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and I waited until he had finished looking before slowly pulling up the strap. I am tall with long legs, a flat belly, narrow hips and straight dark hair.
Max flung the rod over his shoulder and the line whistled past me beyond the low-breaking waves.
“I don't fish because of what I can catch,” he continued. “I fish because I like standing here.”
He reeled in the line and smiled at me.
“Can I try?” I asked.
His arm grazed mine as he put my index finger through the line and showed me how to release it. I handed the baby to him and cast the line in a perfect arc above the water. Max raised his eyebrows in approval.
“Not bad,” he admitted.
“I have an older brother,” I told him. “He taught me to throw a ball. It's the same motion.”
I returned the rod to him and grasped the baby under his chubby arms. His mouth sucked at my shoulder.
“I have to go now,” I murmured. “It's time for lunch.”
“I'll walk you back,” he said. We walked across the dunes to the house my husband and I had rented for the summer. I put the baby in his crib and, knowing what was going to happen next, returned to the shaded deck in back. Wordlessly Max positioned my shoulders against the siding and untied my bikini top so that my breasts fell free.
After examining them for a moment with the same detachment I had noticed on the beach he grasped the nipples and rolled them between his thumbs and index fingers. They hardened instantly and a rush of wetness dampened the crotch of my bathing suit. Then he ran his hands over my belly and pulled the bottom of my bikini down around my thighs. He passed his hand between my legs and then withdrew it. “Open your mouth,” he commanded. I did and he inserted his wet index finger inside.
“Suck,” he ordered.
I was weak with excitement, but knew what I had to do.
With leaden arms I reached up and removed his finger. “I'm sorry,” I whispered. “Not now. I can't.”
A flicker of contempt crossed his face, but then he shugged. “Are you sure?” he persisted.
“Yes,” I replied.
He picked up the rod and walked off the deck and I went inside. I threw myself face down on the bed, put my fingers between my legs and masturbated.
I was on the beach with my husband the next time I saw Max Perry. I introduced them and we became friends. Max and my husband even began fishing together. Neither Max nor I ever mentioned what had happened between us on the back deck. Not until five years later, after I had ended my marriage and spent a summer in Europe, did Max and I become lovers. But by that time I was ready for him.
I arranged that trip to Europe very carefully, having sent my son to stay with my mother. I wanted to feel free to do as I pleased for the entire two months. I was 31 years old and had been married 10 years. But I was a virgin when I got married, I had remained monogamous during the years my husband and I were together and I knew very little about sex. I intended to educate myself that summer, and I wasn't about to let anything get in my way.
My TWA flight was scheduled to leave for London at 10:30 on a June evening. I arrived at Kennedy Airport early, wearing a pair of blue jeans, sandals, a scoop-necked t-shirt and a slender gold chain around my neck. I carried only one bag. A friend in London had invited me to stay with her, but I hoped that would not be necessary. Before long, I saw what I wanted. He was in his late 30’s, about 5 feet 10 inches tall with thinning, reddish hair, pale, freckled skin and a sturdy, muscular body. I got behind him in the check-in line and tapped him on the shoulder. “Listen,” I said. “Would you mind if I sat next to you? I'm very anxious about flying, but I'll be okay if I just have someone to talk to.”
He was an ex-trumpet player turned songwriter on his way to London to write the musical score for a film. That morning, when the flight landed, I checked into the Hilton with him. While he made his telephone calls I
Max flung the rod over his shoulder and the line whistled past me beyond the low-breaking waves.
“I don't fish because of what I can catch,” he continued. “I fish because I like standing here.”
He reeled in the line and smiled at me.
“Can I try?” I asked.
His arm grazed mine as he put my index finger through the line and showed me how to release it. I handed the baby to him and cast the line in a perfect arc above the water. Max raised his eyebrows in approval.
“Not bad,” he admitted.
“I have an older brother,” I told him. “He taught me to throw a ball. It's the same motion.”
I returned the rod to him and grasped the baby under his chubby arms. His mouth sucked at my shoulder.
“I have to go now,” I murmured. “It's time for lunch.”
“I'll walk you back,” he said. We walked across the dunes to the house my husband and I had rented for the summer. I put the baby in his crib and, knowing what was going to happen next, returned to the shaded deck in back. Wordlessly Max positioned my shoulders against the siding and untied my bikini top so that my breasts fell free.
After examining them for a moment with the same detachment I had noticed on the beach he grasped the nipples and rolled them between his thumbs and index fingers. They hardened instantly and a rush of wetness dampened the crotch of my bathing suit. Then he ran his hands over my belly and pulled the bottom of my bikini down around my thighs. He passed his hand between my legs and then withdrew it. “Open your mouth,” he commanded. I did and he inserted his wet index finger inside.
“Suck,” he ordered.
I was weak with excitement, but knew what I had to do.
With leaden arms I reached up and removed his finger. “I'm sorry,” I whispered. “Not now. I can't.”
A flicker of contempt crossed his face, but then he shugged. “Are you sure?” he persisted.
“Yes,” I replied.
He picked up the rod and walked off the deck and I went inside. I threw myself face down on the bed, put my fingers between my legs and masturbated.
I was on the beach with my husband the next time I saw Max Perry. I introduced them and we became friends. Max and my husband even began fishing together. Neither Max nor I ever mentioned what had happened between us on the back deck. Not until five years later, after I had ended my marriage and spent a summer in Europe, did Max and I become lovers. But by that time I was ready for him.
I arranged that trip to Europe very carefully, having sent my son to stay with my mother. I wanted to feel free to do as I pleased for the entire two months. I was 31 years old and had been married 10 years. But I was a virgin when I got married, I had remained monogamous during the years my husband and I were together and I knew very little about sex. I intended to educate myself that summer, and I wasn't about to let anything get in my way.
My TWA flight was scheduled to leave for London at 10:30 on a June evening. I arrived at Kennedy Airport early, wearing a pair of blue jeans, sandals, a scoop-necked t-shirt and a slender gold chain around my neck. I carried only one bag. A friend in London had invited me to stay with her, but I hoped that would not be necessary. Before long, I saw what I wanted. He was in his late 30’s, about 5 feet 10 inches tall with thinning, reddish hair, pale, freckled skin and a sturdy, muscular body. I got behind him in the check-in line and tapped him on the shoulder. “Listen,” I said. “Would you mind if I sat next to you? I'm very anxious about flying, but I'll be okay if I just have someone to talk to.”
He was an ex-trumpet player turned songwriter on his way to London to write the musical score for a film. That morning, when the flight landed, I checked into the Hilton with him. While he made his telephone calls I
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