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Not Only The Lonely
Ryan took their joshing well.
He had again been seen talking to a woman he had met on a boat excursion the day before, his knowledge of the island keeping him by her side and away from a group she was so clearly a member of. His friends had told him that she was old enough to be his mother, if not his grandmother. You can’t be serious and on the pull, trying to make out with her. There are plenty on the make, out here, so save your best lines for the younger women looking for a good time with guys like you. Be patient.
What none of them knew, because he never said anything on it, was that he preferred older women and some, he had gone with, were only too flattered to have so much attention lavished upon them. Whether it was vanity, out of desperation, or because it was only too easy to claim him…none of that bothered him in the slightest.
That Stella Lawson, she with that haughty look and mass of unruly auburn-red hair, shapely figure and winning smile, once she had relaxed, really was the one he had been hoping to meet, or chance upon, in the resort where he and the others were staying, he didn’t tell them of. Now, he was pleased to have bided his time.
The blaze of the sun out of a clear blue Mediterranean sky, the glaring whitewashed walls of the small holiday homes, and iconic curved roofs mimicking cave houses, to be seen all around, the place seeming to cling to the steep slopes, and the azure blue of the sea glittering far below your vantage point.
Santorini was a place to be savoured and in the evenings became a playground for pleasure seekers, revellers and those not in pursuit of anything enduring; just the passing of the hours in pursuit of hedonistic pleasures, company and, for some, far too much alcohol. As for getting laid, there seemed not to be enough time to have too much of that.
“Each to their own,” he said to the last of his friends to take him up on what he had been seen doing, or not doing in pursuing predictable ways. The cliché was only too worn out, but quality mattered and Stella had that in abundance.
He’d fallen into conversation again with her, someone who had innocently asked him to take a photo of her standing in front of a shop with the colourful paraphernalia of trinkets, holiday mementoes and beachwear everywhere you looked. He’d soon followed that moment up by talking a whole lot more than arranging a pose that captured the steep slopes of the jagged clifftops that once formed the sides of a volcano, the whitewashed houses in stark contrast to the landscape, many of them being homes for locals who lived off the tourist industry.
“I’d better not keep you…and thanks for helping me out…again,” she had smiled, a graceful flick of her hand pushing away at the tumble of her hair. Stella’s lightly made-up face glowed with the sunblock she had applied. Her floral scent had not been masked by it and he had taken to wondering just where on her body she had sprayed it. “Your friends will wonder what’s keeping you…to see you talking to me as you did yesterday.”
“You are…you’re the one keeping me,” he answered, boldly, wondering how to play out the moments between them. Stella had wanted to put on her straw hat again, a light blue ribbon fastened around it and flowing down over the rim like a ponytail and its colour matching her striped, blue and white cotton blouse that hung free over white comfy slacks. Trendy, pale blue, canvas shoes poked out from under the hems. “My friends are only too predictable…”
“And you’re not?” she answered on a soft disbelieving laugh, the sound of it hooking him some more. “I’m walking down to the harbour. I thought to look at the artist’s work on show down there, so make your mind up on what you’re planning to do…”
“I’ll come along with you…will catch you up in a moment or two, Stella…” he said and deliberately using her name.
“Take your time, Ryan. It’s too hot…already…to rush about.”
He lingered, just long enough to watch her fuss in putting on her hat once more, already sure that Stella was the one for him to pursue. His work, as a graphics artist, using both digital media and the old artist’s pad and tools, gave him an excuse to be seen with her as they strolled through the throng of holiday makers looking at the artworks on display.
He’d carried it off before, moments like this, and the joshing of his friends wasn’t going to deter him. To his ways of seeing her, Stella was special in her grace of movements, how her clothes fitted her, that mane of luxuriant hair; those wonderful questioning eyes that he had caught glancing his way from time to time on that boat trip, her art group colleagues unable to distract her from doing so.
‘Don’t be long…coming to your senses!’ one in his group called out to him, as he stepped away, and began to retrace his steps down the cobbled walkway. Stella’s straw hat and her striped blouse couldn’t be missed. The woman carried off Escort Haramidere her stylish ways only too well.
He wanted to give free rein to all of his senses where Stella was concerned; her soft smile as he drew near the first, discreet, sign that she shared his thoughts and hopes for what the day might bring.
“That’s settled,” he smiled on coming to her side as she gazed at the first of the pictures on display, the street artist not far away. “I can be company for a while…until the group that you’re a part of gets to wondering where you are…”
“As your friends will be doing…”
“They’re not into art as I am, nor the history of the place, though we would have to go to the studio of the better-known painters on the island to see the less gaudy output…than what we’re looking at now.”
“It sells…meets the tourist’s demand for a memento…white-washed walls of houses, blue doors and a domed church roof…the sea in the background. It’s all to be seen in them…”
“But none with the religious icons like that one over there…”
“Oh, yes…I missed that!” she smiled, nervily, on feeling his hand touch her elbow and draw her out of the throng and to stand before it. An image had been painted in a niche, out of the glare of the sun. It served as an icon for people living along the narrow street they stood in.
“The setting’s perfect…” he told her on tugging his iPhone free from his cargo pants’ pocket before he studied the image soon captured on the screen.
“Keep me out of it, won’t you?”
“If that’s what you want, Stella…yes I will,” he replied evenly. his smile only too engaging. “I can take one of you standing beside it but with your camera…keep the memories of us being together separate…’
She soon made them move on, both offering opinions on what they saw on display and for sale. Stella allowed herself to relax in his company and could talk. He made it easy for her and she could begin to accept the path that she had so readily stepped out on. There was no one in her life back home to make her feel the least bit guilty on what she might yet pursue with a handsome young man and his attentive, assured, ways with her.
Stella had strolled away and chose not to look back at him.
What were the others in her group to make of this, she in the company of an already attentive and only too handsome Englishman? A young one, who had again taken a hold of her thoughts after the briefest of times together on that boat trip yesterday. The evident teasing of him, by his friends, had again been seen, but his explanations had settled whatever it was that they had said.
His presence, again, with her had the opposite effect and one that she was not used to. Was a quiet and only too-provincial life back home to be overturned by Ryan Thomson while she was here on holiday? How was she ever to keep what may happen a secret, and how was she to deal with the aftermath of tumbling into a relationship and then the two of them drifting apart again?
She wasn’t made that way, but perhaps a complete change was exactly what she needed. In unpredictability also lay excitement, the letting go of bonds or ‘breaking chains’ as others would say. Those in her travel group were members of the art club, married, and had acted on a whim and had arranged to travel here. She had been asked to join them. Yes, she was single but now she no longer felt alone and seemed to share an interest with the studious young man she saw closing the space between them, his look only upon her. The small holiday apartment she was staying in offered seclusion, had its own plunge pool and was not so close to the others that she would feel spied upon, or become the subject of even more gossip that keeping to herself had already aroused.
What she felt on seeing him was maddeningly unlikely, but Ryan engaged her attention on him, just as she seemed to do for him. His easy way of strolling, the sweep of one hand to his brushed back sandy blonde hair, a sense of smart casual dressing that had set him apart from the others in his group — they all eased away her doubts or they made her wonder if harsh reality would soon confront a rush of infatuation that she felt for him. Moments of having a man in her life were few, a marriage of only five years long over, and no one to fill the emotional void she so often felt.
She could not put from her mind the prospects of being in his company and was gripped by interest in him as she saw Ryan stop to ask a shopkeeper the way to somewhere she could only guess at; the sights and the signboards all around them and along the winding path that they walked over, giving no clue to what he was asking about.
Ryan beckoned and pointed in the direction he thought they should take. He saw the way Stella tilted her head in enquiry, the sway of her hair for an instant, the look of her eyes unknowable behind those İkitelli escort large sunglasses that leant her such distinction. It all went so well with the way she dressed — chic, smart casual. It clicked with him, and they had things to talk about that would be the slow way in to what he felt and needed from her.
He had sure been captivated by the woman before him almost from that first moment together on the boat cruise yesterday, she with her sketch pad and her slender fingered hands gripping a soft-leaded drawing pencil to capture the scene, the rugged shoreline as it drifted past them.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked as Ryan fell into step beside her as if it was the most natural thing for him to do.
“I’d like to see the art gallery and the displays of artefacts in a museum of prehistory that I’ve only seen pictures of…the art is simple but captures the period so well. You might be inspired by it…”
“It’s on my list of ‘to do’s’….” she smiled, no longer bothered as his touch occasionally guided her through the throng.
“Good…the others in my group aren’t the least bit interested in going there. I have company…and I’ve brought my sketch pad, just in case we compare etchings…”
“And so have I…” she agreed and seeing him hitch a small lightweight haversack onto his shoulder, Ryan’s patterned shirt opening to reveal his smooth skinned tanned chest.
They would stop from time to time, stand in the broken shade of a stunted tree, or the shadow cast by the village houses they passed, the heat radiating off the walls, and sip on a bottle of water, neither cleaning the mouth of it and simply sharing its stilled contents, exchanging a glance or saying a few words on what was to be seen. It began to feel so darned natural to be together.
“If it’s too hot, tell me…won’t you?” he asked.
“We’ve got this far…you’ve persuaded me to come this far…Ryan.”
“So it makes no sense in stopping?”
“Yes, and you can take that how you want, Ryan…”
She led the way, did that throughout their stroll around the cool rooms of the gallery, when they lingered at particular exhibits that interested them, Ryan saying he would test his memory of what had been seen by drawing them in his sketch pad. He regaled her with what he knew of the islands history, Greek mythology, even how the island had been formed. Repeating what may have been spoken of yesterday on that boat trip eased them along until the moment came for lunch.
“I can see you again…really see you,” he said as she sat down beside him, the simplest of salad meals set out before them and her sunhat cast on the table by her side along with her sunglasses. “Yesterday you wore that orangey floral print blouse with your slacks…now I see blue and white stripes…both suit you.”
Stella looked his way. “Enough of your flattery…”
She saw him shrug though Ryan’s eyes met her look upon him. “This is the second day that I’ve spent time with you. It could so easily become a habit…”
“If I allow it…yes, I guess it could, although the others I’m with may wonder how that could possibly be…”
“Because we share an interest in art,” he retorted, his arm brushing her shoulder as he reached for his bag and soon tugged out his sketch pad. “In my work I have to create content…keep on stressing out to do that and please bosses and clients. I unwind by doing this.”
She leant in, against him, to see how his slender fingered hand, the skin so taut and smooth, gripped the soft leaded pencil and he simply drew what had been seen on display around them, concentrated on an ancient figure with branches of figs in each hand.
“Not so fast…concentrate on the detail!” she murmured, but her touch again failing to still him in his work. Instead, he looked at her, then at the picture. “Go back to basics…that’s what I do…”
“And I want with you…from you,” he suggested in a confiding voice, his eyes darting over her to judge Stella’s reaction and on a gentle nudge to her shoulder. He met a startled gaze, Stella hearing what had been said to her. ‘I like being with you…’
“And you say it so easily,” she replied, wiping a tissue over her lips and looking at what had been cleaned off. Ryan seemed to take in every detail of her ways.
He heard Stella’s soft breaths as she looked back at him.
“Listen for a moment…Ryan?”
“I will, in a moment…but just know that I want to be with you. The others have their preferences…”
“And yours are so different from theirs, aren’t they?” Stella said, only too directly, as she shifted on the bench seat and made to stand up. “We’ve got to go…go before it really does get too hot to walk back…”
“And I talk you into being with me…”
“There’s that too, yes…” Stella felt a moments touch to her neck as she put on the sun hat and the blue ribbon was slowly tugged free from the collar of her blouse. “C’mon…let’s Çapa escort bayan get away from here.”
She again kept her distance from him as they retraced their steps, the alleyways quieter than before, but they were not alone. They had made small talk, got onto speaking of what prevailed in their minds, or she had heard Ryan’s confession of wishing to be with her. Earlier awkwardness had given way to other emotions, the softly spoken request that she spent some more time with him. She had uttered the words, ‘I’ll think about it…’
And she did so with a racing heart and mind. Her small apartment, it’s seclusion away from others in her party, was ideal for an impetuous tryst, the pursuit of pleasures that had ceased to be a part of her life. Nothing needed to be said, not really, for she had learned that the boys shared a holiday house with many rooms but lacking in any privacy when it came to pursuing company. So, if it was to happen, it would be in her bed and in the cool of her whitewashed rooms. With the lane quiet, no one would see them enter her place of rest and where she did find some motivation to paint. Ryan’s presence now put all of those endeavours at risk of not being pursued.
“This is the way up to my place…”
She told him this as he stood some way from her, in the narrow walkway and she looked back at him, her sunglasses in her hand and she again in the grip of indecision. It was clear that he expected her to invite him in….
Her hand shook as she looked in her beach bag for the key to the brightly painted front door, the scent of lowers in the hanging baskets soon breathed in.
“What have you done, Ryan, to make me feel the way that I do?” she murmured to herself.
Meeting his look, and on a scarcely perceptible gesture, she beckoned to him before stepping into the col of her place, the cool of the floor tiles soon felt on her feet, the soft easing shut of the door followed by his embrace upon her. Her forty-fifth birthday had passed only two months ago, and she’d mark it by behaving brazenly; to be self-indulgent and not to be restrained or held back by what others in her art group might think, for she would not be seen with him. Her sleeveless blouse of yesterday had shaped her; the choice of her blouse for today had left him wondering, but she had felt desirable under that gaze of his and now wanted to feel his touch to her body, to take in whatever he brought in loving with her.
The hat, her bag, her shoes, they were all left in a heap on the floor of the narrow hallway, her eyes meeting the lustful look that Ryan gave her as he tugged off his shirt and let it join her things as he closed the space between them, reached out and embraced her. Without saying a word, he tugged at the hem of her blouse and deftly drew it over her head. The slow touch of her hands to his chest, the press of her lips to his skin did not slow him in his claims upon her. She heard the sharp intakes of his breaths as she groped the front of his shorts, misshapen by his erection.
‘That didn’t take long…did it?’ she smiled through their kisses, squirmed as her slacks were pushed down her thighs, Ryan’s hands on her fleshy buttocks to draw her against him as fingers pressed and scratched the base of her spine. ‘Let me get used to you…with what’s happening so quickly!’
‘No, and it’s for the best…for both of us,’ he murmured on pressing his lips to the warm skin of her throat, Stella clamping his hands as she accepted what she was conceding to and with him, so suddenly and now certainly as they shuffled over the cool tiles of the floor and into her bedroom.
She wondered, if only for a moment, if loving with him would end the deep sense of loneliness she so often felt.
Stella lay back on the bed, a hand teasing the swell of her mound, so defined by her high-waisted panties.
“Not long now…” she told him on a soft wondering smile, her hands brushing over his skin until she could touch his trembling prick. He was strong limbed, lean in his body and a band of hair traced a path from his breastbone, over his stomach and onto his belly, finished in that coarse mat of hair that his penis arced out from. “You…you don’t disappoint me…scare me a little, even…in what is happening.”
“Don’t be…don’t be scared…you beautiful wonder…” he kissed, pressing his lips to her breasts and sucking on her hard nipples, straining so hard against the cups of her bra. He traced a path over her belly to then kiss the warm skin of her thighs.
“Wait…wait just a moment, Ryan…wait!” she urged, dismayed by his soft words, his admiration for what she brought to his sight and touch, how he would give full expression of his evident lust for her. She already sensed a passionate and devoted nature in her young lover to be.
Stella rose and reached behind her back, unfastened the soft pink bra that lifted and separated her wonderful round breasts, the lace trim revealing their swell. He scuttled over the bed to join her in exposing them to his gaze and touch, before settling between those wonderful thighs, soon trailing kisses over her belly and legs as he moved to finish her undressing, trailed kisses over her legs until her panties were on the floor, cast aside in his haste.
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