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The Montclaire case goes to trial.

Subconscious memories of Wendy getting smacked migrated into me getting smacked. Lying across Andy's lap I was wriggling under his ministrations and pressing my groin into his soft thigh. My pulse quickened, speeding up the smacks until suddenly I was brought back to the world by a hand shaking my shoulder and an earnest voice asking, "Are you OK Mum?"

It took a few seconds for my thoughts to surface, reluctant to let go of that dream. It left me feeling so randy! I turned my head to see Andy anxiously looking down at me. "You were squirming and twitching and moaning. People were starting to look." His voice sank to a whisper, "I thought you were trying to screw the sand."

I noticed my breathing was faster than it should be but calming down now. I propped myself up on my elbow and looked back at him. "Yes, I think I must have been dreaming. I'm OK now, thanks. What time is it?"

"Half twelve," he said, checking his wrist watch. "I'll go and get us some pasties." I reached for my purse and gave him the money then watched while he strode up the beach, his leg muscles working against the soft sand. I enjoyed the sight of his firm young body, his naked back gleaming with perspiration as he walked towards the steps in the sea wall.

As I was waiting for his return, the nature of my dream came back to me. I was conscious of dampness between my legs and a glance at my bosom showed my nipples proud beneath my bikini top. My body seemed to be leading me down mysterious unexplored paths. But what was I going to do about it? I pushed such thoughts aside as Andy returned bearing four Cornish pasties, still hot from the oven, and four cans of cola wet with condensation.

We had our lunch in contented silence, watching the other inhabitants of the beach. Here, a large family group playing cricket: a girl, maybe ten, tiredly chasing the ball her bigger brother had gleefully hit over her head for the umpteenth time. There, a couple of teenage girls giggling as they removed wet bathing costumes and dressed in the only just adequate confines of bath sheets. Kids digging and patting down damp sand, building small castles bearing tiny paper flags. At the water's edge kids of all sizes swimming and paddling: dads with their trousers rolled up to their knees. Drifting on the breeze came the sounds of raucous music pumping out from the amusement arcades, but muted by the general hum and childish shrieks of the crowds around us.

We soaked up the sun for another hour then decided to get dressed, leave the beach and sample the other delights of the resort. We did spend some time walking round the quaint narrow streets looking at the various shops offering the usual over-priced tourist junk: tacky souvenirs, kiss-me-quick hats, plastic beach toys, picture postcards. Our nostrils were clogged with the reek of cooked grease at every fast food outlet.

There was nothing much in the shops to interest me and Andy was plainly bored so we made our way back to the sea front again and entered one of the amusement arcades at random. Andy queued and got us a large bag of 2p coins each which we dutifully fed into the slots of the rapacious machines, oblivious to the mechanical voices extolling the virtues of one flashing monstrosity or another, exhorting us to try our luck. The number of coins in our bags reduced slowly, boosted now and then by a win which elicited minor cries of delight until they finally ran out.

Hand in hand we slowly walked out and along the promenade, finishing up seated under a large sunshade outside a caf__. We ordered a pot of tea which quenched our thirsts as only tea will and talked of what we would like to do for the evening. Andy fancied going into the town near the camp, have a few drinks at a pub then get a taxi back but I told him I was sick of the noise and the lights and the crowds. What I really wanted was to get him alone, somewhere quiet. Somewhere I could build up the courage I needed - but I didn't say that.

"If it's peace

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