Jacqueline Hollenberry waited by the wet, cold sea for her lover with impatience.
Wrapped delicately in only a silk shift, the icy wind buffering her long, silky, curly, bodacious hair, she regretted not wearing a coat. A coat would have been much warmer than a silk shift.
"Jacqueline!" cried a deep, manly voice. "I'm so sorry I'm late!" It was him. Englebert Jenkins: the most dashing man in Plymouth and her forbidden amour of three days.
Jacqueline's breasts heaved purposefully at the sight of him. She felt her ovaries awaken, like flowers unfurling in spring.
He lunged across the wet grey damp grainy sand towards her, and she noticed with rage that he was not wearing the outfit she had requested of him for their clandestine meeting.
A hot flush reached her delicate lady cheeks.
"Englebert, where is your suit of armour?" she wailed, like a woman who has lost her favourite comb.
He caught up to her then and swept her up into his arms as if she weighed no more than a single piece of paper.
She was powerless in his big, bulgy, muscly, hairy, tanned biceps and felt herself succumb to his clutch.
"My darling Jacquelina - "
"Oh I love it when you speak French to me, Englebert," she moaned. A single tear rolled down her cheek.
"A thousand apologies, my love, my cherry blossom," he whispered into her oscillating cleavage. "I couldn't get it delivered on time."
"I thought you had Amazon Prime," Jacqueline's cleavage whispered back.
"Mom changed her password, I'm so sorry!" he cried, like a man who has lost everything.
The cry of a seagull awoke the besotted pair to their surroundings, and Englebert threw Jacqueline passionately down on the sand with a thump.
She stood up and pulled the silk shift tighter around her body but her enormous bosoms strained against it. Englebert felt himself grow aroused, warm, sweaty, interested, keen, and attentive.
They stared into each other's eyes for fifteen minutes without taking a single breath - instead they were sustained by the power of their eternal love.
Jacqueline no longer felt the cold for she was warmed internally by the knowledge that strict Plymouth society morals could never keep the two of them apart, even if Englebert's visa ran out.
Yes, he was American, but Jacqueline's father need not know that.
Finally, Jacqueline blinked.
Englebert recognised the signal. Her lusty, black, thick, sensual, soft, feathery lashes invited him closer.
He took a single step towards Jacqueline and could taste her beautiful sweat on the sea air. She took his hand lightly, and breathed up at him.
"Now, my darling Englebert, before the sea takes you back to another land -"
"Oh, I'm going British Airways -"
"We must consummate our love."
Englebert argued no longer and he felt his gentleman's sword ready itself for the task ahead. Jacqueline dropped to the ground like a drowning fairy and opened her body to him.
Her breasts seemed to address him directly:
"Come to us, Englebert. Come to us."
He was just about to oblige them when -
"Stop right there!" It was an even deeper, even manlier voice. Jacqueline gasped.
"Enrique?" she sobbed, lying femininely there in the sand. Englebert's hawk-like, hazel, intelligent, inquisitive, narrow, open, brown, deep eyes narrowed. Aha, he thought. A love rival.