My heart in my mouth, I listen to the countdown which booms from the outdoor tannoy of the viewing platform at the side of the canon.
“Five, four, three, two, one… BUNGEE!”
On cue, Vicky leaps off the side of Kawarau Bridge, her ankles strapped together by the elastic bungee cord. She sails through the air like a beautiful eagle diving towards earth, before the cord reaches its maximum tension, her hands touching the shallow waters of the river below before she soars back up the cannon as the elastic retracts. The high-pitched tones of the track The Lion Sleeps tonight by the 80’s band ‘Tight Fit’ that plays loudly over the outdoor speakers, only partially drowning out her screams of delight as she bounces around in mid-air.
A couple of minutes later she comes bounding back up the side of the canon taking two steps at a time. Brimming with enthusiasm and excitement she jumps on me, wrapping her legs around my waist.
“Oh my God, Chris. Did you see me?! That was ab-sol-utely brilliant. I want to do it again.” I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this excited.
“You were fantastic,” I reply. “I’m so proud of you.”
Doing a bungee jump in Queenstown was one of Vicky’s bucket list things she’s always wanted to do, so we’ve decided to take off from Christchurch for a couple of days and make a whistle stop tour around the South Island. The first port of call on our road trip is Queenstown, the adventure capital of NZ.
“I was so nervous, I can’t tell you. Especially when the lady in front of me bottled it right at the last minute. Did you see?”
I had indeed watched the poor Japanese tourist who, after three or four attempts to coax her to make the jump, had to be embarrassingly unhooked and walked back off the bridge. “Yes, I was watching. I felt for you. It can’t have been easy being the next in line when the person in front of you backs down.”
“That’s why I jumped on ‘two’. Did you see? I knew if I waited for ‘one’, I might hesitate and then not be able to do it. So when they counted backwards from five, I just went for it on two.” She’s so animated and full of life as she speaks, it’s infectious and I feel my heart flip over with love as I look into her smiling eyes.
“I can’t tell you how scary it was being up there. A hundred times scarier than I ever thought it would be. When you’re stood out there on the edge of the platform, you have no choice but to look down as you can’t take a normal step forward because your feet are tied together obviously, so you have to shuffle.” Climbing down off me, she demonstrates the ’shuffle’, “And every part of your brain is screaming, don’t do it, don’t do it! Are you mad? You’re going to die. But then the feeling of flying is like nothing else I’ve ever experienced, Chris. I felt this rush of electricity jolt through me. I can understand now why people become addicted to adrenaline sports. It’s amazing. I’m still shaking now.” She holds out her hands to show me how much she is still trembling, the adrenaline still coursing through her veins.
“I’m so very proud of you,” I say kissing the end of her nose. “Proud that you overcame your fear and did something completely out of character and totally bonkers. You’re becoming more like me with every passing day. I can’t imagine the stiff and stilted Vic-tor-ia I first met, who stood up from behind her desk and formally shook my hand, doing anything as crazy as this,” I say truthfully.
It’s true. In the time we’ve been together I’ve watched Vicky blossom and grow, becoming more confident and more self-assured. She was always clever, warm and kind, but now she’s become more of her own person. Less naive, more experienced. Less fearful of life’s uncertainties and more willing to embrace new experiences and take risks. Her transformation is incredibly intoxicating to see and makes her even more attractive to both me and I fear, to every other hot-blooded male on the planet.
“I know. It’s crazy. I think my mum might actually kill me when she finds out. She warned me specifically not to do this. She was filling my head with stories of people with detached retinas or broken backs before I came over … better not show her the VHS video of my escapades!” she giggles.
“Well it’s a good job you didn’t die doing the jump then… if you need to be alive so that your Mum can kill you when you next see her!” I joke.
“Ha, ha,” she replies sarcastically, punching me lightly on the arm.
We only had time to stay in Queenstown for one night, arriving at tea-time yesterday following our long drive down through the Southern Alps, stopping only briefly to refuel and for Vicky to take the obligatory photos of the distinctive cloudy turquoise waters of Lake Takepo with the snow-capped peak of Mount Cook just visible in the distance.
We spent the night drinking and dancing to the live rock band that was playing in the Red Rock pub, however there was a firefighters’ convention in town at the same time and the place was full of hunky superheroes, many of whom were eyeing up my girl. As usual, Vicky was completely oblivious to any attention she attracts from the opposite sex; but after the third guy ‘accidentally’ bumped into her as they squeezed passed in the crush, eliciting a natural and instinctive warm smile from her in return, I dragged her away back to the safety of our motel, before consuming her hungrily, reminding her that she belongs to no one but me. So after only one short day in Queenstown culminating with her leaping the 43 metres off the side of Kawarau bridge, we’re now on our way up the west coast. We’ll pitch tent somewhere off Highway 6 between Wanaka and the coast depending on how far we get before nightfall, which also depends on how many photo stops we make as we drive along the Haast Pass.
When we were kids, Mum and Dad used to bring us all to this part of the country quite regularly on family camping trips, but it’s been years since I’ve had a reason to return. Seeing my country now through the innocence of Vicky’s wide eyes as she squeals and gasps at every turn when another stunning view opens out in front of us, or when she’s sharing another easy conversation with a fellow Kiwi, is giving me a new appreciation for Aotearoa. I feel like a parent who’s watching their child open the best gift they’ve ever received. I’m so pleased to be able to show her my homeland, and that she is having the opportunity to experience my incredible country for herself, instead of having to listen to me or my sisters tell her second-hand stories.
After we buy the VHS of Vicky’s jump along with the obligatory souvenirs from the AJ Hackett shop (more trinkets for the illustrious shelf of tat) we resume our road trip, heading towards the rainforests of the west coast. Stopping briefly at the popular holiday destination of Wanaka we take a moment to sit on the shoreline of the beautiful lake, watching the ripples on the surface diffuse the sun’s rays, causing the light to twinkle magically. Licking smooth vanilla flavoured ice-cream from wafer cones, the cool rich diary cream melting on contact with our tongues, I watch Vicky methodically turn her cone round and round in her hand. Her tongue connects in rhythmic licks up the side of the ice-cream, catching each melted dribble just before it rolls down onto the back of her hand. Unable to watch anymore, I lie back on the grass to distract myself, a deep guttural groan of frustration seeps out of me as I imagine what else I wish her tongue was licking right now.
“What’s up with you?” Vicky turns to look at me, unaware of the magnetic and instant effect she has on me, or how turned on I am right now.
“Nothing,” I say lightly.
“Ok,” she shrugs in response.
Catching her by surprise, I jump up off the ground and pick her up, throwing her over my shoulder in a fireman-style lift as I run at full pelt towards the water. She shrieks with both surprise and delight, unsure whether I’m actually going to throw her into the water or whether I’m just bluffing.
“My ice-cream,” she screams in protest, having now dropped the remnants of her cone onto the grass.
“Forget about your ice-cream, Vicky,” I say, steadying her back onto terra firma at the water’s edge, our faces now nose to nose. I tuck a random strand of blonde hair that has escaped from her ponytail behind her left ear, as my fingers tenderly stroke the smooth arc of her neck.
The moment doesn’t require words, it’s just so perfect. The soft sunset that falls in the sky behind Vicky framing the beautiful view in front of me. When I last visited Wanaka as a child, I never imagined that when I next returned it would be with the greatest love of my life.
We pitch our tent in the shelter of the sand dunes just north of Haast, where the Haast highway touches the Tasman Sea, before it curves back inland through the dense rainforest of the west coast. We’re lying on the ground, gazing starwards our fingers interlaced, Vicky’s head lying across my chest in our familiar pose.
“Chris, we need to think about what happens next,” she says upwards towards the sky. “As blissful has these two weeks have been, they’re not real life - at least not for me. I feel as if this has been the most fabulously glorious holiday but I can’t stay here. I have a job and family back in England and even if I wanted to stay I’m not allowed to work and support myself. And it’s so so far away from my family. I’m not sure how I would feel being that far away permanently, which is why we have to talk about what we’re going to do for the next year or so, at least if we’re going to stay together.”
“I don’t care what we do or where we go, Vicky, but now I’ve found you I never want to lose you,” I say, wrapping my arms around her waist pulling her into me and burying my face into the soft wool of her fleece. I’m not sure if the determination behind my words is to reassure her or to reassure myself.
“I’ve been thinking. The lease is almost up on the house in Wootton Basset, and I think Mel wants to move on. We’re not as close as we used to be, at least not since you and I got together. I don’t think the past year has been particularly easy on her. Think about it. Her little brother shows up, ends up shagging her roommate… and then they all live happily ever after. I think she’s had enough of us all living under one roof, and I don’t blame her. In the past when I would have turned to her for companionship and support, I obviously turn to you now and she’s fiercely independent. I sense she’s looking for a get-out clause and wants to try another city - make her next move.”
“OK, I’m listening. So what do you suggest?”
“Three things actually, but it kinda depends on what you think.”
“Go on,” I encourage.
“Well, with my skills and the experience I now have in business travel, I reckon I could more or less walk into any job in the sector. I was thinking we should move up to London. I would look for another, more senior role on hopefully more money. I don’t think I’ll have to change companies, we have plenty of accounts in the capital. I was thinking I’ll need to pop home when I get back anyway and then I can borrow mum’s computer and put my CV together, then I’ll have a chat with Human Resources, see what opportunities maybe kicking about. And if there’s nothing suitable then I’ll look for ways to register with some recruitment agencies.”
“OK, sounds sensible. So that’s point one.”
“Being based in London would be easier for you to get trains and stuff as you zip about the country hunting out cars - if that’s what you decide to keep doing. It would mean we need to find somewhere where to live, just you and me.”
“Like a proper old married couple,” I say, my heart flipping over at the thought of having Vicky all to myself all day – every day.
“Like we aren’t one already!” she says smiling. “I was thinking I would ask Michelle if I could lodge with her in the short-term, until you get back to the UK, whenever that is, and then we can look for somewhere to live together. But it’s a big ask with the baby coming. However, she’s got a good four or five months to go before the baby is born, so that should give you enough time to get back to Blighty, me enough time to find a transfer at work and then enough time for us both to find somewhere new to live… which brings me onto point two. When you get back I think we should open a joint bank account. I’ve been looking into the options for residency.”
“Have you?” I sit up in pleasant surprise at this new information. Before now, we’ve never discussed the possibility of Vicky coming to live in New Zealand permanently - for all the reasons she’s just stated, although it’s obviously been hanging in the air between us. So to learn that she’s independently been researching this possibility is fantastic news.
“Yes, I sent off for an information pack from New Zealand House just before I came out here. Now don’t be getting ahead of yourself, Chris,” she warns gently, tempering my enthusiasm, “there’s still a mountain of obstacles to overcome before I would ever consider moving here permanently - not least the distance it would put between me and my family. You have to appreciate your family is bigger and used to being spread all around the world. It’s hard enough that I’ve moved from the north of the UK to the south but if there ever comes a point that we need to prove the length of our relationship, we’ll need hard documentation, and bank statements are a good starting point.”
“I know. Good idea.”
“Yes, I’m not sure how I feel about actually living in London though. It’s a bit like coming here. Great for a visit, but I have no idea how it will be living and working there permanently. I suspect very, very different and very, very expensive. And other than Tim and your sister we don’t know anyone.”
“Well that doesn’t worry me. I’m used to travelling and meeting new people all the time.”
“Yes, but meeting people in London is different - it’s not a friendly place, Chris. I think I could be quite lonely and I have a feeling the lack of space will get to us both - but if we don’t try we’ll never know.”
“Indeed,” I say in reply. My mind attempts to form a picture of what it would be like to live in amongst the noise and chaos of London. I suspect challenging. I’m an outdoor person and Vicky grew up in a small village with lots of space all around. Lying now together in the undulating dunes, the only people for miles around, one of my hands stroking the soft cool sand beside me, the other wrapped protectively around Vicky, the sound of the waves perforating the blackness and the uninterrupted view of the black star studded sky above, it’s almost impossible to imagine what it will be like for both of us to be living in the massive metropolis on the other side of the world, where car horns and sirens blare all day and night long. Auckland’s population of around 800,000 feels overcrowded to me, so my brain simply can’t comprehend how it would be to live alongside 8.5 million people. However, everything Vicky has suggested seems to be the most logical plan for us at the moment. “So what was your third point?” I ask.
“Well, I’ve always wanted to visit the states. And when I mean ‘the states’, I don’t mean go and see Mickey Mouse at Disney in Florida or a long weekend city break to New York. I’ve always wanted to see the country properly by driving along Route 66 from one coast to the other. It’s been a big dream of mine for a long time - and I wondered how that idea appeals to you?”
I don’t have to think long before I answer - the restless soul within me jumps for joy. “I think that sounds like a fantastic idea, Vicky.”
“Well I was thinking. If I can take another step up the career ladder when I go back. I’ll need to give it at least eighteen months to two years in that new role, otherwise it’ll look bad on my CV if I keep hopping from one job to the next. It’ll make me look unreliable. But - and this is the question I have for you - do you think you could make enough income dealing cars for the next year or so to live off AND to save for this trip. We could take off for six months and make the trip of a lifetime - by which time we’ll have at least two years’ worth of ‘evidence’ to prove the length of our relationship, allowing me to apply for residency, if that’s what we decide to do after that.”
“Well I think it’s a brilliant idea, and yes I will find a way to make enough dough back in the UK - whatever it takes for us to be together, Vicky.”
She rolls over to look directly at me. I lose myself in the deep emerald green of her eyes that are twinkling widely at the excitement and potential future we’ve just discussed. Her chin resting on my chest, I lean forward and stroke her hair tenderly.
“No one has ever been as important in my life as you Victoria - I hope you know that. I may not show it all the time and I know I can be a moody bastard at times, but I do love you.”
“I know, Chris, and I know I can be insecure and needy, but I love you too,” she replies reaching up to kiss me. Our lips connecting, our hot hungry tongues searching each other’s mouths for each other’s passion. She expertly reaches her right hand down the side of my body, her hand sliding back up my inner thigh and inside my shorts, her firm touch seeking out what she desires. I grow rock hard instantly at the anticipation of what’s coming next.
***
following day after waking at sunrise, unzipping our tent to watch the colours burst across the morning sky whilst snuggled together on the airbed, we pack up our gear and hit the road. The sound of the car radio punctuated only by the rhythmic squeak of the car’s wipers as they struggle to keep up with the rain that bounces off the windscreen, the ‘wet coat’ of the South Island living up to its nickname.
The west coast is so very different from anywhere else in the country. Lusciously green, covered with a dense thick rainforest and it’s very, very wet. Strong westerly winds laden with moisture from the Tasman Sea are forced to rise up the side of the Southern Alps that run down the spine of the island, causing the heavy vapour to condense into rain, which is measured in this part of the country not in millimetres but metres! At higher altitudes the rain falls as snow, filling alpine basins and forming glaciers, which is where we’re heading now.
The rain clears as we park up at Fox’s Glacier visitors’ stop and prepare to tramp the couple or so kilometres from the car park up to the dynamic face of the glacier. The air is crisp and sharply cold, as Vicky and I wrap up extra warm, sitting on the back of the tailgate to put on our walking boots.
“So does the name of this place have anything to do with the famous mint sweets?” Vicky asks.
“Err no,” I can’t help but laugh in response, “I think you’ll find it is named after one of our early Prime Ministers, when New Zealand was still a British colony. I can’t say I paid much attention to this type of stuff at school, but I seem to remember he was called Sir William Fox, and I believe he came originally from your neck of the woods.” The fuzzy details surfacing from somewhere deep in my brain. The relevance of the facts only now connecting together. “Yeah, born somewhere in the north east of England and educated at Durham School and then Oxford, I think.”
“Durham School!” she exclaims, “that was the boys’ school just around the corner from where I went to school. God it’s amazing how connected the world all is. Who’d have thought it? I’m about to go and walk on a glacier on one side of the world, named after a bloke who was born in my part of the world. That’s completely bonkers!”
It takes us a couple of hours to make the rugged walk from the car park to the mouth of the glacier. The depth of the landscape is unbelievably deceptive. The perfect crystal formation of the slowly moving slab of blue/grey ice that travels the twelve or so kilometres on its journey from the summit in the alps, carving its route into the hard rock and down to the rainforest below, causes a constant trick of the eye. Stepping carefully across the boulders and scree of the lunar-like landscape, the glacier beckons you forward, making you believe she’s only a few hundred or so paces in front of you, when in fact she remains kilometres away. Only when we eventually reach the cave opening of the Fox river that flows out from the mouth of this ice-giant, are you able to appreciate the size and magnitude of this dramatic pre-historic ice flow.
“Wow,” is all Vicky can say when we finally reach the glacier face. “I can honestly say I’ve never been anywhere like this before. It’s unbelievable.”
“I know. It makes you appreciate that we really are tiny insignificant ants that crawl the surface of the earth… and that Mother Nature is the real master of our all our destinies.”
“Well that’s if we don’t destroy the planet first,” she says honestly.
“I know. But I think it’s fair to say that this beast will still be here,” I say pointing to the majestic glacier in front of us, “long after we’ve both left this earth.”
Another half hour drive up Highway 6, lies the second major glacier in the Westland national park, the Franz Josef glacier. Rather than make another three-hour round trip to hike to its mouth we park up and I lead Vicky through the damp dense ferns to the Peter’s Pool vantage point. This small lake, circumnavigated by tall yellow reeds, opens out onto a specular view of the U-shaped valley beyond, the glacier just visible in the distance as it snakes its way down from the heavens. I stand behind Vicky, my arms wrapped around her waist, my chin resting on her left shoulder as I admire the view beyond.
“I feel like I’m running out of superlatives, Chris. If I was given a finite number each morning I would have used them all up lunchtime. I’ve never visited a country anywhere in the world that is so stunning… and so diverse.”
Listening to her share her continued wonder at my homeland, I bend forward and kiss the top of her shoulder as I share in her admiration.
“Your cities, well, I can only comment on Christchurch, obviously, are so quintessentially English, surrounded by acres and acres of arable farming, but the minute you get out of the city everything is so dramatic… and big… and deserted. There’s nobody here. It’s very humbling. It definitely feels like you are a tiny speck on the surface of this massive landscape. I can understand why the have such respect for the land.”
It’s true, hardly anybody lives on the South Island, so it’s not hard to get off the beaten track and Vicky’s right, there is no one around. I sense my opportunity and seize the moment.
“There’s only one thing that would make this moment more perfect,” I say, nibbling Vicky’s left ear, my hand reaching round inside her fleece to gently cup her soft breast, my thumb brushing her nipple, which tightens instantly at my touch.
“You cannot be serious, Chris. Out here? In the open? What if someone catches us?” she protests, although I notice she allows my hand to stay exactly where it is, softly caressing her firm nipple.
“Then they’ll be jealous,” I say urgently.
Before she has time to object I bend her forward over the large boulder that is in front us and pull down her shorts, revealing her milky white bottom to the elements.
“Oh my God, Chris. What are you doing? We can’t do it here!”
“Oh yes we can,” I say ignoring her protests whilst simultaneously unzipping my fly. I hear her audible gasp as I enter her quickly from behind, my thrusts coming thick and fast as my need to possess her overrides any logic or reason.
“Oh my God.” I hear the quickening of her breath and the desire in her voice which contradicts what she’s saying. “Chris, we shouldn’t be doing this here. Stop please.”
Although I can hear Vicky’s objection I’m powerless to stop myself, my need for her is just all consuming.
“Chris! STOP!” She insists more firmly but still I ignore her. “Chris, there’s someone coming.”
“I can’t,” I say quickly, “I’m about to come.”
My climax releases as quickly as my need was to consume her only moments earlier. I pull out of her as quickly as I entered her, just as a line of Japanese tourists, heavy cameras swinging like clock pendants from their necks, break through the heavy ferns to reach the same vantage point.
Grabbing her hand, we run for cover on the opposite side of the trail. Running away, our clothes dishevelled. I re-zip my shorts as Vicky attempts to run and pull up her pants at the same time. Once out of sight of the tourists she turns to me, half shocked, half laughing.
“What on earth were you thinking, Chris… you absolute lunatic?”
“I know. But it was fun, wasn’t it?”
“For one of us maybe,” she says, one of her perfectly shaped eyebrows raised truthfully.
I know I’ve overstepped the mark, but I’m not sorry. Vicky belongs to me now, and I can’t help the passion for her that controls me. She should be flattered that my love and passion for her is so uncontrollable.
***
Our faces are so close, I can feel her shallow urgent breath on my skin, her cheeks flushing as her passion rises in aching impatience. It’s our last night together in New Zealand. Vicky’s flight is scheduled to leave early tomorrow morning and we’re doing anything and everything to draw out these last few tender hours together. We’ve not ventured from my bedroom for the past 24 hours, having spent all that time talking, making love, lying in each other’s arms and then making love some more.
An empty pizza box lies discarded on the side next to our half-drunk glasses of iced water, as we’re wrapped in the crisp cotton sheets off my bed that keep us warm against the cool night air.
Vicky tilts her head to kiss me greedily, nibbling my bottom lip, insisting I give her tongue access so she can kiss me deeper. Instinctively we kneel up, eagerly closing the gap between us, pressing our hot torsos together, my hard cockhead nudging against her silky moist entrance. Still kissing me she reaches her hands behind me and in one swift movement strips away the cool crisp cotton sheet from my back. I hear her breathe in sharply as her rosy buds grow taut against my chest from the rush of cold air that wraps around us.
Somewhere in the background I can hear the melody of the massive hit Pray from the British boyband, Take That, playing on the radio, the gravity of their lyrics spearing my heart. It feels like this song was written for us, it’s meaning resonating so strongly that I wrap my arms even more tightly around my love, as she continues to kiss me. Her tongue exploring my mouth as she devours my passion. The sting of tears prickle at the back of my eyes. Tears of regret, tears of remorse and tears of sadness at yet another imminent separation.
“All I do each night is pray
Hopin' that I'll be a part of you again someday.”
‘If you can't forgive the past, I'll understand that
Can't understand why I did this to you
And all of the days and the nights, oh I'll regret it
I never showed you my love.’
Vicky must sense my momentary distraction, my mind having wandered, because she reaches up to my shoulder blades before running her fingernails sharply down my back, pulling me instantly back into the moment. I gasp at the sharpness of the sensation which contrasts so vividly from the softness of her feminine form pressed up against me. All the while the throbbing in my groin intensifies as my passion continues to deepen in my body.
“Oh Vicky, I love you,” I almost shout. My emotions rushing up from deep within me.
“I love you too, Chris,” she says leaning her cheek against my chest, finally breaking our kiss momentarily. I run my fingers through her long blonde hair that flows over her slender shoulders and down the pale white skin of her back, releasing a clean smell of strawberries and coconut which I inhale deeply, wanting to commit this smell along with every other detail to memory. I must imprint every intricacy of her in my mind, so I can recall these memories on the long lonely nights that stretch out in front of us like a dark never-ending tunnel.
She reaches for me again, her hand gently stroking up the inside of my thigh coming to rest between my legs, tenderly fondling me before grasping my shaft enthusiastically. I grow firmer still in response to her eager touch, the pleasure and pulsations rising higher and higher. She pushes me firmly this time, back onto the sheets behind me, leaving a trail of tender kisses down my chest, running her tongue down over the flat ‘v’ of my taut stomach.
Just before she takes me in her mouth, she unexpectedly slips one of the ice cubes from her glass of water onto her tongue. The freezing icy coolness of the melting water against the soft heat of her mouth is mind blowing. My hands naturally reach for her face, cupping the sides of her head with my hands as I groan with pleasure, instinctively thrusting my hips upwards desperately wanting more. I watch her cheeks sucking fervently as she teases and caresses me with her mouth, with her tongue.
“Oh God, Vicky. I don’t think I can last much longer,” I say quickly, her touch almost pushing me over the edge.
“Don’t come yet, Chris, I want you inside me. I want to keep a piece of you within me for as long as possible after I’ve gone,” she whispers, looking needily into my eyes.
Sitting up, she expertly guides me seamlessly into her hot wet core, her warm folds enveloping me as I let out another deep moan of desire. She’s become adept at the tease, controlling the speed and depth of our coupling and I willingly surrender to her skilful lead.
Lying back on the cool crisp sheets beneath me, I’m in awe of the hot beauty in front of me. Her long, slightly unkempt and unbrushed bed-hair falling seductively over her face and shoulders, partially obscuring her beautiful features that are devoid of any make-up. The perfect cupid’s bow of her full plump lips, her cheeks flushed pink as her own desire continues to ascend with each rise and fall of our own bodies. Her long slim neck that leads down over her slender feminine shoulders, down over her chest, down further still to her slim waist and flat stomach as she sits straddled across me.
I notice beads of sweat appear around her hairline and in her cleavage as I reach up and cup her small pert breasts that bounce gently with the momentum of our increasing rhythm. I run my thumbs over her taut pink rosebuds, causing her to breathe in sharply, filling her lungs with air. She lets out an involuntary cry of pleasure as she continues to ride me eagerly, running her fingers seductively through her own hair before falling forwards onto my own chest as she continues to lose control, her own desire mounting and rising within her.
Lovingly holding her face in my hands, I reach up and push the hair back from her face, so I can look deep into the vibrant deep green pools of her eyes, feeling our souls connecting and I see tears glisten on their surface, the pure rawness of the moment overwhelming us both. There is a vulnerability and virtue emulating from her that seemed to have evaporated a couple of months ago, from when we were in Hong Kong I think, that thankfully has returned, making our union more intense, more real and more truthful.
Being inside Vicky is where I belong, she is my home, my safe haven, my harbour. I pull her face closer so I can kiss her passionately again, our hot mouths connecting as we feed off each other’s need for one another.
I feel her body begin to shudder on top of mine, as she cries out, throwing her head back, her orgasm taking hold. I grasp her hips firmly, thrusting myself deep into her core, releasing my seed into her, feeling her body milking mine as we climax together. It’s impossible to feel where I end and Vicky begins, our energies blurring together as our souls transcend our physical bodies for the briefest of moments.
Drained and satiated we lie together in each other’s arms, completely spent, neither of us in any rush to be the first to speak, to break the spell and bring us back to reality. The sound of our own breath entering and leaving our bodies, together with the quiet music of the radio in the background, the only sounds that fills the moonlit space.
Vicky is the first to speak. Sitting up, she slides her hands behind her neck and unclasps her necklace.
“Chris, I want you to take this,” she says solemnly handing me the solid gold orb and chain. “It’s the most precious thing I own. It was my grandfather’s Masonic Orb. He gave it to me before he died, and I’ve never taken it off since. I’ve often noticed the unusual gold chain and orb necklace she wears but I’ve never understood the significance of it before now.
“My grandfather was a freemason - it’s an ancient organisation in the UK that goes back centuries to the Middle Ages. Back then, every craft and skill had a membership fraternity designed to regulate the skill and quality of that trade. The masons are descended from stonemasons,” she adds in response to my blank questioning stare.
“Oh,” I add, still none the wiser.
“Anyway, today its members have nothing to do with stonemasonry, it’s more like a kind of business support network for influential folk in the community. Actually, it’s quite a secretive organisation, so unless you’re a member, nobody really knows what goes on, but my grandfather was a member for as long as I can remember.”
“OK,” I say sensing this is important to her, “I’ve always thought that it is an unusual piece of jewellery and I’ve never seen you take it off but I had no idea it belonged to your grandfather.”
“See, it opens,” she says. Holding the orb in one hand, she pulls on a hidden lever with the other and the circular sphere releases from the claw to unfold into a cross shaped pendant. Its innards are punctuated by six pyramids that lock together when it’s closed, and I can see tiny engraved symbols on each side of the pyramids. It looks positively medieval.
“Wow, I didn’t know it did that,” I say amazed.
“I know. I have no idea what any of the symbols mean, but that’s not the point. What makes this so important to me is that this belonged to my grandfather, who was such an important part of my life. I absolutely idolised him. He was such a kind and hard-working man. The hardest working person I’ve ever known. He came from nothing and turned himself into something just through blood, sweat and hard graft. Wearing it keeps me connected to him and I want you to keep it safe and return it to me as fast as you possibly can.”
Now I appreciate the gravitas of the gesture, and why she’s giving this to me. It’s a promise. “I will. I’ll treasure it,” I say gravely, taking the precious necklace from her, “and I promise you’ll have it back around your neck very soon.”