4 comments/ 5449 views/ 1 favorites Chronicles of a Changed Man 02 By: WobieTide Paddy Gets Another Call After Tina had left I felt exhausted and badly needed to sleep, not surprising, I suppose, when you consider what had just transpired between us. My studio apartment was equipped with a drop down double bed cleverly concealed behind a panel in the wall and required only a minimal rearranging of the seating in order to deploy it. I went to move the chair in which Tina had masturbated and, as I lifted the towel, I got the heady aroma of her womanly secretions still wet on it and the leather cushion. My penis twitched involuntarily at the memory of her spraying her vaginal juices copiously as she brought herself to orgasm. I became aware at that moment that I was still holding the fifty euro in my hand and smiled softly to myself at her mischievousness in allowing me to believe that I was paying her to strip and masturbate for me. She was right too, it had added an extra dimension of illicitness to the whole scenario. I knew that I would have a couple of hours before the nurse arrived on her afternoon visit so I got the bed down, undressed completely, crawled under the covers and fell into a deep, contented sleep. The nurse I speak of was resident in the building I lived in at the time and provided medical care to the occupants, making two rounds of the home each day, one at about ten in the morning and the other around seven in the evening She was a rather surly lady in her mid forties given to bouts of complaining about how she had been unfairly overlooked for promotion in the mainstream health care profession for years. She blamed this flagrant oversight of her obvious talents by the-powers-that-be for her gradual professional decline to the incongruous position of 'resident nurse' in an old folk's home. A position she clearly thought beneath her while choosing to ignore the fact that, rather than occupying a derisory post in a run down, under funded, state owned old folks home, what she actually held was a well paid job in a private retirement home funded entirely by the residents and their families, with adequate funds and backup provided, to enable her to provide the necessary care to her patients. She clearly felt she should have been matron at The Coombe or some other similarly prestigious hospital in the country and always wore her white nurses coat pompously adorned with an impressive assortment of medical insignia of dubious significance and even more dubious origin on the lapels and shoulders with the requisite stethoscope draped around her neck. As well as making her twice daily rounds, she was on call in case of emergencies, and each resident of the home had a panic button to press if they needed her to be summoned to their assistance. Because of her unwelcoming nature, most of the residents used it as an absolute last resort only, or perhaps she assumed her unwelcome persona to achieve precisely this result. Thankfully, other than some minor physical limitations of my age, I suffered no ill health and had never in my three years there had to use the panic button. I didn't need to see her on a twice daily basis, in fact, I didn't need to see her at all, given my exceptional good health, and tried to tell her so politely on many occasions, but she insisted that it was in her contract with the management firm of the home and written into her terms and conditions of employment. She indicated to me, quite sternly, that she wasn't about to jeopardize her job for my convenience and in so doing, unwittingly indicated to me also, that she obviously valued the position more than she was willing to admit. It was to this nurse's persistent knocking on my door, several hours after I'd fallen asleep that I awoke with a start and instinctively threw back the covers to sit up in the bed and swing my legs over the side. My rock hard penis stabbed me in the stomach when I did! I hadn't awoken with an erection since my early twenties, before alcohol had started to inhibit my bodily and mental functions, and this 'stabbing' was a total shock to me. The nurse's rapping at the door came again and I quickly pulled the covers back over my rampant penis as I sat on the edge of the bed. "Are you alright in there Paddy?" her muted voice sounded through the door. "I'm grand nurse, I'm grand," I answered, "Eh, I'm just not dressed, I was in the shower." I lied, instinctively making a sign of the cross to absolve myself of the lie the moment it left my lips. Oh, Holy God, I thought then, I have far more things to be asking absolution for, other than a venial sin like that. Suddenly the euphoria and elation of the afternoon were eroded by a dark, heavy cloud of guilt, shame and utter self-reproach as I realized the enormity of the more serious sin I had committed. "What are you showering for this hour of the day." the nurse inquired. "Eh, I spilled something on myself and had to change my clothes." Oh Sacred Heart of Jesus, I whispered under my breath at this second lie in as many minutes. I began to murmur an act of contrition immediately. "Oh my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended you.." "What were you doing that you spilled something?" the nurse asked. Fornicating! I was fornicating! "Making a bit of lunch." oh Christ, I'm a liar, I'm a fornicating liar! "...And I detest all my sins, because of Your just punishments.." "What did you spill Paddy?" she further inquired. I spilled my seed. Oh Holy Mother of God! "Milk, a bottle of milk." "...But most of all because they offend You, my God.." "Where did you spill it Paddy?" she asked next. In her belly. Christ, leave me alone woman, you tormenter! "All over my clothes." "...Who are all good and deserving of all my love.." "That'll stink to the heavens." my tormenter stated. Oh merciful hour. I stink to the heavens! For shame, for shame. "...I firmly resolve, with the help of Your Grace.." "It won't just wash out either, you'll need to steep it." she advised. I'm unclean! Steeped in uncleanliness! "...To sin no more and avoid the near occasion of sin" "That was very careless of you Paddy." the nurse admonished me from the far side of the door. "Anyway, I'll leave you to your own devices." Leave me to my own devices! I felt utterly alone! Utterly lost! I had sinned against God and all the angels in heaven. I had tarnished the memory of my Martha, who had kept me from drifting off the righteous path for over thirty years. Left to my own devices and I was a weakling in the face of the first real temptation that I had been confronted with since Martha's death. I fell to my knees by the side of the bed and began to pray fervently. Naked! I was praying to God, naked! The lingering odor of hedonistic transgression drifted up from my genitals as I knelt, naked, before God! Mercifully, my erection had completely subsided and my penis hung placid, if aching a little from the insurgence of blood with which it had been engorged on my awakening. God forbid that I should have assumed the position of worship in a sexually aroused state! To what depths of debauchery would I plummet, if left to my own devices! Cleanliness is next to Godliness! I arose and rushed to the bathroom to run a cold shower in an effort to cleanse, at least my body if not my soul. I lathered myself with shower gel and began to scrub my entire body, but when it came to my genitalia, I couldn't bring myself to wash them. I couldn't bring myself to touch my penis, my testicles, the very instruments of my uncleanliness, the very things I needed most to cleanse, I couldn't bear to handle. I massaged copious amounts of gel into my lower abdomen and upper thighs, creating as much of a froth as I could in the hope that it would be enough to expunge the lingering odor of sex from my nether region. I rinsed and turned off the shower with the intention of drying myself immediately, getting appropriately dressed for prayer and focusing my attention on seeking forgiveness for the fornication I had engaged in. My entire body was frigid from the cold water, making me shiver, but rather than stepping out of the shower quickly to dry myself and dress, I lingered. My focus drifting from the absolution I needed, to the very act of fornication for which I needed it. I felt my penis respond ominously, despite my initial efforts to suppress my memories of Tina. But, paradoxically, the more I tried not to think of her the more her image assailed my mind, and still I shamefully lingered in the shower, ignominiously giving in to the temptation of allowing those images to crystallize in my mind. Until I could see her, clearly! Tina of the silky hair and dimpled smile. She of the large breasts with russet nipples and long, stocking clad legs. I couldn't stop myself thinking about her, her nakedness before me, her awe inspiring, yawning sex which I had gazed into, transfixed, transferred to another realm, transformed into another person. That same, lusciously wet sex into which she had welcomed my rampant, raging manhood with such eagerness and abandon. Her bottom, pear shaped and perfect! Her enticing anus! That forbidden orifice, the dissolute exposure of which had been the instigation to my inglorious release. Tina's voice, so soft, so beguiling, so sexy, so intensely provocative and arousing. "The fifty euro's to let you see my cunt." Oh God. "And I'll let you see my tits for free." Help me Jesus! "That's it, Mr Murphy, look at my tight fucking arsehole while your spunk up my hot cunt." Mary, Mother of God look down on me! I don't know how long I stood there like that, but, presently, I was snapped out of my vulgar reverie by a sudden cold breeze washing over my body and, to my horror, I realized that I was holding my, now erect, penis in my hand. The cold had affected on my body as a result of the warmth emanating from my aroused genitalia and beginning to pervade my entire being. The penis I hadn't been able to touch, to cleanse myself of the revulsion I felt at having offended God with my act of fornication, I was now grasping in my closed fist and slowly beginning to massage. I snapped my hand away, horrified, stepped briskly out of the shower cubicle and grabbed up a clean towel to dry myself. I dressed hurriedly and left my apartment, I couldn't risk being on my own that evening, so went down to the ground floor of the building and entered the communal room. There were at least twelve to fifteen residents there and when I walked through the door, everything not driven by electrical current stopped. Conversations came to an abrupt halt, hands wielding playing cards froze in mid air, arthritic fingers manipulating knitting needles seemed suddenly stricken with paralysis that had previously been held at bay for years by medication, half finished jigsaw puzzles lost their enigmatic attraction, jaws dropped, eyes popped and tongues lolled out of open mouths. I hated this place of mendacious conviviality and false friendships, but I was going to have to endure it that night if I was to avoid temptation and being drawn into the dark abyss of immorality. After hesitating momentarily in the doorway, I strode over to the television corner where I found an empty chair, away from the maddening crowd, and there I sat for the next four hours, staring blankly at the TV screen. If someone were to ask me what I watched on that television screen for the rest of the evening, I wouldn't be able to tell them, but the ever changing images and inane drivel which emanated from it had the desired effect on my troubled consciousness. By midnight, the communal room was empty and I was alone with the flickering images and inanity and I had calmed down sufficiently to return to my studio apartment. I was able to pray, for a good half hour, real concentrated, meditative prayer which relaxed me further until I could recline on the ruffled bedclothes and attempt to sleep, but I was unable to. I lay awake, scared to undress in case the mere act of disrobing would somehow reignite the hideous temptation to reawaken the images of Tina and the lewd act we had performed together. I managed, that restless night, to keep my thoughts on other things, my departed Martha, our life together and our children. I thought about my children, growing up in a predominently Irish suburb of London, seemingly happy, at least early on! I thought I had been a good father! I worked hard, brought home the money to keep them in reasonable comfort and well fed. I supported their mother and provided her with everything she needed to raise them. I didn't interfere, bringing them up and attending to their dietary, clothing, religious and educational needs was a mother's task surely. Having been raised in a dysfunctional family myself, I had no model on which to base my parenting method, I was not proactive in disciplining or rewarding them whenever an occasion merited one or the other. Being out of the house all day, I had little chance to observe or interact with them and trusted their mother in every aspect of their upbringing. I rarely saw my children in their formative years! I didn't understand then, when they reached their teens, why they appeared suddenly to want to engage and involve me in their activities, their interests and most curiously of all, their relationship with their mother. I thought it was my job to support her, she who had reared and nurtured them while I kept a respectful distance and allowed her her rightful place at the head of the household. I was the provider, the breadwinner, she was the nurturer and home maker. I was sorely troubled then to watch my adolescent children grow rebellious and disrespectful towards her, but didn't know how to react to the tensions slowly building in the household. Having attained the lofty position, for a man of my modest education and intellect, of general foreman, I had many responsibilities to my employer beyond the requisite daily attendance on site. My commitment to my work often involved weekends away to resolve some problem or other on sites not under my control and in far flung corners of England, but for which I was adequately experienced and skilled to resolve. For this I was handsomely rewarded financially and thus able to bring home a substantial wage to my wife, to keep our home and raise our children. I was vaguely aware that my presence in our household, when I was there, seemed sufficient to bring an uneasy peace between my increasingly rebellious offspring and my spouse, who seemed to grow more and more exasperated at their behavior. I supported my wife in her struggles to keep a tranquil home, but somehow, deep down, I knew I was failing my children, I just didn't know in what way or how to redress it. They grew ever more distant from me and when they left, each in their turn under a cloud of simmering hatred and hostility towards Martha and open apathy and indifference towards me, I was heartbroken, but didn't know how to tell them. I had only Martha's opinion and standpoint, that our children were ungrateful, spiteful and disrespectful, despite all she had done and everything she had sacrificed for them. I continued to accompany my wife to mass on Sundays where I prayed for my children's physical welfare and spiritual propriety. All the while the chasm between them and I grew deeper and deeper until Matrha cut off contact with them altogether and by extension severed my ties to them also. By the time of their mother's funeral, which they dutifully attended, my children were complete strangers to me. Oonagh, to her credit, had approached me at the graveside, offering me her condolence while slipping a mass card into my hand with her phone number on a business card in the same envelope before rejoining her current, same sex partner. Sean hovered nearby with his 'brazen hussy' of a wife, waiting for his sister. Somehow I felt it was Sean I had failed the most, not providing a good role model for him, thinking in my ignorance, that being a conscientious worker and breadwinner was sufficient example for him to follow. When Oonagh rejoined her partner, Sean and his wife, the four dparted, a close knit group and I was glad to see they had some form of supportive framework in which to conduct their daily lives. I particularly recalled, as I stood by my wife's graveside after they'd gone, the heated argument that had ensued between her and Oonagh when our daughter informed us that she was leaving her husband of two years to move in with her 'girlfriend'. Martha had been vociferous in her condemnation of Oonagh for abandoning the church and sanctity of marriage for such a grossly indecent, depraved and disgusting lifestyle. I remembered remaining stoically, silently entrenched in my wife's camp as Oonagh looked to me for some sign of understanding, of compassion. A sign I couldn't deliver because, quite frankly, I didn't understand my daughter's position at the time and compassion was an emotion I struggled to receiver or deliver, but I knew where my loyalties must lie, with my wife and the teaching's of her church, our church. On the day of my wife's internment, I accepted the envelope as graciously as possible, but couldn't bring myself to converse with my daughter because of the betrayal of my dearly departed Martha such a conversation would imply. Still, I did accept the cards, kept them in a little wallet in a drawer, had them on that restless night and still have them to this day. I must have eventually drifted off to sleep because the next thing I remembered was awakening, in my rumpled clothes, on the unmade bed and thinking 'I'm late for mass'. The ambient light and unfamiliar muted sounds beyond the confines of my apartment indicated to me the lateness of the hour as I swung my legs over the side of the bed. No stabbing penis in my stomach, the normal order of things had been restored in that respect and I quickly went about arranging a contingency for the missed mass. It was ten past ten! I had not slept so late for many years, or ever, that I could recall, certainly not in all the time I had been married to Martha. The issue of mass was easily resolved as there was an eleven o'clock service in a church in Artane, about half an hour's walk from my home. As I walked there, I felt good and confident in my resolve to banish the memory of Tina and our indiscretion and vowed to take confession on Sunday at my local chapel, that particular sacrament not being available during the week. I could of course have requested to see a priest specially, something I recalled Martha doing on several occasions, often at strange times of the weekend, but I felt sure in my resolution and decided to wait until the Sabbath. I passed that Friday and most of Saturday at relative peace with myself. Yes, I had sinned, but it had been only once, the Good Lord would surely forgive me and allow me back into the fold after a suitable and just penance. My Lord was all forgiving and I would be saved by His Grace. But! Slowly, insidiously, the images and thoughts of Tina began creeping back into my mind, she started tugging at the corners of the mental screen I had hidden her behind and attempting to completely reveal, expose herself to my mind's eye. It was only by absorbing myself in the one television programme I consistently watched and now enjoyed in high definition and wonderful digital Dolby surround sound on my widescreen tv, Match of the Day, that I was able to suppress the images of Tina and the temptations they evoked. I followed my viewing of Match of the Day with The Football League show and by one o'clock in the morning, Tina was gone, safely concealed behind the screen, perhaps sulking but subdued. The following day I would be able to confess my sin and commence my journey back into The Fold, the prodigal son returning, adequately repentant to his all forgiving Father. Chronicles of a Changed Man 02 Before I was even fully awake that morning, I was aware of the dull ache in my groin, the persistent throbbing in my erect penis and the beguiling echoes reverberating around in my brain. It appeared that Tina had been busy in my subconscious as I slept, corrupting my mind to her own design, enticing me to erection and as I came fully awake, her sultry voice reverberated in my mind. "Would you like me to spread it for you, Mr Murphy?" I heard her purr. 'Oh God, no.' I thought. 'Don't." "Would you like me to spread my cunt for you, Mr Murphy?" I wanted to sit up and slide to my knees by the side of the bed and pray, but how could I kneel before my God with such an offensive appendage as an erect penis? "I spread myself wide open for you, popped my clit out." I heard her repeat, but not in the accusatory tone of Thursday, but a sultry, suggestive commentary enabling me to vividly relive her actions in the armchair. Oh Christ, I couldn't bear it, I tried to recite an act of contrition but the words wouldn't come, the only intonation coming to my increasingly aroused mind was Tina's. "I brought myself off in front of you, Mr Murphy, I made myself come right under your fucking nose." My erection throbbed painfully, the only release from this terrible discomfort was to grip it in my fist and squeeze, which did ease the pain, but then the sensation pulsing in my engorged penis was... Pleasure. "Would you like me to fuck you, Mr Murphy?" I heard Tina ask. 'No, please Tina, don't' I pleaded silently to my beautiful sexy tormenter. "I think you're an arse man, Mr Murphy." she suggested. 'I suppose so.' I heard myself capitulate in silence. "Would you like to see it, Mr Murpy?" "Oh God, forgive me, I can't bear it! Just one stroke, only one." I pleaded as I slid my fist reluctantly down my shaft. "Would you like to see my arsehole?" Tina persisted undaunted. Oh Sweet Jesus! My fist rose involuntarily back up my erect penis, pursing my wrinkled foreskin over my swollen, sensitive glans. "Oh fuck, that feels good, Mr Murphy, your prick feels so good inside me." I slid my hand back down to the base of my... Prick! Oh Holy Mother of God, I'm was blaspheming, but it felt so good as my foreskin slid tightly back on my glans, stretching with exquisite pleasure over the blood engorged dome. "Will you spunk for me, Mr Murphy?" My fist rose again on my raging prick. "Will you spunk for me if I let you see my tight little arsehole?" I abandoned all hope of resisting and began pumping my fist up and down on my hard prick. "Will you, Mr Murphy?" "Yes, yes I will, I'll spunk for you Tina." I said to my imaginary lover. "That's it, Mr Murphy. Look at my tight fucking arsehole while you spunk up my hot cunt." "I am, I am looking at your tight little arsehole." I assured her. I was rapidly stroking my prick now, wanking furiously on my erection as I recalled vividly the wondrous sight of Tina's arsehole stretched so wide by her own fingers that I could see the buttonhole entrance to her forbidden rectum. "Oh yes, Mr Murphy, fill my wet cunt with your hot spunk." I heard her say clearly, her provocative pleas reverberating in my filthy mind, while pumping rapidly on my prick, feeling myself building to a glorious orgasm. "Oh yes, take it Tina, take my hot spunk up your wet cunt, you fucking slut, spread your arsehole for me while I empty my bollocks up your slimy fuckhole, you filthy bitch." "Yes, yes, Mr Murphy, I am your bitch, I am your slut, fill me up you dirty bastard, flood my twat with your creamy spunk, empty your balls into me, you dirty old fucker, fill my wet South African cunt with your hot Irish cream." I heard my beautifully vulgar fuck slut encourage me eagerly. I came violently, my spunk shooting out of my prick in spurts of wondrous pleasure, the warmth of my ejaculation spreading over my belly under the sheet and gluing it to my hot skin as I slowly recovered, my heart rate slowing to a more sedate pace while I lay there, luxuriating in the magnificent release I had just self induced. I lay like that for a long moment, recalling my imaginary filthy conversation with my beloved Tina, not knowing where half the words had come from and it was several moments before the initial pangs of shame and guilt began to slowly seep into my conscience. It was Sunday and getting to mass was no problem as there were hourly services in any one of several churches within a half hour walk of my apartment. I rose from the bed slowly, sedately, an automaton, un-peeling the sheet from my sticky abdomen where my semen was slowy drying to a hard coating on my skin. At that moment, I had considered myself beyond redemption, I had no heart for attending mass, but in desperation I was clinging to the hope that I could still turn back, could still redeem myself. I would have to attend a mass for which I felt ultimately unworthy of participating in, but it was my only hope. So, after a morning and afternoon of soul-searching, I forced myself to shower and dress in my Sunday best suit, shirt and tie and went to the evening service. I sat in my usual spot in the pews, third row from the altar, right on the end by the aisle. Here I could concentrate on the service without distraction as few people sat any closer than the third row from the front. It was where Martha and I had always sat, here we could see the priests clearly, almost hear the rustle of their vestments as they moved about the altar conducting the service. It was always a source of great wonder to me how Martha's devotion and commitment to the church seemed such as to be instantly recognized and acknowledged by almost every priest who passed through our diocese over the years. Intermittently throughout the services, they would make eye contact with her, give a weak smile or barely perceptible nod and I would sense her respond in kind, her reverence almost palpable in the air. They reserved a somewhat lesser complimentary exchange for me, however, and seemed to look at me as someone to be merely tolerated within the congregation. It's true I wasn't as devout as Martha, couldn't attend mass daily as she did and wasn't available to go to the chapel house at the drop of a hat as she always was. I clearly didn't measure up to the expectations of our local clergy but, as Martha's husband, I was accepted with an indifferent tolerance bordering on contempt. I struggled through the service that evening, I just couldn't concentrate, I felt like a hypocrite, so when the bell chimed for communion, normally my cue to arise and be first to the altar, I froze. How could I accept the Body of Christ on my tongue after spilling my seed 'on the ground' and the blasphemy I had uttered during my imaginary tryst with my beloved Tina that morning. Yes, beloved! I adored her! So young! So exhilaratingly fresh and exciting! So sexy! So downright filthy! So truly adorable. So different to anything I had ever known in my life. Oh Holy God, just yards from where they were preparing to dish out portions of the body of Christ to his fold, I imagined immersing myself in the folds of the Body of Tina. I struggled to recover my composure, to regain control of my senses, fought to suppress the urges and desires reawakening in my loins. A few people had begun to arrive and file along the front of the altar to the end where the priest waited to commence administering the sacrament of the Eucharist. I couldn't bring myself to go to the altar and for the first time in nearly thirty years I left the mass without having received holy communion. I spent the evening quietly watching television in the communal room of the retirement home while other residents partook of their respective pastimes, my studio apartment now feeling like a lonely place. The next morning, after a restless night, I slept late, awoke at about nine thirty and more than two hours later still hadn't returned the unmade bed to its concealed position behind the panel in the wall, although I was dressed in my usual suit trousers and shirt when the nurse knocked on the door. I answered, but didn't admit her to my apartment as I normally did and stood in the doorway while she railed for nearly ten minutes about her miserable lot and how she ought to write to the minister for health to complain about her unfair treatment over the years by the powers that be in his department who had denied her her rightful place as matron of The Coombe, or other such prestigious hospital. Eventually she left, pushing her laden medical trolley ahead of her and grumbling continuously until she reached the next door, knocked and was admitted by the resident there. I was about to re-enter my apartment when I heard a sound that set my heart pounding and my penis twitching excitedly. The unmistakable click, clack of stiletto heels on tile flooring! I turned my head towards the sound and a moment later, around the corner at the end of the corridor, appeared an apparition so wondrous, so beautiful that all my misgivings about missing holy communion the previous day and not attending mass that morning were instantly banished. The object of my new found devotion was miraculously striding towards me on a pair of red stiletto heeled shoes, a wide, white toothed smile dimpling the cheeks of her beautiful face around which her silky black hair bobbed and weaved with her every step. She was wearing a knee length white summer coat with three big buttons down the front and held at the waist with a wide belt, tied in a loose knot at the front. Her long, shapely legs were clad in dark stockings and she wore a red scarf knotted casually around her neck. "Tina!" I whispered reverently to myself, my eyes watering emotionally and my penis twitching uncontrollably, expectantly. "Hello, Mr Murphy." she beamed pleasantly as she approached. "Tina!" I repeated in greeting, loud enough for her to hear as she leaned in to peck me on the cheek. No invitation was necessary and Tina stepped past me into my apartment as I stood aside, holding the door open, her perfume wafting through the air behind her and caressing my nostrils with an aroma that was a pure aphrodisiac to my heightened senses. "Oh, that's clever!" she commented, seeing the extended bed and walking to the side of it. "Have you been having fun without me, Mr Murphy," she teased me then on seeing the semen stain on the sheet from the previous morning. I blushed hotly with embarrassment, but managed to reply honestly. "No Tina, it wasn't without you. It was very much with you in mind." Better than any false utterance issued to a faceless priest in a confessional box, this direct admittance of masturbation to the object of my desire eased my embarrassment and I felt my face cooling as the blood receded from my cheeks. "Oh, Mr Murphy, have I got you wanking now?" she teased me further before continuing, "Whatever would your Martha have said?" I felt a momentary stab of guilt, regret and even offense at Tina's reference to my departed wife, but quickly surpressed all three as she turned to face me then, a smoldering look in her eyes and her full lipped mouth tilted in a crooked little impish smile. She undid the loose knot of her belt, letting it fall open and reached for the top of the three large buttons that held her coat fastened. "How much?" I heard myself ask humorously, and was more than a little pleased that I could master my voice enough to speak under the onslaught of the blood issuing from my pounding heart and coursing through my arteries with the intensity of white water rapids, and humorously to boot! "Oh, Mr Murphy," she replied, the first button undone and moving on to the middle. "But this," second button open and continuing to the last. "Is priceless!" She undid the last button, threw the coat open and flipped it gracefully off her shoulders before letting it slide down her back and collecting it with one hand behind her. She kept her eyes averted from mine while she disrobed and now deliberately turned her head sideways to watch where she was dropping the coat onto the bed. Tina was stark naked beneath the coat! Her magnificent body was exposed entirely to my gaze as she allowed me the luxury of admiring it without needing to worry about meeting her eyes looking into mine. Her wonderfully full breasts were even more glorious on second viewing and her nipples were already hard and proud. She wore a thin suspender belt across her narrow waist, the black lace of which was interwoven with filaments of red silk. The stockings were high on her legs, right to the juncture of her thighs and torso and they too had a smattering of red interwoven into the darker lace of her stocking tops. Her stomach was firm and flat and her pubic mound was.. bald... entirely devoid of hair. Her pubic bone bulged prominently before the top of her slit appeared beneath, dissecting the soft flesh curving under her abdomen between her thighs. There, in the gap between the tops of her stockinged thighs, dangling from her womanly cleft, was her prominent labia, extending below her body. Her entire pubic area glistened and shone with what I could only assume was moisturizer. Tina turned her head slowly back towards me to look into my eyes again and reached up to remove the scarf from around her neck. "No!" I forbade her with an authority that surprised, even me. The scarf emphasized her nakedness so intensely that I was loathe to see it removed. In some indiscernible sense it represented a modesty required for the normal world she inhabited beyond my apartment while her nakedness was reserved for me alone, within it. "Leave the scarf on!" I instructed her. Tina raised her eyebrows, smiled knowingly and left the scarf in place, dropping her hands to her sides. "This, Mr Murphy," she said then, making a small presentation gesture with both hands either side of her bald genitalia, directing my attention directly to it, "Is a Brazilian!" I'm sure I made some audible sound of appreciation, but my previous control over my voice deserted me and I was speechless as I looked without reservation at her shaved pubes. Tina took a few steps towards me as I continued to look at her bald mound and took one of my hands in hers, pulled it towards her and turned it palm upwards. Her next gesture was unmistakably deliberate in design and intention as she, rather than pull my hand towards her sex, raised herself up slightly on her toes, tilted her pelvis forward and placed it in my hand. She gave it to me! I had no idea what to do with it! I had never touched a woman's vagina in my life! How pathetic was that? I clumsily rolled her soft, velvety labia gently in my fingers, not daring to attempt to find the wet entrance to her vagina, for fear of causing her some discomfort. The moment drew silently on and I felt I needed to say something to divert attention away from my inexperienced fingers kneading her outer vaginal lips inexpertly while I pushed the heel of my palm gently against her impossibly smooth pubic bone. Not a hint of stubble pushed back against my hand, only soft, sensuous womanly flesh now starting to gyrate slowly in my palm. "But your lad, Eric," I began, stupidly, "He doesn't approve of Brazilians!" "No," said Tina, a little distractedly, "But I have wanted one for years." Then something wonderful happened, as Tina continued to press her sex against my hand, her ever moistening vaginal lips parted voluntarily, allowing my fingers to slip inadvertently between them and a gentle probe was all that was required for my longest finger to slide easily up into her vagina. Just to the first knuckle initially and then slowly, gently I pushed further and further up into her warm, wet canal until my finger was entirely embedded in her. Tina moaned her appreciation softly before saying. "There's something else Eric doesn't approve of that I've wanted for a while now, Mr Murphy." She told me then. Tina waited for some response from me, a sign that I wished to know, was willing to hear her say what it was she wanted, a commitment to partake of, at the very least, her expression of her deepest desires. "What's that?" I managed to croak hoarsely after clearing my throat. She leaned her head closer to me, placing her lips just inches from my ear and, as I heard the Angelus bells chime distantly from the local church, Tina whispered enticingly, hotly, into my auditory canal. "I've wanted for a while now, Mr Murphy" She paused momentarily for effect, "To be fucked up the arse." The distant Angelus bells chimed on in the silence that followed Tina's assertion as her breath rasped hotly in my ear and my entire being pulsed with excitement at the close proximity of her magnificent body while she contracted her vaginal muscles around my finger and gyrated her pubic mound in my hand. I gulped audibly in an attempt to activate my saliva glands and moisten my parched throat. Tina's breasts pressed into my chest through my thin nylon shirt as she leaned against me and continued to breathe provocatively into my ear. "Will you, Mr Murphy," she asked huskily, "Fuck me up the arse?" My erect penis throbbed painfully, my trembling knees nearly gave out at the mere thought of what she was asking me to do, I was delirious with lust at the prospect and still the Angelus bells rang distantly in warning at the pitfall I was facing if I succumbed to this ultimate temptation. To perform an act of sodomy would surely spell spiritual doom for me, the final descent into the immoral abyss, the bottomless pit of self destruction, for such a thing was despicable in the extreme and worthy of the most severe reprehension. I would be cast out, ostracized, forever banished to the immoral wilderness where, left to my own inadequate devices, I would surely perish. As I contemplated my ultimate demise if I agreed to Tina's hedonistic request the bells rang one last time and fell silent, leaving only her hot breath in my ear, and I was unfathomably torn. For, if I was to believe that my church and religion were the guardians of my spiritual well being and ultimately represented all that was good and clean in my world, then I had to consider that Tina was their antithesis, that she was Jezebel, evil incarnate, and I could not! For whatever I had considered evil to be, it certainly wasn't this warm, compassionate, beautiful woman whose sex I was holding in my hand, whose hard nipples pressed into my chest and whose hot breath rasped in my ear with such carnal promise. Thirty long and lonely years I had been doggedly faithful to my religion and all that time I could never raise enthusiasm for anything beyond my work, even to participate in my children's upbringing, no matter how much I prayed, how many Eucrhrists I let dissolve on my tongue. Yet it was this wonderful young woman I had known only a few weeks and in whose company I had spent a few meagre, but enlightening hours, who made me feel alive, made me want to celebrate life and living in a way I had never done before. She had unwittingly ignited a spark of desire in me to make contact with my long estranged offspring, my dear brave and adventurous Oonagh and poor, troubled Sean. A spark I had already resolved to fan into a flame and build into a fire, a fire to burn in a new hearth, to entice my children home. "Yes," I answered when I had found my voice, and a relief washed over me as I uttered the word, I was done feeling guilt and shame, finished being pious and sanctimonious. I was going to fuck this magnificent creature up the arse and love it. "Yes, Tina," I reaffirmend, "I will fuck you up the arse." "Oh, Mr Murphy," She cooed girlishly, hugging me to her,"I can't wait to feel your prick in my arsehole, oh god, I'm so excited I think I'm going to cream this minute." Chronicles of a Changed Man 02 I felt no repulsion at Tina's use of god's name in vain as I might have done before, I had crossed the moral line, the Rubicon, for better or for worse and slipping my finger from her wet cunt I returned her embrace. I ran my hands up and down her back, luxuriating in the warmth and softness of her flesh and as I did, became aware that through all the time she had wanked herself for me and fucked me standing against the door, I hadn't let my hands touch her. What a stupid prick I had been! Well, no more! I let my hands drop down to her arse, slipped them under the narrow straps of her suspender belt and cupped her cheeks, christ, what a glorious sensation to be holding those delectable orbs of flesh. I kneaded them tenderly with my fingers, pressed my palms into the swelling handfuls of pliable softness, lifted and pulled them apart, envisioning her tight little arsehole stretching and dilating and my prick pulsed expectantly at the thought that soon it would be penetrating that deliciously tight orifice. I couldn't wait another second! "Ok, young lady," I told her, "Let's have you up on the bed. Kneel up there." I instructed, somewhat self consciously, not quite managing the authority I wanted to impart as part of my newly adapted persona. Still, Tina turned obediently away from me, cooing excitedly as she tottered towards the bed on her street-walker stiletto heels, her tits bouncing and her arse cheeks wiggling as she went. I saw that her stocking tops were adorned with little red bows on the back, matching her shoes and neck scarf. I went to the wardrobe, opened the door, undressed and placed my clothes inside in their respective places and then turned towards the bed. Tina was kneeling up by then, her knees spread wide apart, locked at ninety degrees, keeping her thighs and calves at right angles to each other so that her arse was high in the air as she leaned forward on the bed, resting her head sideways on the covers. Naked, I stepped in between her stiletto shod feet, overhanging the side of the bed and marveled at the beautiful sight of her broad hips and arse cheeks, naturally splayed wide by her bent over position. The cheek bones jutted proud, creating a hollow between them and, at the bottom of the hollow, her virgin arsehole, tight and secretive, awaited my exploration, her anal defloration. Her engorged cunt lips dangled lazily just an inch or so below her tight anus and glistened wetly while yawning just enough to reveal the pink entrance to her wet vagina. A glob of viscous juice oozed out of her, trickled slowly down the gently meandering folds of her labia and dangled precariously off the bottom of her cunt lips. I scooped it up on the back of my first finger before it could drop off, making her wince involuntarily while emitting a little pleasurable moan. Recovering quickly, she pushed back against my hand and I ran the back of my finger up the entire length of her oozing cunt, gathering juice as I went. "You can lube my arsehole with my cunt juice, Mr Murphy." Tina suggested helpfully. I smeared the juice over her tight hole, turning my finger over and back to make sure I got as much of it on and around her anus as possible. I heard her moan softly and felt her sphincter muscle clench reflectively against my finger before she relaxed it again, allowing it to dilate so that the little pink center became visible within the darker pigmented crater of puckered muscle. Cautiously, carefully, I pressed the tip of my first finger against the pink center, the bull's-eye, of her arsehole and pushed gently, it yielded easily and my finger slipped in effortlessly to the first knuckle. Tina emitted a little pleasurable moan and gave a small, barely perceptible, backward push of her hips. I eased my finger in deeper, felt her sphincter roll over my knuckle and the tip of my finger seemed to sink into warm velvet the other side of the ring of tight muscle. Oh christ, it was so hot inside her arsehole, my prick was throbbing, I know it's probably an overused cliche in erotic writing to say a prick throbbed, was throbbing, but mine was really, genuinely fucking throbbing, involuntarily jerking up and down, bobbing a glob of pre-cum from the end like a fucking yo-yo. I was giddy with the anticipation that soon my prick would be following my finger up Tina's tight, hot arsehole. For fuck's sake, who was I, Patrick James Muphy, sixty years old, to be the first man to fuck this delightful, adorable, beautiful young woman up her gorgeous arse? It was unbelievable! Unimaginable only a few days, a few hours, hell, a few minutes ago! I never expected to see her again, except in my dreams, yet here I was, pushing a digit up her arse with the sole purpose of adding more fingers to the first in order to expand her tight sphincter enough so that I could get my prick up her arsehole. Then it occurred to me! She was going to marry Eric in a few months! He didn't approve of anal sex! So in all likelihood, not only was I going to be the first, I was probably going to be the only man to ever fuck her up the arse. Oh, christ, my prick was nearly slapping my belly it was bucking so hard, that glob of pre-cum flying free and landing on one of the little red bows on the back of Tina's stocking tops. I pushed my finger further up her arse, feeling her sphincter muscle slide lower and lower down until the curled knuckles of my other three fingers pushed against her warm, wet cunt lips and I could go no further. "Oh god, that feels good!," Tina moaned first before instructing me, "Wiggle it about, Mr Murphy." Worried that I might cause her some small injury if I bent my finger at the knuckles inside her, I kept it straight and manipulated it, first, up and down, then side to side and finally I rotated it in a circular motion inside her rectum, all the while keeping it straight from the ridge knuckle. Tina gave a deep throated growl of satisfaction and delight. "Oh fuck, yeah!" she groaned "Fuck me with it, Mr Murphy, fuck my arsehole with your finger." Only too happy to oblige, I slowly withdrew my finger almost to the tip and then pushed it back in to the hilt again, repeating the maneuver several times in and out as Tina moaned and groaned ecstatically while twisting the bed covers in her clenched fists. "Try two fingers." Mr Murphy, Tina instructed me. I slipped my first finger all the way out of her arsehole and watched as her sphincter slowly contracted back, almost to it's pre-fingered tightness, but not quite. I half crossed my longest finger over my first which shortened it so that the two tips came together, one over the other, and was about to press them against the buttonhole opening to her rectum, when I had an idea, remembering Tina's instruction on how to lubricate her arsehole earlier. I dropped my hand lower, slid my two fingers up her wet cunt and worked them about inside her, smearing them with a generous coating of cunt juice and, as I did, my thumb accidentally pushed up against her arsehole, giving me another idea. Realizing that my thumb would be less intrusive, I continued to work my fingers about inside her cunt, pressed the broad pad of my thumb against her anus and began to circulate it there. Her sphincter yielded easily to the top of my thumb and I eased it all the way up her arse without too much resistance while curling my fingers inside her cunt to meet it through the thin membrane separating her two channels. Tina groaned her appreciation and clenched her abdominal muscles in response to the dual penetration of her cunt and arsehole while I massaged my thumb and fingers together gently. I then withdrew my fingers from her twat, brought my thumb out of her rectum so that I could work the pad around her sphincter, stretching the muscle in circular motions until it gaped just a little but easily wide enough for my two fingers to slip up her arse effortlessly. I two-finger fucked Tina's arse for several moments, sawing them back and forth while turning my hand repeatedly in order to stretch her sphincter every which way. All the while she moaned and groaned in half pleasure, half pain while sucking her breath in and out noisily through her teeth in such a way that I became a little concerned for her. "Are you ok, love." I asked her, unwittingly using the term of endearment I had only ever used for my departed wife Martha, but at that point I didn't care anymore. "Oh yes. Mr Murphy," she answered gutturally. Then she reached back, caught my wrist and stopped my hand, stilling my two fingers inside her. "Do it now, Mr Murphy." she told me, "Put your cock inside me now." As I withdrew my fingers, Tina sat back all the way so that the backs of her thighs were resting on her calves, lowering her bum to bring her reamed arsehole in line with my waiting cock. I had to take my shaft in my hand to steady it as I shuffled forward on my stockinged feet! For fuck's sake, I realized only then, I still had my socks on and felt ridiculous, but fucked if I was stopping to take them off at that point. As I was about to shove my prick up a woman's arsehole for the first time, I was lightheaded with the sheer joyous expectation of it. I had to blink my eyes several times and concentrate fiercely to focus, because my eyesight was blurred like a drunk's from the sheer intoxication of it. Steadying myself with one hand on the small of her back, I taking my cock in the other, I pushed it against Tina's arsehole and marveled at how snugly my knob fit to the little funnel of her sphincter, how gloriously contradictory it felt to be easing my prick somewhere it was never intended to go, yet fit so perfectly. My entire knob was in contact with the hot flesh of her rectal opening so that every square millimeter tingled with pinpricks of pleasure. I thought I could have stayed like that forever, my knob snuggled into her outer arsehole, but not yet breaching the sphincter muscle, such was the sensation I was feeling in my sensitive cock head, but of course that sensation was about to be intensified even further. As I instinctively pressed my prick forward against the resistance of her sphincter, it slowly opened around the dome of my knob, the pressure exerted, stretching my tiny pee hole and sending a stab of hot pleasure up my narrow piss and spunk tube. The ring of Tina's sphincter muscle slowly rolled back over my knob, peeling my foreskin with it as I eased my cock gently into her virgin arsehole. She stifled a low moan of pleasurable pain as her ring stretched, to the limit, around the broadest part of my cock, the corona of my glans. My foreskin felt like it would tear, yet it was such an exquisite pain, I endured it willingly and almost passed out with pleasure as the band of sphincter finally eased over the ridge of my corona, entirely unsheathing the foreskin and enveloping my intensely sensitive knob in the delicious heat of her velvety rectum. I paused then, savoring the moment and sensation while Tina released a deep sigh of contentment, indicating her own satisfaction at having, at least, a man's knob in her arse at last. After a brief moment during which neither of us moved, Tina raised her hips a little and allowed my knob to slip from her arsehole momentarily before pushing back again and easily slipping her stretched sphincter over my cockhead to ease it back in once more. She did this several times, rocking her arse back and forth slowly over my knob, sucking it in and squeezing it out repeatedly, wanking my cockhead with her arsehole! Eventually, she ceased this delightful rocking to and fro on my knob and pushed her hips back as far as her crouched position would allow, taking a little more of my cock up her arse. I took this as my cue to press up into her and, gripping her hips with my hands, pushed my pelvis gently forward, feeling my cock ease further and further up her tight anal cavity until her sphincter ring was gripping the very base of my prick and I was entirely embedded, up to my dirty old man's balls, in her tight arsehole. My prick is no more than average, but at that moment I felt like I had the biggest fucking cock in the world, such was the grip of Tina's rectum around it's entire pulsating length. She, for her part, moaned with pleasure and grimaced with pain in equal measure so that I was unsure how to continue. "Are you ok, love?" I asked her again. "Oh fuck," she gasped, a half laugh escaping from her as she did. "I don't know how to feel, Mr Murphy, it's so fucking good, but sore at the same time." "Do you want me to stop?" I asked her, genuinely concerned that I might be hurting her. "Oh no!" she said so emphatically that I laughed, making my cock buck inside her. She groaned in response, half in pleasure and half in pain, before laughing herself at her unintended display of eagerness. "Just pull out slowly, Mr Murphy," she instructed me "Not all the way, just like you're fucking me, only, go slow until I get used to it." I did as she asked, withdrawing my prick all the way until my knob caught against the inside of her sphincter, I pulled back against it and watched her anal ring bulge outwards from the pressure of my cock head behind it before stopping short of popping out of her arsehole. "Now push it in again, Mr Murphy." Tina said. I slid my cock all the way back up her arse until I was once more buried to the hilt in her, my balls nestling against her soft cunt lips. Not waiting this time for any instruction, I withdrew slowly all the way before plunging back in with little hesitation between the inward and outward strokes. Tina literally meowed her appreciation, whatever pain she was feeling clearly surpassing the pleasure of being fucked up the arse for the first time. I began to quicken my thrusts and she gasped, groaned and moaned more and more, until she was growling ecstatically deep in her throat while twisting the bed covers in her white knuckled fists. "God, yeah. Fuck me, Mr Murphy." she encouraged me unnecessarily "Fuck my tight virgin arsehole." I was emitting my own involuntary animalistic growls and groans as I fully committed myself to pounding the fuck out of a woman's arse for the first time in my sixty year life. My breath came in short gasps as my heart pumped furiously to keep the muscles of my thighs and abdomen supplied with energy to see myself to the climatic end. Tina's lovely soft, warm arse cheeks slapped delightfully into the crook of my hip bones as I thrust my prick faster and faster up into her ever greasing arse tunnel. She must have come then as I felt a gush of warm fluid wash over my tight scrotum and upper legs and Tina stifled a scream in the back of her throat. I was nearing climax myself, passed my hands round to the front of her thighs under her hip bones to pull her to me and pounded harder and harder against her arse, trying to get every last millimeter of my cock up her rectal hole. She pushed a hand back between her own legs, then mine, and raked her fingernails gently, but exquisitely along my perineum, driving me crazy with sensations I never knew I could feel. Then Tina pushed her hand further back until she reached my arsehole and began massaging the tiny little orifice with her fingertips. I was thrust over the orgasmic edge by her manipulation of my sphincter and pummeled my hips against her arse until the spunk rose rapidly up my rock hard cock and shot out of my knob, releasing spurt after glorious spurt of immeasurable pleasure deep inside her. I collapsed over her, breathing heavily as she removed her fingers from my anus and brought her hand in front of her to lean on her elbows, bracing her arse back against me to help support my weight. We remained like that for a few moments, both of us still and I luxuriated in the sensuas feel of her round arse cheeks spooning into my belly and thighs as my cock went soft inside her. All the while Tina made little moaning sighs of satisfaction in the back of her throat as she recovered her own breath. Eventually I slipped my flaccid cock out of her arse, stepped back from the edge of the bed and Tina flopped onto her side on the covers where she lay for a moment before getting up and heading to the bathroom with her hand cupped between her arse cheeks over her leaking anus. I heard her expel the contents of her rectum into the toilet bowl with a few watery farts accompanied by her embarrassed giggles while I wiped my cock off with a shirt from the laundry basket and dressed. The toiled flushed and a few moments later, Tina re-emerged from the bathroom and walked to the bed where she picked up her coat and started to put it on. Loathe to let her leave, I invited her to stay for a bit of lunch, but she politely declined while she buttoned up the coat and retied the belt at the waist. I was fully dressed by this stage, Tina stepped up to me, took my hands in hers and gave me a sad smile. "Thank you, Mr Murphy," she said, "That was great." I was aghast that she would be thanking me for letting me fuck her up the arse, thinking that the pleasure had been all mine and told her so. "You've given me a lot to think about." She then said enigmatically before releasing my hands, pecking me on the cheek and heading for the door. I wanted to walk her out to the tram stop a few hundred yards from our building, but she said she'd prefer to say good-bye there and so we did. She gave me one last little cuddle at the door of my apartment, touched me lightly on the cheek with her finger and walked away down the corridor. I re-entered my apartment, put the bed up and rearranged the furniture. Then I prepared and ate the loneliest lunch I had ever eaten.