Chapter 1

It was the summer of 1976 and I'd just left school. Those of you old enough to remember, will know what the weather was like. Hot! In fact it was the hottest summer in England for a long, long time. Fed up with being alone at home; all my friends had started work or were on holiday with their parents and my first job was still a month away; I'd decided to pack my tent and a few things, jump on my motorbike and head off somewhere.

The first toss of a coin gave me south, the second west. That, and a brief conversation with my elder brother who had spent some time in the area, was how I selected Cornwall.

I was on a campsite, or to be more precise a field with a swimming pool, shower and toilet block, just outside of the little fishing port of Padstow. It was where my brother had recommended, partly for its location but more so because it was so cheap. My home for the last week, and for that matter the rest of my holiday, was a very off-white, one-man tent, about eight feet by four, plenty long enough even for my 6'6" skinny frame, with just enough room either side my sleeping bag, for my few things.

I'd not long returned from my day at the beach, about an hour's steady walk, when I noticed a big Rover pull up opposite my tent. It was towing a relatively large caravan. The sun's glare on the car's windscreen prevented me from seeing the occupants clearly. One of the pleasures of camping, especially as it costs nothing, is watching my fellow campers go by; especially the young scantly dressed female ones, some with bikinis so small it was the nearest I'd ever got to seeing a naked female body. The owners of such expensive cars as the Rover were usually a bit on the old side, so with a bit of luck might have a teenage daughter or two.

The Rover took an eternity to back the caravan into a position suitable to the driver, another sign I thought of an older person. The driver got out of the car and began to disconnect the caravan. He was average height, balding and younger than I'd expected, I guessed his age to be mid thirties. Judging by his red face he'd been in the car a while (normal English car manufacturers of the period had never heard of air-conditioning let alone fitted it) and he seemed far from happy. From the passenger side a woman emerged, with a grace that was beyond all men (well straight men anyway). She was petite, only about 5'1", with a delightfully slender figure. Despite being in the same car as the man, she looked as if she was stepping out of the one of the world's top hotels; so cool did she look. She oozed, what until then I'd only seen on television; class. No teenage girls to ogle, in fact no children at all, but I certainly didn't mind watching the woman, even if she appeared a bit old.

'We'd have been here hours ago, if you could only read a bloody map.' I heard the man shout at the woman. She ignored him and started to unload some things from the back of the car. Still grumbling the man set about preparing the caravan for occupation.

For the next twenty minutes I sat and watched them; the more I saw the more I admired the woman opposite. Her dark hair was short for the period, but it enhanced her Elvin face. I decided she was a few years younger than her, I assumed, husband; I'd noticed a wedding ring. She seemed totally unconcerned at her husband's moaning and just got on with her jobs, in what was an, obviously, well rehearsed routine. As the man pulled a large awning out of the caravan, I decided to be neighbourly, only partly to get a closer look at his wife, and offer him a hand. Just as I stood up, he noticed me and shouted with the tone of a schoolteacher.

'Oye you! Come here and assist me with this awning.' That this was an order rather than a request was obvious. Even at school we weren't talked down to like that.

I looked at him with disdain and decided to emulate his wife and ignore him. I sat down again. He shouted a few more times, his voice getting shriller and his face redder with each call, until he realised that I too, was immune to his words. As much as I liked looking at his wife, I'd had enough of him, so I grabbed a towel and headed off to the pool for a swim.

When I got back an hour or so later, the couple were in the caravan; I caught glimpses of them moving around. I settled down outside my tent, lying in swimming shorts on my towel, trying to catch the last rays of sunshine before turning in. Before I did, I saw the man leave the caravan and after a snarl at me, jump into his car and head off. He hadn't returned by the time I finally retired for the night, nor did I hear him return before I dropped off to sleep.

I did hear his car again the following morning, before six o'clock at that, when he drove off. Fortunately, it was early enough for me to turn over and get back to sleep again.

Later that morning I was dressed in my holiday attire, i.e. shorts and trainers only; and for want of something better to do I was cleaning my bike when the woman came out of the caravan. She saw me looking and waved. Being polite, to say nothing of curious, I waved back and was delighted when she walked over to me. I watched her head towards me, taking in her pink summer shorts and bikini top. My eyes started at her fabulous long legs, at least long in proportion with her size, and worked their way up past a slim waist to small breasts. If she was aware of my interest then she didn't show it; looking as she did she was probably used to men of all ages looking at her with interest.

'Hi! I'm sorry about last night, ' she started, 'but Ron's like that.' She smiled before further explaining. 'He was an officer in the Army and hasn't learned how to talk to people; he assumes that he can still order people about.'

I just nodded as if familiar with the type. In truth I just relished her talking to me. Her smile was disarming and her voice so pure, I was totally under her spell.

She was also perceptive as her next words proved. 'You were about to help anyway, weren't you?'

I nodded, 'I was, at least until he spoke to me like that, then I'm sorry but he'd got no chance.'

'I thought as much. Have you been here long?' she asked changing the subject.

'Just over a week.' I replied.

'So you know your way around by now then?'

Again I nodded, finding words difficult to come by.

'Oh! I'm Jacqui.' She held out her hand. I was a bit surprised at first; we don't do a lot of hand shaking where I come from, it's much too posh and proper.

I took her hand and said, 'David!' Her hand was small and very soft; holding hands was about as far as I'd got with a girl, so I ran through my mind for comparisons. Needless to say, the few young girls that I'd touched before were outclassed by, this, to me, sophisticated woman. I held onto it too long and only when I noticed her look at our hands, with a raised eyebrow did I muttered quickly, 'Sorry' before, reluctantly, letting go of her dainty hand. As I did she looked me straight in the eyes and smiled. Unlike many this smile originated in her eyes and burned deep into my own. I was very conscious of her gaze, and hoped she liked what she saw there, as I'd always been told, that although I was not bad looking, it was my deep blue eyes that most girls noticed. If she did, then she made no comment.

We talked for a while, about the British favourite topic, the weather, before she walked up to and admired my bike, saying that loved the idea of riding but had never had the opportunity to ride on one. After a momentary lull in the conversation, she offered to make us a cup of tea, which I gladly accepted; as she walked back to her caravan I couldn't help but stare at her pert buttocks as they swayed gently with her stride. The more I saw of her the more I was in lust, that special all consuming lust that only a virgin can feel. A couple of seconds later she returned; again my eyes devoured her body before she reached me and asked if I had any fresh milk. I went inside my tent and retrieved a bottle from the bowl of water that acted as my fridge. I passed it to Jacqui and watched a rerun of her walk back to her caravan. It was just as good second time around; in fact I felt my cock stirring, a fact only surprising in that it hadn't happened earlier.

She returned with two Wedgwood cups; I was from Stoke-on-Trent, better known as The Potteries, so even I could recognise such things; filled with good strong tea. Whilst we were drinking our cuppas, I found out a few more details about her. She was married to Ron, as I'd assumed, that he'd recently had to leave the army under what, I gathered, was some sort of cloud, though she didn't go into too much detail; they'd come here for their holiday so that he could fish; which explained the early departure, and so that she could visit nearby Trebyan, which apparently was a village near Bodmin, where her mother had been born and raised. She was younger than I'd thought, only 27 compared with her husband's 41, I never was very good at assessing peoples' ages. I told her a bit about myself. I thought of embellishing the truth to make me sound at least a bit interesting but didn't as after being married to an army officer, I probably couldn't even invent as interesting a life.

'How far is the nearest shop?' Jacqui asked when we'd finished our drinks.

'Depends on what you want, ' I answered, 'if you just want a few things and you don't mind paying a bit over the odds, then there's a shop about a half a mile away. Otherwise it's a trip into Padstow or Newquay.'

She smiled at me and said, 'I suppose I can manage to walk half a mile.'

All too eagerly I quickly blurted, 'I'll give you a lift if you want, I've got a spare lid.' I looked at her and could see on her face the question. 'Lid is a biker's term for a crash helmet.'

She nodded at my explanation before answering. 'I don't know, you hear so much about motorbike accidents.'

'I'll go gentle with you, ' I said not realising the innuendo. This made Jacqui laugh and decided the issue for her. 'OK then, but first I want to try it, just slowly around the campsite.'

I reached inside my tent to grab both lids; two lids because I lived in hope. I passed her my spare and needlessly explained how to fasten it. Jacqui must have been laughing inside at my eagerness.

I started the bike and sat astride and helped Jacqui get on behind me. Rather than tell her to hold on to the grab rail at the back, the better way for a pillion to hold on, I suggested that she wrap her arms around me. Odd that this option had my vote. Her hands came around and held on to my naked chest. I was so excited at this gorgeous woman touching me, however innocently on her part, that I could not speak. I turned around to check she was OK and set of slowly. Her grip tightened initially as we bounced over the rougher parts of the bone hard field, but as she got more used to it, she slowly relaxed. Twice around the field was enough to show her that she it was not too scary, so we set off for the shop. In hindsight, the only true twenty-twenty vision, I know that riding without protective clothing is as stupid as it gets but in mitigation, I was young and trying to impress a woman, which is potentially a lethal combination, but I was lucky.

I rode quite sedately, not wanting to scare my passenger, and also wanting to prolong her touch. We walked around the shop, chatting as if we were old friends, until Jacqui had all she needed. It was probably wishful thinking but it seemed as if, on our return trip, Jacqui's hands seemed to caress my chest, as she held on; again in order to savour this unique experience I rode far slower than was necessary. By the time we got back, I had a very strong erection. To prevent her noticing I dropped Jacqui off at her caravan door, in a pretence of chivalry, but really so that I didn't have to get off in front of her.

In the few seconds it took to get to my tent Jacqui had gone inside her caravan. I quickly parked my bike and dived into my tent. I took off my lid and started rubbing my hard cock. I knew I needed relief, so I whipped off my shorts and lay down on my blanket. I started to rub my cock thinking of Jacqui's hands on me and imagining them on my throbbing dick. Suddenly the light in the tent changed and I heard something outside. Letting go of my cock I quickly peered out of the tent entrance, which in my youthful eagerness I had not fastened. I saw Jacqui walking back to her caravan. I wondered what she wanted before I spotted my spare lid.

'Had she seen me?' I asked myself, knowing that with the unfastened flaps it was quite possible. The idea terrified me and thrilled me at the same time. The terror won out, so I fastened the flaps before lying back and restarted stroking my cock, this time picturing Jacqui watching me and imagining her offering to help. Needless to say it wasn't long before I was shooting all over my chest.