Remembering Roxy – my new book!



Roxy is a modern, independent, kick-ass woman, who hides a secret desire—she likes a bit of spice in the bedroom. Will she ever meet a man who can satisfy her desires, without expecting her full submission?

Oliver is a man who loves some kink in his life, but doesn’t want to be tied down by a possessive woman. He also has a secret life that doesn’t bode well for a long-term relationship.

When they meet the attraction between them is immediate and electrifying. They are both amazed by their chemistry. But Oliver’s secret life takes an unexpected turn and threatens their relationship as well as his life. Can they find each other again? Or will their relationship be doomed to failure?

Publisher’s Note: This adult romance contains elements of danger, action, adventure, power exchange and sensual scenes. If any of these offend you, please do not purchase.


We didn’t have much serious conversation. After all I could hardly ask about the price of gold when I was tied to the bed and having my backside spanked could I?

Excerpt 1:

I wandered out into the kitchen, still naked except for the stockings—but at least now with a clean face and teeth. I wasn’t a person who was shy in front of a lover, even in the cold light of day. I wasn’t perfect, but I was comfortable with how I looked. In front of me, at the stove, was a lovely pair of naked buttocks—well toned. Oliver clearly uses the gym a lot. He turned and smiled. He was wearing an apron to protect his tackle from a splattering of fat from the bacon.

“Like the informal breakfast wear. Come and take a seat.” He pointed to the kitchen stools. “Unless your behind is too sore to sit. In that case you’re exempted from sitting. You’re permitted to eat standing up.” He was having fun with me.

“Oh I think I will be able to sit—carefully.”

“Let me look.”

I turned around to give him a view of my bum. I’d already checked in the bathroom mirror and knew the marks wouldn’t last long—but I kind of felt they were a badge of honour. Stripes I received voluntarily, which excited me, by a man who excited me.

He ran his hand over my bottom. “Not too bad. No regrets?”

“None at all.”

I sat down carefully, but any soreness was only temporary. Oliver placed a steaming mug of coffee in front of me. “You do drink coffee, I hope. I don’t have any tea in the flat.”

“That’s fine.”

“Bacon sandwich?”

“Sounds delicious. For some reason I feel very hungry this morning.”

“I always like a girl who has a good appetite.” He gave me a wicked look. “I’m afraid I’ve plans for the rest of the weekend. But I’ll drop you off home after breakfast. I hope we can get together again very soon.”

I have to admit I was a little disappointed our date appeared to be over. But hey, no point in rushing a guy like Oliver. Any pressure and he would probably run for the exit. I wasn’t completely naïve about men like him. He probably had women all over the place. At least he didn’t wear a wedding ring.

I did the walk of shame back to my flat, knickerless, with laddered stockings, and in a sexy dress and heels. Anyone seeing me would know what I had been up to last night.

Oliver got out of the car and opened the passenger door for me, taking a look, I noticed, between my legs as I levered myself up from the seat.

“You know you really ought to wear knickers with this dress.”

I grinned. “Perhaps I’ll stop wearing them, just in case someone wants to rip them off me.”

He kissed me. “Bye, Roxy. It’s been a great night. I’ll catch you at work next week and we can fix something up. Enjoy the rest of your weekend.”

Then, with a cheery wave, he was gone. I took off my shoes and walked barefoot up the stairs to my place. My toes were still sore from the previous evening. My neighbour, a single guy of around forty, grinned at me as I reached the top of the stairs.

“Rough night, Roxy?”

I smiled, but said nothing.

“So, Miss Legal from the 11th, you didn’t exactly rush to get here. I detect a little stubbornness in your character. Or do you wantme to tan your hide again?”


Excerpt 2:


I laughed to myself as the lift door closed. I liked spunky women. Women who weren’t afraid to open their mouths and say what they thought. This one – Roxy – was definitely intriguing. She was pretty hot, too.

I was glad we had met at Temptation. It removed the doubt that she liked some kink in her life. Women didn’t go to places like that without a partner unless they are curious about kinky practices, in my experience. If we had met at work I would have had to do some homework about the type of woman she was, and what were her tastes.

I’m not against vanilla relationships. I’ve had a few in my time. But my proclivities definitely veer towards the more exotic practices. I like women who challenge me and excite me—not shy, timid ones. I’ve no intention of getting involved in anything serious right now—especially with everything that’s going on in my life—but I like regular kinky sex, and I prefer it to be with someone I know and trust. Okay, I don’t know and trust Roxy yet—but I’ve every intention of finding out more about her.

I suppose I could be called a bit of a player, but I’m honest about my intentions. I don’t lead women on with false expectations. I try to let them know I’m just after some hot sex and fun. I’m prepared to show them a good time—wine and dine them—but if they’re after an engagement ring, then they’re wasting their time.

That’s not to say I treat women badly, because I don’t. I’m honest about my intentions and I don’t lead them on with false expectations. I treat them with respect, and I hope they will do likewise. I know men like me aren’t too popular with certain sections of society, but I can’t be what I’m not. This is me. People must simply take me or leave me.

As I travelled up to my office in the lift I planned Roxy’s seduction in my mind. I was going to enjoy this, I was sure.

“Are you sure the pics haven_t made their way on to the Internet?” Twitter


I’ve just had my first review on Amazon for Remembering Roxy.

5.0 out of 5 starsWho Says Bankers are Boring?

29 June 2018 – Published on

I thought I was going to be reading a simple straightforward spanking romance story when I picked this book but what I got was a first rate one, woven into a very good counter-terrorism plot. Roxy and Oliver both work for the same bank but they first meet in what they refer to as a kink club. They are both open and honest about their individual wants and needs and what develops is a very erotic and exciting Dom/sub relationship. The scenes they share are very graphic and extremely hot. However, Oliver has a secret that he does not initially share with Roxy and it causes some separation issues. This is the counter-terrorism twist. Make no mistake, though this story is short it is jam packed with spankings, sex, and action. Not to be missed! 5 Stars
I voluntarily reviewed an advance reader copy of this book.



Amazon Author Page:



Of All The Bars…(An erotic short story)



She was sitting on a bar stool at the opposite end of the bar. Still. Sensual. Sophisticated. Beautiful. Heart-stoppingly beautiful. Alone. She reached out and picked up her cocktail glass, tilting it towards her lips. As she did so she watched me. Maybe she thought that the distraction of holding the glass in front of her face would hide the direction her eyes were scanning. But I was observant. You don’t spend years as a private investigator and not learn how to observe your fellow human beings.

She realised I had caught her eye. Lowering her glass she gave a half smile, before turning away. I was already intrigued and more than interested in meeting her. My two days of business had exhausted me—meeting after meeting with very little pause. I was ready for a little playtime. I picked up my drink and headed over to where she was seated.

On the way I considered my opening remark—nothing glib or corny. I settled for the tried and tested, “Can I buy you a drink?” She looked up at me with big brown eyes and replied with a simple, “Thank you.”

It was hard to take my eyes from her perfect lips—luscious and inviting. My cock was moving ahead of my brain and the anticipation of an evening, maybe a night, with such a woman was causing some movement down there.

“Is this your home town?”

She looked up from under those long lashes. “No, I’m just passing through. I fly out tonight.”

“Me, too.” I didn’t ask where she came from. I didn’t want to know. I was content that she was here, tonight, and sitting next to me. I never even asked her name. The anonymity of a city far from home made me bold and adventurous. How many men had thought that, and come to grief because of it? I didn’t care. The bulge in my pants was almost certainly sending a message all by itself. I wanted this woman, and I would be damned if I would let the opportunity pass.

I went to push her fresh cocktail a little closer to her at the same time as she reached out for it. Our hands touched. I swear an electric current passed between us.

“You’re very beautiful—probably the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. But I guess you hear this all the time.”

She smiled, but didn’t reply. Instead she placed her hand on my thigh. I nearly shot off the stool, not expecting her to respond quite so keenly. My body was throbbing with need. She knew exactly the effect she was having on me.

I had three hours before my flight—enough time for dinner and…I dared to hope.

“Would you like dinner?”

After a brief pause, she spoke, in a soft, dusky voice that primed me even more. Would I be able to sit comfortably during dinner?

“I wish I could. But I have to leave for the airport very soon. I don’t suppose you would consider skipping dinner and going straight for the fuck, would you?”

I nearly fell off the bar stool, but recovered my composure and found my voice.

“What did you…where could we…?” I couldn’t seem to complete a sentence.

She smiled—a soft, seductive, smile. The way I was feeling I could almost take her here on the bar. She picked up her purse and took my hand.


I followed obediently. The devil himself might have tried to drag me back, but he wouldn’t have succeeded. My mind was totally consumed with this exotic woman and what she was offering. She led the way to the women’s powder room. It was empty. Inside she turned the key in the lock. We were in the section with mirrors, a counter, and stools in front, where women go to repair their makeup.

Our bodies crashed together, lips parted, tongues entwined. I held her in a tight bear hug, my hands roaming over her body like a drowning man seeking something, anything, to hold on to. I pushed her backwards towards the counter. I needed to be inside her before I exploded.

She groaned. It seemed her need was great too. I reached down her grey pencil skirt and pulled it up from the bottom until it was bunched around her waist. Underneath she had stay up stockings and dainty, black, lace panties. This time she assisted by pulling them down and stepping out of them, not even removing her black, strappy, heeled shoes to do so.

I pushed her on to the counter, my fingers reaching for her pussy. She was soaked. Just a few strokes of the fingers were sufficient to release a series of quiet groans. I could wait no longer. Pushing her thighs apart I released my rigid cock and plunged into her. If I had been religious I would have said a prayer of thanks right then. Instead I concentrated on not coming too soon.

As if she wanted deeper penetration she raised her legs from the counter and lifted them on to my shoulders. I plunged as far as I could reach into that hot little pussy. All the stress and tiredness of the last two days drained away like the tide receding from a pebbly beach. I felt at that moment that I was king of the world. Nothing was beyond me. We fucked as though this was the last time either of us would fuck on this earth. At least it felt like that.

I reached down, and with my thumb I massaged her clit. Her groans became louder and she dug her nails into my shoulders. It seemed she was nearly there. A few more thrusts and she began to tremble.

“Oh God, oh fuck…” I felt her pussy clamp around my cock as she reached her climax. Thrusting a few more times I exploded inside her. I groaned, a deep groan that seemed to travel from my groin to my mouth. I felt drained, but intensely satisfied. It was the kind of fuck I hadn’t had for a long, long time. I leaned forward and kissed her intensely.

We straightened ourselves up, and she applied some fresh make up.

“You go out first. I’ll follow in a moment. See you back at the bar.”

I unlocked the door and strolled back to the bar, waiting for her to appear. Then waited some more. She didn’t come. I returned to the ladies powder room, but there was no sign of her. To the right of the door was the emergency fire exit, leading out onto the street. I noticed the door slightly ajar. She was gone.

I returned to the bar and ordered another whisky, sorry that I hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye, or even ask her name. She was a woman I wouldn’t forget in a hurry.

It was about ten minutes later that my phone buzzed with a message. I took a look. One of my meetings today had been with a man whose wife had left him and he was desperate for me to track her down. His message included some relevant information about her, plus a recent photograph. My heart speeded up. There, on my screen, was the woman I had just fucked. I couldn’t believe it.

Had I been set up? I didn’t know. Of course I would now withdraw from the case, but I wouldn’t cite the real reason. I’d probably lose my licence if the guy were to discover what had happened, even though I was entirely innocent in this case. At least I now knew the woman’s name. Would I try and track her down? Or would I file her face in the ‘Fucks to Remember’ file in my head? I had no idea right now.

Free Copy of SONGBIRD – an erotic romance

Her voice was sultry, throaty and reeked of cigarettes, whisky and dirty sex


If you haven’t read my erotic romance book, SONGBIRD, now is the chance to get yourself a FREE copy through Instafreebie. Just click on the link below.


Harry is a successful 36-year-old Dom who has had many transient relationships with submissive women, and is not looking for a permanent relationship – until he sees and hears a beautiful young woman singing in a club in London.  The woman sang with a throaty and angst-filled voice that suggested a dissolute lifestyle, but had the face of an angel and a body made for sin.  Harry fell head over heels for Pascale, the beautiful songbird, and was determined that she would be his.  Pascale, however, has had a difficult childhood with her mother’s brutal lover, Gaston, and escaped his clutches with the aid of Louis, her old pianist, and when Harry meets her she is traumatised by her experiences.  Eventually he begins to break through the barrier that Pascale has erected around herself, but is wary about dominating her, even though she seems to him to have submissive tendencies.  He is afraid of digging up disturbing and distressing images from her past.

His friend, Jake, the owner of the nightclub, is locked into a sterile and dead marriage, but cannot escape due to the financial hold of his wife and her father, who could bankrupt him if they so wished.  He has a fun-filled, kinky relationship with a young woman who works at the club, but is terrified of his wife finding out about it and depriving him of access to his darling daughter, April, as well as bankrupting him.

Harry and Jake share Dom tendencies, but they also share seemingly insurmountable problems to be with the women they wish to make their own.

Here’s the first page of the book:

The voice coming from over by the piano was sultry, throaty and reeked of cigarettes, whisky and dirty sex. I looked up from my glass of single malt and swivelled around on the bar stool to see if the reality matched the image now placed firmly in my brain. I expected to see a train wreck of a woman, whose dissolute appearance matched her voice, but the woman before me was no more than mid twenties, with long, sleek, dark brown hair and the face of an angel. I did a double take, unable to believe that the voice and the woman I saw before me belonged with each other.  Perhaps she was miming? If she was, she was damned good at lip-synching. She was singing the Billie Holiday song, Solitude, with all the angst of the original, accompanied only by a piano; played by an elderly black man.

The woman leaned casually on the piano, with one arm resting on its lid, and the other holding the microphone. She was wearing a simple red shift dress that clung to a lusciously curved body, and which ended mid-thigh to reveal long, elegant legs, and she had her eyes closed as she sang. Her hypnotic singing and with a body that every red blooded male in the club that night would love to touch, meant that, by mid song, all talking in the place had been stopped.

Reviews on Amazon:

“De Vine has a unique way with words, she knows how to draw you in and keep you reading until the very end. The beautiful cover captured my attention and I couldn’t put this down once I started it. In parts of this story I could feel Pascale’s emotions as she tries not to let Harry into her past. This is definitely one of my favorite stories. I cannot wait to see what De Vine comes up with next.”

“This story kept me captivated and on the edge of my seat as the life of Pascale unfolds.”

“Not your run of the mill D/s or BDSM book. The descriptive dialogue is the classic word painting, and this author does it brilliantly.”

“This was a wonderful love story that delved deeply into the characters feelings and emotions. I liked the way each character had their own chapter with their point of view. Pascale, the songbird was closed and fearfull but with love and support became stronger and more self confident. The secondary characters had their own story. This touching story was drew me in and didn’t let go until the conclusion.”

“Songbird was amazing and I adored it! It is a fun sexy story that will really have you on the edge of your seat wanting more!”

the face of an angel and a body made for sin

For your FREE copy, go to:

News about my next book…



Sorry I’ve been absent for a while. I wasn’t well, but am now becoming better with each day. I’ve written an erotic romance, which has been accepted by Blushing Books, and I hope it will be published in the near future. I don’t have a cover picture yet, so I have used the rather saucy picture above. The new book is likely to be called Remembering Roxy, (although there’s always a small chance it will be changed before publication date) and here is the blurb and a couple of snippets from the book. (Warning: This is a BDSM book, between a loving couple, and contains references to spanking as well as some explicit language.)


Roxy is a modern, independent, kick-ass woman, who hides a secret desire—she likes to be spanked. Will she ever meet a man who can satisfy her desires, without expecting her full submission?

Oliver is a man who loves some kink in his life, but doesn’t want to be tied down by a possessive woman. He also has a secret life that doesn’t bode well for a long-term relationship.

When they meet the attraction between them is immediate and electrifying. But Oliver’s secret other life stops their relationship in its tracks. Can they find each other again? Or will their relationship be doomed to failure?


He fastened a silk scarf around my eyes, before spinning me so I was disorientated. I heard his voice from behind me. “Take everything off—except the heels. Leave those on,” he growled. Soon my clothes littered the floor. “Now dance,” he commanded.

The music was a slow jazz number, very mellow. I ground my hips to the sound of a sensual sax, bending and swaying to the gentle rhythm. I had a slight smile on my lips as I anticipated what was to come. I delighted in winding him up very slowly.

I couldn’t see him, but I knew he would be sitting in the leather chair, probably sipping on a glass of whisky. He liked these little displays of mine. He liked choreographing them and controlling my movements. He liked his power over me and I handed it to him voluntarily.

“Move that sexy little arse of yours. Show me what you can do. Be my private dancer. Make me want to fuck you without mercy.” I swayed and undulated my hips, running my hands up and down my body, knowing his excitement would be mounting until he could resist me no longer. How I loved to torment him. And how he made me pay, deliciously, for it.

“Enough.” I stopped immediately. He reached out and ran his palm down the curve of my back and over my bottom. “Bend over.” I did as he asked and was rewarded by his hand slipping between my thighs and stroking my pussy. “You’re so wet already. So sexy. You’re my little slut, aren’t you?” From him that was a term of endearment. The more I was his slut the more he loved it. His touch made me groan with need. He grabbed me by the arm and pulled me down, over his lap. As my feet left the floor the shoes fell off with a clatter and lay at his feet. They wouldn’t be needed further tonight. My behind would be lathered and then I would be fucked – hard – just as I loved it.


As I walked along the corridor to my desk in the open part of the office, I received a couple of strange smiles and looks from co-workers, as I smiled and said good morning. Then I saw my desk. In the middle was a basket of white roses—about thirty blooms in all. It was enormous. I stopped dead and the men who occupied cubicles on either side of mine stood and applauded.

“Well you must have impressed someone over the weekend,” said Ben Short.

I coloured up and looked on the basket for a card. There was nothing.

“You mean you don’t know who sent them?” That was from Graham Jones on my other side.

I decided to play it cool. “Well it could be one of many of my admirers. I really couldn’t say.”

There was no way I could work with my desk almost entirely covered in flowers, so I retrieved a small vase from my bottom drawer, cut off a few blooms to place on my desk, and put the basket containing the rest on the floor, in the corner of the cubicle, out of the way, so they wouldn’t trip me up each time I got up.

Pretty soon the office filled up, meetings went ahead, and documents were studied. The novelty of my flowers dropped from the discussion topics. Of course they must have been from Oliver. Who else could they be from? But why no message with them? Obviously he wanted to keep our date a secret, which didn’t bother me in the slightest. But he could have put an enigmatic message that wouldn’t have identified himself to anyone but me. Still, message or no message, it was a very sweet, if slightly over the top gesture.

I passed the morning with the delicious perfume of the roses in my nostrils. Engrossed in checking a contract, I almost missed a text flashing on my mobile, sitting on top of my desk in silent mode. When I glanced over I saw Oliver’s name on the screen. I picked it up immediately.


Oliver: Hope the roses arrived this morning.

Me:       Oh, they were from you? There was no note.

Oliver: So who did you think they were from?

Me:       I made up a short-list of about three.

Oliver: And was I at the top of that list?

Me:       Well you were pretty near the top.

Oliver: I see. Perhaps I didn’t tan that hide of yours enough on Friday?

Me:       I’m sitting quite comfortably this morning, so perhaps not.

Oliver: I’m wearing a rather nice black leather belt with my suit today. Do

I need to come down at lunchtime and remind you a little more

severely, and ensure you have to stand up all afternoon?

Me:       On reflection, you are definitely at the top of the list. In fact, you

were the only one on the list for last weekend. So I guess I should

thank you for the roses. Did you buy up the shop’s entire stock?

Oliver: You’re welcome, and no. But I do like to make grand gestures.

Me:       Of course the whole legal department is agog and wants to know

which director I’m fucking. They know no one on this

floor could afford such an extravagant gesture.

Oliver: And did you satisfy their curiosity?

Me:       No. I don’t kiss and tell.

Oliver: Good girl. Well I have work to do in order to pay for those roses.

Me:       Me too. Thanks again.

Oliver: Bye then.

Me:       Bye.

I will post more details when publication date is known. In the meantime, Issue Number Two of my magazine-style newsletter, Rachel’s Retreat, is now available. Lots of interesting snippets to read, plus some humour and a decadent recipe. Don’t miss it. Simply send your email address to I only bring them out quarterly, so your Inbox won’t be swamped.

Rachel's Retreat-3

Rachel’s Retreat

Rachel's Retreat FB promo-2


Hello readers, friends and fellow writers,

 I decided that I wanted to launch a newsletter, but I didn’t want an ordinary newsletter. I decided that what I should produce would be something between a newsletter and a magazine. So I have produced a 6 page pdf called Rachel’s Retreat. It’s a restful, relaxing place, where you can read snippets of work I am currently writing, the odd recipe (the one in the first issue is the positively orgasmic recipe for gin and blackberry cupcakes! What a fabulous combination. If I could I would make some and send you one each! Along with a suitable cocktail of course.)

 Then I have some fascinating facts about writers. Now which writer do you think collected male blue butterfly genetalia? Plus a short snippet from a Work in Progress. There’s some poetry from R.B. O’Brien’s about to be released poetry book, called, enticingly, Ruin My Lipstick. And to add to the mix, a few sizzlingly sexy pictures.

 I only intend to send out the newsletter four times a year, and promise that anyone signing up will not have to fear spam or the email address being passed on to anyone else. I intend to keep the list for Rachel’s Retreat entirely separate from other lists. I will only send the newsletter to anyone who specifically requests it, and if you find you don’t like it, let me know and I will remove you from the list immediately, so no one need fear becoming bogged down with unwanted spam and messages.

 I want Rachel’s Retreat to be a fun, light-hearted way of communicating with people, a little bit of a different type of newsletter. The response so far has been amazing, with people already signing up for the next issue, which will be in the spring. So if you want to see Issue 1, with absolutely no obligation to continue with it, simply send an email to me at

 and I will send you the first issue. Thank you for reading this, and I hope you will request the first issue of my newsletter.

Love Rachel x


PS Sorry I’ve been rather absent lately, but I am still writing and hope to have more material to post before too long.

Rachel's Retreat Twitter promo -2

Happy Christmas to you all

I know that many people don’t celebrate Christmas, so to those people, Happy Holidays. Although I’m not religious, Christmas is a warm, engulfing, family fest for me, when my elderly father and I get together with my brother and sister and their extended families, for good food, good company and long walks, plus the usual games with the little ones. I realise that not everyone is lucky enough to have such a loving family, and I am so grateful for mine. Particularly at this time, when I have been facing serious illness. However, I am dealing with it and expect to be restored to full health by the spring.

I am still writing, but it is a long way from being finished, so I hope you will pop over to my other website and check out the short stories and books that are there. ( for short stories) and ( for my Home page, with book excerpts.) There is more than enough material to keep you happy for a while.

I wish you all a Happy New Year, and hope that 2018 is full of promise for you all. And here is another seasonal message from my alter ego, Juliette Banks.


                                                        Rachel   x

The Homecoming – a short story


I watched her from a distance, careful to remain in the shadows. It was hot and she wore just a flimsy top and cotton skirt that stuck to her skin with perspiration. Her body was as beautiful and magnificent as I remembered it. Soft, plump breasts rounded like juicy plums, pressed against the cotton material. Her sweat almost rendered it translucent; brown nipples clearly visible even from my vantage point. How many times had I fantasised about closing my hands around each of those luscious globes? Even with my eyes closed I could picture them. They cried out to be massaged and moulded by warm palms until the nipples became hard with desire.

As she leaned against the open doorway, the soft sound of music filtered out from within the house. Her hips swayed a little to a Latin rhythm, and she bent her neck backwards with eyes closed as though lost to the sound. I’d pictured this scene many times in my mind over the five years that I’d been away. The image never failed to stir my loins with desire.

I’d been just a boy of seventeen when I left, but at twenty-two I considered myself a man of experience. I left as a virgin, untutored in the art of lovemaking, not knowing how to make a woman groan and pant with need. But I discovered the sweet joys of a woman’s body in the long, hot summers spent in the vineyards up north. The quick, fumbled moments of passion in dark corners; the longer and more fulfilling encounters on the soft hay of a nearby barn; the older women who passed on their knowledge to me, and the younger women on whom I enjoyed practising my new found skills—all enticing memories.

Still, there was a part of my mind that drew me back to the sultry goddess now in front of me. None of the women I met matched her sensuality or her beauty. Their eager hands and breathless urgency robbed me of the excitement of the chase. Where was the thrill I felt when seeing her rolling hips walking away from me—a brief glance over her shoulder the only signal she was completely aware of the effect she was having? Where were the nuanced clues she offered to encourage hope in an obsessed boy that one day he would be man enough to satisfy her? I would have walked over hot coals for her—but she never asked me to test my devotion. I couldn’t find that in my time away—the conquests were too easy, and now I was back.

Did she know I was watching her? Was she aware of my presence? I was well camouflaged by the shadows, but perhaps she sensed me. There was no one else in the vicinity. Yet she moved as though she was performing for someone. My cock stirred in my pants, longing to be between those wonderful thighs. I yearned to lick the salty perspiration from them and slowly move my mouth upwards to that hidden place—the source of many fantasies. I longed to slip my tongue inside her and massage her clit, until she cried out with pleasure. Yes, I learned something in my years away, as well as picking grapes.

My body had filled out from the boyish figure of five years earlier. My shoulders broadened from lifting the heavy baskets, and my muscles toned. My self-confidence, too, had been shaped and honed. I no longer stuttered my words or looked at my feet when talking to a beautiful woman. I had learned to recognize the silent language conveyed by the look on a woman’s face and the movements of her body. And where it mattered I was most definitely a man. I knew how to satisfy a woman.

Yet still I hesitated to step out of the shadows. Was I afraid of rejection? Would she have forgotten her parting words to me of five years ago?

“Goodbye, Johnny. Go and seek your fortune in the wide world. But don’t forget to come back and see me one day—when you’ve turned into a fine young man. I’ll look forward to that.”

Would she remember her words? Maybe she had a man in her house. But would she be standing outside alone on this hot evening if that were so? Why was I still hesitating to find out?

I took my courage in my hands and stepped out of the shadows, walking slowly towards her undulating body. She heard my footsteps and turned to face me, her soft, luscious lips forming a slow smile. I stopped, just a few feet from her—legs a little apart, and hands down by my sides. She spoke first.

“Hello, Johnny. So you’ve come home at last. The good-looking boy returns as a handsome man. What brings you back to these parts?”

I smiled and spoke slowly and a little deeper than she would have remembered.

“Just passing through. Thought I’d look up a couple of old friends. See if anything’s changed around here since I left.”

“Not a lot changes here, Johnny. You should know that. That’s probably why you left in the first place.”

I looked her straight in the eye. “You’re still as beautiful I see, Rosie.”

“Why, Johnny, you still know how to charm the ladies. Would you like to dance with me?”

I didn’t hesitate, stepping forward and placing both hands on her hips. She responded by placing hers on my shoulders as we danced to a soft samba rhythm.

“I see you’ve got yourself a few muscles while you were away. In fact you’ve filled out pretty good it seems.”

“And you still have the curves I remember, Rosie. It’s good to see you again.”

She pulled me a little closer as our dance became more intimate. I knew that she would be able to feel my hardening cock, but that no longer embarrassed me as it did when I was a boy. Now I took pride that I could respond to her in this fashion. I knew she was woman enough to be flattered by my interest, even if she didn’t reciprocate the feeling.

I placed my hands on her firm, round bottom as it undulated to the music.

“You always did like my bottom, I recall,” she whispered into my ear.

My voice deepened slightly. “I didn’t like you walking away from me, but the compensation was the sight of your rear as you did. You don’t know how it tortured me as a seventeen year old boy.”

“Oh, but I did,” she whispered, “I just couldn’t show it. I waited until you became a man. I knew that one day you’d return.”

I bent my head and kissed her gently on her bare shoulder.

“I always knew I would return, Rosie. There was some unfinished business as far as I was concerned. What about you?”

“Well I guess we had better go indoors and finish it then, hadn’t we?”

She took my hand, and with a smile led me through the open door.

I was home.


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