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My friend Jenny is the most delightful lady. In her mid-30’s, like me, she has striking good looks, dark hair and flashing eyes, a wicked grin and a ridiculous bubbly sense of humour that makes her great company. She is also totally scatty, has no idea of the meaning of the word punctuality, and is decidedly unusual.

She has two small children and a figure to die for – tall, slender, supple, willowy with slight but perfect breasts. She dresses superbly, and can afford to, for the family business is extremely successful. Around where we live, in a beach area, pretty much anything goes, but Jenny is always dressed head to foot in Gucci or Armani, and has the kind of casual elegance that allows her to get away with it when others are slopping around in old T-shirts. She comes from a fairly humble background herself but has acquired no airs – I have never heard anybody bitch about Jenny, despite the million dollar beach home, the penthouse in town, or the launch (the boat cost well over a million, but Jenny made the cushions herself). She is just too normal – too nice – to bitch about.

As you can imagine, Jenny and I are good friends although we don’t socialise as families because with Jenny’s wonderful lifestyle comes one enormous drawback – her husband Brian. I suppose Brian must have been attractive once – well, I know he was because I’ve seen the wedding photo’s – but he is certainly not that way now. He is grossly fat, rude, unfriendly and treats poor Jenny like dirt. I stopped for a cup of tea once when he was there and was so appalled by his language and the way he talked to my friend I swore I never would be in the same room as him again. His mother seems to encourage this, and as she lives close by he gets his own way. I wouldn’t like to say whether or not he actually hits poor Jenny – I’ve never seen any signs of it – but the verbal rubbish is quite bad enough.

Although I am careful never to interfere in anyone else’s marriage, I have wondered why she puts up with it. I honestly don’t think it’s the money – I think she really and truly stays with him for the sake of the children. At public events which Brian can’t be bothered with, she is sometimes accompanied by a charming lawyer from the city, and for a while I wondered if he was her ‘consolation’ until I discovered he was gay. It seems that Brian despises him for this but reckons she’s OK with him and it gets Brian out of any need to be even mildly socially acceptable – for example, at public functions. I can’t help going on about him but he makes me so angry – and he makes my skin crawl. The thought of poor Jenny having to sleep with that every night is revolting.

I don’t actually think she likes sleeping with him much either. She led a pretty sheltered life before she met and married Brian, and she knows I didn’t. Over a quiet bottle of wine one evening I suggested that she actually deserved a man who expressed his love for her (thereby breaking my own rule) and she said yes, it would be nice but she could never have an affair. I asked if she were afraid of being found out and she said yes, Brian would kill her, but that it was more a question of what would happen inside her. She felt that if she were to sleep with another man it would break the taboo and she didn’t know what might happen. That was why her architect was safe. He was funny, kind, gentle and thoughtful but totally uninterested in her sexually. As you can imagine, I grieved for my friend.

Brian travels abroad a good deal – he has an international agricultural firm – and I am certain that he is not so considerate to his wife when he is away. I know from Jenny that ‘when he has to have it, he has to have it’ and no-one else has any choice in the matter so I’d be amazed if he were faithful. Those spells when he is away are little holidays for Jenny – you can see her relax, and I see more of her and we enjoy a good few girly evenings once her children are in bed.

It was during one of those evenings that we got around to talking about Bali. I have been there a couple of times, once while travelling and once with my husband, but Jenny hasn’t. She has travelled to the States a lot and around Europe, and even done a safari in Africa (Brian likes shooting things), but he has always refused point blank to go to Asia. ‘Too poor, too backward, too fucking boring’ was how he put it in his typically charming fashion. He valued the market for his products in Japan but sent somebody else there to deal with ‘the slant-eyes’, so Jenny had never gone. We have a fair few things around our house from Thailand and Indonesia, and she was always admiring them and wanting to go.

Anyway, this particular evening she was telling me that in the coming school holidays her parents up North would be taking the boys for eight days, which was the longest she’s ever been without them. Their granddad had been planning all sorts of treats from taking them fishing to four wheel drive treasure hunts around the farm, and as far as I could tell from their grandmother’s intentions which all seemed to revolve illegal bahis around the meals she would cook, they would come back at least twice as heavy!

I thought she and Brian might seize the opportunity for some time together, and so had she, but apparently this had been dismissed with ‘That’s the most stupid fucking idea I’ve ever heard’ and he had declared his intention of going ‘home’ to Eastern Europe to see what sort of a mess was being made of the family interests there. She didn’t want to go, but then, as he said, he hadn’t asked her too – so Jenny was left to her own devices. ‘Sounds like your chance to see Asia,’ I said casually. ‘That’s just what had occurred to me,’ she said. ‘Will you come too – I’d hate to be on my own.’

It hadn’t actually occurred to me to go too, but the time she was talking about was not busy in my own business, and I’d actually set myself the goal of taking a bit more time off every year than I had done in the past – I could feel myself reaching burn-out. I wondered if my husband could come too, but that wasn’t really fair on Jenny. Perhaps he wouldn’t mind? After all, he was as keen for me to take breaks as I was, but his own job only allowed him four weeks holiday a year so there were bound to be times when I was free and he wasn’t. By the end of the evening, we had agreed we should go for it.

As I thought, my husband was only too pleased for me to go and get some R&R after a particularly hectic few months in my business, and while he pronounced himself totally jealous of the idea of Bali we had been there recently enough for him not to mind. ‘Just don’t go back to Thailand without me,’ was his concern. Brian was considerably more difficult, I gathered, but eventually Jenny got a ‘Do what you fucking well like’ after much moaning, and she was happy to take that as permission.

My previous trips had been to the backpacker’s area of Kuta, but this time we thought Sanur would be more in order – the luxury hotel area further out of Denpasar. This was, after all, more about R&R than serious exploration (although I promised Jenny we’d get out to the hills as well).

We decided to travel business class for the eleven hour flight, but share a luxury room so we could at least pretend to be budget conscious. In truth, neither of us fancied sleeping on our own. I do it all the time when I’m travelling on business, and Jenny said it would be funny not even having the boys around.

Travelling with Jenny was, as I’d expected, a scream. I’d booked a shuttle to take us to the airport and, when we arrived to pick her up, she hadn’t even started packing. That took an hour, then just as we left she made us go back to check the alarm was on properly, then as we were leaving again she more or less leaped out of the door to get something else. She came back with a bottle of champagne and two heavy crystal glasses. ‘I’m on holiday,’ she whooped, popping the cork in the back of the minibus and distracting the driver considerably as he set out to make up 60 minutes on the 90 minute drive to the airport.

We were horrendously late, of course, Jenny’s bags were all overweight (even by business class standards) and they relieved her of the bottle at the check-in (but only after she’d drained the contents into our glasses. It was two very giggly women who boarded the Air New Zealand flight that afternoon.


Despite the great start it took me, as it always does, a couple of days to throw off the feeling that I should be at work and start to enjoy the holiday lifestyle. It really annoys me to waste a couple of days like this but that’s the way I am, and I can’t force myself to enjoy my holiday before I’m ready, I guess. Anyway, Jenny was very patient with me, and by the third day we were both unwound and starting to take the excess of food and sun for granted – not to mention the delights of having people waiting on us hand and foot. Homes and husbands seemed a mile away.

We had both had early nights so far – the time difference didn’t help, nor did the fact that we were waking up so early. But the third night we wandered off to the bar after dinner, and enjoyed a couple of cocktails out on the terrace overlooking the sea. We’d been out there for a while when a couple of guys asked if they could join us. I looked at Jenny and she didn’t mind, so we said yes. Their names were Roger and Steve – they came from the UK, so I had something in common with them at least. We had a pleasant chat over our second drink and then Jenny and I decided it was bedtime so we left them to their own devices.

The following day, we met them again on an outing to snorkel at one of the coral reefs. It was a glorious morning, and the long boat trip there and back was worth it – the fish were amazing, and the colours of the coral so bright. On the boat on the way back we sat with them again, and continued the previous evening’s conversation. I had wondered the night before if they were gay, but it turned out Steve was married – the two had been working together in Australia, and had stopped illegal bahis siteleri off in Bali for a few days to break their journey home. We arranged to have dinner together later, and spent another enjoyable evening with them. It was funny, Jenny commented, how happy we were to leave our men-folk behind to come away together, yet we still enjoyed male company.

The following evening after yet another long day’s lazing around (I was getting the hang of this by now) there was actually some entertainment at the resort. There was usually some little thing every night (we chose the place because it wasn’t a big noisy place), but this time they had a band and some local dancing. We sat with the two guys without really planning to, and learned that there had been a mess-up with their tickets. Steve was leaving in the morning, but Roger couldn’t fly until the next day. They were cursing at the thought of the long flight on their own, but it couldn’t be helped. Anyway, Steve was in end-of-holiday mood, and we did hit the champagne a bit – their company was apparently footing the bill, so we didn’t feel in the least guilty.

When the show ended, they started playing some CD compilations of 70’s and 80’s pop. When Roger asked me to dance I said yes straight away. Of course, Steve asked Jenny too, and we hit the floor together. It was a long time since I’d had a good dance, and I really enjoyed it totally selfishly.

As I was dancing I could see Jenny and Steve on the other side of the floor. She kept looking at me every so often almost as if she were seeking re-assurance, checking that it was OK for her as long as I was doing the same thing. I thought at first that she didn’t want to do anything I didn’t in case I told when we got home, but then I realised it was more a sort of fear on her part. She hadn’t been in this situation before in years of marriage, and she didn’t know where the boundaries were dancing with a strange man. Was it OK to take his hand for rock’n’roll? Was it OK to shimmy like that, or was it too much of a come-on? Should she go and sit down for the slow number that had just come on, or was it OK to let him touch her waist while she put her hand on his shoulder?

I’m not sure I was as much help to her as I should have been, because I love dancing and I was in the mood. Roger was a great dancer, not showy but with a good sense of rhythm and we soon struck up a rapport through the old favourites that had me wanting more. When the lights dimmed for the slow number I was happy to stay on the floor and let him hold me lightly but hesitantly, and we talked and laughed as we moved around the floor. Encouraged by this, I could see Jenny doing the same with Ralph, and I noticed the tension was leaving her body as she relaxed and started to enjoy dancing for its own sake.

We needed a break so we took our drinks out on to the veranda to enjoy the cooler air and the moonlight twinkling on the surf. The drinks were fabulous – Balinese rice wine and coconut juice served in half a coconut with ice – very refreshing but not as innocuous as they seemed, as we knew from arrival. On top of champagne they were probably lethal.

‘How are you getting on with Ralph – having fun?’ I asked Jenny when we went to the ladies together. “He’s good company,’ she said. ‘He keeps coming out with all these awful lines which are really funny. Not as good a dancer as your Roger, though.’ ‘I’m having a ball,’ I admitted. ‘It’s so good to dance with a really hot partner again. I’m letting myself go tonight.’ She looked at me as though she wasn’t sure of my meaning, started to say something but then stopped. She finished her lipstick, turned and grinned. ‘Let’s roll,’ she said, and we went back out.

The next set included all my favourite oldies, and of course they played Mustang Sally and I always show off to that one. I’ll look pathetic when I’m, 60, I know, but I can still just about get away with it. Anyway I felt really good and free, and loved it. Jenny had also loosened up considerable and the four of us were probably the wildest on the floor, but didn’t care.

The evening passed really fast, and I think we spent almost all of it dancing. It really was great fun, and Roger and I got to know each other’s moves really well – we actually made very good partners. Steve and Jenny were having fun too, and when I caught her eye several times she threw me that grin again and I could almost see that fat slob of a husband evaporating.

When the band started playing the slow numbers again Roger and I were so in tune there was no nervousness as he held me and we started to dance together more closely than before, his hand in the small of my back, one hand of mine on his shoulder. I could see Jenny and Steve together too, and though she still looked my way it wasn’t with quite the same nervousness as before. As the band struck up Clapton’s ‘Wonderful Tonight’ I said how much I loved that song and Roger responded, holding me a little tighter. I was aware of the hand at my back moving down a little, resting on the canlı bahis siteleri base of my spine, and of him pulling me towards him but I wasn’t offended – I reckoned I’d got to know him well enough not to worry. Even with my arms around his neck and his head touching my hair we were only dancing – or at least so I thought until I felt the occasional touch of something against my belly. I must admit I smiled to myself – the age old reactions still there. And when I looked up at him he must have seen that smile because he brushed his lips against mine tenderly.

Jenny saw that, all right – I saw her looking over at me wondering I think what I would do. She was dancing with Steve in the same way, closely and together but still with the respectable reserve of near strangers. I looked at her, and thought what a stunning woman she was and how much more she deserved out of life than the husband she was stuck with, and thought she should have the joy she was denied. And it was that thought, the thought of the lead I was offering, that made me kiss Roger back as much as my own awakening desire. We kissed for a while, exploring the sensations of each other’s mouths, and when I opened my eyes again it was to see Jenny held tight too, responding to Steve’s advances with clear enthusiasm.


When the band stopped I’m not sure who made the suggestion of a nightcap but I do know that it was not to the bar that we headed but back to our room. I can’t remember either why the men came back to our room rather than our splitting up unless it was that Jenny was still a bit nervous and expecting me to take the lead, but if that was true it didn’t seem that way. The minibar rations sat untouched on the bedside table on both sides of the screen as Roger and I rapidly progressed to the horizontal, and from the noise and the view of the entwined legs at the bottom of the other bed Jenny and Steve were moving even faster. A black bra landed on my face at one point which certainly wasn’t mine – although mine was pushed down in the sort of adolescent fashion I hadn’t enjoyed for years. Roger was teasing my nipples by that point, and I smiled with more than just the pleasure of his touch as Jenny’s underwear was shed.

Her panties obviously went in some other direction for there were no more interruptions before I heard her let out the unmistakable groan that accompanies the sensation of an aching pussy being filled. There was a

shapely leg curled down the side of the bed too and two long male legs beyond and I knew that she had passed the point of no return.

It wasn’t long before I reached that point as well. It had been quite some time since I had known any other lover than my husband, and although I didn’t feel the need as much as I imagine Jenny did, there was still a definitely pleasure in feeling the forbidden fruit of a new cock parting my inner lips and swelling me from within.

I wasn’t paying much attention to Jenny and Steve by then, as you might guess, but from the occasional cry I heard she was clearly happily engaged on her own behalf. Meanwhile, I had my own needs to attend to. After his earlier finesse I was a little disappointed to find that Roger was clearly going to be a wham-bam merchant. On the other hand, it was very different from the lovemaking I regularly enjoyed with my husband and if I was going to be naughty a change was interesting. I was certainly hot enough and eager enough after the evening’s build-up, so when he paused to lift my legs up over his shoulders I happily accepted. Roger was not the biggest I have known but this position allowed me to take everything that was going, and he was certainly energetic. If he had the staying power to match I would be sore in the morning, I thought, as he banged his cock into me, thrusting my bottom against the base of the mattress in a very satisfactory way. And then I stopped thinking altogether as the sensations took over and I abandoned myself to fucking and being fucked like a wild animal.

There is a certain delight in being taken forcefully and used as an object of lust and it was to this that I responded now. I could hear panting, gasping noises and I didn’t know if it was me or Jenny… the air was being driven from my lungs with each thrust and I know I can be noisy… I was biting my bottom lip, taking sharp breaths when he withdrew then feeling his pile-driver cock returning to bury itself up to the hilt in my yielding body. My heels were pressing into his back and my knuckles were white on the bedhead behind me as – uhh – he thrust – uhh – again -uhh – and again -uhhhh. The noise must have been me now, a sort of distant interrupted wailing through the rushing in my ears. Other noises too, the bed thumping, the occasion protest from the springs, the squeak of the legs on the floor and the occasional slap and slurp of his hard flesh slamming into my hot wet body.

This – uhh – might not have been – uhh – what I expected – uhh – but I was away now, my being focused on my pussy and area around from which the most delicious sensations were spreading, filling my whole body, encouraging me to open myself wide, smile as I gasped for air. There was no eye contact between my lover and me, just flesh on flesh, flesh in flesh, his flesh slamming into mine and oh god it was good.

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