Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7

In three hours Rachel teaches me more about my body and its responses than I’ve learned in my entire life. It would be simple to put it down to the hackneyed old cliché that it takes a woman to really turn a woman on, but it could just as easily be that apart from a couple of frantic fumblings when I was sixteen or so, Daniel has been my only lover until now.

Not that Daniel wasn’t good at what he did, he was, but the list of “What Daniel Did”, was a short one. For instance, oral sex was something that a woman did to a man, as often as he could persuade her, not vice versa.

So, in three hours, I learn the wonder of tongues and teasing touches, the pleasure that can be had from a little pain, judiciously applied by well placed teeth or nails. I learn how just a hint of pressure right there can make me cry out and arch up, and how a caress to that point on the back of my neck can make me writhe in delight.

She is totally unselfish. In the whole time, she asks me for nothing, asks me to do nothing except to lie here and enjoy. And she talks to me too, all the time, calling me beautiful and lovely and wonderful, until I really believe her. She makes love to me and fucks me both, by turns tender and forceful, and along with everything else, I learn a new definition of multiorgasmic.

In the end, exhausted, I beg her to stop, and for the first time I actually turn to her, reach for her, and kiss her, rather than just allowing her to kiss me. As I hold her, brushing the hair back from her face and pressing my lips on hers, I feel a shudder wrack her whole body, and she too, climaxes. This is possibly the most profoundly shaking moment of all, when she comes with just that one kiss.

We lie there for a while, side by side in the single bed in the spare room, quiet, peaceful and content, until the grumbling sound of my stomach makes us both giggle, and I realise that I haven’t eaten since breakfast yesterday.

We go out to lunch, to a café far enough out of the centre to be quiet at midday, and she tells me quietly how in some ways this is as new for her as it was for me – how until now, she has been the less experienced partner, the learner and not the teacher. We eat quickly, anxious to be alone again, and rush home, stopping only to swing by the shop to get food for the evening.

We go into the house, drop the groceries on the counter and I take her hand.

“Teach me,” I say, “take me back to bed, and teach me how I can do everything to you that you did to me.”

And she does.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7

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