Always Turns Up

As always, this will make more sense if you have read the previous six chapters of this story, and even more sense if you have read the "Bad Penny" series to which this is a sequel. Names and details have been changed to protect the guilty. Not everything is entirely made up.

I woke, uncomfortable, around noon, took some clothes off and had a glass of water, and collapsed again. I had the sense to set an alarm. As often happens to me the next couple of hours of sleep were full of dreams. Sometimes disturbing, some pleasant, broken by frequent wakening and then a few moments of groggy reality, then slipping back, often to pick up the dream story. If I try I can remember some of them. The bad ones often stay with me without trying. But I have learned to let them go, and just keep the good ones. So I was smiling and happy when the alarm went off. I had been awake for a little while, and remembering a pleasant dream, and mixed with it remembering the day before, and the night before, and the prospect of the afternoon to come.

There were not many passengers at that time on a Sunday, so Penny was easy to spot. I would have spotted her anyway. She was as ever, elegant, but dressed quite differently to the day before. At the Ritz she had been in a long skirt and jacket, with white silk blouse and low heeled patent leather shoes. I was slightly amazed to see she was now wearing jeans, a quilted jacket, and what appeared to be walking boots. She had a blue scarf on, with and darker blue fringes, which looked vaguely ethnic. I guessed Moroccan. Her hair was held back in a clip, and she had no lipstick. In full daylight, in ordinary clothes, she was still stunning. She reminded me of our youth, even though she did look older. But not perhaps as old as she was. If I didn't know I would have said she was early forties, rather than just about to turn fifty.

She was also carrying two bags, a large handbag like a dispatch case, and what looked like a padded cool bag for groceries. I quickly went towards her, saying "Let me take that."

She stopped, put the bag drown, and said "Don't I even get a 'Hello'?"

"Oh, yes, Hello."

She rolled her eyes and said, "I am French you know." In a slightly put on French accent, and stepped forward to kiss my cheek. Then the other one, and back to the first. "Three times in the south. Parisians only do it once for strangers, or twice for family."

"I shall remember that." I said. I meant it. She smelled good, and the softness of her cheek and the pressure of her hands in my arms still lingered.

"Now you may take the bag. I brought a picnic. So, where is LuLu?"

I lead her around the corner of the station to the car park, and she instantly spotted the van. It wasn't hard to see.

"Oh my goodness. It's enormous!"

"Thank you my dear, that is one of the most flattering things a woman has ever said to me."

She hit me. Gently. "Don't be rude." But she laughed, and said "I have missed the Irish craic. The English don't joke like that and the French are all so serious. Come on let me see inside."

Lulu is a Buerstner Elegance. So she isn't a white elephant, more a silver and grey monster.

I let her climb in first, and was gratified to hear her whistle. "Wow. This is not what I had envisioned. I had been thinking of VW campers, and even though you told me you had something bigger, well... I had imagined caravans like the one your parents had. My goodness... so much leather!"

I came up the steps behind her, and said "Would you like the tour?"

From the cab, with the swivelling seats so they became arm chairs, through the dining area, the kitchen, and then on one side the shower, on the other side the toilet (you can draw the doors across to connect the two to make a dressing room) and finally the bedroom at the back. I had made the bed. Which you had to take a couple of steps up to get into, as it was over the garage area. She stood at the foot of it and said, "Well, so this is where all the action happens I suppose? How many teenage hitchhikers have you seduced back here?"

"Sadly few. You would be amazed to learn perhaps that, contrary to the porn films, middle aged men in camper vans are not so massively attractive that women flock to their beds. Even in a nice van."

She turned to me and gave me a look that made me suddenly warm all over, as she said "I find that hard to believe. Especially a handsome man like you. Although perhaps if the van was parked somewhere less... unromantic, it might help."

Before I could think of a reply she carried on in a much lighter, less flirtatious tone, "Have you lunched or breakfasted? If you are hungry now I could join you for a bite, but if you can wait we could put the food in the fridge, perhaps. Maybe you could take me for a spin? If we went out to the country, somewhere quiet, would you, let me try driving her? On straight roads of course?"

She was so enthusiastic I could hardly say no. Which had always been the way with me and her. "I have eaten, and yes, my insurance covers any driver over the age of 25 as long as they have a licence. Is there somewhere you would like to go? Or will we just head out of town?"

"I suppose it would take a few of hours to get to Brighton wouldn't it? There is a nice park a few miles north of the town, with a big car park overlooking the countryside, where we could have a late tea, or early dinner, and then go to the beach to see the sunset. Would that be too far? We can talk as we drive, of course."

I didn't know the area at all, so I got out the road atlas and she showed me the country park she was talking about. I punched in waypoints on the GPS. I mentioned that we might be late getting back, Penny brushed that off. "I could get a train into town from Brighton, it would be faster. Last one is at half ten. If we don't gorge ourselves too much on the picnic I know a lovely restaurant near the pier, we could do dinner there, and you don't have to worry about driving late or taking your medication too late. If you don't mind staying there tonight?"

"Wherever I park my van is my home these days. And I don't know Brighton, so I can explore it more tomorrow."

There was a moment of confusion as we got ready to go. I ushered her to take a seat in the cab, and she was about to sit on the left hand side, (the passenger side in a British car) when she realised the steering wheel was there.) "Oh, you have the wheel on the continental side."

I explained that I spend more than ninety percent of my time outside Britain and Ireland, so it made sense to buy a European van. Which does take some getting used to when driving in Britain, as you are sitting on the wrong side. Junctions can be tricky. You have blind spots and can't see oncoming traffic as easily, especially on the right hand side. "Another reason I am glad to have a passenger. You can tell me when it is safe to pull out. But remember this isn't a sports car, I do need a reasonable gap."

So off we went. Penny enjoyed the view, above the cars, above the hedges. She commented on the acceleration, which was better than she had expected, and asked about the brakes. And she asked me about my travels. We had to drive about an hour before I got to a place I thought suitable to swap over, but once we got onto a less busy road, I said "Okay, your turn to drive." For a moment she hesitated, and asked if I was sure, but once we got moving again she was gleeful. "Oh this is easier than I thought! The steering is so light."

I had to remind her several times not to speed. We talked about cars. She had always liked them, her father had let her drive his Jaguar and his BMW when she was young, and she got a taste for them. She had bought a vintage MGB, and Mazda 5, and had an Alpha Romeo Spider in Italy, but didn't currently own a car. "No point in the cities, and it is cheaper to hire one when I need one than keep vehicles in garages." But when she hired them she always got sports cars.

We went through a couple of villages, and then a small town, slowly, but she was confident enough. I got her to pull into an empty supermarket car park, and do some tight turns and explained about the way the back end of the van would swing. I offered to take over driving again, but she wanted to carry on, so I did the map reading and kept up the chat. With the sunshine and the comparatively empty roads of a Sunday afternoon, it was a pleasant couple of hours.

The park was delightful. We managed to find a place with the right side of the van facing the view over the open South Downs countryside. Since it was warm I put out the awning and a table and chairs beneath it on the grass, and she laid out the picnic. Not as sophisticated a presentation as the Michelin star Ritz, but the food was just as good. She lived near an Italian deli. I could have eaten a lot more, but the plan was to have dinner in couple of hours, so we just snacked.

When we had finished eating she said, "Are there any special instructions for the loo?"

I explained it was simple to work, and she said "Okay, if I need help I will call you."

She took the tray with the remains of our late lunch with her, and I sat and finished my mug of tea. A few minutes later I heard her call. She didn't sound too distressed, but she said "Sean, could you come in, I think I need a hand here."

I entered the van, and had one foot on the second step as I looked around, to see her standing in the doorway of the bedroom compartment. She had one hand on her right hip, the other above her head holding onto the door-frame, leaning a little that way, her legs slightly crossed. She was wearing only a pair of pearl grey silk and white lace French knickers, and a matching short camisole with thin shoulder straps. Her hair was unbound, brushed out and around her face a little, touching her shoulders, framing her smile. I stopped in mid step. My mouth opened, but my throat had closed. She smiled more.

"I was thinking," she said. "I would quite like to walk out on Brighton Pier to see the sun go down, but that isn't for ages yet, so perhaps we should do something else for a couple of hours before dinner. Have you any suggestions?"

My brain and mouth seemed to have become detached. And my brain was running wild in any case. Had they been connected I would have made babbling noises. But as she spoke a tiny bit of my mind had diverted from the most important job of absorbing the vision in front of me, storing that image forever, and had said in a quiet way "Oh boy, now you are in trouble." To which the rest of me said "Oh good, because that is the kind of trouble I like, now shut up and just look at her." So I had no reply. I just blinked and waved my hand and croaked.

Penny was amused enough to smile even more, and said lightly "Maybe we could go for a walk in the park? Should I put my clothes back on, and we can do that? It would only take a minute."

Since I was still standing one step down with my hand on the unclosed door behind me, my eyes were at about the level of her bosom. Looking up at her sparkling eyes was enchanting, but I kept being drawn down, to the curves of her body. The last time I had seen her wearing so little she had been skinny and almost athletic. She had been going to the gym four times a week for a couple of months, and had been perhaps a little too muscular for my taste. Now she was perfect. Honey coloured skin from her Mediterranean heritage, slim thighs and long limbs. I could see she had shaved her armpits, and the thought about what else she might have shaved intruded, but there were no clues when I looked at her fully concealing silk shorts. I was still speechless. Stunned.

Penny frowned then, and her poise slumped a little. She had been posing with one heel raised to elongate her calves, and her head held high, the arm above her head tensed to raise her bosom. She didn't look any less beautiful, but she suddenly looked worried. "Oh." She said. "Have I presumed too much? Maybe I should get dressed." She began to turn away, and my tongue finally functioned.

I almost shouted "No!"

Penny blinked, and froze, and looked confused. I stepped up the last step, clicking the door closed behind me, putting my mug on the table at the same time, and stopped to look at her again. I smiled, and shook my head slowly, and said softly, "No. I don't think you should get dressed."

She smiled again, and flexed upwards again, and shifted her weight to push her left hip out further. "So, what shall we do?"

She was just three short steps away. I covered it in two long ones.

Her kiss was shockingly familiar. She was the first girl I ever kissed. We had spent many hours kissing before we did anything else. Months of long sessions of fully clothed cuddling and 'necking' as they used to call it. Indeed it had been weird when I first kissed a different girl, because it was so different. Now it was a Proustian moment, her kiss filled me with memories of times past. She flowed into my arms, against my body, her leg between mine, pressing herself against me. It was as if we had never been apart. As if we could never be separated again.

I walked her backwards into the bedroom as we kissed, and she came to a stop against the bed. I lifted her up so she could sit on it, and she wrapped her legs around me, still kissing me. She started to pull at my tee shirt, and I assisted her removal of it, our lips barely parting for a second as I pulled it over my head. She stroked my bare back and my chest simultaneously, and then her hand drifted down to my belt buckle. I helped her again, and she pushed my trousers down, but not my underwear. I levered and kicked my way out of my shoes, still kissing her, and then reluctantly pulled back, needing to crouch to remove my trousers and socks. I was caught by her eyes. Smiling, sparkling, filled with desire and elation.

I crouched to push off my socks, and that brought my face level with her open thighs. As soon as I slipped off the second one I brought my hands up to her ankles, then up the back of her calves, and up over her knees, along the outside of her thighs, with my fingers slightly curling over the top of them. I was looking at her face the whole time, and I saw her look of anticipation. So I pulled gently on her hips and leaned forward to kiss the crotch of her silk shorts.

She sighed, and put a hand on my head, not to control me but just to feel me. I nuzzled her very gently through the material, and breathed in deeply, drawing in the air through my nose, filling my body with her essence. The rush of memory, the familiarity of her particular scent, her own spicy sweetness, was exhilarating. I had been so struck by her smell the day before when she kissed my cheek, and again at the railway station, but now it was overwhelming. Whatever brew of pheromones she produced, the special combination of her skin, her breath, her musk, had hit me like a wave of warmth. This concentrated perfume of her sex, unlike any other, filled me with memories even more erotic than the ones I had flashed though as I kissed her neck a few moments before. Those had been enough to heighten my arousal, although just the touch of her lips and hands had been enough to get me hard. Now that I could bathe in her most intimate aroma my body almost quivered with emotion. I took another breath, gently drawing the air into my mouth, tasting her through the cloth. It was intoxicating.

I looked up at her again. For a moment I had closed my eyes to concentrate on the fragrance, and when I saw her smile I burst out into a grin. I still didn't have the words to say, my heart was beating too fast, but I didn't need to speak. She grinned back, and pulled me up to her mouth to kiss again.

I slid my hands beneath her thighs and lifted her towards me, and she wrapped her legs around my back again. I stepped up, lifting her, and got my knee onto the bed. When I rose onto the other one our heads nearly touched the ceiling. But then I could move forward another short distance, and lay her gently back onto the bed, her head just short of the pillows.

I was between her legs, my cock hard, pressing against her pussy. Just two thin layers of material between us. It was just like when we were teenagers, before we ever got naked, before we ever had sex, we had spent months slowly getting a little more undressed, a little more daring. So there was no need to rush. I was enjoying the memories. She wasn't in any hurry either, but the pressure was having a rapid effect.

I was holding some of my weight on my elbows, not wanting to crush her, but I let some concentrate on the point where our bodies touched between her legs. As we kissed she gently moved her hips, and I tried to keep reasonably still, but of course followed the rhythm a little. I could tell from her breathing, from the deeper tone in her throat as she sighed, that her body was responding quite gratifyingly well.

Her kisses became less languid, more demanding, and her hand began to press on the small of my back as she pressed upwards with her body against me. I knew that she would come if we kept going, but I knew she would come even faster if she was on top and could control the pressure and speed better. So I rolled over, taking her with me.

She was surprised, but smiled before she kissed me fiercely again, and ground down against my hard shaft. I stroked her thighs, and the small of her back, and as she got faster and harder and less controlled, I wrapped my arms around her and pushed up against her as she pushed down. I knew what would happen. I could hear her progression in every breath, every rising groan and sigh, every little squeaky gasp, and in the throaty sound she made as she thrust her bottom down and raised her head, straining her neck back to offer me her throat, her arms rigid as she thrust with both hands against my shoulders, and shuddered, not breathing, eyes closed and muscles trembling.

As always, she half relaxed, eyes still closed, and took a shuddering breath, and then she collapsed on me, every muscle going limp, taking huge breaths that gradually became softer and more relaxed.

I held her, gently, knowing that was what she needed. When she started to move a little I rolled slightly onto my right side, letting her bring her leg over so that it was between mine, and she could rest her head on my shoulder.

Of course I could have simply stroked her back a little, pressed down on her bottom a little, and easily have got her to restart her movements. She would have ridden me to another orgasm, and then with only a tiny pause a third, and probably a fourth or fifth. Somewhere in there, most likely after her second orgasm, she would have slipped off her knickers, and dragged mine down, and pushed herself onto my cock. At least that had often been the pattern of our lovemaking twenty five years before. But I wanted to take things slowly. So I made her comfortable, and allowed her first orgasmic relaxation to fill her and wash though her slowly. She could surf on that wave of soft pleasure for several minutes, if just wrapped up warmly. I pulled the duvet over us.

I felt her gradually begin to move. Muscles tensing just a little. When she raised her head to look at me with slightly unfocused eyes I smiled and bent down to kiss her. It went on for a long time. Slowly becoming more focused, and a little firmer.

She ran her hands over my body, and made an appreciative noise. Then broke off the kiss and slid down to be on eye level with my underwear.

I had made the fortunate decision to buy a pack of three microfibre shorts a couple of days before. The Lycra content made them figure hugging and they were slightly shiny and smooth to the touch. They were probably the sexiest underwear I had ever owned. She caressed them, and me inside them, for a moment, before pulling them down a little and looking at my naked cock. I thought she would comment, as every part of my body was hairier than the last time she had seen it, but she just smiled up at me, and then pulled them down further and off my feet. Without speaking she reached out and took my shaft, pulled it upright, and slowly stroked up and down a few times.