The first couple of attempts ended with wine running sideways and being mopped from around my hips, but once the position was judged correctly, it trickled slowly down my belly, through the small brush of pubic hair, over my clitoris and into the slit that was my now aching, wet cunt. It was simply exquisite, not least because of the tongue darting into the entrance of my vagina tried to catch every last drop. I could feel myself getting close to my second orgasm. As the glass emptied, the man drinking from me simply changed position so that he could lick my clitoris. He started to slide a finger into my vagina, and then used the finger to massage the outside edge of my anus. There was so much fluid now leaking from me, I did not think I would need any artificial lubricant. I was right. It was not long before his finger was inside my bum. From what I could sense, it was a short stubby finger. Quite thick, but it slid into me very easily and with no pain. When he removed it and tried. ‘How much time do we have?’ I laughed. We stopped rowing for a while. ‘Well, me and Michael live with our mum, Sarah and our sister, Orla. She’s six. As you probably know from Michael, our dad died when I was fifteen. I’m eighteen now…’ I trailed off. The look on his face told me everything – he hadn’t known at all. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said, solemnly. ‘I’ve only know Michael a year…I didn’t know…’ He stopped, looking embarrassed. I smiled. ‘It’s okay. I’m kind of over it,’ I lied. ‘Plus, he died doing something he loved.’ When he asked how, I told him everything. How he’d been racing his motorcycle in practice for a competition. How he hadn’t seen the obstruction on the road ahead, and how the collision with another bike killed him instantly. I fought my tears. Gradually, we returned to cheerier conversation, and it wasn’t until an hour and a half had passed until we noticed that our oars were floating far from the canoe. ‘Hah!’ he laughed. ‘Looks like you’re going to have to go.
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