"Yes, he has got a lot to answer for, Beckham," Helen admitted. "He sort of made tattoos acceptable. I still don't really like them, although..."

She was what is often described as a "respectable married woman", ten years into the marital marathon and leading a model life that had subjugated her spirit. The girl who had had dreams and wishes and desires had been left on the shore, waving forlornly at the ship of her life as it sailed into the distance with this unexciting, unexcited woman looking back, unfulfilled and lonely at heart, outwardly having everything she could want but desperate for some action, not least in the sexual realm.

She and Paul had decided early on that they wouldn't have children, and she was still happy enough with that. Instead, they had a bigger house than they might have done, a better car and more exotic holidays. Helen was well dressed: stylish and sexy, turning into what was now known as a MILF, except she wasn't a mum. The world was absolutely full of men who would like to fuck her, but she belonged to one man, and that was now a problem. There had been a time when belonging to someone was part of the dream, and if it were taken away from her now, she would feel lost, but she also felt she belonged to herself, to her own screenplay, and the script had taken a turn he didn't like.

It had come to a head a few months earlier when she and Paul were discussing tattoos. It was when David Beckham was young and the most exciting footballer in England, both as a player and a personality. She had admired him on Parkinson, surprised that he was confident enough to smile and chat on a talk show whereas most of his peers would have been awkward, grunting embarrassments.

And then he had got that big, wide, dark monstrosity on the back of his neck, visible above the collar, and suddenly everyone was at it. Even women. And when she had discussed it with Paul, he had uttered those fateful words: "I forbid you to get a tattoo."

That was it. Happy as she had been in general with this man, she was not having him lay down the law like that. She had gone into town at the earliest opportunity and done the deed. She was inked. And Paul didn't know because it was in a very discreet place. It would only ever be seen by someone inspecting the rear of her most private of parts, which Paul did not do. He liked to be given a blowjob and would occasionally lick her in a hesitant way, holding something back, his nose wrinkled and tongue darting in and out like a lizard.

This was therefore also on Helen's list of priorities: to have a man really go to town on her down there. Or a woman: a nice lesbian might do a good, carefree job, but no, she wanted a cock at the end of it, to plough her and cum deep inside while she wrapped her legs around him her. She couldn't do that with her husband now; there was too much of a power struggle going on and great sex was partly about surrendering and enjoying being taken.

I got the distinct impression I was going to be the lucky recipient of this. We knew each other vaguely from the gym on Friday evenings and our unspoken mutual attraction had now been confirmed by the simple act of her joining me at my table in the canteen afterwards and striking up this confessional conversation.

"So, tomorrow afternoon," she said. "36 Girton Avenue?" That was my place, where we had arranged to meet while her husband was at the football.

That night I could barely sleep for excitement. I had permitted myself one quick wank to blow off steam while saving myself for the real thing. I tried not to think about what lay ahead. I tried to ignore the thought that I would be peeling off her knickers and she would be rummaging in my underpants, sucking my cock and spreading her legs so my face could become covered in her juices and aromas. I would have her natural oils in my mouth, in my saliva, in my pores, under my fingernails.

After a restless night and an impatient morning, the doorbell rang in my rented Victorian house and this vision in tight light blue jeans and a skull t-shirt waltzed in. She was warm and fragrant and beautiful: the ultimate gift. A woman who had brought nothing with her but herself, and who wanted nothing from me but myself. It is the purest of transactions: my masculinity in exchange for her femininity. All we had to do was unwrap each other. Oh, that's lovely. Just what you've always wanted. We began immediately, kissing on the settee, touching each other up. No pretence, no negotiation. When my hand found its way into her knickers and my middle finger found her hole we locked eyes and without a word we walked up the stairs to my bedroom.

Helen stood before me to be undressed and I did so lovingly, carefully, at a leisurely pace. One unusual thing about her: she was hairy. I had noticed her armpits at the gym. Billions of women around the world shave under there but I don't know why. I find it very exciting it's a natural place to have hair and it's sort of a reminder that this woman is an animal, not an android. She's real and she fucks, she likes fucking.

She smelled fabulous, from her perfumed neck to the natural fragrances of her crotch and crack. Naked as Eve, her neat, small breasts alert, standing to attention as she moved, she then undressed me and enjoyed the more rough and ready delights of a man's body. Does a woman really think that cock and balls contraption is beautiful? Fascinating, perhaps, but then what is beautiful? Most of them don't like the look of their own bits, apparently, and it is true that some of the elaborate, worm-like labia would not be a contemporary designer's choice. They seem to have been created with practical matters in mind, but even then, the system of sealing and protecting seems rather hit-and-miss if you really study it.

Helen certainly was made for studying. In my eyes she was pretty close to perfection and I intended to kiss, suck and lick every inch of her. First, though, she had obviously decided to do the same to me. She was on her knees with my cock in her mouth, clearly loving what she was doing. She wasn't showing off, but nor was she bashful about it. My big, hard member was on display for her benefit and she loved it.

Whether this was part of her revenge on her husband or not I didn't know, but I preferred to think she just hadn't recently had the pleasure of permitting herself to be submissive in this way, with nothing at stake in relationship terms. She could perform this splendidly selfless act and enjoy its liberating naughtiness. I could tell she was savouring the feel and taste of a penis. She was away with the fairies, already lost in the erotic mindscape of happy sex. She licked me up the length of my cock, ran her tongue around the contours of my knob, then back down and gently kissed my scrotum before sucking it and smelling that savoury aroma. I had deliberately had a shower early, to allow my manly smells to return, clean but natural.

Helen played with my pubic hair and then, turning me around, kissed my buttocks and poked her tongue just far enough between them to count as licking my arse if I, or indeed she, should want to add that to the list of acts performed in her diligent and heartfelt foreplay. Or perhaps she was sowing the seed in my mind to do it to her, which she didn't know I was definitely going to do anyway.

"Lie on the bed," I urged her. "On your back with your legs apart."

I saw a thought cross her mind: Don't tell me what to do, but it was instinctive and directed at her husband. A murk of resentment shrouded her sexual activity as a result of her relationship with that man. How he could have screwed this up so badly I really didn't know. Just one of those obnoxious people, perhaps. Assertiveness and pushiness can get mixed up, and what turns a naturally submissive woman on can also turn her right off if there is a suspicion of the abusive about it.

The cloud quickly dissipated from Helen's face and she lay there exposed and happy because I wasn't her oppressor. She was expectant and with maybe a tremor of apprehension about what lay ahead. As long as apprehension doesn't spill over into fear, it can be like seasoning on food, just livening it up a little.

I pushed Helen's legs far apart and left her in no doubt that I was inspecting her genitals, smelling her and generally savouring her in my own anticipation of devouring her womanhood. I plunged my face in there and licked her hungrily. I sucked her labia and pulled them out with my lips as if I were eating tagliatelle. But this divine pasta had the most incredible natural female sauce.

Helen gave herself to my tongue and the gentle force of my mouth. She knew my intentions were benevolent - entirely dishonourable, of course, but with the sole purpose of filling her brain with lustful good energy and taking her up through the gears to a cruise control where anything would be not just permitted but desired.

As she began to pant and make moaning noises I turned her over and smacked her hard on her buttocks. The outline of my hand sprang to bloody pink life beneath her skin and she slid her knees up, presenting her rump to me for more of the same. I slapped her again and she gave a small yelp. I bent down to her racing, throbbing rear pads and kissed her gently. She exhaled with a contented sigh and angled herself still further so that her buttocks parted and her shy, innocent anus became visible.

Then I saw it, the reason I had been given this chance. Just inside her right buttock, low down between her anus and vagina was a blue angel's head with a halo. I kissed it gently and gave it a dab of my tongue that began my licking of this woman's arse.

When I attended to her gently and lovingly in that special place she relaxed in obvious relief and a warm flood of pleasure.

"You really like that, don't you?" she sighed.

"Licking your arse?" I replied. "I have wanted to do that since the first time I saw you. Is that... okay?"

"I knew you were thinking something naughty," she said. "Everyone is most of the time. But if you're discreet that makes it all right. I could tell, but you kept it under control."

"Well, it's very nice chatting," I said brightly. "But if you'll excuse me, I've got an orgasm to bring you." I licked her beautiful arsehole with renewed intensity and devotion and soon she was emitting those primal, guttural groans as she slumped forwards and I collapsed on top of her.

If only her husband knew how to get this woman on his side. Perhaps he had had a method early in their relationship, but now she clearly couldn't stand him, sexually at least, and was surprising even herself with the way the lust cascaded through her and made her do things she had possibly never done before.

"Let me do that to you," she said, and soon I was on my knees and she was ploughing me with her tongue, dirty and determined, yet clean and pure as a virgin. A woman in full flow is a fine, noble experience and while there may be a place for females commonly known as sluts and happy to be so, it is not in my universe, nor the universe of wonderful females such as Helen.

She was giving vent to an uninhibited streak that owed nothing to sin and everything to human love in its broadest context. I could only imagine what was going through her mind. Was it revenge on her husband or had that been the trigger some time earlier and now she was just liberated, having given herself licence to do whatever she wanted, whatever she had secretly thought about but never really thought she would do?

I concluded that at that moment she was simply free to be herself and that she wanted to give herself completely to me without fear or embarrassment

When she had driven me wild with her beautiful depravity, Helen lay on her back and looked at me in way that could only mean one thing: she needed to be fucked. I lay on top of her and slid down between her thighs, which she parted slowly, enjoying becoming gradually exposed, her lovely, generous, vulnerable cunt at the mercy of my eager, thrusting penis. I kissed her as I entered and the feeling of her glistening marshmallow inner padding on my upholstered cock head was sublime.

She was just tight enough that her lavish secretion of natural lubricant stimulated me. We worked together in a mutual desire to reach heaven. We kissed lovingly at the same time, smelling each other on our faces and driving each other crazy with our tongues as they circled each other.

Kissing is underrated and many people are not really good at it because they don't realise they should be or even could be. All their attention is on their genitals, but the tongue and the mouth are genitals and should not be regarded just as preliminary providers of love and excitement.

The kissing doesn't have to stop when penetration starts, either. Kissing while joined is like loving while fucking; two rather different things that benefit from being done together.

"Deep," she said intensely. "Deep. Slow, hard and deep."

Well, there's nothing like knowing what the customer likes for making sure you get it right. I ground myself into her and she ground right back. I whammed into her and she retreated, then threw herself at me. We buffeted each other and challenged each other and finally came to a powerful striding intensity like the climax of the Olympic 1500 metres. And then, joint winners, we wrapped our arms around each other in admiration, congratulation and exultation.

At that moment I had a flash vision of the future and it was a puzzle, exciting but almost alarming. If we were this good together, and the little bit of social interaction had been good too, how could we not be a couple?

There was so much still to do if that were to be our course. We still had, if not the rest of our lives, at least the rest of the afternoon.