Our second night, we found our way to one of the local nightclubs and danced and danced. Mum kicked off her heels and was truly the centre of attention in the middle of the dance floor, Dad moving and swaying near her, half-proud, half-shocked, fully in awe of Mum. Jeez, I was just a little jealous and my competitive instincts kicked in as I danced near her. I wanted everyone to look at me too. Hips don’t lie and hers were juicy and full of life, expressing her woman-inity and happiness to be dancing in this crowd. Mum singing along to the radio had become Mum singing along to the crowd-pleasers Yazz, and Ultra Naté, in the club. Chris was hovering, his eyes on stalks not just at us, but at all the dancing women. Whenever Shah and I came together, I could feel his erection pressing into me, and when he held me and his fingers and thumbs pressed into me under my breasts or around my bum, I’d feel electric pulses flowing straight to my pussy. Dad’s face glowered whenever he caught Shah fondling me, but it certainly didn’t stop him squeezing Mum’s bum while they were dancing face to face.
We started going dancing every night, mostly at the same place, ‘The Kolosuss’, and Mum and found a group of people their age to drink with there too. Shah, Chris, and I even though we had all the energy and all the youth, didn’t dance as much as the grown-ups who seemed to dance as if with every shake and shimmy, dip and bop, step to the left and right, they were throwing off the chains of the real world and being free for the first time in a long time.
We’d walk up the slopes back to the rented villa buzzed and tired and feeling that whatever had happened back in England or the rest of the world that day, whatever was on TV, or even what Jeremy had been up to with Mum’s café — none of it mattered. We’d feel the warm air surround us, smell the ocean and the trees, know in our bones that tomorrow was going to be the same. Island life, island life…
We all fucked hard at night though. Furiously. Savagely. Desperately. Hungrily. Like we were slaking our thirst after a day without water. And as quiet as Shah and I tried to do it, I know we weren’t quiet enough. Chris letting us know the mornings after was one thing. Hearing our parents fuck was giveaway enough. We might close the doors to our bedrooms but this was sticky-hot-night Greece, and our windows had to be open. Poor Chris, all he could do behind his closed doors at the opposite end of the corridor was wank. He’d had to leave his girlie mags behind for fear of getting arrested or embarrassed at the airport but hearing us would have been material enough I’m sure to stroke himself to regular ecstasy. Or reliving how he’d seen me and his Mum in our little costumes or filmy dresses, or us in our toplessnesses. Let alone all the other girls and women at the beach and elsewhere.
I have a theory that when you first have sex, if you’re having to do it in earshot of others, you learn to do it quietly and your moans and mouthings as a result are whispered or subdued. Not in my case, I started as a young woman, in my older boyfriend’s flat and I never had to be inhibited. My Mum and Dad were the same. Growing up, my brothers and I could often hear them going at it hard, all hours of the day and night, even through the thick countryside doors and stone walls of our old shire-house. My Dad was a grunter, practically a yeller at the point of climax even, and for sure my Mum was a moaner and borderline screamer. I had fingered myself off so often hearing them and their moans and slaps of flesh on flesh and there had been times when all of us as kids would have our ears pressed to the wall, or be outside the window, the boys with their cute erections and me oozing pussy-juice before we went to our separate beds.
In our childhood curiosities of our parent’s closets, drawers, and bookshelves we had no idea what exactly the little plastic tube with three metal buttons in its own personal case was, after first finding it in Mum’s bedside table. It was only when me and my girlfriends at school compared notes about our parents, that I understood what it was. And a little while later, what it did. Mum was quite open about it once she realised I’d been using it. “It’s my ‘Mr. Speedy’,” she said, “but I really don’t think you should be using it at your age. It’ll spoil you for what boys can do down there.”
“So why do you use it, Mum?”
“It’s for when your Dad’s away on assignment, and I’ve had a long day and I miss him. And when you and your brothers have been tiring me out!” she said, chuckling. Mum took me to her gynaecologist soon after I turned 16 and between boyfriends and fingering, the need for speed never arose.
Those nights in Kefalonia I wonder if Shah and I were deliberately competing with my Mum and Dad. Fucking Shah was some kind of heaven. I couldn’t wait to get it on with him, we’d do it in the shower too but bed or supported by furniture was always the best. He just knew how to make me come. By instinct he knew that nuzzling the side of my neck, nibbling my earlobes was a direct line to cunt tingling and me doing the same thing to him did the same for his cock. He didn’t have a particularly large cock, it was straight down the middle in the charts on all that I had known and all the knowledge me and my girlfriends shared but it was circumcised and sleek and he knew how to use it. He could fuck me hard and would, just when I needed it, make love to me, smoothly, rhythmically, like really properly make ‘love’ to me. And he was so naughty. I thought I was naughty, but he expanded my horizons. He was the first to lick my arse, the first to take my arse and have me like it, the first to restrain me, blindfold me, the first to truly make me come. And I’d been fucking for more than six years already when I met him.
Our days in Greece followed the same pattern, breakfast, beach, a little bit of (mostly groceries and beaded and beachy things and sandals), shower, dinner, dance, a collapse into bed, stomachs full of fish and lamb and salads too good to not eat every bit of, heat-drowsed, energy spent after a day swimming and sunning and walking with even a hike or two and then a waking up around midnight refreshed, hot, and horny. And that’s when Shah would either go down on me or I’d take him in my mouth to start things off. His sweat made things even more tasty and I loved taking his balls in my mouth and having the musky moistness hit my nose ahead of my tongue. No one really groomed themselves too much those days, certainly not the men, and his pubes always smelt of sex. I knew just how to get him to the point of serious pre-cummage, while he all the while gripped my hair or played with my tits or just did things with his fingers and hands on my skin that got me so super turned on. He slid into me, his cock feeling more than big enough to reach me everywhere that mattered and he took charge, moving in and out with his cock, sucking on my tits, kissing me, nuzzling my neck and ears, his eyes above me smiling in the dark, he’d say all the right things: ‘Lover….Darling….My Beautiful Andrea….Fuck of the World….”when his mouth wasn’t full of other things. He was such a good kisser too. And he could go on for such a long time, I’d come on his cock and he could either come right after or keep going if he felt I needed more. We only came together, I mean right together, three times in all our fucking; the expectation of it, the memory of it was enough too!