Mountain Man – Part 1

It wasn’t a typical summer holiday, but it was my first trip away alone and I didn’t want to  be lounging around a pool, with no one to put sun cream on my back, or sitting at a sad little table for one, not knowing where to look, as couples around me held hands and shared desserts.

No, none of that for me – I was 26, an independent woman and only now on the first rung of my personal career ladder. So, I was going to spend ten days trekking up mountains in Spain with a small group of like-minded people. I’d bought the big ruck sack, the water bottle and dug out my trusty old boots.

I was totally prepared but wasn’t prepared for any action, other than the pounding of my feet over grass, sand and stone. And maybe a glass or two of Spanish Rioja at the end of a tiring day.

But I felt the blood rush around my body as soon as he fixed his blue twinkly eyes on me. S, our English guide had met our group of ten at the airport with his boss, Paul. We made our introductions and he smiled, but his eyes kept wandering back to me.

He wasn’t my usual type at the time – late 30s, shaved head, the healthy tan of someone who spent a lot of time outdoors and a broad and muscly rugby player’s frame. But something radiated from him that made him very sexy.

We settled into our rooms in a small hotel-cum-guesthouse and met later for dinner, followed by drinks in the bar. The large gin and tonics flowed and we all eased into getting to know one another. Then it got to the point in the evening – a habit with me – where I noticed that there were only three of us left. Just S, a woman in her 30s, called Becky, and I remained. I think we all realised this at the same time and Becky (helpfully) announced she was turning in for the night.

S offered to walk me back to my room, but at this point I still hadn’t twigged that he meant he wanted to come into my room. In my drunken haze I just thought it was an odd offer when my room was only a few yards away, but I still nodded.

As soon as my door shut behind us both he leaned in and kissed me and I was powerless not to kiss him back. He was strong and solid (everywhere) and knew just how to choreograph our next moves. He led me to the shower where he hastily stripped off and I copied unquestioningly. Everything seemed to happen in a dream-like haze, enhanced by our tipsy state and the steamy condensation-filled shower cubicle.

We kissed, licked, nuzzled and explored each others bodies through the warm water. I ran my fingertips down his broad shoulders, back and solidly toned buttocks and round the front to his robust and firm cock. He rubbed, squeezed and massaged my breasts before moving his hand down to my pulsating clit.

Without stopping to get dry we moved to the bedroom and I let myself fall on to the bed, now desperate for him to be inside me. I wanted to feel the full weight and strength of his body. He readily obliged and we writhed, soaking wet, still in our steamy haze, even though we were now out of the shower. He pumped me slowly and firmly on top, under me and from behind, never tiring.

His nut brown skin and strapping body made me feel like a pale, petite and lady-like, probably for the first and last time in my life. And his lips were delicious, soft and tasted of strawberries.

It was one of those incidents that remains clearly etched in my memory, despite many years passing since, as all my senses were stimulated – the salty but sweet taste of him, the wet skin, the sound of our kissing and breathing, the beauty of his frame and the smell of wine, sex and sweat. Truly heavenly.

He left in the early hours to avoid any embarrassment the next morning – after all, he was to lead us up hills and mountains for several days. I fell into a deep sleep, in a wet bed, with a smile on my face.

MORE NEXT WEEK…

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