Those Memories Made on Teardrop Lake – (74) The Girl with the Flaming Red Hair

John Coe was staying at the Shallowfield Lodge Hotel at the head of Teardrop Lake as he did every summer as the view of the lake from the Hotel was spectacular.
The lake was shaped like a teardrop, hence its name, and surrounded by the ancient woodland of the Dancingdean Forrest.
It wasn’t a huge body of water, just over two miles long and almost a mile at its widest point.
It was beautiful and relatively unspoilt which was one of the reasons he chose it.
A lot of fishermen, walkers and avid bird watchers gravitated to the Finchbottom Vale.
Teardrop Lake and the surrounding woodland was privately owned and divided into twelve parcels of land, each with one significant dwelling on it, although there were a number of cottages dotted around the forest as well, some in use and some not.
It was both idyllic and peaceful, and there was little or no noise pollution and although the lake was used there were no speed boats or jet skis, only rowing boats, canoes, dinghies and skiffs.
For John it was the sailing that brought him to the lake, and he had spent the day sailing and as he approached the jetty he saw a figure standing there.
The first thing he noticed was the sun on her red hair, turning it to a blazing fire as it tumbled down onto the white flesh of her shoulders.
The next thing to catch his eye were the pastel shades of her meagre top which struggled to contain the vibrancy of her wondrous breasts.
His eyes then moved on to her naked midriff which tantalized with a glint of sun on an adornment in her navel.
The waistband of her skirt, falsely named as it actually sat more factually on her hips, while the white cotton below encased her rolling buttocks and strong thighs.
Gratifyingly, heaven sent a gust of summer breeze blowing off the lake lifting her skirt and allowing glimpses of her white thighs and pastel underwear.
But as she walked along the jetty the sunlight behind her illuminated her form, more than hinting at the delights contained within the cotton of her skirt and his loins burned for her.
His thoughts about the girl with the flaming red hair had turned to a burning desire which he would soon quench in the coolness of the forest shade because the crimson haired beauty was his wife.