11 comments/ 25337 views/ 16 favorites Chronicles of a Changed Man 01 By: WobieTide Paddy Gets a Wake-Up Call I am a pensioner in my late sixties living in a modest three bedroom house in a small private estate on the Southern outskirts of Dublin, but at the time of the events I am about to relate I was living in a studio apartment on the second floor of a retirement home on the north side of the city. I am a solitary person by nature and could only take the other residents of the home in small doses, so I tended to avoid going down to the communal room to mix with them. They in their turn, never sought me out for inclusion in their company, so it was a mutually accepted antisocial standoff. My insular disposition could be attributed to the fact that I was reared in a very dysfunctional family. Both my parents were alcohol abusers and fought alternately, depending on circumstances, over the fact that they had drank all their money or that there wasn't enough money to go drinking. My siblings and I suffered no physical abuse, but the nonexistence of affection and compassion or ordered discipline in our formative years scarred each of us in his or her own different way. I have not seen or heard from my sister or three brothers since we buried our father more than twenty years ago! He died, as did my mother two years before him, from alcohol related illnesses! This neglectful upbringing impacted on me such that, by the time I reached my late teens, I was drinking heavily myself and my psychological and perhaps, genetic make-up, was such that, from the very day I started to drink I was on a slippery downward slope into alcohol dependence. I was considered by all who came to know me, even in those early years, to be a brooding introvert, best left to his own devices and by the time I reached my mid-twenties, I was diagnosed by one professional in the field of substance addiction, as a 'functioning alcoholic'. I was able to function enough to leave Ireland in nineteen sixty nine and go to London where I found work as a labourer on the building sites. It was a lonely existence, an endless round of working, drinking, sleeping and back to work the following day to perpetuate the miserable cycle. I consider myself to have been saved from this wretched existence and cured of the imprecation of alcohol abuse by a woman I met when I was thirty one, named Martha, whom I later married and who bore me two children. I intend to go into my life with my now deceased wife and my two children, from whom we had become estranged long before her death, in much more detail in other chapters where it will have more relevance. Suffice it to say for now that it was Martha's strength of character and her faith in her Catholic religion that rescued me and kept me on the straight and narrow for the following thirty years. She introduced me to God, instilled in me the importance of church attendance and prayer on a daily basis to keep the Devil's influence out of my life. I trod the path she'd hewn for me through the tangled undergrowth of alcohol temptation and sexual desire relentlessly, even after she died of cancer twelve years ago. When I returned to Ireland a few years after her death in a London hospital, I continued to attend daily morning mass at my local chapel and never lay my head down to sleep at night without reciting the Lord's prayer and a few Hail Marys. That was until the following events changed my life forever and I realized how much of a misguided soul, my dearly departed Martha was, and how much I had contributed, by my passive acceptance of her dogmatic rule over our household, to the creation of another dysfunctional family and the estrangement of my own two children. I have formed the opinion that blind devotion to a supernal cause can be just as harmful as addiction to an earthly vice, and more odious given that devotion is a choice, addiction is not. Prior to the events which follow, I had my daily routine of morning mass, walks in the Phoenix Park not far away and my daily newspaper and books to read. I was physically comfortable and secure, with adequate stimulation for my modest intellect, but I was immensely bored. I say I was bored and not lonely because that wasn't, in effect, my emotional state, but I sometimes found it difficult to fill the empty hours of the evening if there was nothing good on the television, which was mostly always. There you have it, all the pertinent circumstances, for this part of the story, of my past life up to that point, a few weeks after my sixtieth birthday, which had fallen on the eighteenth of July two thousand and eight. It was an unseasonably chilly July afternoon, if chilly July afternoons can be considered unseasonable in Ireland, when I received the visit that would ultimately drive me from my previously pious path and onto a more, ethically questionable but heterogeneously enlightened highway. The devil's highway, my Martha would have called it, no doubt, but one which would lead me back into the embrace of my beloved children. A highway to that end could be, for me, nothing other than a righteous path to redemption and forgiveness, acceptance and tolerance and one I was happy to take and remain steadfastly on. At first I thought the young lady was an official of some sort from the housing association or other such institution, perhaps a health inspector, as we used to get them occasionally. I estimated her to be in her mid twenties, she was attractive, with long black hair, about my own height of five nine in a pair of shiny black high-heeled shoes, the sort my Martha would have described as nonsensical and inappropriate. She was dressed businesslike in a dark, pinstriped knee-length skirt suit over an open necked blouse and her legs were clad in dark, sheer-nylon tights. I surmised they were tights, assuming that a lady of her obviously important position would not demean herself by wearing 'nonsensical and inappropriate' stockings. My appraisal of her attire and general appearance at the time was merely an attempt to discern her purpose for being at my door and not a superfluous inspection of her qualities as a member of the opposite sex. "You are Mr Murphy, aren't you, Patrick Murphy?" she asked rhetorically when I queried if she was at the right address, obviously she was already privy to the identity of the resident living in the apartment to which she had been dispatched, for whatever investigative purpose she had to perform. "Yes, I am." I confirmed, a little brusquely, not being naturally disposed to open sociability, as previously outlined. "May I come in," she asked with a broad, full toothed smile which dimpled her cheeks in a somewhat, alluring manner. "Yes of course." I replied, my antisociality not descending to the depths of being impolite or rude. I stepped back and opened the door fully for her to enter. "So! How are you Mr. Murphy?" she asked pleasantly, briefly taking in the interior of my studio apartment while turning a graceful, half pirouette to face me as I closed the door. "I'm fine, thank you," I answered, a little surprised at her cheerfulness and buoyancy, health inspectors normally being more staid and decorous. "I have no complaints, everything is as it should be." "Good." came her response followed by a brief pause as she appeared to struggle for a suitable way to continue. "Well, this is nice." she said eventually, again glancing around my small but tidy apartment. "It's nice and comfortable." she concluded. "Yes, yes it is." I agreed, "Thank you." Another brief pause ensued and persisted until I was eventually compelled to force the issue of her presence in my home. "What can I do for you?" I queried, as politely as I could. "Oh!" she responded, momentarily discomposed, obviously taken aback by the question despite my adequately civilized delivery of it. "You haven't been expecting me, then? Nobody told you I was coming?" she asked. "No!" I replied. "I'm sorry, Mr. Murphy, but I thought you would have been informed. I'm from the visitors group..." she paused for a moment before continuing. "...with 'Friends of the Elderly'." "Ah." I acknowledged, with a little more annoyance than I had intended to impart, understanding then that this was to be an unrequested visit designed to alleviate me of the tedium of my enforced solitude, if only for a little while. 'Friends of the Elderly' is a voluntary organization in Ireland providing support and company to the elderly and isolated people living alone throughout the country. I knew of their existence through the day trips and outings they organized for the residents of the building where I lived, but had never experienced their brand of hospitality, giving my propensity for avoiding such excesses of sociability. I was on the verge of politely releasing this poor young lady of what would undoubtedly be an irksome obligation for her, when, for some reason I still don't know to this day, I had a change of heart and invited her to sit down. A momentous change of heart it would prove to be and one I am enormously happy to have had. She accepted my offer of a seat, taking one of the two leather armchairs in the apartment while I reclined, a little stiffly, in the other one. The armchairs were arranged perpendicularly to each other around a coffee table with a three seater settee on the opposite side of the table, all close to the wide screen television fixed to the wall. After a laborious, perfunctory start with the usual topics that typify the opening conversation of the newly acquainted, we began to relax and our discourse became more interesting. Precisely why it became so was lost on me at the time as, during the earlier part of our discussion, I merely learned her name was Tina, that she was South African and in Dublin on a working holiday. All information that would normally have struck me as mundane and of little interest, just as I would have expected the details of my life and existence would have been to a woman of such a vastly different generation to mine. But soon, the conversation flowed increasingly more freely and I learned that she was in her final year of training to be an advertising executive in her home town of Johannesburg and had secured an unpaid, two month work experience position with a company in Dublin, a city she had always wanted to visit. She confirmed to me that she was twenty six, was engaged to Eric, her childhood sweetheart, whom she was due to marry shortly after her return to Johannesburg. In the latter part of our discourse during that first visit, we touched on various topics intrinsically relevant to our respective countries and Tina spoke with an intelligence that was engaging and gratifying. The allocated time of one hour for her visit passed surprisingly quickly and I found myself unexpectedly downhearted when she announced it was time for her to leave. Normally I would have been only too glad to see the back of someone in whose company I had passed, what was for me, such an extended period of time. She left with an offer to return at the same time the following week, should I wish to receive her for another call. Before I realised, I had replied that I would be glad to see her and furthermore informed her that I would look forward to it. As she left, it occurred to me that, far from it being a polite formality to a departing guest, it was true, and I was indeed looking forward to her next visit. Closing the door, I looked at the time on my watch and made a mental note of the day and hour that she had arrived so as to know when to expect her back. Thursday, two o'clock! The following week seemed to pass slower than normal with the things that irritated me about trying to fill the empty hours chafing me more than usual. I realized that, for the first time in many years, I was looking forward to something and even began to worry that Tina wouldn't show up. I decided to make an effort at being a respectable host and by one o'clock of the appointed day, I was showered, shaved and in my Sunday best suit, shirt and tie. At half past two on the Thursday, she still hadn't arrived and, somewhat crestfallen, I had begun to unravel the knot in my tie when there was a soft knock at the door and I had to quickly redo it as I hurried across the apartment to answer. Tina was standing in the hallway when I opened the door and smiled broadly at me as she looked me up and down and raised her eyebrows in approval of my attire. While I had gone to considerable lengths to be presentable to her, she, on the other hand, appeared to have 'dressed down' for this visit and was wearing denim jeans with calf high, black leather boots while sporting a casual jacket over another open necked blouse. We both smiled at each other in tacit amusement at this unexpected reversal in dress code. With an apology for being a bit late, Tina stepped into the apartment as I held the door open for her and then asked me how I was as she made her way towards the same armchair that she had sat in on her previous visit. "I've been very well, thank you Tina, and you?" I answered and followed up without waiting for an answer by asking her if she would like something to drink. Tea? Coffee? Or maybe a soft drink? I had, at some point during the week while reminiscing about her first visit, been hit with the sudden realization that I hadn't offered her any refreshment at the time and was probably a bit overzealous in attempting not to repeat such an unsociable misdemeanour second time round. She answered that she would like a cup of coffee with milk but no sugar and I headed towards the kitchenette as she removed her jacket and sat down in the armchair. As you would expect in a studio apartment, the kitchenette was visible from the seating area and we could clearly see each other while I got the coffees ready. Once I had prepared and served the beverages, I sat in the armchair adjacent to hers and we commenced another period of the most pleasant small talk I have ever engaged in. We spoke of her studies in Johannesburg and hopes of finding employment there when she finished. She told me she had been to Croke Park to watch a Gaelic football match but just couldn't get to grips with the rules of the game, something that I empathized with her about having abhorred it since childhood. On the other hand, she enjoyed soccer, was a Manchester United fan and harboured ambitions of one day going to see a home game at Old Trafford. I had been a 'red devils' supporter all my life and had always wanted to attend a match at the hallowed 'Theatre of Dreams' but despite living all my adult life in England, only a few hundred miles from the venue, I never did. My Martha had no time for the sport and considered it a disgraceful waste of money that could have been put to better use doing the Lord's work through the church. I had been loathe to antagonize my dear wife by openly declaring my love of the game or divulging my perfidious desire to visit such an incongruous establishment as Old Trafford. However, I did manage to follow the team through newspaper reports and surreptitious viewings of 'Match of the Day' on Saturday nights, with the television on mute, when Martha retired early to bed in preparation for the Sabbath. I realized as I let Tina out of my apartment at the end of that second visit that I had found a soul-mate in this girl nearly forty years my junior and I was becoming increasingly intrigued by her. I remained standing at the open door and watched her walk away down the corridor towards the stairs, or lift, I couldn't tell as both were out of view from my door. She hadn't replaced her jacket, so carried it in the crook of her arm and I couldn't help but notice, superfluously, that she was a fine specimen of womanhood. Underneath her blouse there was the faint outline of bra straps over her femininely broad shoulders and across her back where, between her shoulder blades, her silky black hair bounced and swung in time with her steps. Her back tapered down to her waist, the narrowness of which was emphasized by the leather belt looped through her jeans. Her bottom was taut and firm and swayed handsomely as she sashayed confidently away on legs that were long and slender with strong athletic thighs and well defined calves encased in her soft leather boots. Suddenly realizing that I had been inappropriately observing her, I said a quick act of contrition and banished the vision from my mind, just as she physically disappeared around the corner and towards the stairs, or lift. During the course of our chat earlier, she'd revealed to me that she had been late that afternoon because of the trouble she'd had booking her flight home to South Africa for two weeks later. She had eventually managed to find a seat on a plane at a suitable day and time to coincide with the termination date of her work experience and was really excited about seeing her family and friends again and especially her fiance, Eric. We had arranged a third visit for the same time the following week and, such was my enthusiasm for the appointment, the days dragged even more slowly than the previous week. But, as it relentlessly does, time did pass and Tina once again arrived at my apartment at the appointed hour. When she did, she was wearing the same style of tight fitting denim jeans and boots but this time wore a short leather jacket to compliment them. She was carrying a small plastic shopping bag and when I let her into my apartment this time, she went directly to the kitchenette and placed the bag on the counter before slipping off the jacket. Beneath it she was wearing a close-fitting white T-shirt tucked into her jeans, under which a lace patterned bra was clearly visible through the thin fabric. She insisted I sit down and let her make the coffee this time and, ignoring my protests, set about the preparations with her back to me. From my position in the armchair, I was able to admire her wonderful, pear-shaped bottom in the tight fitting jeans as she moved about in my kitchenette. The jeans had no back pockets and there was no telltale knicker line beneath so the material clung like a second skin to her buttocks separated up the middle by the heavily stitched denim seam. I felt the first stirrings of an erection in my penis for many a year and felt acutely embarrassed that this young lady was awakening desires in me that not even my poor departed wife of thirty plus years had ever elicited. I forced myself to look away and invoked the Lord to deliver me from evil and let me not be led into temptation. Tina finished making the coffee, placed some cakes from the plastic shopping bag on a plate and brought them back to the coffee table between the armchairs, her jeans moulded itself perfectly to her shapely thighs as she crossed one knee over the other after sitting down opposite me. Then, as she leaned forward to take a cake from the plate on the table, her ample chest pushed out the front of her T-shirt, revealing the swell of her upper breasts spilling over the cups of her bra underneath. All much more clearly visible beneath the taut fabric of the garment, at close proximity. The lace of the bra was of such delicate constitution, it failed to completely suppress her nipples which were denoted by a discernible bump on each T-shirt clad breast. My invocations were being sorely challenged! "Help yourself, Mr Murphy" she said pleasantly and my penis began a slow ascent to full erection for what must have been the first time in ten years. I had to shift myself in my seat and adjust the wide end of my tie strategically in my lap to conceal the extent of my sexual arousal as I leaned forward to take a cake and my cup of coffee. I was once again in my Sunday best suit trousers, shirt and, thankfully, wide tie, but I had left my suit coat hanging in the wardrobe. Chronicles of a Changed Man 01 "So now, Mr Murphy" she said "You know all about me from last time, so why don't you tell me all about you." So I did. I spoke of my childhood growing up in Ireland, meeting my wife, Martha, in England when I went to work there as a young man, although I omitted my struggles with alcohol dependency. I told her about my two children, Oonagh, my daughter and my son Sean, but I didn't mention that we were estranged or why. In truth, at the time I didn't know myself. As per our previous visit, we chatted easily and comfortably about a whole range of topics and even shared a laugh or two on discovering that our senses of humour were similar. My own sense of humour had been so long suppressed, I would have considered it beyond resurrecting, yet here I was for the first time in many a long year enjoying a laugh in the most unlikely of company for a man of such advanced years. By the end of the hour long visit we were so comfortable with each other that she pecked me on the cheek as she was leaving. She hadn't replaced her jacket and her T-shirt clad breasts with discernible nipple buds pressed against my chest through my thin shirt as she leaned in to kiss my cheek. My penis, which had subsided during the course of the visit, given the innocent nature of the topics discussed, began to stir again. As I watched her swaying backside all the way down the corridor, it quickly grew to a throbbing erection by the time she turned the corner at the end. She would be coming back for her last visit the following Thursday and my awakening desire was tempered by the knowledge that she would soon be returning to South Africa and her fiancee. This was my over-riding concern as I closed the door to my comfortable but increasingly lonely studio apartment, Tina would be coming to visit me for the last time next week and I would miss her when she was gone. How could this be happening? How could I be entertaining thoughts of companionship and romance with this beautiful young woman nearly forty years younger than me, whom I'd only known essentially, for a few hours. It was absurd in the extreme, I told myself to be sensible, she was engaged to be married to her childhood sweetheart back in South Africa and even if she was single, living next door, there was no way that anything could ever come of my infatuation I struggled fiercely with my emotions and desires over the next few days! In mass, I prayed fervently to be released from this impossible infatuation and be rid of the insidious lechery that was assailing me. I asked the Virgin Mary to banish the images of Tina's flimsy lace clad breasts beneath her T-shirt and her delectable backside which kept popping into my head. I prayed for strength of mind to prevent myself being sexually aroused by the aforementioned images, but to no avail, and I got many full blooded erections the following week thinking about beautiful, sexy Tina. Yet it never crossed my mind to masturbate, it just never did. I had loved Martha deeply and our sex life had been adequate, although it might seem boring to some, I was happy to make love two or three times a month just before we went to sleep and always with the lights out. To my acute embarrassment, Martha told me she had discussed it with the priest and the father had told her that it was perfectly all right, in the eyes of God and the church, for a husband to be allowed his conjugal rights from time to time. Better that than he be tempted to spill his seed on the ground, for to do so was a mortal sin, so Martha would never have condoned masturbation and I never felt the urge to. I never knew which priest had given Martha the reassurance about allowing me my conjugal rights, but as she always insisted on talking to them all at every possible opportunity, many's the excruciatingly cringing moment I had to endure in her company as she spoke to any one of them. Tina arrived the next Thursday afternoon dressed in a knee-length skirt and blouse with her legs clad in sheer, dark nylon stockings, or tights, and a pair of high heeled shoes. She was carrying a jacket which she draped over the back of one of the armchairs after she'd come in, before sitting down. She was wearing make up for the first time that I could gather or maybe I just hadn't noticed before. It was just a hint of shadow on her eyelids, a smattering of rouge on her cheekbones and a touch of pale pink lip gloss, all very understated but on Tina it made her look absolutely beautiful. Her hair was shiny silk as always. After I had made the beverages and brought them, with a plate of biscuits to the coffee table, I sat down opposite her as usual and tried to converse, but I was struggling to relax and my unease was causing a palpable tension in the air. "You seem tense today, Mr Murphy, is there something wrong?" she asked eventually picking up on my uneasiness. "No, no Tina" I answered, "There's nothing wrong." an awkward silence followed before I tried to continue casually. "So, you'll be off to South Africa, when is it again, Tuesday?" "Yeah," she said "Tuesday morning at eleven, well the flight's not until a quarter past twelve but, you know yourself, have to check-in and all that palaver." Then she teased me, "Awh, is that it is, Mr Murphy? Are you going to miss me?" She leaned forward to give the back of my hand a rub of consolation and the mere touch of her fingers on my flesh ignited a tingling sensation at that base of my penis. This was compounded into an ache by the fact that as she leant forward, her chest pushed against her open necked blouse and I caught a brief glimpse of an inch or two of soft, shadowy cleavage. My penis began to twitch and grow as it had done so many times during that week, thinking about her. "That's so sweet." she said with a smile as she withdrew her hand and sat back a little in the chair making the cleavage disappear behind the closing blouse. "Well, I have enjoyed our little chats." I admitted with a concentrated effort to keep my voice steady. "So have I." she said "And I'm going to miss you too." Then she leaned even further forward and touched the back of my hand again, extending her carress up my wrist to the cuff of my shirt where she let her hand rest for a prolonged moment. As she was looking directly into my eyes while she spoke, I dared not look at what I knew would be a more generous offering of cleavage on display. Once again, she withdrew her hand, only this time she didn't sit back, she remained leaning forward, looked away pensively as she dropped the hand to scratch lightly at an irritant on the instep of her foot, under the rim of her high heeled shoe. "Still, I'm really looking forward to getting home, and seeing everybody, especially Eric." I had the distinct impression that she deliberately prolonged the moment in this position with her eyes averted to allow me a chance to take a good look down her blouse. I couldn't resist and when I did, I was able to see a clear six inches of cleavage between the tops of her soft breasts where they swelled from the uplift of her bra. She eventually did sit back and I looked away as I felt her eyes returning to seek mine with a slow, deliberately delayed turn of her head in my direction and I knew it was a carefully orchestrated moment to spare me the shame of her catching me looking at her cleavage. I was able to meet her renewed visual engagement as if I too had been looking elsewhere other than down her blouse. It was a masterfully executed moment of tease and titillation, affording me the time to look while providing me the means to avoid the embarrassment of detection. "Aye," I said, "I'm sure they'll all be glad to see you too, especially your lad, Eric." "I'm sure he will." she answered wistfully as she leaned back in the chair, clasping her hands around her knee and pulling it slightly upwards and towards her, lifting her skirt just a little in the process. "How long have you known him?" I asked, feigning an interest in her relationship with her fiancee while wondering if I was adequately concealing my misplaced jealousy. "I mean in total, when did you first meet him." I felt compelled to add, knowing already that they had been childhood sweethearts. "I've known him since I was ten Mr Murphy." she answered openly. "Ten?" was all I could say in response. "Yeah, we were only kids when we first became neighbours." she said. "Then I developed a crush on him when I became a teenager, but he didn't seem to notice me until much later, I was nineteen and he was twenty one. That was when we finally got together, at his twenty first birthday party." "So you've been together now for seven years." I surmised. "Yeah." she answered, looking longingly into space and pulling a little harder on her knee, raising her skirt slightly higher. I supposed she was subconsciously hugging him to her, but all I could think of was that now I could see a few inches above her nylon clad knee. "Is he good to you?" I asked, old fashionedly. "Oh yes, he's very good to me." she answered, releasing her knee and reclining further back in the chair. Her skirt remained just a couple of inches above her knees as she stretched her long shapely legs out in front of her and crossed one slender ankle over the other. She let her hands fall together in her lap with her fingers loosely intertwined. In this position her breasts strained against the fabric at the front of her blouse, parting the seams between the top buttons. I could clearly see a little of the laced edge bands of her bra cups where they pressed softly into the pliable flesh of her breasts. By the distant expression on her face I gathered that she was enjoying some personal past memories or future plans and dared not intrude on her privacy. Besides, I was enjoying looking at her exposed bra and outstretched legs as she seemed to drift further into her thoughts and my penis began to awaken. "You see I was a late developer, Mr Murphy." she said absent-mindedly. "That's why he took so long to notice me. Other girls my age were filling out in all the right places, all curvy boobs and bums. But I was just growing straight up, gangly and spindly, I had such horrible skinny legs and bony knees when I was younger." "They're very nice legs now." I offered aloud inadvertently. "If you don't mind me saying." adding by way of excusing my imprudence. She glanced at me briefly with a pleasant smile before looking down her long, outstretched legs. "I suppose they're not bad." she said modestly as, to my amazement, she placed her hands on her skirt and hitched the hem up to about mid-thigh. Then she uncrossed her ankles and placed her feet together and bent her knees sideways, first to one side, then the other to scrutinize the full length of her exposed legs. "I must admit though, these stockings do show them off to their best." she added. "I was wondering if they were stockings or tights." I said, this time with only feigned innocence while wiping my sweating palms together. I was beginning to feel that this was all orchestrated and I shamelessly wanted to participate, ready to see it to whatever outcome my titillating companion had planned. "Oh, I always wear stockings" she said matter-of-factly. "Eric would never hear of me wearing tights." Appearing to be oblivious to my presence, Tina focused her attention totally on her legs as she drew her hands up her thighs, drawing the hem of her skirt tantalizingly up to, and beyond her stocking tops. I could now see several inches of her olive skinned upper legs as she continued to adjust her stockings around her upper thighs and my penis was now a fully fledged throbbing erection. The height to which Tina had drawn her skirt revealed a small triangle of white knickers at the juncture of her thighs and lower torso, but, totally engrossed in watching her adjust her stocking tops and admiring her long, shapely legs I had not been paying much attention to it. Finally satisfied with her stockings, Tina's attention seemed to be suddenly drawn by something in the area of her exposed knickers. Lifting her skirt up even further, she parted her legs slightly and pressed her fingers flatly over her lower abdomen, to minutely scrutinize, first on one side, then the other side of the lace triangle. "I need to trim again." she said to herself, lost in her observations and seemingly unaware of my presence in the room. I dared not speak for fear of reminding her as she hitched her skirt right up to her waist to better carry out her inspection. She ran her index fingers the full length up the elasticated sides of her knickers before slipping her fingertips under the bands. I gulped dryly as she then pulled the legs of the undergarment in towards the centre of her groin. The blood thumped in my temples and my heartbeat intensified as she pulled the fabric into a narrow band over her vagina, exposing the rest of her thatch of silky pubic hair in its entirety. "I didn't start developing pussy hair until I was seventeen." she said musingly as she held the narrow strip of bunched lace in place with one hand while tugging gently at her pubic hair with the fingers of the other. My erection twitched and my mouth went so dry that I had to reach for my cup to take a sip of coffee, making the cup rattle loudly on the saucer with my trembling hand as I did so. Tina didn't seem to notice "It took ages to grow, it was two years before I had a full bush." She continued unperturbed while rolling the soft curls between her fingers, as a silk merchant might do when examining a specimen of expensive fabric. "Lots of girls my age shave their pussies or get Brazilians because they or their boyfriends like it, but Eric prefers mine natural, I wanted to get a Brazilian but he wouldn't hear of it" I know my Martha used to shave her shins and under her arms, but I had no idea that girls did what Tina was going on about and as to what a 'Brazilian' was, I was totally ignorant. This was merely a brief reflection while my heart was pumping blood through my veins at a dangerous speed for a man of my advanced years as I watched Tina musing over her exposed pubic hair. After feasting my eyes on it for several moments I became acutely aware that just a thin strip of flimsy lace was all that prevented me seeing her vagina. In a flash of pathetic revelation, I realized that I had never in my life been in the same room as a naked woman with the lights on. I was suddenly overwhelmed by a desperate, uncontrollable need to see this beautiful young lady's vagina. "Let me see your - thingy." I heard someone plead breathlessly and it was a second or two before I realized that it was I who had spoken. I had even gestured unwittingly with a shaky hand towards Tina's barely concealed womanhood. She looked up at me suddenly, as if I was a hypnotist who had just clicked my fingers to summon her out of a deep trance. "No!" she said emphatically, quickly replacing her knickers over her pubic hair. But there was a frolicsome laugh in her voice and she was smiling broadly so I was encouraged to persist. "Oh please love" I pleaded pathetically. "No!" she answered again, as emphatically as before, but with the same underlying laughter and smile on her face. "God, I can't believe I just did that, let you see my pussy hair like that." She said as she straightened up in the chair and began to replace her skirt back over her stockinged thighs. "Please Tina, I'll give you twenty euros." I heard myself plead and was immediately horrified at my own indiscretion. "No!" she answered not as emphatically as before, but with a softness that was infused with comprehension of my understandable desire and perhaps a little guilt for having brought about the situation herself. "Oh, go on, I'll give you thirty euros, please." I begged uncontrollably, encouraged by her compassionate demeanor and compelled by my raging lust. "No." was her answer again, but she looked at me with such sympathy that I felt her resolve was weakening and in my desperation I ploughed on. "Tina, please love," I appealed to her by name, often a deal clincher, personalize!. "I've never actually seen a real one, I'll give you forty euro." This time Tina remained completely silent and let the smile fade from her pretty face. By now she had replaced her skirt entirely and was sitting up straight in the chair with her legs crossed and her hands clasped over her knee. Her demeanour became so staid that the sudden and mortifying thought occurred to me that I must have made a terrible mistake and deeply offended this young lady. I was filled with a horrible sense of remorse and dreadful embarrassment, my penis flagged shamefully and recoiled to a shrivelled wretch of a thing in my long johns. "Oh Tina I'm sorry." I told her genuinely. "I don't know what came over me, love. I had no right to treat you like that." "It's ok, really." she said, looking up at me with such a compassionate expression that I felt it was indeed ok and I thought to myself that this really is a wonderful young woman. Although I detected a hint of perplexity on her features it didn't register with me immediately, such was my mortification at the hideous misjudgment I had just made. "Would you like more coffee?" I asked her with forced enthusiasm after I had taken a moment to compose myself. "No thanks Mr Murphy" she declined, a quizzical expression faintly creasing her brow. "Right so" I said and an awkward silence descended on the apartment during which I began to think that maybe it wasn't ok after all. Yes, she might be a very understanding and forgiving person but that didn't excuse what I had just done, or at least, attempted to do, no matter how innocently I had misinterpreted the situation. Tina's eyes dropped to the floor and began to study a point on the pine panelled flooring. "You'll be off Tuesday so." I tried again a little later when the silence had become unbearable. "I will, Mr Murphy." she answered, glancing up at me and smiling briefly before her eyes roamed to another point on the floor which she contemplated more intently than she had the previous one. "Are you all packed and ready?" I asked stupidly. "Not really." Tina answered without further explanation while continuing to look at the pine panelling. The silence deepened and became more awkward as I found my own point on the floor to contemplate while I waited forlornly for her to make her excuses and leave. I began to weigh up in my mind how she must have seen me at that moment. Just a dirty old man, trying to take advantage of the fact that she had slipped into a reverie while thinking about the young man she obviously loved. I was stewing in self loathing, thinking about how I had disgustingly offered her forty euro to let me see her vagina..... "Fifty." ..... treating her like a common prostitute and.... "Pardon?" "Fifty." she repeated, now fixing me with a mischievous grin when I looked up at her. "What?" I asked incredulously "You mean you'll......?" "Yes, I'll let you see my - 'thingy' - for fifty euro." she confirmed with a gleam in her eye that hadn't previously been there. I quickly forgot all my self loathing and got out of my chair as fast as my sixty year old limbs would allow and reached into my back pocket for the thirty euro I knew I had there. She laughed brightly at my adolescent eagerness as I pushed it into her palm and then went to a drawer where I always kept a twenty euro note in a diary, just in case of emergencies. I deposited this in her hand with the other notes as Tina grinned broadly at me. "Are you sure Mr Murphy?" she asked "I don't want to be taking your last few euro." I was a little disconcerted at the lack of sincerity in her voice and the fact that her amused expression belied any real concern at relieving me of the last of my funds. However, my disconcertion was assuaged by my raging desire to see her naked vagina. Chronicles of a Changed Man 01 "No, no." I assured her, "You're not, I have plenty in the post office and I get my pension tomorrow." I told her truthfully. "Well, if you're really sure." she said. "Oh, I am, I am." I assured her. Tina looked at me suggestively before turning to place the money in the pocket of her jacket slung over the back of the armchair. "Tell you what, " she said, turning back to face me while sliding forward on the seat until she was sitting right on the edge. Her skirt caught underneath her and rode right up to her dark lace patterned stocking tops as she sat sideways on the frame, dropping the knee of her leading leg like a lady riding side-saddle on a horse. I could now see the broad, muscled inner thigh of her other leg tapering up under her skirt and my penis was rapidly stiffening again. "The fifty euro's to let you see my thingy, God, that's so lame, to let you see...." she paused and fixed me with a sultry pout before finishing emphatically, "... my cunt!" Holding my gaze with the same seductive expression, her eyes now smouldering with forbidden promise, she lifted her hands to the top button of her blouse and undid it. "And I'll let you see my tits for free." she added, emphasizing the word 'tits' as she had done for 'cunt'. I was shamefully aware that these two words so titillated me that I suppressed the instinctive urge to make a sign of the cross to ask absolution for Tina for having uttered the name of God in vain. Continuing to look at me in the same smouldering fashion, she began working her way downwards through the buttons of her blouse, opening each one slowly and deliberately as she went. As each button fell open and more and more of her soft womanly body was exposed to my view I became increasingly intoxicated by the wickedness of ignoring my sanctimonious urges for the wanton lasciviousness of watching this beautiful young woman taking her clothes off. I felt alive, for all the wrong reasons, but something was awakening in me that had been so suppressed that I didn't recognize it and I wanted to know what it was! No! I wanted to know... Who it was! Tina opened her blouse all the way down the front before pulling the tails out from under the waistband of her skirt to undo the last two and throwing the garment wide open. Her stomach was flat and firm below her ribcage above which hovered her ample breasts tethered in their lace bra which I now saw matched her knickers. She lifted her hands to the juncture between the cups of her bra and pinched at the banded lace holding them together, making her breasts drop suddenly and I realized that she had undone a clasp allowing her to open her bra at the front. The underside of her breasts became visible below the cups and were a shade lighter than her abdomen, emphasizing their shape and size. Tina held the bra in place over them and lowered her eyelids to look at me from under her long lashes before parting her hands slowly, separating the cups while lifting and pushing her breasts together with her wrists. The soft flesh swelled under the gentle pressure and her russet coloured nipples stood out proudly when she exposed them, the hard buds standing firm and erect from their surrounding, papilla peppered areolae. Tina let her bra fall entirely open and cupped her hands under her breasts, each one easily filling the palm supporting it and nestling there with a satisfying fleshy weight. Then she looked down at them as she pinched her nipples firmly, tweaking and rolling them between the thumbs and index fingers on each hand. Her mouth dropped slightly open as she raised her delicately pointed chin to look at me again, this time her sultry pout was accompanied by slightly drooping, softly shaded eyelids. She dry-milked her breasts, massaging her hands firmly into the soft tissue, squeezing outwards towards her burgeoning nipples and as I watched them stiffen to soft bullets under her vigorous manipulation, my erection grew solid and throbbed in my long johns. Tina then caught these exquisite bullets between her thumbs and index fingers and used them to lift her breasts high. After a moment, during which she looked at me with a crooked, flirty smile while measuring my expectation for what she was about to do, she let them drop back down with a delightful slap against her ribcage, making me gasp audibly in appreciation. Obviously pleased with my reaction, Tina's crooked little grin broadened into a glorious, dimple inducing smile and her eyes sparkled with mischievousness and delight at my unspoken but obvious appreciation. She lifted her breasts once more by the nipples and this time repeatedly bounced them off her ribcage producing a slow sequence of muted, fleshy awe inspiring slaps. Then she cupped them in her hands and alternately lifted them towards her mouth where she flicked her pink tongue out to lick at the hard nipples while looking at me from under those dark eyelashes, finally, she jiggled and bounced them in my direction before releasing them. She then straightened in the chair and leaned right back so that she was almost lying down. Her breasts slid to either side and flattened out around her blood engorged, erect nipples while the undersides remained delightfully round and firm. Tina then started to slowly drag her skirt tantalisingly upwards until she had exposed her upper thighs above the tops of her stockings and the hem edged slowly over the white laced triangle of her knickers. In her reclined position I could see, for the first time, how her pubic mound bulged the front of the garment and the sight set my heart thumping furiously. She began to gather the leg bands of her knickers and pull them together at the front of her mound in a repeat of what she had done earlier and my saliva glands dried up in anticipation of the treat to come. Soon I was once more looking at the entire triangle of pubic hair parted up the centre by a thin band of bunched lace which she started to playfully tug back and forth across her mound without revealing anything of her covered vagina underneath. Then she lifted her legs up, bending them at the knees and I could see the firm roundness of the backs of her thighs accentuated by the curved bands of her stocking tops. She raised her hips slightly to remove her knickers and I saw then that the back of the garment was no more than a thin strap of lace. For some reason, I remembered the absence of knicker line under her tight jeans on her last visit and now realized why there wasn't any. As Tina removed her knickers the thin band caught momentarily between her bum cheeks before coming free with a delicate snap. I was mesmerized by the movement of the lace knickers over the sheer nylon of her stockings and failed to realize, until too late, that her hair covered sex had been peeking out at the juncture of her thighs and buttocks. She slipped her knickers off the end of one high-heeled foot after the other and kept her knees and ankles together as she lowered her feet back down to the floor. I expected her to cast her knickers aside, but instead she held on to them and trailed them teasingly up past her stocking tops, between her bare thighs to her naked groin. She paused it there to cover her bush as she pouted seductively before throwing it to the floor by the side of the armchair and letting her hands rest at the tops of her legs, framing her thatch of pubic hair in an open invitation to me to look at it. I was bitterly disappointed! After all the teasing promise, there appeared to be little to see except a perceptibly thickening line of hair gathering into a cleft in the centre of her pubic mound and disappearing down between her closed thighs. I'm sure she saw the disappointment register on my face and her mouth broadened into a wide grin as she slowly spread her stockinged legs open until they seemed to be stretched impossibly wide apart and I could see her entire pubic area. What I saw there took my sixty year old breath away. The now exposed lips of Tina's downy vagina were at least three inches long and darker in colour than the surrounding skin of her body where they emerged from her pubic cleft. They clung together in secretive folds of creased and dimpled flesh and were so big and proud of her body that they peeked through her dark silky pubic hair and flopped lazily to one side. Tina looked down the length of her body at her hairy mound and playfully flicked at her vaginal lips with a fingertip so that they flipped over to the other side. She did this repeatedly back and forth before pinching them between the index and second finger of one hand and rolling them together, then pulling them outwards from her body. They seemed to extend an impossibly long distance before she released them and they recoiled softly back to their original lopsided position. After repeatedly playing with herself like this, she then turned her attention to the curls of soft hair either side of her now engorged vaginal lips and tugged gently at them with both hands. "Would you like me to spread it for you, Mr Murphy?" she asked with a wicked grin as she looked up at me, repeating emphatically. "Would you like me to spread my cunt for you?" My mouth was so dry and my heartbeat so rapid that I couldn't speak, so just nodded my head vigorously. "That'll be a yes, so." she said laughingly, as she placed the fingertips of both hands together over her womanly folds. "Why don't you come closer, Mr Murphy," she said, her laugh morphing into a seductive purr so invitingly that I slid out of my chair and dropped to my knees between her wide open thighs without need of further invitation. As I watched from my new vantage point, Tina tenderly pinched the lips of her vagina between her thumbs and index fingers and pulled them slowly apart. Like the petals of an exotic flower unfolding in the first rays of the morning sun her labia slowly spread open before my transfixed gaze. The bright pink inside of her vulva contrasted magnificently with the darker outer vaginal lips which Tina was pulling open just inches from my face. She raised her head up a little to look down and observe herself as she splayed her hands out either side of her spread vagina and as she did, she tucked the tips of the second fingers of each hand under the lips at the bottom. I watched breathlessly as she eased them inside until the painted fingernails disappeared into the clinging flesh before she added the tips of her index fingers alongside them and also pushed those in until the fingernails were no longer visible. She now had four fingers inside herself to the first knuckle and continued her exploration of her sex by placing her thumps together at the apex of her labia, manipulating them to unsheathe the softly domed, glistening little penis-like member which I understood to be her clitoris. Tina let her head rest back on the cushion of the chair and slowly circulated her fingers within the moistening interior of her womanly opening, spending the next few minutes working her fingers about and forcing them deeper and deeper inside herself until I could hear the increasingly wet sucking noises from her moistening vagina. When she was adequately lubricated and pliable she stretched the entrance to her vaginal canal open by tugging the four fingers inserted there in opposite directions as far apart as the walls would allow. Very quickly, the entrance was stretched wide and I could see inside Tina's open wetness to the depth of her slender fingers where she appeared to be attempting to tease open the very entrance to her cervix. She then held her fingers still for a few long moments to allow me to feast my eyes on the delightful spectacle and I could see the copious creamy vaginal secretions pool at the entrance to her cervix until her red fingernails were almost entirely immersed in the viscous juice. Tina then withdrew all four fingers and allowed her gaping vagina to slowly retract while she smeared her sticky, wet fingers over her glistening outer labia, matting the surrounding pubic hair in her slick juices. She then turned her attention to her clitoris, still held unsheathed by her thumbs and began to work on it with the same four fingers, placing them at the base of the burgeoning nub and pressing the tips firmly into the soft flesh while pulling them slightly apart. Tina carefully plied her fingernails at the base of her clitoris, un-creasing the bright pink fold of flesh there and extending the tiny penis-like member to its maximum. It had become engorged since she first popped it from its hood and now stood out prominently, a good half centimetre long as she gingerly raked a bright red fingernail up and down its entire length making herself suck air through her teeth. She then raised her head a little to look down at me and I supposed it was to see the reaction on my face until she lifted it further and seemed to peer past her own hands at my lower body. Now, I know that this is going to sound like I am a total freak of nature, but while Tina was putting on this explicit show just inches from my face, it never crossed my mind to masturbate, it just didn't. My erection throbbed constantly throughout the entire ten to fifteen minutes that I was watching her expose herself intimately but it just didn't occur to me. I suppose it's just that I had never been in the habit of masturbating before, as I previously explained, and the habit was hard to break, or start, whichever way you want to look at it. Tina then laid her head back on the cushion once more and began to move her hands about on her sex in a different fashion. She slipped one lower down and started to work two fingers inside her moist opening whilst moving the fingertips of her index and second finger of the other in a circular motion on her clitoris. She continued in this manner until she was sliding three fingers rapidly in and out of her slurping wet hole while the fingertips of her other hand became a blur, skimming back and forth on her clitoris. Soon she was writhing about and arching her back on the chair while her breathing came faster and faster. She was sucking air in and out through her lips pursed tightly as her cheeks and upper chest began to flush hotly. Completely lost in the intensity of the moment, I was stupidly bouncing up and down on my knees between her wide open legs slapping a hand against the side of my thigh as I watched Tina work herself into a frenzy and still, it didn't occur to me to masturbate! "Oh fuck - shit - fuck, I'm gonna cream, I'm fucking coming." she was exclaiming breathlessly as her writhing reached its orgasmic peak and she spewed and splattered creamy secretions from her soaking wet vagina onto the chair cushion, the floor, a few errant droplets even reaching my flushed face. "Ohh, fucking fuck!" Tina screeched in a suppressed scream, her body quaking in a stiff tremor as she uttered her last glorious blasphemy before falling silent. Her orgasm passed and her gyrations slowly subsided until she slowed her hands to a gentle caress over her soaking pubis and allowed her breathing to slow, her magnificent, sweat soaked breasts rising and falling on her heaving chest as her lungs returned to their normal working capacity. I sat back on my heels and shook my head in astonishment and appreciation at Tina but as she looked back at me, her expression was one of disappointment and incredulity. Sufficiently recovered, she sat up without saying a word and I was forced to rise from the floor to allow her room to rearrange her clothing. Thankfully, I had the presence of mind to rush to the bathroom to fetch her a towel which she accepted silently when I brought it to her. I sat back down in my armchair, sorely perplexed at her obvious displeasure with me or some aspect of my behaviour. She cleaned between her legs and inner thighs before standing up and turning away from me to wipe her sweat soaked breasts and upper body. Silently she refastened her bra, buttoned up her blouse and tucked the tails into the waistband of her skirt before retrieving her knickers and pulling them on, all the while with her back to me. I could see her gorgeous backside as she pulled the narrow band up between her buttocks, but the sensation it elicited in me was not arousal, so perturbed was I at Tina's evident displeasure. Resettling her skirt over her backside, Tina dropped the towel on the wet patch she'd left on the armchair cushion and retrieved her jacket, reaching into the pocket to take out the fifty euro I had given her and tossing it on top of the towel. She then headed for the door of my apartment without saying a word. I desperately sprung to my feet, grabbed up the money and rushed to head her off, catching my forearm on the knob of one of the wardrobe doors which popped it's catch and swung open behind me. "Tina, Tina" I pleaded "Have I done something wrong, have I upset you?" I asked desperately, catching up with her just as she reached the door. "Please Tina tell me if I've done something to offend you?" She stopped and stood motionless with her hand on the knob of the door without opening it before turning to look at me with a heartbreaking expression on her beautiful, post orgasmic features. "And here love, take the money." I offered stupidly. "Oh, for fuck's sake, Mr Murpy, I don't want your fucking money." she said in exasperation. "But.. But.. " I stammered. "I don't want the money, Mr Murphy, I never wanted the Money." She declared in the same exasperated tone. "Is there something wrong with you, Mr Murphy?" she then asked me sadly. "You should have told me if you're impotent or something and not let me make a complete fool of myself." "No, no." I said emphatically "I'm not impotent, or I don't think so, at least I never was before." "Then what is wrong with you?" she asked, shaking her head in disbelief before continuing. "I spread myself wide open for you, popped my clit out, I even brought myself off in front of you Mr Murphy and all you did was watch! I made myself come right under your fucking nose and you didn't even wank." "Wank?" I asked ignorantly. "Jack off!" Tina iterated with incredulously raised eyebrows as she mimicked the act of male masturbation with one hand in front of her crotch. "Did you not get horny, for fuck's sake, did your cock not even get hard?" "Ah Tina love, my Martha, she'd never have condoned me doing that, " I said, gesturing towards where Tina had mimicked masturbating at her crotch, but of course, by then her hand had moved onto her hip. "No! Well, I don't suppose your precious Martha would have stuck four fingers up her cunt for you either, make herself squirt in your face, but you didn't stop me doing it, did you!" Tina said a little angrily. "Ah Tina, don't." I said "Don't be talking like that, not about my Martha. I didn't mean to upset you love. Really, I didn't." Tina looked a little contrite as she sighed heavily while her anger began to subside. "I'm sorry, Mr Murphy, but it was never about the money, I decided the fist time I came to visit you that I'd put on a little show for you before I go back to South Africa. When you offered to pay me, it just added a little more excitement to the whole thing, a little more fun." She paused momentarily, before continuing. "I just wanted to, I don't know, give you a little treat, but...." She trailed off, her anger had subsided and was replaced by her natural compassion. "Oh, but you did Tina." I assured her, "And I'm sorry I didn't - wank. But I did get hard - I did - really hard - look." So desperate was I not to let her leave without knowing just what a treat she had given me, I fumbled with my belt, quickly unzipped my trousers and reached into the fly of my long johns to whip out my erect penis to show her just how hard she had gotten me. But as I pulled it out I saw, to my dismay, that I no longer had the pulsating erection of earlier and my penis flopped out languidly in my hand. I looked up at Tina, horrified, and began to splutter an explanation.