During the late nineteen seventies and early eighties I made the ferry trip between Holyhead in Wales and Dun Laoghaire in Ireland many times, ostensibly on business trips sometimes but more often than not for sightseeing or visiting friends. I had a mobile home or sorts which, like a snail I carried around on my back. Typically it was an old BMC van with a mattress in the back, a combined cooking stove and washing up sink bolted to the wheel arch and a couple of lights, all salvaged from a redundant caravan. Which meant I could look after myself if not exactly in comfort then certainly convenience when necessary. It was a cheap and cheerful, most enjoyable way to travel so far as I was concerned.

During one particular trip to County Meath it rained for the entire ten days; thick green rain which made the little town of Swords even wetter than it might have been and Drogheda very nearly washed away entirely. On the way back I reached the ferry port in record time and to my immense satisfaction there were no delays whatever. Feeling very relieved I rumbled and clattered straight up the ramp and into the ship.

The food in B+I’s restaurant wasn’t bad either, and it was plentiful, especially when the Irish Sea was particularly rough. No I don’t suffer from sea sickness but on this trip there were plenty who did. They would be neither eating anything nor queuing in front of me, which made a nice change.

It was by pure chance that I met the girl, unintentional, I assure you for I’d made no plans of that nature. She brought a plate of something, Irish stew most probably, and sat down at the table behind me. I’d got fish and chips, my usual, and was struggling with a fillet of plaice which covered the whole of the plate. I knew there were some chips underneath it and some peas too ‘cos I’d watched the server putting them there, but for the moment the size of the fish had all but flummoxed me.

She laughed when I burned my fingers lifting it, laughed as it fell back down again, onto the plate. I should have had whatever it is you’re having, I told her, with exaggerated disgruntlement. She laughed again and we took it from there.

She was a nursing sister as it turned out, from the north, from Cookstown in fact, on her way to get specialist training at Dundee Royal Infirmary.

“Why on earth didn’t you fly there?” I asked her incredulously. “You know, Belfast International to Dundee, Riverside, then a short taxi ride and you’re there!”

“Well the airport is miles away from my lodging” she told me. “Very nearly on the other side of the county in fact. Believe it or not it was easier to get on Bus Eirrean and come straight down here”

I could see her point, just. The north still had the Troubles going on then.

“It’s still a bloody long way when you get to Holyhead” I told her “But you ought to be able to get a train to Dundee from there”

I was guessing and I think that mystified her a bit because no-one had ever told the poor girl that Dundee was hundreds of miles from Holyhead. I bided my time, attacked my plaice again and did my best to avoid starting an international incident.

She finished her stew then offered to go back to the servery for some more coffee for both of us. I suppose the fact that the Irish Sea was hurling itself ferociously against the restaurant windows had something to do with the fact there weren’t too many people around us eating and drinking. I watcher her go and noted her size and shape interestedly. She’d be quite a small girl I thought, underneath the damn great overcoat she was wearing.

When she returned she put the coffee on my table then sat down on the chair opposite me.

“That looks cold doesn’t it?” she said with a shiver, watching the grey green heave of the Irish Sea beyond the window.

“It generally gets warmer in here once we get under way” I told her, demonstrating the seasoned traveller that I was.

“Oh, you’ve done this before then, have you?”

“Once or twice!” I nodded and accepted my coffee gracefully.

She’d a small green and gold Triskelle brooch on the lapel of the coat, a generous sprinkling of freckles all across her face and a loosely tamed plait of pale reddish hair. I had to stop myself from staring at her, had to but it wasn’t easy, it wasn’t easy.

Oh and she had matching Triskelle studs in her ears.
………………..

We drank our coffee slowly, gazing at each other over the rims of the cups. She really didn’t look like a nurse to me. She looked more like a leprechaun.

Idly, still trying not to stare I wondered if I looked like a seasoned traveller to her.
…………………

The crossing was rough and a lot of food in the restaurant got wasted. For a while I considered going back for a second helping of fish and chips. I looked at her and she looked at me and, so far as I could see the only things green about her were the brooch and the little studs in her ears.

“You know” she murmured, half to herself, eventually. This is the first time I’ve been out of Ireland and………. it’s the first time I’ve sailed on the sea”
“You’re alright, are you?” I asked her, concerned suddenly that she might be unexpectedly sick.

“Oh yes!” she said “I feel great, fine! Couldn’t feel finer. That’s what is so surprising to me……….”

“Good…..!”

“Yes! I really did expect to be seasick!”

She was a true Coleen, bless her, not yet twenty five years old and already with a medical degree. She told me how she’d worked part time while she’d been at university, how she’d taken anything on offer. It had been pure drudgery, slavery almost, by the sound of it, but then, so much of caring for the sick and the dying can feel like that.

“I once laid out four corpses, all on my own, over one weekend!” she told me with a shiver. “It was so cold in that morgue……..”

“I’ve only ever seen one dead person and that was my grandfather” I told her. “he died of cancer but when I saw him he looked like he was asleep”

Coleen nodded. “After a while they’re not even cold any more” she told me “they lose the chill and the stiffness and go more like sort of wax………”

She paused, looked at me wide eyed, then laughed. “Not getting too morbid for you, am I? I get told off for talking shop sometimes!”

“No, its alright, but you know what I’m thinking?”

“No” she said quietly “I haven’t got to the mind reading part of my training yet……..”

We both laughed at this, after which things got so much easier.

“I’m thinking of going home via Scotland” I said.

I think I wrong footed her momentarily, or perhaps she assumed I lived in Scotland anyway.

“Ok…..” she said carefully “is this like an offer of a lift or a…….a proposition or something?”

“Look at it like this” I said, warming to my subject. “I live in Daventry, in Northamptonshire, right in the middle of England in a straight line eastwards, near enough, from where the ferry gets in. Dundee is up on the right hand side of Scotland, like I said, and a bloody long way from Holyhead. To take you there on my way home would be something like an extra five hundred mile round trip…….”
“How much would you charge me….?” she asked foolishly.

“No” I said “Look, I can’t see how else you would get there”

“By train, you said”

“Which would take probably a couple of days. I think you’d have to get one train into London and another one out again. It’d cost the earth!”

I was making it all up of course. There were to trains from Holyhead to all over the place. Crewe. Birmingham. Even one to Glasgow I found out later, for all the good that would have done her.

“How much would you charge to take me?” she enquired again.

It was a stupidly naive question and she knew it.
………………..

The ferry was late docking in Holyhead. Rough seas and adverse winds but we bumped and banged our way into the quay in the end. Even so, it was past mid day before we were away from there. By late afternoon we’d said goodbye to the borders of Wales and the old A5 with its twisting ancient Roman bends. At seven thirty we pulled into a Little Chef somewhere east of Oswestry, had something to eat and got on the road again after an hour. It was my intention to take the route I knew best back eastwards, park up overnight then turn north onto the good old M1 in the morning. I remembered where there was a quiet pull in off the road from an earlier time. I’d been alone then. This time it was me and her. Coleen, that’s what I started to call her, had already seen, and commented on the arrangements available in the back of the van when we’d put her suitcase in. By the time we stopped for the night I think she was resigned to the idea of sleeping in there with me.

“Theres a sheet on top of the mattress” I told her, “a quilt and several pillows if you want to arrange them” I told her when to turned and scrambled into the back. “And the light switch is there……can you see it?

“Yes!”

The van rocked gently as she moved around, rearranging this and that and settling herself under the quilt. It was going to be tight, I knew but there is more room than you’d think when you tip the front seats forwards out of the way. The quilt is a king size so there is quite a lot of it. Spread loosely it can easily cover everything in the back of the van so, even in midwinter I’d never slept cold, even on my own..
………………

I undid my shoes and slipped them off under the seat, opened the window a fraction to give us some air. The pull in was quiet and tree shaded and there were no other vehicles in it.

After a while she stopped wriggling about.

“You are getting in, aren’t you?” she asked, when I turned in the seat.

“Dead right I am!” I said.

Coleen giggled.

She’d nothing on, I discovered when, wearing only socks and teeshirt, I slid under the quilt.

“This is unexpected” I said softly.

“For me too!” she said, shivering when my arm brushed her shoulder.

“Shall I put the light off?” I asked hoping she’d tell me not to.

“Not yet…..” she said.

Oddly enough neither of us felt the need to do very much straight away. For a while we lay facing each other, she with her bum against the water tank and me with the wheel arch pressing into my back.

“Are you warm enough?” I asked, after a while.

“Yeah…….”

“I left the window open a fraction so we won’t suffocate!”

Coleen wriggled and sat up beside me, appearing like an impudent mermaid amid a fountain of hair.

Oh her body was so pale and slim and looking at the way her hair fell all the way down past her slight, hardly there at all little breasts, got me hard in an instant.

“It’ll be alright!” she said lightly “won’t it”

It was more of a statement than a question, her assuring me rather than the other way round; the confirmation of her willingness which she repeated when she uncovered herself further.

“Course it will!” I said.

She’d darker hair on her pubes, an exuberant splash of it of it, like someone had left a Persian cat down there. We kissed lightly, rather awkwardly at first, too far apart, so we put our arms around each other and did it again properly. Her breasts were as perfect to cup with my palm as they were to look at. Words are inadequate to describe them; they were exquisite.

And while I revelled in her beauty she pushed herself against me lightly, with a casual familiarity, as if we’d known each other for years. Very obligingly she moved her legs apart the moment I reached to touch her there. The Persian cat was softly furred, wetly receptive, quite like a dream.

And, just like a Persian cat, when I stroked it, it purred.

We played with each other for a while, her not too long with me because I soon found out she was very skilled with her hands.

“Hold still and don’t fiddle” I had to instruct her after a while. “You’ll make me cum if you keep on like that”

She laughed lightly, let me go then lay back on the pillows, looked demurely at me and opened her legs.

I had to resist the urge to plunge straight into her. It was difficult, very but resist I did. From the way I was feeling by that time, the way which she, in a few short minutes had got me, I knew our session would not last more than half a minute if I put my cock inside her then.

“Don’t you want to cum?” she asked.

“Course I do!” I told her “but not yet!”

“I do!” she murmured softly. It was not so much a statement as a slight exhalation of breath.

So I stroked the cat again, paying particular attention to it’s nose and ears, feeling it lap and slurp at my fingers, while she sighed and writhed delightedly.

“Go on!” she demanded “Don’t stop….don’t stop!”

I had no intention of stopping, not then, not ever. If anything I went rather faster and harder than I had done before.

There is something about making love in a confined space. Objectives are nearer for a start and when the space begins to move, everso slightly in time with one’s own all the pleasures of so intimate an occasion become enhanced. And when an element of frivolity is introduced, so much the better. Yes the van squeaked and the van rocked and the water in the half full tank close beside us went splish-splosh, affording Coleen, in addition to everything else, an endearing little laugh. I thought of the tea I’d make as soon as we’d done, thoughts wandering wildly between this and that. Outside the Welsh night grew darker, more ancient and sinister. Inside, like a snatch of plainsong Coleen continued to laugh. But she cried a little cry when she orgasmed, a soft, long drawn out little oooh that sounded pleasingly sweet to my ears.

It had taken me no time at all to get her there and very little effort, which made me wonder how much she’d wanted it and for how long.

She made no move to stop me when, after a moment I began to play with her again. This time I knelt to one side of her and used my middle two fingers while she groaned and jerked and urged me to push them deeper. Pressing my left forearm on her belly helped her to come again quickly, this time with an even sweeter little oooh and some very noticeable squirts.

She stayed my hand with her own after that, breathing deeply and shivering a little. Her body was exquisite, like a little doll if I may use that old cliché and seeing her like that brought me back to an urgent stiffness again.

The third time was more urgent, more, energetic, so desperate indeed that it couldn’t last more than a few minutes. She put one foot on my shoulder, against my collarbone while I lay my left arm across her again, low down at the top of her hair. Three fingers together slipped in easily, so smoothly as we pushed and pulled at each other together.

I know she kicked the roof that time; I know I butted it with my head, ‘cos the old van bounced on its springs and practically leapt in the air. Her cum wetted my whole hand and my forearm as well as a goodly portion of the bed. She didn’t ooh or aah that time however. No, as she gushed she let out one almighty scream.

“Ogodd I…..needed that!” she breathed, as soon as she’d got her breath back.

That was when the last part of her defences fell apparently, if she’d had any to begin with that is. She grabbed me and dragged at me, making it abundantly clear that she wanted my cock inside her without delay.

Then both her feet were tickling the roof of the van squeakily to and fro while I rocked and rolled and rogered her rapturously.

We both let ourselves go for the grand finale, she writhing and yelling like something demented and me, struggling at times to remain in place, grunting like a stag in the rut and at one point in the excitement, applying several resounding smacks on both sides of her arse. She was exaggerating, I know, so was I for that matter, but we’d both felt the need to so it really didn’t matter. She was so amazingly wet when I finally lubricated the insides of her that I couldn’t tell if she’d come again with me or without me.

There wasn’t really very much more either of us wanted to do after that. Not straight away. She went as limp as a leaf of last week’s lettuce and when I looked at her she appeared almost as thin. Both of us were covered in what seemed to be an inch deep layer of sweat. For a long while we lay silently thinking, leaving the aftermath of our battle to fade away gradually. I was very nearly asleep when she spoke again.

“If we took it steady we might be able to spend another couple of nights together……..”
She left the statement hanging imponderably in the air.

“Would you like that?” I asked.

Coleen nodded slightly.

“Well I’ve no deadlines to meet” I told her “but I thought you had?”

She raised herself up enough to look down at me, her perfectly perfect little breasts only a few inches from my face. I shall probably die before I see another so perfect a pair.

“My contract doesn’t begin until the second of next month and I have to find somewhere to live before that”

“And there was me thinking” I said “That you were one of those poor Irish girls who’d come over to England after losing a game of Vatican roulette”

“I know one or two who did” she told me seriously.

“But that’s not you, is it?”

“That’s not me” Coleen said.

“What kind of thing are you specialising in?” I asked her eventually. Her reply was so long in coming I thought she’d fallen asleep.

“What do you think?” she asked wriggling against me. “I like stiff things……..”

“I noticed!” I said.

Colleen laughed.

“Stiff dead things!” she corrected. “Hmmm? I’m going to be a pathologist……..”


© Aahlu. George’s Day 2010.

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