Rolling In The Deep

Please note: This is a long story. These people seemed to create themselves as I wrote about them. To my surprise, I found myself caught up. So if you're looking for a quick fix, I'd advise looking elsewhere.

This is an entry in the Summer Lovin Story Contest: it's the first time I've submitted something to a contest. The theme just inspired me, and this story was the result.

For anyone looking for other chapters in ongoing stories I've been publishing, please don't be angry with me. They are coming shortly - they really are. I just had to write this one. I couldn't rest until I finished it.

I love getting your comments and feedback, so please let me know what you think.

xxx

Rolling in the Deep

Prevue: Sunday, 2:45AM

He hovered just at the edge of wakefulness, an erection already at half-mast. The violent summer storm outside had mostly dissipated; only the steady percussive rain continued to fall. It made a soothing, rat-tat-tat on the windows and balcony outside. Smiling, he leaned in closer to the velvety warmth of the sleeping woman next to him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd actually slept with a woman. Her back was to him, so he curved his pelvis forward, allowing his stiffening shaft to slip between her thighs. He put his face in her fragrant hair, inhaling deeply. She smelled like fine French lavender and the scent of their sex was still on her.

Images of their earlier lovemaking filled his mind: her startled, helpless look after that first stolen kiss; the taste and texture when he captured her pert, insanely hard nipples in his mouth; the deep dark honey sound of her moans when she climaxed over and over; her incredible tightness as he finally inserted himself to the hilt into her very hot, wet folds; the wanting and vulnerability in her large, dark eyes as she silently pleaded with him to take her again and again. With one hand, he moved her gorgeous, heavy tresses out of the way so he could slide his lips across the smooth, perfect skin of her shoulders. His other hand moved up her hip, past her slim waist, over her ribcage and finally, gently, cupped her breast. He teased her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. She began to stir, and his erection stiffened further. A soft sound escaped her parted lips -- it was part sigh, part moan. She pressed her body back against his, her legs shifting to allow him to move even closer.

Fully awake now and needing more -- needing to again taste her sweet mouth -- he raised himself off of the mattress and pulled her onto her back, covering her body with his own. The look she gave him was completely unguarded, her full lips spread slowly into a sleepy, sexy grin. Tilting her chin up, she offered him her mouth. With a deep growl he took it. He was holding the sides of her face as he kissed her with unrepressed passion. She was gasping in excited surprise, clinging to him as her own passion rose to mirror his. She arched her body upward, grinding against his hardness. He pressed her back into the soft featherbed, his thighs impatiently pushing hers further apart. He ground out through his teeth how much he wanted her -- how much he needed to be inside her. She whispered "yes" over and over as she reached between them to help guide him into her. Once in, he grasped her wrists, pulling her hands up and over her head as he slammed into her. She put her mouth to his chest as she screamed out in mindless pleasure. He filled her so completely -- bringing her to heights she didn't think her body was capable of feeling. She'd never known anything like this. It felt as if she were caught up in an elemental force that was well beyond her control, and she loved it...

Friday, 7:45PM (two days earlier).

Camy didn't mind being alone. She really didn't. It was going to be great -- two whole weeks completely to herself in a beach house on the Cape. It would be heaven, made just for her. She was sure of it.

There would be no need to constantly reassure and placate Bill over the fact that he was getting older. No need to be discomfited over how much attention he paid to the 20-something female lifeguards and waitresses. No need to starve and slave away on the treadmill every day so that Bill wouldn't look askance at her body. No need to worry about coming up with an endless series of entertainments, because he had the attention span of a three-year old. No need to play the part of peacemaker, trying to ignore the fact that their friends and neighbors secretly pitied her. No need to fake orgasms during utterly conventional sex that was far too infrequent and over way, way too fast.

Bill was no longer her problem. He was no longer her husband.

The divorce was not even a year old. It had been eight months since it was made official. She had been alone longer if you counted the time it took to settle the divorce, because Bill had been very difficult, refusing to agree in most negotiations. It was even longer if you counted the time they spent apart since Camy discovered his infidelity with a woman who used to be her good friend. So adding all that time into the "BWB", or "Being without Bill" column, it had been one year, six months and about 12 days.

Yes, it was high time for Camy to shake off all the old habits. High time that she start creating new patterns and new memories. High time she gear her life to her needs and tastes. Time she start building a rhythm around her newfound freedom. This year's summer vacation was as good a time as any.

Her best friend Amanda had planned on coming along so they could spend this vacation together. Amanda, a single career woman also in her early 40s, has been her friend for nearly two decades and was very supportive during the divorce. They'd traveled together a couple of times during the last few years for short wine festival weekends and spa breaks, but this was supposed to be their great summer adventure.

They selected the rather grand house when planning to share the expenses, but then Amanda had a big project come up at work and needed to change her schedule. She offered to contact the owner and move the start date of the lease to reschedule the whole trip. Camy considered it briefly, but then decided to be bold. For once in her life, she would vacation alone. It was extravagant, but she could afford it (just). It was a chance to rediscover and reinvent herself.

So here she was, driving along Shore Road, heading to the house that would be hers for the next two weeks. There were more properties on the left side, across the road from the beach, but the ocean side of the route tracked the rocky edge of the Sound, so houses on the beach side were few and far between. As she rounded a bend, a stonewall on her right gradually grew taller until it entirely obscured the view of the sea from the road. This wall eventually gave way to a tall, beautifully manicured Boxwood hedge. The navigation device in her rental car intoned that she had arrived at her destination, on the right. Camy checked the street number on an ornate sign at the entrance, then turned right into a gated opening set between two high hedges. She traveled along a pebbled driveway flanked by stunning blue hydrangea bushes for about a hundred yards. Braking, she regarded the massive clapboard and stone house at the end of the drive. It was a lot bigger than she realized. She felt an excited thrill run down her spine. How marvelous. Camy felt decadent -- a feeling with which she was decidedly unaccustomed. It caused a genuinely sensual tingling -- as if she was suddenly very aware of her own body.

Quickly opening the lock box as the realtor's email instructed, she pulled out the large set of keys and let herself in. Camy was breathless. The house was wonderful. Once through the welcoming foyer and past a pair of curving wooden staircases, the house opened up into a massive great room with abnormally high ceilings and a fieldstone fireplace. Its entire east wall was made of glass -- French doors and great arched windows stretched the full width of the house. She gazed out, mesmerized, at the grey-blue water of Nantucket Sound and the bright blue sky above. Her mouth silently formed the word "oh!" as she looked on in wonder.

On the other side of all these windows was a wide, graciously furnished wooden deck. In the middle of the deck, a few steps brought you down to a sandy path flanked by thickets of beach rose and tall, waving grasses. The path culminated at the cliff's edge, where a set of wooden steps led down to the beach. In the far distance, a small white sailboat was slicing through the waves. Seagulls hovered aloft, wings spread, in the steady breezes blowing above the cliff.

Camy giggled like a girl. She made quick work of bringing her things in from the car. She'd stopped for groceries and wine on the way, so she stowed the perishables away in the gourmet kitchen before touring the rest of the house. Grasping the bottle of champagne she'd splurged on, she tucked it into the freezer so it would chill faster. She'd open that as soon as she unpacked, she decided. Twenty minutes or so should do it.

She methodically made her way around, acquainting herself with her temporary home. The house was very old but kept in perfect condition and tastefully appointed. It was a high Victorian-era house that had been painstakingly updated in keeping with its origins. She was enchanted. There was a laundry room and an elegant Powder Room off of the kitchen. Just off the foyer to the right, there was a small library that sported wall-to-wall bookshelves packed with leather bound and more contemporary hard cover books. It had a small fireplace that was faced by a pair of big, distressed leather wing chairs. Camy ran a hand lovingly across some of the books, delighted to see that she'd have plenty to read while there -- one of her great passions, as well as her profession. She was a book editor, and a talented one, at that. Her mother used to say that it was because she was more comfortable observing life than living it, a mean thing to say, for sure, but not entirely wrong.

The room on the left side of the foyer was a small, formal parlor -- the kind of reception room that would have been de rigueur in an old Victorian such as this. Its walls were covered in a charming navy Toile wallpaper with draperies and furniture upholstered to match.

Making her way up the curving staircase, Camy took a moment at the top to admire the pattern of the parquet tiles on the foyer floor below: it was a compass rose created by different shades of oak. How intricate and lovely, she thought. Who would bother to create something so rare and fine these days? She wondered. The carved bannister felt warm and smooth under her hands. She sighed as she realized that this house was actually full of love. It seemed to wash over her.

The Master Bedroom suite was on the second floor. It included its own fireplace and a full balcony that hung out over the beach. This would be her room. It was perfect. She actually needed to use the little set of steps at its side to climb up onto the bed. It was a king sized four-poster with a dramatic silk tester. She flopped down on the mattress, loving the way it seemed to envelope her, the mattress firm but topped with a feather bed that was embracing in its softness.

Camy imagined how this bed would feel if she were making love on it. How it would softly cradle her from below as a lover thrust into her from above. She felt sexy little chills run from the top of her head, to her neck, back and on down. Stretching back into it, her hands moved over the coverlet, its silky embroidery feeling wonderful under her sensitive fingers. She sighed contentedly. Now if she only had the lover, she thought wistfully... blushing a little at the idea of sleeping with someone new. No one besides Bill and her doctor had seen her naked for over a decade.

People had tried to fix her up with "eligible" men after the divorce. The blind dates -- there had been three such attempts -- had all been unsuccessful. One man had been the oily, "player" type who dyed his hair and wore men's cologne. He talked non-stop about money. He tried to grope her under the table during the crème brulée - his hot meaty fingers fumbling under her skirt trying to reach her panties. Camy "accidentally" knocked over her water glass, dousing the front of his trousers. While he was in the men's room trying to dry off, she paid the check and escaped. He never called again, much to her relief.

The second man had been so freshly wounded from his own divorce that he talked nonstop the entire night about his ex-wife. She finally went to the ladies room and called Amanda, getting her to call her on her mobile and fake a work emergency so she could leave before dessert. Camy thought he looked relieved when she made her excuses.

The last was a bit different. It had been with a handsome IT executive named Adam, who unfortunately turned out to be fifteen years her junior -- somewhere around 28. He had been smart, amusing, and easy to talk to. But Camy knew that he was in a completely different stage of life than she was. Plus, she couldn't shake the feeling that the other restaurant patrons were staring, wondering why he was out on a date with his mom.

In the taxi after dinner, while she was describing what she liked about Bach, he'd suddenly leaned over and kissed her. His lips felt so nice -- soft but strong. He was a good kisser. She kissed him back. He cupped her face with his hand, and his kisses deepened and turned rather passionate. Camy felt a rush of heat that started in the place between her legs and spread up her torso to her neck. His mouth pushed hers open and his tongue explored inside. She felt her body stir awake, her nipples hardening into needy little diamonds, her sexy new lace panties flooded with moisture. She liked it and it scared the shit out of her. When he moved closer and his hand moved down her neck, past her collarbone to cup one full breast, she panicked. Hastily exiting the cab still several blocks from her apartment, she ran home and went to bed alone. During the night, she'd had a full-on sex dream, waking up as she climaxed. She tugged up her nightgown and slipped a finger into her wet folds, marveling that she'd had an orgasm with no physical contact whatsoever.

It must have been the taboo of being with a much younger man, she decided, and probably also the total absence of sex for such a long time. But taking things any further with Adam would be impossible. Sooner or later, she reasoned, she'd stumble into unfortunate lighting and Adam would decide that the 15 years really mattered. Clearly, this young man simply had the oh-so-trendy cougar fetish. She was no Mrs. Robinson. She ignored his repeated calls and text messages, and he eventually gave up.

Camy begged her friends to stop setting her up on dates, and they reluctantly agreed. That had been two months ago, and she hadn't tried to date anyone else since. Amanda suggested that Camy try online dating -- but she couldn't bring herself to actually post a profile. It all just felt too desperate. Maybe she just wasn't ready. Or maybe her window for finding a real romance had closed.

Shaking off this line of thought, Camy rose to her feet and opened the double French doors to the balcony, stepping past a pair of elegant white wrought iron chairs to lean her arms on the railing. The fresh salty breeze blew her hair around her face. From this vantage point, she could see up and down the beach for miles. The nearest house was up the beach about a quarter of a mile away. It, too, appeared to be a similarly styled Victorian, but was easily twice as large. The stretch of beach down to the south seemed to go on for at least a mile, but was flanked by large jagged rocks leading up to a sea wall and finally the road she'd taken here. This was an isolated spot -- no doubt. Camy felt herself grow moist with exhilaration. She was frankly amazed that her surroundings and her independence prompted this sexual response. Amazed and thrilled.

It made her feel like singing -- something she hadn't done since college.

She looked around. It was the hour approaching sunset. The sun had started to paint the sky pink and orange. There were no people around for at least a mile.

No -- wait, correction, she thought. Camy spied a man and his dog up the beach near the other large Victorian. She watched for a moment as the man threw what appeared to be a stick, and the large Golden Lab ran joyously into the surf to retrieve it, returning excitedly to its master. They repeated the action several times, the man running along the sand as he played boyishly with the dog. The sound of an excited bark reached her across the sand from time to time. She smiled at the uncomplicated happiness shown by the pair. Maybe she should get a dog, Camy mused.

They were way too far away to hear her, but her natural reticence kicked in and she hummed, instead of singing the Nina Simone song rolling around in her head. Turning back inside, she paused at the door of the Master Bath -- grinning salaciously at the enormous claw foot bathtub. A luxurious bubble bath would be on the agenda later that night, for sure. She was happy she had the foresight to buy a few candles at the store. The melody of "Feeling Good" began to echo through the house as Camy continued to look around and acquaint herself.

"Birds flying high, you know how I feel.

Sun in the sky, you know how I feel.

Breeze just driftin' on by, you know how I feel.

It's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new life

For me... And I'm feeling good...."

Some thirty minutes later, Camy retrieved the champagne from the freezer, tore off the foil and braced herself as she popped the cork. Such a happy sound! Filling a tall flute she'd pulled from a china cabinet, she waited for the initial bubbles to subside before topping it off. Smiling, she stood on her left foot as she rubbed her bare right leg against her left. Her moist labia pressed into each other as the top of her right foot caressed her left calf.

Upstairs in the bedroom, when she dropped her suitcases in the large walk-in closet, Camy had spontaneously kicked off her shoes, yanking off her hose and shrugging out of her now thoroughly wet panties. She didn't bother digging out a fresh pair -- she decided to go Commando for once. It felt incredible, and after all, there was no one to see it. She also impatiently pulled off the cardigan that she'd worn over her halter dress. Since she was already bra-less because of the halter, she was naked under her light summer dress.

Camy's tongue darted out to run over her upper lip. Her mouth watered a little in anticipation of the delicious sting of the champagne. Letting her fingers slide down the perspiring length of the flute, she lifted the glass to her lips, closing her eyes. Millions of miniscule bubbles were bursting, sending their sharp perfume into her nose. The edge of the glass rested on her lower lip as the cold, frothing liquid rushed into her mouth, flaring almost electrically around her tongue. She swallowed, gasping as the alcohol and bubbles created a cold burn down her throat. Her eyes watered a tiny bit as she emitted a soft "mmm" sound. Unconsciously, she ran her free hand down the front of her throat until it came to rest on her breastbone, just above her heart. Her erect nipple pressed into her forearm.

Spinning on the cool marble tile on the pads of her feet, Camy looked out at the Sound. The sky was now shot through with crimson, orange and pink. The sun burned like a liquid golden disc as it moved toward the horizon. The big fluffy clouds were tipped with color. She opened one of the French doors and walked out to the edge of the deck.

The wind whipped her dress back and lifted her hair. The rush of cool air blowing between her thighs only seemed to further excite her overheated pussy. Camy wanted to shout, she felt so good. It was as if she were awakening from a deep sleep. She drained her glass, liking the tingle of the champagne flowing freely down her throat, and put the flute down on a nearby side table. Then she lightly skipped down the few steps to the sandy path and walked out to the top of the cliff stairs. There were over a dozen steps down to the beach below. It was a secluded stretch of soft sand. At the high tide mark, the fringe was littered with small shells, pebbles and bits of drying seaweed. The beach was half-moon shaped, bordered to the north and south by long stone jetties that reached out into the Sound. There weren't big waves in this body of water, typically, but all the larger ripples sent white foam in the air where they broke on the rocks. A few seagulls stood in the wet sand, looking out to sea as the waves ebbed and flowed onto the beach. The tide seemed to be going out. A gull hovering in the air nearby let out a reverberating cry that, to Camy's ears, sounded joyous. She found herself laughing with delight; it was a deep, throaty laugh that unfurled from her diaphragm. She stretched her arms wide as if she would embrace the scene before her. Her hair and dress fluttered behind her in the steady wind.