Fingering an Old Flame


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By Cristiano Caffieri

Until he was 14, Miles Woodrow had lived in a small Yorkshire village where he spent much of his time out of doors. He has very happy memories swimming in the river, climbing trees, and riding horses. When his parents moved to the big city he was devastated, he had to leave all of his friends behind including Wendy Fitzhugh. Her posh parents didn’t like him anyway and as she never replied to his letters he presumed they were being intercepted and destroyed.

When he was eighteen he actually took a trip back there hoping to find her but by then she was engaged to Hugo Babbington-Barr, a rich landowner, quite a bit older than her. Consequently, he was never able to meet with his childhood sweetheart again and the only contact he now had with Yorkshire was reading the local newspaper online. This is where he saw the report about the Jepson Farm Sycamore tree protest. The locals were outraged that one of the oldest and largest trees in the country had been sold for commercial lumber. As a child, he’d often sheltered beneath its massive canopy to avoid the rain and when he was 12 he actually kissed Wendy Fitzhugh under that very tree and they’d carved their initials in it.

Apparently, the land where it was situated was now owned by Hugo and he was selling off all the biggest trees for profit. Miles was furious but he knew there was nothing he could do about it but he thought he would take a quick trip to take one last look at his old friend before the chainsaws brought it crashing to the ground.

He not only felt emotionally involved with the tree, he’d never really got over Wendy and still carried a small photo of her in his wallet. On the way up he stopped at a service area for a sandwich and took it out to look at it. He wondered if she was still as beautiful and whether he’d have a chance to catch a glimpse of her.

Booking into the Three Horseshoes, the village’s one and only pub, he started to make inquiries right away. The landlord was a newcomer from London and he knew little about the place’s history but then Miles recognized one of his friends from the tiny school he attended sitting at a corner table on his own. He took his drink over and joined him.

When they were kids he and Roddy Mazwell had climbed that tree together and so they had a great conversation. He learned that he and a few other old school friends were fighting to save the tree.

“In fact,” said Roddy, “An old friend of yours has joined forces with us – you remember Wendy Fitzhugh don’t you?”

“Of course I do – where is she?”

“Well she’s Wendy Babbington-Barr now – it seems she gave up one posh name for another.”

“So she’s married?”

“Married to a fucking tyrant – he owns a lot of the farms around here including the old Jepson Farm.”

“And he’s stripping it of all its valuable lumber.”

“Exactly, everybody’s against it but he takes no mind of what ordinary people think – even Wendy’s protesting – I’ve heard tell she’s even threatening to leave him over it.”

“I wonder how Wendy looks,” he asked.

“Fucking gorgeous – she’s like a sexy fashion model and to think she’s married to that old prick.”

“Does she live locally,”

“No they live in Lancashire, they own all kinds of land there as well but she’s staying here at the moment.”

“Where ? Here at the Three Horseshoes?”

“Yes – she just had dinner and went up to her room.”

Miles bid Roddy a quick goodbye, told the landlord to give his friend a drink on him, got the number of Wendy’s room and shot upstairs two steps at a time.

Breathless he stood outside of her door and paused a few seconds before knocking. When it opened it was like seeing a beautiful vision, her long brown hair was just as he remember it and although she had matured in all the right places she was still Wendy.

It seemed as though she was getting ready to go out and she didn’t even recognize him at first. When she did she threw her arms around him and hugged as though she never wanted to let him go. They sat on the end of the bed and talked. Talked about their childhood, their lives, her marriages and about the tree. When he told her that he’d come up from London just to see that old Sycamore again before it was chopped down and made into dining suites – she couldn’t believe it.

“The first time I kissed you was under that tree,” he smiled, “Do you think we could go down there and do it again tomorrow – just for old times sake.”

“What’s wrong with right now?” she asked.

“You mean go out to the tree?”

“Why not?”

“It’s a bit dark isn’t it?”

“There’s a full moon.”

“Ok let’s go,” he cried, and the two of them took off as though they were young children again.

Roddy’s eyes almost popped out of his head as they dashed past him holding hands.

She was right about the moon, it was big and it was yellow and it was shining just for them. They took his car and five minutes later they were standing under the leafy realm using a flashlight to search for their initial on the trunk.

“Here it is,” she cried, here it is!”

He put his head beside hers and peered at the inscription he’d carved with his pocket knife.

“Oh my god, it says you loved me.”

“Of course I loved you,” he laughed, and then he paused and quietly said, “I still do.”

As she turned her face towards his their lips were just inches apart, when they made contact he couldn’t believe the warm feeling that took over his whole body including his dick that pressed against her as they embraced.

“I think you’re getting excited,” she whispered, sliding her hand down his side and stroking his boner, “Why don’t we fuck, right here against the tree?”

Miles began to open the buttons on her top, slip his hands under her skimpy bra and felt her soft warm tits. He gasped, and time stood still for a few seconds, and then he bent his head and started to suck on her nipples. She leaned back against the tree and took deep breaths and when he fingered the hem of her skirt and slowly moved his hand up between her thighs she was so tense she thought she was going to faint.

His finger explored for a while before finding its way around her panties and then he began working its way up and down the lips. When penetrated her well-lubricated orifice it was her turn to gasp. He worked it in and out, slid it up and down her groove and then back in again. She was letting out short little groans as he continued to bring her closer and closer to orgasm.

When her body started to vibrate he crushed his lips against hers and she caressed his neck with her hand and they both drifted into a magical world for a few moment. She was now anxious to feel his dick inside of her and so she re-positioned herself with her back against the massive trunk and stretched her arms to grasped two branches so she could ease herself up to make penetration easier for him. He reached up her skirt and pulled her panties down around her ankles,then he unzipped his pants and let then drop to the ground.

“Aaah,” she groaned as it slid deep inside of her, “That feels so good,” and then she moved her ass up and down as if she wanted him to get on with it.

He got the message, and wrapping his arms around her, he dug his fingers into the bark of the tree and began to drive his throbbing cock into her eager beaver. When his balls stared to boil and he could feel his goo moving up his pipe he called out “I’M CUMMING, I’M CUMMING”, and blew a massive load into her tight little hole. His primevil cry startled a flock of birds perched in the branches and a big brown owl rotated his head 360 degrees wondering what the fuck was going on.

They stayed together all night and the next morning they began to plan their future. Wendy had petitioned for a divorce and she intended to include the Jepson farm and their beloved tree as part of her settlement. Babbington-Barr put up a fight but the Judge came down on the side of Wendy and now she and Miles live in the old tudor farmhouse and every full moon they wander down to the Sycamore where he fertilises her lady garden The only problem is, some of the locals have also latched onto their arboreal ritual and on warm summer evenings it’s not uncommon to see half a dozen humping asses glistening in the moonlight. THE END

Copyright 2014 Cristiano Caffieri

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