Yana the Sensualist

It was only one incident in my busy life, but an incident, so vivid and energising for me. Talking of it to my closest mates met with hoots of disbelief and derision. 'The dream of a sex-starved wanker,' was the sort of comment I drew from them. 'Why not tell it just as it was? You had a one night stand. No need to embellish it.' So the mocking, disbelieving responses flowed.

Consequently, in the absence of anyone willing to take my word, I have resorted to writing it all down. It may read like a story but I'll have to take that chance.

Avoiding the lure of university I had enrolled with a school of journalism, which I hoped would meet my needs. I was very pleased with the way my first year went, and, when I was nineteen, I, along with a few of the more successful students, was allocated a two day task. Each of us was directed to some area where we had to investigate and come up with a written piece which gave a different perspective to that particular area.

I was allocated a small coastal town on the south coast, away from the better known resorts. I was delighted to find myself in a cosy ground floor hotel room that overlooked the sea. Having en-suite facilities made it even more of a novelty for me.

That first brilliant June day I busied myself, interviewing, and note taking, chasing a line that would reveal the town as something more than a seaside resort. That evening, in the roomy dining area, I tucked into a lavish steak and kidney pie, while watching the swaying hips of several ladies who passed my table. Most of those ladies were accompanied. Not that it would have made very much difference. No Don Juan, me.

When it came to the female form, I was very much a 'look and don't know how to get further' type. My only sexual experience up to that time had been two separate, hasty nights with a young lady call Melissa. Two people who were over-eager to lose their respective virginities, neither ending up with any amount of satisfaction. Neither of us sought to come back for more.

There were a couple of unaccompanied ladies in the hotel dining room. One of them, about my age, in a garish floral dress, had her head down the whole time, shovelling steak pie into her mouth as though she hadn't eaten for weeks. The other lady, late twenties early thirties maybe, looked much more composed. Dressed in a dark blue, button-up summer dress, which revealed her shapely tanned shoulders, and didn't disguise a cosy looking bosom, she appeared to be surveying the occupants of various tables.

As I stood up from my table, I wondered if it was ever possible for an unworldly nineteen year old like me to pluck up the courage to even begin a normal conversation with a woman like that. Thinking no more about it, I took a walk along the coast, enjoying the incredible warmth of the evening sun.

When I returned to my room I was so heated that I decided to take advantage of the hotel's small swimming pool. A refreshing twenty minutes swim, was ideal. Later, in a green summer shirt and fawn pants, I wandered down to the lounge for an evening drink. That, there can be no doubt is where my incredible evening actually started.

Sitting on a stool at the bar, sipping at a cooling lager, I was aware of someone moving onto the stool behind me. Then came a disturbing wave of tantalising perfume. Next came a rather husky female voice ordering, "Daquiri, please."

All my instincts somehow informed me exactly who I would find when I turned. I was right. Dark blue dress, smoothly curving shoulders, a hint of slopes hidden beneath a low buttoned neckline, the perfume, all had already caught my breath.

Now, I was looking into a beautiful, lightly made-up face, wide blue eyes, full generous lips that treated me to a half smile, and all framed in masses of raven black hair that reached to her shoulders, as that husky voice murmured gently, "Hello."

Startled as I was by her wanting to talk to me, I was even more taken aback in noticing that there were several stools empty along the bar that she might have chosen. At that particular moment my mind could not absorb exactly how significant the whole situation might be.

I only knew I needed to find my voice as she turned away to receive, and pay for, her drink, I grunted a horribly weak, "Hello."

After taking a sip from her drink, she turned to face me again. Her perfume assailed my nostrils, and my breath shuddered in my throat as the tip of her tongue ran slowly along her upper lip. God, she was gorgeous.

"On holiday?" she asked, her eyes wandered over my face.

I managed to find a stammering voice to tell her why I was there. She looked genuinely interested, "You're still studying? You look too old for that."

She was just being kind, I was sure, but I told her I was only nineteen, anyway. Her mouth twisted appreciatively, "Well, you certainly look older than that." She glanced across the lounge, before suggesting, "We're rather out in the open here. Should we sit in one of the booths?"

I had earlier noticed the varying sized booths along one wall of the lounge. The smaller ones I had thought then looked like rather intimate retreats, and it was towards one of these that this lady led me now. Was I entering some kind of dream? Should I have felt any worry that this fabulous looking lady was paying me so much attention?

The phrase 'Never look a gift horse,' came into my mind. Just be glad of the company, I told myself. Yet I couldn't help worrying that I would say something immature, something that would reveal to her how far out of her league I was.

As she eased around the table to reach the leather bench seat against the wall, I couldn't take my eyes of her trim shapely buttocks as her dress pulled tightly over them. She sat and as I, uncertainly, pulled out a chair to sit opposite, her head shook, wafting a strand of hair across her face. "No, no," she said, patting the leather beside her, "sit beside me. I promise I don't bite."

Breathing was definitely going to be a problem, but, trying to show a trace of positivity, I slid in beside her, so aware of those blue eyes watching me. As soon as I was settled, closer to her than I had expected, she said, "You can call me Yana. And I will call you--?"

"Brad."

"A good manly name," she said, her face was very close to mine.

I managed to ask if she was on holiday, and she told me that she actually lived just along the coastline. Her perfume filled my head with crazy thoughts, like what must it be like to possess such an alluring woman. I leaned back slightly.

Her eyes showed that she had detected my movement, but all she said was, "And what exactly are you studying?"

When I told her, she flung back her head and gave a tinkling laugh. "You want to be a journalist?"

"I want to be an author-- I thought journalism could be a helpful step."

Her head nodded, and she swept another stray strand of hair back from her face, "Coincidence, it's remarkable. That's exactly how I started."

"You're a journalist?" At least we could have something to talk about. That made me feel much more comfortable.

Her mouth pouted a little before she said, "I dabble in all kinds of writing—I have a degree in psychology—so, much of my writing is based on studying people."

"In what way?"

"Oh, just by observing them, their body language, their levels of confidence. Pure observation."

That took away some of my comfort. No doubt she will have already recognised my uneasiness. As though reading my thoughts, she said, "Don't look so worried. I've no clear picture of you." She paused, and then she added, a mystical, "Yet."

To suppress my unease, I asked, "How else do you study people.?"

"By asking them questions in a subtle way," Her blue eyes were fixed firmly on mine as she went on. "I might learn about their attitude to work. Do they feel happy in their job? If not, what would they rather do?"

For a moment her eyes looked around the lounge. Looking for better company, I wondered.

"I'm particularly interested in how partners come together. I'm fascinated by the way men and women select each other. It's not always physical attraction." Those blue eyes locked on mine before she went on. "But I think it's important."

Her tone was so avid that I struggled to find something to say, finally managing, "And people are willing to talk about there lives to you?"

"As I said, I have to be subtle. Essential when you are asking someone about their sexual proclivities, for instance."

Fascinated, I could not stop myself from asking, "You have no problem asking such questions?"

Now her eyes really fixed on me as she answered, "I have absolutely no inhibitions about sex." I was momentarily transfixed by the firmness with which she made that statement. "In fact I'm rather partial to it."

Like some hopeless adolescent I could not prevent my eyes from dropping to the slight suggestion of cleavage at the neck of her dress. Maybe that provoked my next thought. Just what would it be like to kiss those luscious lips?

But I could not take that searching gaze. It was as though she was reading my mind. I had to look away.

"Would you mind if I asked you whether you have a girl friend?"

I hadn't, not since Melissa. So her next question had my face flushing up and I could feel it. "How many girl friends have you—shall we say—slept with?"

"Am I being interviewed?"

She gave me a kindly smile, "I'm sorry if that's what it felt like. No, I'm strictly in relaxation mood tonight. But I'm always being nosey."

So what could I say? Should I make up some bravado response? No, she would see though that. She was a psychologist, and maybe could read minds. My lack of immediate response, and doubtless the colouring of my cheeks prompted her to say, "Have I embarrassed you?" As she said it she placed a cool hand over mine where it was on the table. Not wanting to appear totally dumb I told her the absolute truth. "Only two sessions with a girl called Melissa." I didn't add, 'All too fast, then over.'

Her head nodded knowingly, but her hand remained covering mine. As though she was reading my mind again Yana's question hit into my thinking. "When you did it, was it satisfying?"

How long had we been in each other's company? Ten, fifteen minutes, at the most, and here we were talking about my sex life. I felt I could calm myself by asking a question of her. "Are you married?"

A quick glance away, and then her eyes were back on me as she replied, "Once, many moons ago."

Now, I felt I could ask the question that had tumbled into my mind a couple of times, and which, I hoped now, would somehow lighten the situation. "Do psychologists read minds?"

Once more she sat back with that ringing laugh, as she shook her head, "Most of the time the answer would be 'no', but I have been able to detect at least one thought that has passed through yours."

Please, God, surely not .

"And that is--" Was that a teasing look in her eyes now? "-'What would it be like to kiss her? Am I right?"

Brad could only look pathetically into those blue, blue eyes, as she leaned in close to him, and gave him a gentle peck on the cheek before asking, "Brad, one thing I cannot read is how old you think I am."

Well, at least I could answer that, "I thought maybe twenty nine, around that."

Yana looked pleased with that, "That definitely earns you a kiss. I'm thirty three, Brad." Her head shook and a slight smile played at the corners of her mouth as she went on, "Oh, Brad, your face gives so much away. Right now, I can read something else in your mind."

Wondering whether I should start to be worried, but not really sure of anything since her offer of a kiss, I asked, "Can you really?"

Her head nodded assuredly, "Oh yes, you are wondering 'Why is this older woman bothering with me?' Am I right?"

Feeling so vulnerable and out of my depth with this knowledgeable woman, I admitted that she was correct and asked, "Just why am I getting your favours?"

She smiled and raised a hand to briefly touch my cheek, "I thought that might be it, but I like the way you've phrased it. Can you, for the time being, just see yourself as my chosen companion for the night? I'll explain my whole character later in the evening."

Later in the evening? How much later? What was she expecting of me? She would surely find what a hopeless character I was with the opposite sex.

Once again she broke into my thoughts, "Anyway, your kind observation about my age deserves a real kiss. Would you like that?"

My mind whirling with the prospect of what she had just offered, I let my eyes travel worriedly around the lounge. There were a number of people sitting close. But Yana's voice brought my thoughts back quickly, "Oh, too obvious in the lounge."

Then her eyes really held me as she added, "You have a room here?"

My room? She would come to my room? A shiver ran over my skin, whether it was anticipation or me being a nervous wimp, I couldn't say. But I managed to tell her that it was on the ground floor.

Her face lit up, "Now that would be an ideal place to receive your kiss with total privacy, wouldn't it?"

I nodded numbly. Was I stepping too far here? Or was I daring to expect too much?

Yana was sliding out of her seat, "Just stay there a moment," she said, and walked with a seductive sway up to the bar. My eyes nervously scanned the lounge. There were one or two couples sitting, but nobody appeared to be taking any notice of us. Then Yana was coming back, clutching an uncorked bottle of white wine.

She gave me a a huge smile as she said, "Just a little refreshment. Right, lead the way, Brad."

Already the production of the wine suggested more than just the proposed kiss. Feeling that my legs were going to give way under me, I got to my feet, bumping against her as I straightened. There was a momentary thrill of a soft breast against my chest, and then I was walking out of the lounge, with Yana alongside me.

I'll never know where my mind was during the next three minutes, but I only seemed to regain consciousness as my room door closed behind us, and Yana murmured, "Pleasant room."

There was still evening light coming through the window, but Yana walked confidently across the room, to the small dressing table where two tumblers stood. As I stood slightly aghast at my own immobility, she poured wine into each glass, and held one out to me, while taking a small sip from her own.

When I shook my head, she put the glasses down, and said, "Ah, yes, you're waiting for your kiss." She turned to the window, and saying, "Best shut out any prying eyes," she drew the curtains, and cleared the resultant gloom by switching on a bedside light. God, she was so confident in everything she did. It could well have been her room.

She, a moving vision, came towards me where I stood against the wall. Then that vision, that delectable body, was pressed against me, as she raised her mouth to mine, whispering, "I always keep my promises."

The next moment I was lost in the sheer wonder of our mouths locked together, her tongue immediately probing for mine. For this part I could respond, French kissing was not new to me, but never had I experienced such oral tingling, a glow that spread through my limbs, and I wrapped my arms around her.

I dared to half open my eyes, and saw that hers were closed. Her hands clutched at my shoulders, sending sparks through my shirt. Was she really enjoying my kiss? At that moment, without breaking the kiss, her body eased back, her left hand closed on my right and raised it.

The next second I found my hand sliding into a mysteriously unbuttoned gap in her dress, and gliding over the deliciously smooth roundness of her right breast. Did she really want me to do this?

My mouth on hers must have registered some element of my surprise, for she briefly broke the kiss, and whispered, "I'm all for skin on skin, Brad. Is that all right?"

All right? It was just bloody amazing, but I could only nod my spinning head. My fingers had just begun to trace over the gorgeous swell, lingering over the fragile nipples, when her right hand reached for my left. This time she was urging it almost straight across, and once again my hand was finding a gap in her dress, and suddenly I was stroking the most incredible smoothness of her thigh.

Again she broke the kiss to murmur, "Oh, yes, Brad, just stroke me. Up and down. You have lovely touch."

Now I knew, for certain, I was headed for something wonderful, and my pants bulged with the renewed excitement of it all. I stroked upwards, and found my fingers touching pubic hair unfettered by any panties. Had she been so prepared for this?

My whole body was shaking with the shock of it all. To add to this, her fingers were now working on the buttons of my shirt. In no time she had pushed it away from my shoulders. It couldn't drop away because of the position of my hands.

However, several things were happening, quite apart from my pleasure at having Yana's more intimate areas under my fingertips. Her hands, having pushed my shirt away, were now roaming, open palmed, up and down my chest. Her action was sufficient to increase the pressure in my pants. But I was sure that the work my hands were doing was producing extra pressure and movement of her lips and tongue.

With the kiss broken she leaned back and looked into my face, no doubt reading the passion that had to be showing there. In her case, I was sure there was a shadowing of those blue eyes, but when she spoke, a teasing smile came with it. "I thought it was just going to be a kiss?" She laughed then, before adding, "We've made a good start. Brad, you're going to find that I'm all for skin on skin. Hands, feet, bodies, whatever, if they are coming together that is the nearly the ultimate."

Having touched her so intimately my confidence was beginning to rise, and as, with one finger, I scrubbed at her nipple, my other hand moved faster on her thigh, occasionally bumping up into her pubic area. I admitted in a firmer voice than I had been able to use up to this point, "It is good," And as an afterthought I added, "Thank you."

"Don't thank me. We've only just begun." I was aware of her fingers unfastening my belt buckle, and sliding my pants zip down. My breathing had stopped, I was sure. Tension fused my whole body. Just where was this going? Was she going to let me—?

Her voice broke into my thoughts, "Before I go any further I have to ask you another personal question."

"Which is?" I asked, in a choking voice, as I guessed she had pulled my boxers clear of my erection, and I awaited that first touch of her fingers on my penis.

"Has any woman ever taken this—" And her fingers were excitingly there, stroking lightly over my erection,-" in her mouth?"

She laughed at what she read in my face, "Oh, I've shocked you. So I guess the answer is 'no.'"

Shock was hardly the word for what her question had provoked in me. I had heard others boast about 'blowjobs', but I had never even dared think about it.

"Then may I be the first?"

How would I be able to control my impulses? I just had to warn her, "What if a cum too quickly?"

I had enjoyed the gentle sound of her laughter, but I couldn't understand why she would laugh now, as she said, "Brad, that is exactly what I want you to do, and in this instance the sooner the better." Her fingers ran along my throbbing erection, "This," she said quietly, "needs to have the tension removed, swiftly and cleanly, and then we can consider what should happen next."

The idea of spurting my seed into that delicate mouth was just too overpowering. "But it will—"

Her face was very serious now. " No 'buts', I want you to listen very carefully to what I say, because in a moment I'll have my mouth rather too full to speak." Her smile returned, but the image still appalled me even as it teased my curiosity. I recalled my short lived slide up into Melissa's vagina, how different could this be?