Unspoken Exchanges



Friends and family thought it funny.

And strange.

They still do.

But we loved that peaceful North Wales coastal resort and had been taking our breaks here since we married 22 years before.

It had a lot to offer us. For me it was the hill walking nearby and great stretches of shoreline to run to my heart’s content.

For Kate my wife, there was a maze of shops, several extensive garden centres within easy reach and an award-winning theatre in walking distance of our regular hotel.

Plenty to keep us both occupied, if not together.

In our day-to-day existence Kate was a busy primary school teacher while I passed my days working from home as a cartoonist for a national syndication and sometime book illustrator.

Friends often remarked that we made a handsome couple, but in the real world the mirror had already begun telling us both another story.

Admittedly Kate weathered the years better than me.

Despite carrying a couple of extra pounds on her hips and ass she remained attractive enough to turn heads of men 10 years younger than her.

On more than one occasion I’d had to aggressively fend off lusting admirers bent on getting into her knickers.

As for me, I’d developed a few wrinkles around my eyes and my hair had begun that slow transformation from dark brown to a more dignified salt and pepper look.

Luckily a disciplined daily fitness routine maintained my body more or less firm. I still enjoyed road running but had recently begun to feel more comfortable with a half marathon then the full 26 miles.

It was that regular fitness regime that kept my skin tanned, giving me the misleading appearance of a rugged outdoors man.

Our marriage had been happy enough despite us not sharing any hobbies or interests. Our sex life was just about okay, albeit a bit too vanilla for my needs. I had always wanted us to be more adventurous but Kate, not wanting children of her own, always erred on the side of conventionality.

But all that changed the day we met Corinne and Adam Blakewick.

My story begins early one July morning three summers ago, a little before 5:30am on the steps of our hotel overlooking the great curve of the bay.

It was just past mid-summer and the morning air was already warm but ozone fresh.

At that time in the morning the promenade was still the domain of seagulls, screaming and circling. Only a few hardy souls were up and about so early.

But that morning there was another runner already stretching in the hotel foyer. She was early middle age, sun tanned, with long platinum-grey hair worn in a ponytail.

Well used, but top quality running shoes indicated to me a regular runner – as did her athletic physique.

As I came out the doors she was in a long deep leg stretch, but turned to critically examine me.

She wore a tight running bra, with matching black shorts.

Attractive rather than beautiful, I estimated her age was perhaps close to 50, but a very fit 50.

‘Good Morning,’ I said, leaning against a wall to begin my warm up, ‘You’re the first person I’ve seen out for a run this early in many years.’

She gave me a warm smile and said, ‘The sun’s been up over an hour already, seems a shame to waste it lying in bed, don’t you think?’

I nodded agreement, changing legs to stretch an Achilles’ tendon.

‘I’m going hill walking later, so a circuit down the promenade and back along the beach will have to do,’ I said.

Her stretches complete she had begun running on the spot, lifting her long muscular legs so her knees reached chest height.

‘Sounds like we have the same idea, but if you’re going my way watch out for my slipstream,’ she said with a broad smile, ‘And mind you don’t get sand in your eyes from my shoes!’

And with that she began her run with a turn of the head and friendly wave of a hand.

Still stretching, I watched her cross the empty road and bounce off along the promenade, the low sun catching her hair which shone like burnished metal.

She moved easily with the practised gate and measured pace of a seasoned distance runner.

A minute later, having quickly stretched most of my muscle groups, I headed off, following the same route as her. Already she was receding into the distance.

A classy runner.

It took me almost to the far end of the promenade before I caught her up. She was heading towards the sandy beach down a sloping concrete jetty used to launch sailing boats.

It was tempting to breeze past her, showing off my superior speed and strength, but instead I slowed, matched her pace and ran along some 30 feet or so behind her.

Her body was moving with the ease and precision of a well oiled machine – arms low and legs not kicking too far back so not to waste any unnecessary energy.

The sun caught the thin film of sweat on her neck and shoulders and she looked like the cover of a running magazine. For a while I was hypnotised by her glorious body, happy to watch her feet splashing in Artvin Escort the lazy foam of the spent waves.

Her platinum ponytail flicked from side to side like the tail of a fine pedigree mare.

My job as a professional cartoonist requires me to be ever inventive, to use mental tricks and other devices to generate quirky views of the world that will satisfy my newspaper editor’s insatiable need for clever cartoons.

One downside of this is that I can’t switch off my imagination.

As I fixated on her tight gyrating ass and feet rhythmically pounding in the surf it began playing one of those word association game I play when trying to come up with ideas.

‘Pound – rhythm – tide – coming in – surf – spume – spray’ and so on. Images grew in my mind of me pounding her ass rhythmically, waves of pleasure washing over me, rhythmically coming in her beautiful butt with my spume, spraying her, white and frothy.

Distracted by my wandering mind I must have closed the distance between us, making her aware of my proximity.

Inevitably she heard me, turned to look, then took off like a sprinter.

This time I really did get sand in my eyes from her pounding shoes.

She wanted to play.

It had been a while since I’d had to extend myself to such a fast pace, but gradually I caught her up again.

She moved out of the foam onto firmer sand so I drew along side her, my feet now splashing in the foam.

We were both working hard from our efforts and I sensed she was beginning to feel the pace. Then, turning toward me with a mischievous smile, and catching me off guard, gave a mighty shove which threw me sideways off balance into the crashing waves.

I managed not to tumble, but the few seconds it took to stop myself getting an early bath was just enough for her to gain ten or more paces on me.

Still looking back at me, I heard her whoop with delight and again quicken her pace.

She was not tiring and she wanted to play!

At length we approached our hotel and as I again drew close, she veered off toward a concrete slipway leading up to the promenade and the end of our run.

Here was my chance.

Still grinning like a Cheshire Cat, she leaped onto the sloping slipway now but a stride or so ahead of me.

But now it was my turn to play.

With a couple of extended strides I was along side her, then nudged her with my shoulder, catching her off balance and propelling her off the side of the ramp, falling awkwardly onto the soft sand below.

Looking back I saw her lying in the sand but not moving.

Immediately I leapt off the ramp and stood over her. Her eyes were closed and, although she was breathing hard, she looked unconscious.

Kneeling down beside her I asked if she could hear me.

Suddenly she opened her eyes and heaved me over onto my side in the sand. Then with another hoot of laughter she scrambled to her feet and raced off to the top of the ramp onto the promenade, where she punched the air with delight and whooped aloud in celebration of her victory.

I was still laughing when I arrived back at the hotel foyer where she had almost completed her warm-down exercises.

We beamed at each other, both still enjoying the fun.

In between heavy breaths I stuck out a hand in a friendly gesture and introduced myself, ‘ Hi, I’m Jack Race!’

‘Corinne Black,’ she beamed, shaking my sweaty hand, ‘I really enjoyed bumping into you!’


We were a little later than usual going down for breakfast.

Kate never has been an early bird, spending an annoying amount of time finessing her appearance.

As usual I took the stairs wearing worn cut-down jeans as shorts, a loud beach shirt and white deck shoes without socks, while she chose the elevator.

Kate always looked immaculately groomed and well dressed for every occasion. That day she wore a crisp white blouse with a knee-length grey pleated skirt and patent black belt.

As usual she wore tan stockings with white court shoes. Her makeup and hair were both faultless and she could have gone straight to a society function without changing.

Next to her I looked more like a weather-beaten beach bum than a professional artist.

They do say that opposites attract.

The dining room was almost full as we navigated between diners to our usual reserved table overlooking the bay. The room was filled with the sounds of waiters, chefs and of course the chattering classes tucking into their breakfasts. The welcoming smells of bacon and eggs wafted across to me, making me feel acutely hungry after my earlier physical effort.

To my surprise, sitting with a partner on the next table to ours were Corinne and a man I took to be her partner. They must have only just arrived as the waiter was pouring orange juice for them both.

Corinne, looking instantly desirable even without makeup, wore a timeless light summer frock with a single string of pearls and matching earrings.

But it was her platinum grey hair that Artvin Escort Bayan she wore piled high on her head that took my breath away.

I’d always been taken by women who wore their hair in an up-do style, and she had instantly filled me with desire for her.

She beamed up at me as I stepped forward to introduce Kate and myself.

Both Kate and Corinne’s partner looked askance at us, surprised that we already knew each other.

It was Corinne who quickly filled the silence by explaining, ‘Jack and I bumped into each other, quite literally, on our early morning run.’

With mock accusation I said, ‘She tried to drown me!’

‘He pushed me off the concrete slipway to stop me winning!’ she added mischievously.

Then we both broke into uncontrolled laughter as our mutual partners looked first at us then at each other.

While we were still enjoying our in-joke, Corinne’s partner stood up and proffered a welcoming hand to Kate who took it eagerly.

He was dressed very smartly for breakfast, shirt, tie, jacket, pressed slacks and polished brogue shoes.

Indeed, I begrudgingly admit that he was, (and still is) a singularly handsome man with boyish fair hair and great skin.

‘How do you do, I’m Adam,’ he said with great charm and glint in his eyes, ‘The long suffering husband.’

‘And I’m Kate, the long suffering wife!’ she replied, obviously charmed by his looks, clothes and manner.

Despite the jollity of the moment, I became aware of Kate holding Adams hand just a moment too long for my comfort, and saw the intensity with which they examined each other.

No one could deny they looked better matched than we ever had.

After finally introducing Corinne to Kate, Adam said, ‘Look, why don’t we push the tables together and get to the bottom of the children’s games?’

And that’s how it started, our life changing meeting.

Over breakfast, and then in the lounge afterward over coffee, we filled in the gaps about each other.

Corrine, it turned out, was a self-employed ceramics designer, selling bespoke pottery and sculptures to the great and good of England’s West Country counties of Devon and Cornwall.

Adam was a professional gardener and landscape designer, serving the same posh clientele who frequented his wife’s fashionable studio.

Kate was immediately fascinated to hear about Adam’s world of flowers and the two fell into a deep conversation about a local garden project both planned to visit during their break.

In turn, Corinne seemed intrigued with my life as an artist and asked to see some of my work if I had any with me.

I turned in my chair indicating the many watercolour paintings and caricatures of hotel staff that filled the walls.

‘They’re all my work,’ I indicated, sweeping the room with an expansive gesture, ‘All stuff I’ve presented to the hotel over the years. They never seem to throw any of it away.’

Looking genuinely interested Corinne stood up to take a closer look. As she did the light from the large window caught her in direct silhouette, and I could see the lines of her bra and pants. Her figure was so firm she didn’t need to wear any other underwear.

Her eyes caught me examining her body and again she gave me that beaming smile, and reaching out, gave my arm an affectionate squeeze.

She pointed to the pictures on the wall opposite and asked if I would show them to her.

Behind us Kate and Adam were still deep in conversation, seemingly oblivious of our leaving the table.

As we walked away I picked up a snatch of their chat. It was Kate.

‘Why don’t we visit the project together?’ she was saying. ‘Those two will probably be out walking the hills most of the day, and it would be much more interesting to walk around with an expert!’

I didn’t hear Adam’s reply because I was following Corinne’s body as she sashayed sexily across the room. I followed her to a large watercolor I’d painted of the hotel itself and stood so close our bodies touched.

She didn’t seem to notice, indeed she slipped her hand inside my arm, gently massaging my skin.

We chatted about the painting for a minute or so before slowly making our way around the room looking briefly at more of my drawings.

By the time we had looked at all the paintings and arrived back at our table, Kate and Adam had stood up ready to leave.

It was Adam who spoke to us. ‘Kate would like to visit the same garden project as I had planned, it seems sensible to pool resources and go together, that is if neither of you has any objections?’ he said, turning to Kate for support.

I looked at Corinne who shrugged her shoulders and said to me, ‘I’m happy if you are?’

‘So it looks as if your hill walking with me all day, that is if you can keep up?’ she said.

I glanced at Kate. She looked so different, now her eyes were full of life and sparkle, reminding me of her when we had first met. She had an arm threaded through Adam’s and looked blissfully happy at the thoughts Escort Artvin of walking around gardens all day.

And with that, Kate left the hotel with Adam.

Corinne and I watched them from a bay window as they walked to his new Volvo estate car, him holding open the door as she got in.

I confess they looked like a handsome married couple, both immaculately dressed, gifted with that enviable sort of skin that always looks squeaky clean.

Kate sat in the passenger seat retouching her flawless makeup and Adam paused to brush his hair with the precision of a photographic model.

Then they drove away.

Turning to look at Corinne and myself in the hotel’s foyer mirror I noticed that we too looked well matched, admittedly more casual and bohemian that our partners, but nevertheless we too could pass for a happily married couple, both physically well toned and tanned with an altogether less fussy air about us, like the two creative people we were.

I was aware she was watching me watching her. She didn’t seem to mind my eyes slowly running up her long shapely legs, follow the cock- hardening contours of her tight ass, analyse the perfect symmetry of her waist, lingering on the perfect curves of her breasts.

‘I love the feel of wet clay,’ she said suddenly, ‘As it slides beneath my hands, maliable, waiting for my touch, moulding to my will, watching it grow in my fingers.’

I was getting an erection hard enough to show in the line of my shorts.

She noticed.

‘And after all my efforts I love to take it out of the hot kiln, run my finger over the surface, feeling out its shape, it’s hardness.’

Her meaning was not lost on me, but what she inferring, no matter how obliquely, made me unsure of what to say. I coloured up in embarrassment as my erection became so constricted and uncomfortable and I had to ease it upright with my hand for it to lie hard and throbbing against my belly.

‘I sorry Corinne…’ I stammered, I don’t know what came over me?’

‘Don’t you?’ she said, again threading her arm around my waist and giving it another squeeze. ‘I hope it was me?’

I was still looking away from her into the mirror and saw her lean towards me, then felt her lips gently brushing my cheek.

‘Yours or mine?’ she whispered, her hand carelessly brushing against my bulging erection.

Turning to look at her I saw her smiling and there was something else I hadn’t seen in a woman’s expression for many years, it was desire.

‘I don’t mind,’ I said with an urgency I tried not to show.

‘Make it mine. I haven’t made the bed so Adam will never know,’ she said, taking my hand and leading me towards the main hotel staircase.

Without thinking neither of us wanted to use the lift.

Corinne slipped the ‘Do not disturb’ sign over the outside handle of her bedroom as we stepped inside, both acutely aware of what we were doing.

With the door shut she immediately took the initiative, pressing me up against the door, her lips pressed hard onto mine while her hand slipped inside my shorts, taking hold of my rigid cock.

I only hesitated a split second before cupping her firm breasts in both hands.

Her body was firm and well defined, unlike Kate’s which was soft and fleshy.

Blood coursed through my body and I could feel my heart pounding in my ears.

Then suddenly our actions became feverish and coordinated.

She quickly undid the button on my shorts, shimmying them over my hips to fall to the floor.

I reached around Corinne, locating and pulling down on the hidden zip of her dress, allowing that too to fall silently to the floor.

Her tongue was soon inside my mouth, hungry with lust as with both hands she pushed down my pants over my knees to slide gently down to cover my feet.

She smelled and tasted so different to Kate.

Unclipping her bra, I stood back momentarily for her to shrug the bra to the floor.

Now her hands were jerking my cockhead as I finally managed to get my thumbs inside her pants and they too were quickly trampled underfoot.

I was taken aback by Corinne’s forceful and unexpected lead – but happily conceded to her needs.

With my back still against the door she withdrew her tongue from my mouth and slowly ran it down my face, following the curves of my neck, sucked briefly on each nipple, licked the skin of my stomach and settled down on her knees in the classic position for a blow job.

Her hands held my butt tight, squeezing my cheeks, searching inwards with her manicured nails, feeling for my rosebud

Her lips closed around my cock-head making me gasp with pleasure before her eager tongue began licking, sucking while her experienced hands gently massaged my shaft.

It felt incredible, my head filled with feelings I had not experienced during my twenty two years of marriage.

Kate didn’t do hand-jobs or blow-jobs.

As I said earlier, our sex-life was vanilla even at its most racy.

While Corinne continued to blow me I closed my eyes, my head arching upwards in ecstasy, my hand threaded into her platinum-grey hair, pulling her head tighter onto my cock.

Then as abruptly as she had started, my cock slipped from her lips and I felt myself being dragged forwards and rotated onto the mussed up bed.

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