Dear Diary Pt. 01

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Reminiscence.

Claudet awoke early to the cry of gulls, that piercing plaintive cry so often heard on those cold, crisp autumn and winter mornings just after daybreak, and before the sun has awoken to warm the day. This was the time of year she most enjoyed, when all the tourists having retreated from their summer migrations allowed the village to sink back into a semblance of normality. She got out of bed and opened the window in order that she might better hear the gulls, and for that blast of cold morning air which would bring her wide awake. The sun was just showing itself over the horizon, surrounded by and coming up behind a bank of clouds. The sky at the horizon was a mass of violet purple, changing through various shades of reds, oranges and yellows to a beautiful azure blue, the higher in the sky one looked. The sun itself a brilliant orange-red, peeping between the holes in the clouds, to look at it direct was like looking into the heart of a furnace.

Although the morning air was quite chilly, just looking at this large orange ball made her feel quite warm, even though it was not yet radiating much heat. Claudet’s attention was drawn down to the sea, she noticed how all of the colours in the sky were reflected in it, and how if it were not for the sun being cut in two by the horizon it would be impossible to tell just where the sky ends, and the sea begins. She noticed that the slight swell of the previous day had changed, the waves having increased in size with their foaming crests turned into a spectrum of colours by the early morning light. There was a veritable symphony of sounds from the waves crashing against the foot of the cliffs, and even Turner would have been hard pressed to do justice to the spray leaping suicidally from the rocks. She stood watching and listening to this concert of nature and cast her mind back over the last few years. Reflecting how Peter had come back into her life after four years working in the North of England.

That was a little over four years ago now, that New Year party she will never forget. She had been without a partner for almost a year since that bastard William had been caught with his prick well and truly up her sister Sylvie. He had insisted that it was an accident but couldn’t quite explain how they had both ‘accidentally’ lost all of their clothing, how they had ‘accidentally’ fallen onto the bed with him on top of her or how his prick had ‘accidentally’ slipped inside her. He even had the cheek to come up to her that evening, looking to get back together, as if nothing had happened, well, a glass of red wine down those favourite trousers of his had soon sorted that out, earning her a round of applause. She remembered that she had then really got stuck into both the red wine and dancing, and that she had been pretty pissed when Peter turned up later in the evening. It was the first time she had seen him in four years, he had not been back since going away to work. They had spent the rest of the evening together catching up on old times.

Claudet and Peter had been at school together and she had always mourned the fact that he had never asked her out, then they had both gone off to university she to study history, he civil engineering. She had stayed in London for a few years carving out a career in writing before moving back to Cornwall the week after Peter had headed north for work. She remembered how getting to know him again had made it plain to her that she wanted him, not just sexually, although that was very true, but as a part of her life. Somehow, she had always known that she had loved him, she thought that was what had made commitment in previous relationships so difficult. She remembered buying this house from the old retired couple who had run a market garden across the road, and that, at the time, she had sort of known that Peter would come back to Portreal, and had hoped that they would share this beautiful property. It had been a struggle, even a gamble, and had been really hard in those early days when she had struggled to pay the mortgage, but eve gelen escort now, thanks to her writing success, there was no mortgage, and Peter was lying in the bed sleeping peacefully.

But all of this was well documented in her diary, which she knew Peter had been reading, or hoped he had been, for almost a year now, she knew because she had deliberately left it on her desk, sometimes open at things she wanted him to read, for him with a note or something under it so that he had to pick it up. She had got the idea of leaving it lying around when she had the idea of using the first year after Peter came back as the basis for a novel. It had been her first attempt at an erotic novel, and it had surprised her by becoming a best seller. The only one who knew it was written by her was her publisher, her pseudonym of Andy Cox had everyone believing it had been written by a man. Andy had written a sequel and was working on the third. In the meantime, she had also written two books as herself which were also selling well, so life was very pleasant. There was movement in the bed which brought her back to the present, she turned from the window and noticed that Peter was in the process of waking up, time to go and prepare breakfast.

1

Claudet’s diary lay there on the side of her desk alongside the keyboard of her computer, she had obviously been checking something. Peter knew, from Claudet’s talk about it, that her diary not only recorded things of a personal nature, but things that she observed which would aid her writing. It looked like she was working on another novel, and that there was material for it in the diary. Peter was quite surprised to find it just sitting there when she was absent as it was always kept in her desk drawer, which was always locked when she was not around. He was wondering just where Claudet had gone when he spotted the note half hidden beneath the diary with only his name showing, he picked up the diary to read the note, “Peter. Gone for a swim, back soon. xxx”.

The temptation was there as soon as he lifted the diary. Peter knew that he shouldn’t, that this was Claudet’s private world and that he had no business prying into that. But just one quick look couldn’t hurt – could it? Curiosity by now had the upper hand and the diary just happened, ‘accidentally’, to fall open at the first page. He started to read, keeping one ear alert for Claudet’s return.

January 1

Well it’s the New Year – finally.

Shit what a party that was last night, and what a way to end what has probably been the crappiest year of my life so far. I think, no, I know, that I drank too much, but that was down to that cheating bastard and general low-life William showing up and coming over as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t been caught with his prick well and truly stuck up my sister ten months ago. Well, a glass of red wine down those trousers he so loves soon sorted that out. That was the point at which I was about to leave to save myself embarrassment, and I would have done had it not been for the round of applause I got. Seems that everyone knew about him and that cow Sylvie all along, so he was the one leaving in embarrassment.

Well, I really got stuck into the dancing last night, long time since. Diary, I am shocked to tell you that I am not quite sure about the sequence of events, and that I am not quite sure what really happened. What I do know was that later in the evening Peter turned up, I almost wet myself at seeing him, it has been so long since, it must be four years since he went north for work, a week before I came back from London. I always had a soft spot for him, even at school, and often regretted that he never asked me out. It wasn’t long before we were cornered together chatting about old times, and more recent ones. He asked how Will (William) and I were getting on, puzzled that he knew about us I gave him a short run down and told him that he had missed the floor show earlier, and that I didn’t want any sympathy.

The combination fatih escort of sitting so close to him and the effect of the alcohol made me so horny (yes, that has been a long time since as well) that I got just a little brave and asked Peter why he had never asked me out. He said that he had thought that I was way too clever for someone like him. Then I asked why he was back in Cornwall, apparently he had given up work after an aunt died six months before and left him a rather tidy fortune. Coming back to Cornwall was inevitable as it was his home, and all the people he really loved were here. He took my hand and kissed it…

Shit! It was going to happen, come hell or high-water IT was going to happen.

I grabbed at him and snogged him passionately, only stopping when I needed to breathe.

“What was that for?” he asked.

“I’ve been wanting to do that ever since we met at school.” I replied.

He stood and pulled me up with him guiding me to the dance floor, I guessed that he thought that it was the safest place to be with me – how wrong I was. It was a slow number, not my kind of thing at all, for me a dance is a good opportunity to have a good aerobic workout. To say we danced would be wrong, Peter pulled me close and we started to sway with the rhythm of the music, his hands were all over my back and backside, stroking and caressing with great enthusiasm – if I was horny before I was positively dripping now, quite sure that the moisture must be showing through my skirt.

The music stopped, the bells went for midnight, and Auld Lang Syne began, not that we were at all interested being glued together at the lips in the most passionate way imaginable. We broke off at the cheering wondering what had happened only to find that we were the centre of attention. Peter gave a bow, and I decided likewise to give a deep curtsey, and promptly fell on my arse, at which someone shouted

“You had better take her home Peter.”

That was not lost on me. Peter helped me to my feet and I whispered to him

“You are coming back for a coffee, and I’m not taking no for an answer”.

He didn’t object. We somehow made it back up the narrow side street to my lovely little house overlooking the harbour somewhere around 1:30am – long after we had left the party. This was not because we were drunk (well maybe a little), more that we kept stopping, snogging and groping each other. We, sort of, fell through the door, and I headed straight to the kitchen to make some coffee.

“I don’t need coffee” Peter called.

“I do, and I said coffee, so coffee you get” I replied.

I needed the coffee to make sure that my head was functioning properly to fulfil my plans for the ensuing hours.

I came back, gave him the coffee and sat beside him.

“How come you never married?” I asked, seeking time to get the coffee down my neck.

“Never met the right person, and really don’t believe in marriage. And anyway, there have always been plenty of willing partners, more so since aunt Dorothy died, which is part of the reason for coming back to Cornwall, no one knows down here, that is except you now.”

“So, there’s no one in your life right now then?” just checking after what happened with William and Sylvie – didn’t want to be the third in the bed.

“Nope, seems that we’re both in the same boat right now.” he said with that cheeky grin that I hadn’t seen for a very long time.

I put my now empty cup down and slid across the sofa next to him – we both knew where this was going to end. It wasn’t many minutes before our tongues were entwined and our hands busy removing various bits of clothing to aid our horniness. My top and bra disappeared into the far reaches of the room whilst Peter’s jacket and shirt hit the floor in short order. I stood up, Peter made an attempt to but I pushed him back while I removed his trousers and boxers, closely followed by my skirt and, by now, well and truly soaked panties. I put a hand on each knee and pushed them apart sliding halkalı anal yapan escort in close, sliding my hand up his thigh as I did so to find his cock, unsurprisingly he was hard, no, hard is not close enough, he could have cracked rocks with it.

I leaned forward bringing my face close to his throbbing cock, smelling the scent of his arousal, I take it in my hand and lick the length of its base from balls to glans ending with a kiss to the very tip working the tip of my tongue into the little hole. He moans out loud with his lust as my lips part and slide slowly over the shiny head, my tongue working at the sensitive spot on the underside. I stop and pull back to give his shaft a good licking, I like a cock to be well lubricated before I suck on it properly. Once I have it wet enough I return my attention to the head taking it between my lips, licking and sucking on it.

Peter thrusts his hips upwards trying to get more of his cock into my mouth, I move back and forth in unison preventing him having his way. Eventually he got the message and let me take control. Only now do I let my lips slide further down his shaft taking half the length into my mouth as I lick the underside of his shaft. I slowly pull back to the very tip holding my lips there for a few seconds before recommencing the journey down the shaft once more taking more and more of him this time, feeling his cock throbbing and filling my mouth, feeling the tip making contact with my throat. I pull back once more, but don’t stop this time bobbing my head quicker mouth fucking him for all I am worth.

I want him to cum and get it over with so that he lasts longer later. With each downward stroke I take more and more of him into my mouth until I am taking the whole length with the head completely into my throat. His groans increase with my ministrations, his cock swells with every foray into my throat. Oh, I learnt this lesson well, taking him deeper and deeper, holding his full length down there, sucking, pulling back, pushing down, working in time with the throbs of his cock, knowing that he is on the edge, keeping him there. I feel his hands on my tits, he’s rolling my nipples between fingers and thumbs — shit, I want his cum in my throat so badly.

Now I can wait no longer, I begin to work him furiously with long fast strokes, taking him deep into my throat with every thrust, feeling his cock throbbing and swelling, hearing him groaning with lust, knowing that it will be seconds. Suddenly it’s there, I know instinctively, he’s going to cum any second, I don’t want it in my mouth, I want it way down in my throat. Listening to his moans I time my strokes perfectly and take him deep into my throat as the first jet is released. I hold him there swallowing every jet of his juice as it is fired into me. It seems like minutes, but I know that it could only be seconds before I finally release him from my throat and mouth.

I slide onto the sofa beside him to catch my breath, waiting for him to come back to earth.

“Jesus girl,” he says, “where did you learn to suck cock like that?”

“From a very good teacher, and no I’m not telling who.”

“And that twat William gave that up for Sylvie?”

“Yes, but he didn’t get her either, she chucked him the day after I kicked him into touch. Now, let’s go somewhere more comfortable and pick up where we left off.”

Dear diary that was just the beginning, we spent the night and most of this morning just fucking each other senseless. It’s now three in the afternoon and I have to write this up now because Peter is coming to dinner tonight and I have to work out what I am going to feed him.

More anon dear diary…

Peter closed the diary, he remembered that first night so well. Just then he heard his name being called, and quickly put the diary back on the desk where he found it.

“Ah, there you are” said Claudet as she walked into her study.

“I came to ask if you fancied lunch up at the Lights, “Peter replied, “I just found your note, why didn’t you say, I would have come for a swim as well.”

“Yeah, like we would have got around to swimming at all with you around. You know that as well as I do.”

“Another book on the boil then?”

“Yeah, it’s about half done, and that’s all I’m saying right now. Now, let’s go get that lunch.”

To be continued…

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