end. Her mons pubis stood out in the middle of that concave space like a prominent distant hill.

My traveler lightly skipped down from the height of her ribs across the smooth muscles of her stomach. The ground that those muscles formed rippled wildly as my finger passed and little gasps and moans followed its progress.

It stopped to explore the crater of her belly button, eliciting a short and very profound groan as it did. There was a small golden artifact attached to the skin there, perhaps put there to mark a place of worship by some ancient civilization, I would return there to worship myself.

The traveler moved over the undulating swell of her lower belly and into the exceptionally broad and fertile expanse directly between her hip bones. It began to climb her mons.

As it climbed the solitary finger passed across a well maintained lawn, like you would see if you approached a grand estate.

On the other side of the crest of that little hill it encountered an enchanting fissure. It was wide and deep, the folds were slightly pink reddish and they were unfolding like a flower in front of the traveler's eyes begging to be explored.

The female scent emanating from that place was intoxicating in the extreme. The agitated moans and cries urged the traveler to plunge into that fruitful space. But there was still considerable rich bounty to be examined before that could happen.

So the traveler pressed on across her pubic bone to the considerable gap at the juncture between her thighs and her hips. The traveler had a decision to make, right, or left?

The traveler chose left. He traced down an extraordinarily full and well-muscled thigh. The dusky skin covering each of those highly defined muscles twitched violently as he passed, while she groaned in an agony of sensory overload.

Because the traveler was in no hurry the journey took some time. She moaned loudly, cried and bucked during all of it, but she allowed the traveler to proceed.

At the knee cap my little traveler moved around to the right bypassing the top of the knee and jumped over to the silky smooth skin of the shin of the other leg.

His change of pathways caused a loud gasp, a prolonged moan and a frantic bucking of her hips. Her muscular legs were vibrating intensely almost humming like an electric generator.

At that point the exploration included a short detour to trace the extraordinary bulge of the calf muscle. That exploration was complicated somewhat by the uncontrolled flexing of her powerful leg.

The moans, gasps and pleadings became more frantic. The traveler paused to examine the feet. These were muscular too, real working appendages not delicate little attachments, high arching and solid with neatly painted red nails at the end of the toes.

The toes themselves were tightly curled at the end of her feet, which were frantically pushing into the bed as she began to wildly gyrate her hips in the grips of a powerful orgasm.

She had convulsed herself into a perfect arc with just her radically pointed toes and the very tops of her shoulders touching the bed. She bucked wildly in that pose for almost five seconds and then just held it quivering like a taught bowstring for another couple of seconds.

During all of that time she was moaning loudly and rhythmically. Only a body as strong as Britt's could have endured the stresses that position must have imposed.

Then she let out a primal noise. I had finally reached the deep river of passion that powered her amazing soul.

Without a word she sat up reached over and violently pushed me on my back. Then she unceremoniously threw her leg over my prone body and mounted me.

She grabbed my throbbing erection and shoved me into the hottest, wettest two centimeters of paradise that I had ever had the pleasure of visiting. She let out a groan that was probably audible across the street at the Ashmolean.

Ten seconds later she was grinding on me like a madwoman. I knew by the way her contractions were coming that this was going to be a short but very intense experience.

Rather than put out any fires the existential orgasm that she had just had obviously touched off an inferno what would have made the great Chicago Fire seem like something you would have in your fireplace on a cold winter's eve.

She was sitting astride me talons gripping my shoulders. Old Lucifer was lodged in her cervix. She was rotating his head inside her in little 360 degree arcs. She was making sharp little cries and panting like she had just finished a marathon in world record time.

Then the growling started.

I don't know where THAT came from but she was making animal "HRRRGH, HUUNGGH, HRRGH!" noises while building us to a peak that I had never even imagined existed.

She seemed to be as out of it as I was but frankly I wasn't paying attention to anything but managing an approaching orgasm that could only be described as "nuclear".

Then the world exploded. My next conscious perception was of shooting boiling hot sperm into her so hard that if felt like the atmospheric pressure inside her womb changed.

My first rational sensation AFTER that was the feeling of her autonomic contractions still milking me like a berserk Iowa farmhand.

She was lying on my chest like she was dead. She just rested there for another minute or so. Then she came back to me very slowly slid wearily off my sweat soaked body and popped one eye open quizzically.

I have known a lot of women in my life but I have never been involved in an exhibition of sexuality like I had just witnessed.

I didn't even want to say the usual post-coital things to her. All I wanted to do was worship her.

There is something at the base of all men's lizard brains that knows that the survival of the species depends on female sexuality. It is probably the reason why the religions of all primitive societies are built around female goddesses.

Britt had just proven exactly how profoundly and powerfully fundamental her sexuality was. I am sure that if she had done something like that in front of our aboriginal ancestors they would have run out and chiseled up an idol in her honor.

Since I was the only male present, all I could do was gaze on her with total dumbstruck awe and say with wonderment, "This incredible woman is mine!"