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Recollections Ch. 01

By: B_E_White



This is my first try at creative writing, so constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated. While there are no erotic scenes in this chapter, do not worry, they will come along.

*****

It had been a number of seasons since the winter had been so mild in K'launor valley. The merchant houses had swiftly taken action to get their wares across the mountain range which was nearly impassable during the coldest times of the year. Every ten to twenty miles there were caravans nestled together for protection and to give rest to the draft animals. Travelers had no difficulties in gaining passage or work with a caravan if they were willing to either empty their purses, or work as guards.

"We should make good time brother; the horses are young and fresh. Plus, the wind is at our back." Morlek the merchant had been an obvious choice for Klu'xsa-Mren. The man obviously enjoyed life, this was reflected in his girth as his clothing always seemed ready to burst at the seems. But he had a way of treating his employees as if he was the one protecting them and not the other way around.

"I already told you Morlek, I'm no brother. In blood or in faith." 

This made the merchant look at the new addition to his caravan with a crooked eye. The man obviously had no money by the way he was dressed. A Simple commoner's garb was his only clothing, at least until a few days ago when Morlek had bought him some furs for the journey. Even in his situation, Tarlen's physique looked as if he followed a rigorous training schedule, every muscle on the man's body were so defined; it was as if the man was a statue that suddenly came to life. The young man obviously had blood of the west. His skin was more tanned then any individual from the region, his nose slightly broader than usual, and the darkness of his brows, hair and unshaven face was the last signs. 

'But he has the brow of a Rimurian, that is not mistakable, the squareness of his jaw as well.' On their first meeting, he had thought that he could have been a monastic monk, but he quickly dismissed this idea, as he had none of the elaborate body markings, or shaved head that were associated with the Brothers of Zklaren. He had only asked for food and shelter as payment which suited the merchant just fine. 

"What should I call you then? I won't be calling you by that strange name. It hurts me to even think about it."

"If you have too, call me Tarlen".

With that comment, the merchant nodded his head and the conversation came to an end. 

Morlek was a simple man; it didn't take long for Tarlen to choose him as the caravan merchant he would accompany along the passage. His easy going nature could be spotted in short time for anyone that paid attention. By the state of his caravan, the merchant obviously needed the extra help at low cost. Having failed on previous ventures, he was trying to establish trade in exotic housewares from the western kingdom of Hlanem.

He knew that Morlek also dealt in other lucrative exports that weren't of the simple or legal sort, but the merchant didn't openly admit that he sold the drugs in which was only grown and available in the same kingdom. But even so the man's generosity was reflected in his size. Having being recently separated from his toira, Tarlen needed passage across the valley and the merchant seemed the best choice.

'It's been over ten years, but it's hardly changed. '

*****

"Tarl! Stop daydreaming and come here."

At hearing his father's commanding voice, the young boy stopped looking at how the snowflakes were dancing in the wind on the path ahead of them and ran towards his father at the head of the caravan. Normally at this time of the year, Tarl would be at home spending the winter with his father in their small hovel, but due to the tempering of the weather, his father had found employment with a wealthy caravan merchant who was willing to chance the passage to sell his wares across the valley. Since as early he could remember Tarl idolized his father, he was a man that said very little but when he spoke his words had weight and wisdom behind them. Looking at his father, he realized that he must have taken most of his features from is mother. While his father had strong facial features, with a brow and jaw that seemed to come out directly from his face and with the accompanied traditional thick dirty blond long beard and mane of the Rimurians, Tarl on the other hand had midnight black hair. His facial features were much softer, it seemed as if they blended in to each other, as opposed to coming out like his father's. 

He never got to know his mother, his father said that she had been killed by a Slaurian raid party months after his birth.

"Go on and look at how the horses are doing. Our generous employer is pushing the caravan too hard to get his wares across."

The young boy started the routine that he had come accustomed to in the past week, it gave him a sense of importance and that he was not only extra weight for his father. Even at his age, Tarl noticed the hint of disgust in his father's voice. His father had told the merchant that the weather would hold until their return trip, but the Al'albinian still pressed the caravan until the horses couldn't go on and men fell asleep at the saddle.

Checking on the horses, he saw early signs of weariness in their breath and movements but decided not to mention them as he usually did; he already knew that it would only irritate his father even more. 

"They're fine father, they spotted mare at the end seems to be doing much better than yesterday."

The older man smiled and did a slight nod of his head.

"Tell me Tarl, how do you know this?"

The boy tilted his head downward in concentration.

'I know she's better, I could just tell by looking at her. But how do I explain it.'

Johannes noted how his son was concentrating on answering him. He already knew that the mare was better. He had reapplied poultice to her injured leg this morning.

'He knows it, but doesn't know why. That's good. He just has to find a way to explain to people who can't see it.' 

"It's because...she seems to take longer strides and doesn't twitch as much on her injured leg?"

"That's good my son, but try to note these things as they happen. Time tends to wash away our mind." 

"I will father."

'Those eyes, they remind me so much of his mother. She would be so proud of him, if she could only see him.'

He had these thoughts more often lately, but he knew that it had to be this way. He had pleaded with her numerous times, had even fell on his knees and pleaded for her to come, but she would have nothing of it.

"Duty before self" she said, but at what cost?

'Regret, sadness, and unhappiness are the costs...Why couldn't she see that? Couldn't she have been happier with me and... '

His thoughts were interrupted by the scream of his horse and the sudden feeling of flying as he realized that his horse was falling underneath him. Instinctively the large Rimurian tucked his head and rolled his shoulder, as he impacted the ground he rolled and stood up almost immediately blade in hand. Looking to find the source of the interruption, Johannes spotted the sun being reflected in a number of areas in the snow covered bushes and behind rocks on both sides of the road.

"Ambush!"

As the scream came out of his mouth, a number of individuals clothed in light grey and white leather armor came rushing out at the caravan with their arms raised brandishing swords and axes. 

'Why didn't they attack right away instead of waiting for my cry?'

Two of the assailants came at Johannes; there movements were calculated and smooth, in contrary to what the veteran would have expected from bandits. Johannes was forced to fight them with one on each side.

'They've already sized me up, even before I've done anything'.

He was forced to hastily parry quick blows that were intended to maneuver rather than hit. The cries of pain were signs that the other guards weren't faring well either. Waiting on the next thrust, Johannes sidestepped and ran into his closest assailant. Dropping his blade just as he came up on him, the Rimurian grabbed the aggressor under the groin and shoulder and threw him towards his companion. 

'Tarlen!'

Realizing that his son was with the caravan, Johannes quickly scanned the caravan as he picked up his blade. The boy was nowhere to be seen. Turning again on his assailants, the hood of his volley had shifted to expose his face. 

"Iransian!"

The figure had the dark skin typical of individuals of the Iransir kingdom. Markings as white as clouds were on both of his cheeks.

'What are Iransians doing here? Duelists never leave the capital city unless they are on mission'.

In a previous life, the Rimurian had faced these elite warriors, had even the chance to befriend one. This was most likely the reason why he was still breathing even after such a short encounter. Johannes suddenly realized why the duelists were here.

'I have to get to Tarl and fast'.

Quickly fixing his hood, the thrown assailant charged. Johannes jumped back, but the blade still stung the bigger man in the right leg. Accepting the pain willingly he stepped forward and slid his blade between his opponents ribs. The Iransian's eyes expanded in surprise and didn't have time to realize the feint had cost him his life. He only had time to see his blade jutting from his blade brother's chest over twenty feet away and the Rimurian running towards another of his brothers.

Tarlen didn't know what to do, at first he had heard the scream coming from his father at the front of the caravan, and then soon after, sounds of clashing weapons surrounded the young boy. Instinctively, he hid in one of the chests holding fine silks, but was soon pushed out by the merchant who himself was in search for a hiding spot to escape the attackers. Not knowing what to do, Tarl ran towards the old injured mare at the back, hoping to set her free and ride her out of the vicinity. Covering the ground beneath two wagons as silent as he could by crawling underneath them, the boy held back his tears as he faced numerous of the men working with his father laying on the ground looking at him with unmoving, expressionless eyes.

He heard his name being cried out just as he got up and started untying the rope that held to mare to the trailing wagon. Turning, he was faced by the sight of his father trading blows with a group of the attackers. His father has numerous red marks splattered across his body and face. Tarl had never been so scared of his father than at this moment. The way in which he screamed and lunged at his assailant was so different from the quiet giant that he new him as. He stood there, transfixed on the sight of death and horror that was in front of him. The man that was his father mercilessly and quickly dispatched his opponent. 

"Father!"

For a second the fighting stopped. The remaining Rimurian and his Iransian opponents all turned towards the lone and small figure of the boy standing, shacking and holding the reins of a horse. 

"Run Tarl! Hide in the forest I'll fin-".

Johannes scream was quickly ended by the sharp and curved blade that passed through his throat. 

"No!"

As the scream of anguish came out of his son, the sound of weapons hitting the rock cobbled ground around him accompanied the intense pain assaulting his mind. 

'He truly is his mother's son'. 

The thought of Sharia brought a slight smile to the big mans face and her slender, low browed, thin nosed face was the last thing that he saw as blackness and weightlessness engulfed him. 

TO BE CONTINUED

Recollections Ch. 02



"Oh yes Alan, I was going to ask whether you were married, but I don't think I will," I replied, rather lyrically I thought.

"Why not?" You asked.

"Because I don't need or really want to know, do I? I mean we are only having a drink aren't we?"

"Yes I suppose we are," you said looking slightly crestfallen.

I had felt a big buzz walking through the pub to the loo and back. I loved the sense of incongruity, if that's the correct expression, I felt from all the young bucks showing out to me, as I then walked towards you, a man old enough to be to most of them their father. 'What the fuck is she with him for, must be out with her dad,' they were probably thinking as they watched me sit down across from you.

"Hi, I'm back," I said perching myself on the edge of the chair, letting my skirt ride up almost to panty level and leaning forward, straining the thin cotton of my blouse, suggesting strongly to the assembled young bucks that you were far from being a relative!

"See I did come back didn't I?" I said sitting down and looking you right in the eye. "Pleased?" 

"Yes of course I am, thanks." 

Under the table I felt your leg touch mine. My first reaction was to move, but my second one was to leave it where it was. I went with the second one.

"Not at all, thanks to you for the drinks." 

"I wondered if you thought I was trying to get you drunk," you said, flashing that nice smile that I found quite appealing. 

"Now why on earth would I think that, and why would you want to get me drunk?" I smiled, actually enjoying the slight pressure of your leg on mine. 'Accidental' I wondered 

"Well you know," you replied, maybe regretting saying it. 

"Do I?" I smiled looking over your shoulder and nodding. 

You saw that and turned your head just in time so see one of the bar staff arriving at our table with a second bottle of wine. 

I leaned forward, quite forgetting the cut of the blouse and my lack of a bra, and placed my fingertips on the back of your hand, my red painted, almost square cut nails contrasting with your tanned skin. 

"I hope you don't think I'm trying to get you drunk," I smiled as the barman filled our glasses. I looked up at him smiling. "Thanks." 

Smiling even broader than me, his eyes reluctantly it seemed moving up to meet mine, the young Aussie said. "Thanks ma'am." 

"And to think I only bought a bottle of wine." 

"Yes but he thanked you for letting him pour it," you smiled. 

"Oh shit," I said sincerely, worried that my top was gaping so much. "I shouldn't have worn this blouse like this."

"Not at all, I think it looks lovely as it is." 

"Men," I snorted, feigning disgust and mild annoyance. 

"We just can't help it can we?" 

"So it seems," I replied reaching out and clicking my glass on yours "Bless 'em, we often hate them, but couldn't do without them." 

Smiling, you replied. "Thank God for that." 

We both laughed. 

"Tell me more about your job Sammi?" You asked quite out of the blue as you leaned forward resting your chin on your hands. 

I rabbitted on for ten minutes or so about writing copy for ads, posters and brochures mainly for small companies on a freelance basis.

"It's bloody hard at the moment getting work."

"I bet it is, I used be in marketing and we used freelance staff like you. Well, not exactly like you Sammi, I mean writers."

"What you mean not young birds like me." 

"Where are they mainly published?" You went on slightly changing ther subject.

"Oh the press, radio, billboards, some on TV, local and regional papers and trade magazines." 

You asked a few more sensible questions and then said. "How do you get the business?" 

"That's the awkward bit." 

"How do you mean?" 

Well I have a few contacts and some regular clients, mainly ad agencies, but when they change or new agencies ask to see me it's difficult." 

"How?" 

"Well supply exceeds demand with copywriters." 

"You mean there's more of you than there is copy to write?" 

"Yes Alan, that is what supply exceeding demand means," I said rather unnecessarily cuttingly. 

"So that pushes the price down does it?" 

"Yes and makes persuading copy chiefs to appoint you rather traumatic?" 

"How?" 

"Some expect more than just a low fee, get me?" I said wondering why the bloody hell I was going down this road. 

"Oh I see," you said tentatively, your leg again touching mine under the table. 

"And especially when the copywriter is a young bird like me," I replied, not moving my knee away. 

"What's that got to do with it?" You asked, increasing the pressure on my leg. 

I took a slightly too large swig of my wine. "Men tend to think women like that, like me, are simply gagging for it." I smiled, looking into your eyes and thinking, 'I'm being pulled' as we both left our legs pressed together. 

Beaming a big smile you said. "And aren't you? Oh bugger." 

I laughed. "You know what I mean. In fact, in a couple of agencies they call me the ice mistress, and think I'm lesbian, because I don't put out for them." 

We drifted away from my old hate, the way I am almost expected, but don't, to prostitute myself to get work, and discussed the job you had retired from a year or so ago. It had been in banking, one of my pet hates, so I changed the subject quickly. 

I knew I would have to leave soon for it was almost three-thirty and I had things to do, but I really didn't want to. I was enjoying myself. And doing that with a man who really, I had just met, was a rarity. I almost never met new men, other than at work and that didn't really count, and it had been ages since I'd had a spontaneous drink like this. 

You had told me you were in London for a meeting, but I couldn't recall how long you would be staying 

We finished the bottle, both visited the loos and left the pub, the afternoon air immediately going to my head. 

"I think you succeeded," I said as I had the nice feeling of your hand on my elbow as we made our way through the crowd standing outside the pub. 

"At what?" You asked. 

"Getting me drunk." 

"You laughed, yes two bottles of decent wine on an empty stomach, isnt' too good an idea, unless you can simply lay down and nod off." 

We made our way towards Leicester Square tube station. 

"Perhaps we could remedy that?" You said. 

"What me being tipsy?" I joked. 

"No, not having anything to eat." 

"How?" 

"Well maybe you would join me for lunch." 

"Lunch Alan? It's after four." 

"Early dinner then, maybe?" You replied quickly not missing a beat and squeezing my arm a little. 

I laughed. "Are you asking me on a date?" 

"Er, yes, I suppose I am, aren't I?" 

"Let me just ask you that question now?"

"What question?"

"The one I was going to ask in the oub before I went on the phone."

"Oh THAT question?"

"Yes the one a topic which hasn't been broached, ok?" 

"Yes sure, ask away." 

"Are you married?"

+++++

Was that a good or bad sign I wondered, asking if I am married.

"Was," I replied with a smile. "Got divorced over ten years ago. Two relationships since then, neither of which worked out. So now, I'm on my own. Still waiting for love to strike." 

The laugh you gave was delicious. "Oh, sorry," you said, those mischievous Sammi eyes peering right through me again. "Didn't mean to make fun of that." Then you gave another laugh, throwing your head back this time. 

"Very funny," I mumbled, with a wide grin. I liked to hear you laugh. Your eyes twinkled even more brightly. 

"It's..." you began, linking my arm. "It's just that you're a romantic at heart, aren't you? A rare breed." 

I nodded, enjoying the feel of your body against mine as we wandered along. "Yes, that may well be the problem," I said. 

"Problem?" 

"Why I haven't found Missus Right, yet." 

There was that laugh again. And another twinkling of those blue eyes. "What? You think the age of romanticism is dead?" 

"Seems like it could be," I laughed. "But there's another reason." 

You stopped walking and pulled me around to face you. "Oh, now we're getting down to it," you murmured. "Something I need to know, I presume?" 

I nodded. No point in withholding information at this stage. "Yep, a story of another woman," I confessed. 

"Hmmm. Do tell." 

"It's horrible, Sammi . Like being followed all the time. I mean, if things don't change, the only option may be a restraining order." 

"A stalker? That's what you're telling me?" 

"Sort of. But not just stalking. I mean, the letters, two every day. And the photos! Included with every letter. And the words -- madly in love, offers of marriage, can we just meet and discuss things... it's never ending." 

"Fuck," you said, those beautiful eyes as big as saucers. 

"Fuck indeed," I agreed. "There've been a couple of requests for that too." 

"It can't go on," I said, pulling a face. "It's ridiculous. I can only imagine how horrible it must be to be on the receiving end." 

I nodded my head. "Me too, that's why I'm putting an end to it. Once and for all!" 

"But how?" 

"Simple," I replied, biting my lower lip. "If Demi Moore isn't going to reply, I'm going to stop writing to her!" 

Your wide eyes narrowed and you slowly shook your head. "It's not being romantic that's your problem," you told me. "It's the sense of humour." 

I laughed at your expression, giving a soft 'gotcha' push on your shoulder. "You're not the first person to tell me that. Jonathon Ross once said the same thing." 

"The Jonathan Ross?" 

I nodded, smiling at the sceptical look on your beautiful face. "The very same. And that one's a true story. But maybe we should save that for another day?" 

"Maybe," you said, linking your arm through mine again as we resumed our journey. The doubtful look in your eyes told me you were unsure if I was kidding again. 

"Honestly," I said, crossing one hand over my heart. "It's true. But tell me, what about you, Samantha? It's inconceivable that someone like you isn't in a relationship." 

"Someone like me?" you said, wheeling to a halt again. 

"Absolutely," I responded, not letting the sharpness in your tone put me off. 

"And tell me, what exactly is 'someone like me?'" 

"

"Well just dinner then, perhaps?"

"Let's do a deal, let's do late lunch, or did you have other plans?"

"No none at all, I have finished my business."

"You wouldn't prefer a poker game or visit to a casino?"

You laughed. "What instead of the late lunch? No contest, unless of course you play?"

I cocked my head to one side. And knowing I was being unnecessarily saucy said.

"Play?"

"Poker, I mean."

I raised my eyebrows as I contemplated trying to make some smartarse remark linked to strip poker, but thought better of it.

"No too cut throat for me, I'm a bit like an open book."

"Really?"

"Yes people often say they know what I am thinking," I said as we strolled along.

"And what are you thinking now Sammi?"

"Honestly?"

"Yes of course."

"Ok two things."

"Go on, two's pretty good for a blonde."

"Better than a granddad can do most of the time I bet."

We both laughed. "Come on then one at a time."

"Yes that's the best way."

"Ok first, I was thinking, "Are you asking me on a date?""

"And second?"

"That I need a pee."

"Pop in the pub there," you said pointing down to a pub.

"Good idea."

"Well that's the second point, blondie and so you can take the time you need to think things through whilst you have a pee, the answer to the first is yes."

I laughed back over my shoulder as I skipped through the doorway. When I came out I realised that we had walked miles and were now near Holborn Station.

"Let me show you something," I said taking your hand and pulling you into a side road off Kingsway that leads into Lincolns Inn Field.

"Did you have long enough to think?" You asked.

"No not really, us blondes need ages to mull over such a thought as that," I said pulling you across the road into the centre of the square.

"When do you think you might finish mulling then?"

"Oh I don't know, I sometimes mull all evening and then find I still need to mull more the next morning."

"What all night mulls? You're a one night mull then are you?"

"As opposed to being a one night stand you mean?" I laughed.

"Well not exactly, but may I be with you as you mull?"

"Yes I think that would help my mulling."

"And maybe we could have a late lunch as you mull?"

"Perfect, anyway what I was going to show was this," I said pointing to the centre of the square.

"What?" You asked.

"I have flashed my knickers quite often here."

"Really?" You asked clearly having no idea what the hell I was on about. "Very nice."

"Yes flashed them to lots of onlookers."

"You exhibitionist you?" You said seeing the netball court and realising what I meant. "You used to play here?" You asked as we walked towards the netball court.

"Yes at lunchtime, we got large crowds." I replied opening the gate and walking onto the court, which was surrounded by that wire which is made in triangles. I saw that ivy was now growing up two sides of it and that the netball net and post was damaged. "Looks as though it's not used anymore.

"I bet the guys loved it. Pity we don't have a ball?"

"Why?"

"Well you could then practice flashing your knickers again couldn't you?"

For some reason that got to me. We both stopped talking. We looked at each other. Neither spoke for a moment or two. For a fleeting second, for a ridiculous moment, for a short totally outrageous time I actually contemplated saying "Would you like me to?"

Hearing some people walking past laughing broke the spell.

"I've mulled," I said sort of bringing us out of the semi-trance.

"And?"

"Let's do that late lunch date then daddy o, before I change my mind and flash my knickers instead."

"You could always do both, I am quite into multi tasking."

"Don't tempt, come on let's hit Covent Garden."

+++

One of the curious things about meeting such an interesting young woman was that I'd done so in Covent Garden, perhaps my favourite place in all of London. Though, not having been to the City since I had lunch with business contacts over a year ago, I was a little out of touch. 

That meant finding a spot for our late lunch could be a bit of a problem. I mean, I'm the man (or was it grandad?) and I'm expected to know these things, aren't I? But I did have one place in mind... 

Where the hell was it, though? It had been a while. 

"Er, you do know where you're going?" you mischievously asked after we'd been walking for a few minutes. "I mean... at your age... is the 'old' memory still functioning just as well?" 

I laughed to myself. The more time I spent with this girl, the more I enjoyed her company. I like sassy birds, women with attitude. That quirky sense of humour never fails to turn me on.

Well, turn me on in an intellectual sense, I mean, not the other. Hell, the way she was dressed, carried herself, and those fucking 'come to bed' type eyes were enough to arouse me physically. But the cheeky, unpredictable, flirty, humorous approach - that was extra. Yes, it added to the sexual ambience, but it was so much more than that. 

I just loved that this attractive young, blonde beauty had the quality I admired more than any other in a women. 

Turning a corner into Wellington Street, I stumbled across what I'd been searching for. "There you are," I confidently said, grateful for such a slice of good fortune, "And you thought I didn't know what I was doing!" 

Your laugh as you glanced across at the Côte Bistro sent a delightful little shiver through me, and the way you said, "Oh, no, Alan, I'm quite sure you always know what you're doing," made that feeling circle around my loins. 

No, no, no, I told myself as my pride and joy reared once more. Stop that! God, I'd been semi hard ever since you'd mentioned old chestnuts rearing their heads and then glanced down beneath my belt. Now I was back to full 'power' again. Stop it, I repeated, only too well aware that my body was arrogantly ignoring the instruction. 

No, you'd refused my offer for an evening together, so that vastly reduced my chances of, well, you know what. Or had you refused? I still wasn't completely sure about that. Either way, I was determined to enjoy my sassy young blonde's company for as long as it lasted. 

And in some ways, pushing sex out of the equation was a good thing. A bit like England being knocked out of the World Cup. You can relax and enjoy the rest of the competition without the tension and worry as to how it will all work out. Yes, I told myself, good comparison! 

Even my erection was listening to those thoughts, gently easing back from full throttle to a more acceptable state. Yes, this was much better. Enjoy Sammi 's company for what this was going to be. A fun time with a beautiful young woman. That made much more sense, didn't it? And in any case beautiful young women don't fuck granddads do they?

Who needed sex anyway? 

"Okay, granddad chops," I heard you say as I opened the door to the small, uncomplicated bistro-style French restaurant. "I always get extra hungry when I think about flashing my knickers, how about you?" 

With that Sammi-like giggle, you pressed your body against mine as you squeezed through the door. Accidentally? Surely not on purpose? I could feel your tits against my chest as you paused for a brief second, those twinkling eyes looking into mine. What about that, then, you seemed to be saying. 

Oh, God! Oh, fuck, how do I handle this? I was out of my depth I knew that as well as I knew that I had to soldier on and see this through to its natural end, whatever that may be. The sexual thoughts I'd expunged from my mind surged back again and 'rock hard' instantly returned. 

As I followed you as we were shown to a table, I just couldn't help myself. My eyes instantly fell to the sway of your hips and that perfect bum. 

For some reason, the tightish, denim micro skirt was gone, replaced by a gymslip of all things, and the flash of knickers as you bounced the netball across the restaurant floor. 

Geez, the ache in my groin told me I was in trouble! Big trouble. 

"So," you said, as you watched the cute French waiter make his way back to the bar after taking our drink order. "You had this place in mind all along?" 

"But of course," I suavely lied. "I love theatreland and this restaurant reminds me so much of you." 

"Of me?" 

"Certainly," I responded with a huge grin. "Can't you think why?" 

"Hmm," you said, glancing around the surroundings. 

"Mulling again," I asked. "That's okay, take your time. My granddad memory may be faltering, but I know you blonde's need a few seconds more than the rest of us." 

"Is that right?" you said, pulling a face but giving me a smirk. "Well try and concentrate on something while I work it out." 

The suggestion was bad enough, given the thought of flashing knickers that wouldn't leave my mind. But when you arched your back as you sat upright in your chair, the magnificent view of the outline of your breasts pushing against your white blouse, crowned by the twin bullets, was, I swear, almost like studying the Mona Lisa. 

Perfection! 

"That's a good boy," you cheekily added, as if you were putting on some entertainment to keep me occupied while you worked out what I meant. 

As much as I tried to keep my eyes on your face, it was a task impossible to any red-blooded male. Though I think I did manage to keep my tongue inside my mouth, if only just. 

"Okay, daddy-o," you eventually said. "It reminds you of me because it's so chic?" 

I laughed, and you did, too. "Er... strangely... no!" 

"Hmm," you said, your eyes darting around again. "Because it's a little bit Bohemian?" 




Recollections Ch. 02



I raised my eyebrows in approval. "Well, getting there, I think." 

This time, you rested an arm on your chair as you glanced behind you. "How about, I somehow remind you of French royalty? Josephine perhaps?" 

We both laughed again, still sniggering to ourselves when the waiter brought our drinks and handed us menus. 

"That's damn close," I said, feeling a little miffed as your eyes seemed glued to the waiters backside as he walked away. 

"Okay, tell me." 

"You've finished mulling?" 

"Erm, for the moment. But I may be in the mood for more mulling later." 

"Fair enough," I said, thinking that I could kill for a quick 'mull' right now. "It's something to do with the waiter you keep eyeing up." 

"I wasn't 'eyeing him up'!"

I raised my eyes to the ceiling before grinning at you again. "Really?" 

"Come on," you insisted, ignoring my knowing look. "Tell me." 

"Okay," I nodded. "This place always makes me think of French women. That, for some reason, makes, me think of beautiful lingerie. And that brings an image of you in those photo's I rescued from Boots earlier." 

"Really?" You asked looking bemused.

I leant forward, resting an elbow on the table as I propped up my face with my hand. "Okay, blue eyes," I continued in my best Humphrey Bogart voice. "Either you were on a modelling shoot, or you're being blackmailed by a gang of international terrorists --Chinese probably- who are using illicit photographs of you in lingerie to get you to carry out some dubious task for them." 

"Hmm," you laughed. "One of those might be right. And what task do you think they have in mind, if indeed, that thought is correct?" 

"That's easy," I replied. "These things always start with a test. Just to see whether you have the abilities they're looking for..." 

"And the test? 

"Quite obvious. They want to see if you can find and seduce an older, sophisticated man. Someone who is so impervious to a woman's charms, it would be almost impossible to corrupt him. Someone who has an iron will which can't be bent by even the sexiest of the fairer sex. Someone who would be immune to anything a normal young woman could offer." 

The slow shake of your head told me you were either impressed with my vivid imagination, or thought you were having an assignation with a loonie. I wasn't sure which. 

"Okay, blue eyes," my Humphrey Bogart accent continued. "Spill the beans..." 

++++

I was enjoying myself. I liked you and found you both interesting and considerate: two traits that rank high on my top of the pops list. And speaking, well thinking of pops, your age and the, what to some, no most, would consider, enormous age gap between us, seemed to be receding. 

In some ways that was for I did find you to be very 'uncool.' Maybe that was an attraction though. I was so used to dealing with really cool, too clever by half, guys in advertising and the media who had every in phrase and gesture, knew the most trendy places and all the stuff of metroland, that your 'squareness' was, in some ways, refereshing.

I had to admit, though, that as we sat in the oddly named restaurant, I did momentarily wonder what other people were thinking. 'Daughter out with her father, perhaps, maybe even grandfather?' I smiled looking round and seeing that there was only a few table s occupied, but then that was hardly surprising at this 'inbetween time' of five o' clock. 

Would anyone in their right mind work out our relationship, I wondered as you were asking about the story behind the photos and putting on a phony American accent? 

Surely nobody would think that the sixtyish aged gentleman would have been in the process of pulling the twenty something aged blonde, bird, would they? I mean ten or fifteen, twenty or so at a push, years difference between a bloke and his 'bit of stuff' was ok nowadays, quite usual even, but perhaps near forty was taking things to Bernie Ecclestone levels. I almost giggled as I thought of asking if you were a billionaire, for that does seem to change the rules a little.

As I listened to you, I did for some reason, put on a bit of a show. Nothing that extreme, like undoing yet another button so that my nips would be exposed, or running my foot up your leg and shoving it between them at the top; a little outrageous I might be, but not that much, well not this soon, at least. What I was doing wasn't really acting, it was how I, and most other girls of my age on a pick up or first date carry on, I think. Unconsciously, I leaned forward or sat back in my chair, I crossed and uncrossed my legs and stretched them out in front of me, I ran my hand through my hair, touched my face and idly stroked my bare arm. All those seemingly unthought out gestures that I am sure Freud would understand and explain were all part of sexual foreplay. 'Fuck is it that?' I thought.

Who the hell was it you were trying to imitate, I wondered?"

"Blue eyes?" I asked smiling, "American blue eyes at that?"

"Humphrey Bogart," you said.

"What, he had blue eyes? I can't quite place him and I don't think I have ever seen a colour photo of him."

"No he played opposite someone he called blue eyes in an old film."

"How long ago?" I asked, not really sure I could place the film star although, I had heard of him.

"Oh forty, fifty years ago, I guess" you told me.

"Shit, my mum wasn't even born then, let alone me."

"Ah well," you said in rather a resigned tone, I thought, as possibly similar thoughts went through your mind as were going through mine. 'An age gap such as that between us can bring so many problems, memories of music, films, fashion, world events and so on.' And that, I conjectured as I tried answering why the restaurant reminded you of me, brought into play the other major consideration with such an age gap. Of course that was sex, but I put that out of my mind, although the longer we were together, the more convinced I became that this was not a platonic pick up. This was not a lonely guy in town looking simply for company, it was not a meeting of the minds, a coming together of common interests. It was more than that, much more, I was now sure. Every glance, every look, every gesture and most of what you said suggested to me, as clearly as it did when I meet men my own age, that you wanted to fuck me. You explaining in a rather convoluted and totally unbelievable fashion, that the bistro reminded you of lingerie, providing you with the link to ask about those photos, confirmed that to me.

'And how did I feel about that?' I thought as we ordered, steak frites, of course, with a bottle of red wine and crispy French bread. I didn't have an answer.

"I told you I'm in advertising didn't I?"

"Yes."

"Right," I said leaning forward, gesturing for you to do the same. "I'm a copywriter, you know what that is, yes?" I went on as we sat hunched over the table our faces close together.

"Er yes Sammi, I do, I have been around a bit you know, and I was in marketing. And I am not a blonde."

I smiled. "A bit, that's for sure."

"Why have you been peeping, and are you?"

"What?" I queried, now confused, maybe slightly pissed, for the red wine did seem to go straight to my head. 'Still' I thought 'better than going straight to my tits or clit!'

"You said a bit, about me not being a natural blonde."

"Yes, er no, I meant you've been around a bit," I tried explaining, not sure what the hell we were talking about. "I don't know about the blonde, are you?"

"No, are you?" You asked.

"What?"

You quietened your voice as you let you eyes slide downwards so your glance was inside my blouse. "A natural blonde?"

A little embarrassed, but nicely so, I ran my hand through my hair, obviously stretching the thin cotton of my blouse, tightly across my tits. I followed your gaze downwards and saw what you were looking at. I quickly put my hand back onto the table, so that the loosened material hid the frighteningly erect lumps of my nipples.

"Cold?" You smiled, making me laugh.

"Be quiet," I jokingly admonished you. 

I probably blushed as I tried to work out the least compromising position for me to sit. Leaning forward, my blouse gaping giving you a line of sight straight down onto my tits or, leaning back, emphasising my nipples. 'Why the fuck hadn't I worn a bra' I thought, replying 'Because you never thought you'd get yourself picked up did you, for when does that ever happen? When was the last time?'

"I got a co-opted onto a team that was pitching for a big account," I started.

"Yes good, but are you?"

"Am I what?"

"You know."

"I don't, I wouldn't ask if I did."

"A natural blonde," you said, perhaps a little too loudly for I thought a couple at the next table looked up as you said that.

"Oh piss off," I hissed, smiling. "If you must know, the answer is yes with a little help here and there."

I was surprised when you lifted your hand and stroked my hair as you said, this time so quiet that only I would here.

"Where is here and where is there, Sammi? Which is this?"

I was amazed that so soon we were talking about the intimacy of my pubic hair colour. It seemed so natural and easy, a bit like talking about your pussy to your gyno, I thought.

"I really wanted to do well." I said.

"At touching up the blonde bits here and there?"

"No on the new team pitching for the account."

"Ok, go on."

"The account was Lejaby, google it, you might like the sexy stuff."

"What is it?"

"Something that will remind you of Cote Bistro, lingerie, check their website."

"Are you on it?"

"No of course not."

"So how come the photos?" You asked rather pointedly putting your hand on the folder which was on the table beside me.

"Well not wishing to sound too much like a drama queen, I really wanted to understand what the Lejaby brand was all about."

"Sexy undies? Don't you know?" 

"Well not really, I have never worn a suspender belt and have hardly ever worn stockings, I don't own a basque or a corset and I had no idea why women buy all those things."

"So you don't wear sexy undies then?"

"Not really, just thongs and bras."

"And sometimes you forget those don't you?" You said looking straight at my boobs.

"No, never."

"What?"

I smiled. "I never forget either, I don't go commando and I choose sometimes not to wear a bra, I don't forget either. I'm a frustrated sixties, hippy woman, bra burner really."

I liked seeing you laugh at my simple jokes.

"For some reason and I had no idea why at the time, they had paired me up with an art director, Barry, who was well into his forties. A nice guy, but a bit of a rarity in creative departments."

"See blondie, you just attract older men."

"Yes I seem to don't I?"

"So where did the photos come from?"

I looked you straight in the eye and said. "Barry took them."

"Why?"

"Because we both felt that by me wearing the gear and him seeing me in them, we would gain a much better understanding of the brand."

"And did you?"

"Well we won the account."

"How?"

"Not sure, but we came up with the simple tag line 'Underneath.'

"How did that work?"

"We did a series of magazine ads, there was no TV or radio budget, using that word."

"How?"

"Using shots of thirty and forty year old women mainly in a range of different underwear with the messages. Underneath you can be whatever you desire. Underneath you're not a wife, but a lover. Don't tell him what's underneath. It's your secret what's underneath. That sort of stuff."

"And it worked?" 

"It sure did?"

"And with Barry?"

"How do you mean?"

"Well he didn't have to work at finding out what was underneath did he, you showed him. That must have been er, difficult?"

Smiling I replied. "Yes it had its moments," as my mind went back to him photographing me and how I felt at the time.

I could hardly believe that we had eaten the steak frites and drunk the wine, our third bottle of the afternoon.

"Dessert Sammi?"

"No I never eat them I have to watch my figure, I'll have an espresso though please."

You ordered that and asked what I would like to do after dinner. I replied that I had no idea and that I would leave it to you, wondering just what you would come back with, hoping against hope that it wouldn't be a club for the idea of dancing with didn't appeal; visions of David Brent came to mind.



Recollections Ch. 03



An older man and a younger woman examine the age difference to find out if it really matters. 

WARNING: 

If you are after wham bang, wankfest type of writing, stop reading now. This is not of that nature. It is more mind sex than bodily!



For whatever reason, I was enjoying myself immensely. Yes, of course my 'ability' to pick up an attractive, sexy, young woman was doing wonderful things for my ego, but that wasn't it. I mean, an ego is such a fragile thing, isn't it? Life has taught me that. 

No, it was much more than that. 

I found that in the short time we'd spent together, I liked you more and more. Why the hell was that? We had nothing in common, did we? Well, there was the odd thing that kept entwining our pasts. Silly little things, perhaps, but they were there. 

Like Lejaby. I didn't tell you, of course, but it was the only brand of lingerie that a former girlfriend of mine would ever buy. She was a classy woman, too – very classy in fact, just like the lingerie. 

Then there was the advertising. Okay, I didn't work in the creative department, like Barry. Didn't even work for the Agency. But as Marketing Director, I was the creative 'brains' for my company and as a result, I dealt with the successful London Agency who produced our 'above and below the line' advertising. The TV ads were particularly interesting, but so were the variety of magazine ads. 

The one I loved more than any other –and something that seemed so appropriate now- was 'Growing Old Disgracefully'. Producing a series of magazine ads showing older people doing all the things that were had until then been thought of as the 'province' of the young was highly stimulating. 

Was that what I was doing now, I wondered? Was that the attraction here? The fact that, at my age, I was actually pulling a hot, young bird? Pulling? Is that what I was doing? Or at least, trying to pull? The thing was, I wasn't really sure. I mean, it was ridiculous, wasn't it? Our age difference meant everything about this unlikely alliance was ridiculous. 

And yet? 

I glanced across the table at you again. Your eyes looked dreamy. There was definitely a hint of intoxication there. And a tinge of arousal, too – no doubt about that. Why? What was it you found sufficiently attractive about me that made your wonderfully erect nipples push against the material of your blouse in such a provocative way? 

One part of me felt ashamed of myself. So blatantly asking if you were a natural blonde. I mean, that wasn't paying you any respect, and I hated that lack of class in other men. Despised it. Yet at the same time, I wanted to take you towards the restrooms and –as soon as we were out of sight of the other diners, rip that fucking blouse apart and seal my lips around those wonderfully hard nips. 

Fuck, here we go again; my erection was attempting to burst its way through the material of my trousers again. How many times was that? Perhaps I should pay a visit to the restrooms and give myself a quick handjob? Take the edge off my arousal? Drive sex from my mind, for a short while at least.

Looking over at you again, I realised I didn't stand a chance. Was that stroke of your hair deliberate? Or the way you idly stroked your bare arm? And that forward and backward motion as you crossed and uncrossed your legs. The look in your eyes with each movement as you stared me down? Geez, when you leant to the side like that, I could see half your right breast and nearly that enticing, strawberry nipple. 

As much as I tried, I couldn't quell the effect you were having. 

My thoughts conjured up the Unfaithful movie, the one where Olivier Martinez fucks Diane Lane in a cubicle in the toilet. Then it jumped to the scene where he takes her doggy style, at the top of the stairs leading to his flat. If anything, I grew another couple of inches at the thought. 

'Want to fuck me, Sammi? Want to go through the back of this restaurant and fuck my brains out? Just like that?' 

"Excuse me?" you asked, smiling sweetly. 

FUCK! I hadn't actually said that, had I? "Wh... what?" I mumbled. 

"You looked at me as if you were about to ask a question," you explained, running your fingers through those blonde locks again. 

Thank God. The words had run through my brain, not my mouth. 

But the way you gave me that Sammi look, your blue eyes staring directly into mine, that twinkling, sexual gaze boring inside me, reaching parts that longed to be reached- I was sure you knew exactly what you were doing. It was a mind fuck, pure and simple. 

"Hey, Alan," you said, bringing me out of my reverie again. 

If anything, those blue eyes upped the pace, promising everything. My cock twitched, reacting to those eyes, in just the same way as it would if you had those soft lips wrapped around it, as it would if it was slowly pushing inside you, your long legs spread wide as you welcomed me inside your buttery sex. 

"Hey," you repeated. 

I swallowed deeply as you leant forward. "Sorry," I mumbled again, trying to regain control of my senses for a moment. 

"That's okay," you smiled, while the look in your eyes kept up the pressure. "Something's on your mind. Want to share those thoughts?" 

"Want me to?" I asked, looking for a way out. 

There wasn't any. The way you nodded and said, "Of course," told me that. 

I swallowed again. "I was thinking how it would feel to fuck you," I simply said. 

I wasn't sure what reaction I'd get. A look of shock? A burst of laughter? An embarrassed smile? It was none of those things. That same 'come-to-bed' Sammi-look continued to search inside my soul as you nodded, just as if I'd asked if you'd enjoyed the meal. 

"Unbelievable," you replied, a smile breaking out across your lips. It wasn't just the answer that sent a shiver of excitement through me. Not even the matter-of-fact response, as if fucking you would blow my mind. No, it was the way those eyes said, you never know. 

The spell was broken, albeit temporarily, as the waiter brought our coffees. Waiting until he left us alone, you leant across the table again. "Well?" 

"Well what?" I stupidly responded. My erection twitched again. Surely you weren't suggesting....... 

"You haven't told me what we're going to do after dinner!" 

Oh, yes. That! Not an easy question to answer. After all, we'd just eaten. You'd made it clear you didn't enjoy shows. And a nightclub was a naff idea. Shit! That's when the idea hit me. 

"How about?" I began, smiling at you... 

+++

I don't drink red wine very much. That's not because I don't like it, for I do. I prefer the taste, generally and the texture as it slips down my throat is usually lovely. No, I tend to choose white for two reasons. Firstly it doesn't stain your teeth as red wine and strong coffee can. So I take the strong coffee, espresso usually, and pass on the red stuff. As white wine seems to me to be weaker, generally, that creates the other reason why I stay away from the Clarets, the Barollos and Chiantis; I don't get pissed as quickly on the Chardonnay, Chablis or white Burgundies as I do on them.

I had forgotten about those reasons today. I often do that with promises, vows or New Year resolutions; it can very useful having a selective memory, not to mention (natural) blonde hair as well. I had no idea about my teeth as I sat listening to you and wondering where this almost Kafkaesque, certainly surreal and definitely Freudian encounter was leading. I was, though, quite aware of the second reason regarding my avoidance of red wine. Yes I felt slightly pissed. And as those woozy feelings slightly befuddled my head, I wondered if what some say about people being at their most natural when inebriated was true. I wondered that particularly, because I felt so unusually, almost unbelievably and certainly hugely horny. And that just doesn't happen to me, well not very often it doesn't.

'He didn't did he?' 

'Did he say that, are my ears working properly?'

'He couldn't have done, but I think he did.'

I was saying those things to myself as we seemed to be staring at each other like two starry eyed teenagers, not like a mature man and a young bird.

I tried using my mind like a computer. Going into storage and retrieving some data so that it may be reviewed again. 'Yep, that's what he said,' the hard drive confirmed. 

"I was thinking how it would feel to fuck you,"

Was I annoyed, hurt, ashamed or pleased? Did I feel insulted, worried, concerned or scared? Had you abused, demeaned or degraded me? Were you pushing your luck, did you have unattainable aspirations, was it a bloody cheek to try to pull a granddaughter? Were you out of your fucking head asking me such a thing? 

I didn't know the answers. Was there any? How does a girl handle such a situation? It was so far outside of anything that had ever happened to me that I had no previous to call upon.

All I was sure about was that, and I could hardly believe it was the paramount emotion, I was impressed. Yes fucking impressed because an old guy had told me he was wondering what it would be like to fuck me. No one had ever said that to me before, not surprisingly really. Alright wiseguys in clubs had asked questions out of the blue, like 'Do you fuck strangers?' But they didn't count. This did though. This counted a lot. 

I had only once, and that was with an 'older' guy as well, had such a conversation. One where the 'nitty gritty' was, mixing metaphors so easily, 'on the table.' Where we, well you at least, was saying what you meant and felt. It takes experience, confidence and a certain amount of gravitas to be able to wonder to a young bird what it would feel like to fuck her. It didn't, as it could so easily, come across as sounding pervy or sleezy, assumptive or pushy. No, to my, perhaps overly impressionable ears, for I am such a sucker for intelligence, a cogently posed argument employing good English is far more likely to get my knickers down than is Bradlike face or body. Being told that someone wondered what it would be like to fuck me, came across as being erotically intellectual, or was intellectually erotic more apt? Fuck knows.

Maybe splitting hairs somewhat, you hadn't said that you would like to fuck me, or that you had been thinking about fucking me, or how much you would like to fuck me, or how excited the idea of fucking me made you. No, you said that you were wondering how it would FEEL to fuck me. I took that to mean, not the feelings you might get from my tight young cunt muscles grabbing your cock, not the feel of my tits on your chest and not the feel on your hand and fingers from caressing my 'tits and ass.' No I took it to mean how you would feel, really feel. How you would feel emotionally, deep down inside? You could go and buy from a hooker or massage girl the other sexually physical feelings, but not the inner feeling that only you could experience from pulling a young bird, chatting her up and impressing her, me, into letting you fuck her. Or more to the point, and probably more what you wanted, for her to fuck you as you fucked her. Isn't that what all men really want, to be fucked as they fuck?

Despite the age gap, which certainly earlier in the meal had seemed to vanish, only to come back when you mentioned about what we should do after dinner, was diminishing again now you had broached the topic that is always there when 'boy meets girl.' 

'How would it feel to fuck me?' I wondered suddenly thinking 'How would it feel to be fucked by you? How would your body feel? Would you get fully hard? Would you need help, would you be able to keep it up, and stay hard for how long and when would you be able to do it again? What would your skin feel like to my touch?'

Bloody hell my slightly pissed mind was whirling fast. So fast I couldn't multi-task sufficiently to think and talk and that's why I came up with such a pants reply as.

'Unbelieveable.'

I was surprised you didn't say 'What the fuck does that mean?'

Instead, as I felt the cotton of my blouse rubbing against what I knew without looking were, my hardened nipples, you said. "How about?" And then paused.

It was like those stupid shows on TV when they are eliminating people and they feel that by saying 'And the couple going home this week are..............................." and then wait almost a week before announcing it, that they are building the tension. I never feel it when watching Celebrity Get Me Out of Here, but by Christ I did as I looked into your eyes searching for a sign of what might be coming next. 

I half felt that you would suggest 'A nightcap at my hotel' or maybe going to bar. A little bit of me thought you would suggest a club and some felt you would continue from "How about" with "Us going outside and me fucking you up against a wall in a quiet alleyway."

With the impatience that at times makes me appear to be childlike as I try to find out what my parents have bought me for a birthday or Christmas present I couldn't stop myself. Bending even further forward, forgetting completely that most of my tits might be on view, I grabbed your wrist. Looking right into your eyes I said in, what was probably a, pathetic American accent.

"Okay, blue eyes, spill the beans."

+++

I laughed. Not because what you had said was funny. Actually, it was a pretty good Humphrey Bogart impression, especially for someone who hadn't seen, or even heard of the iconic figure. And the way you said it, through clenched teeth, was so Bogart-like. 

In that brief instant, I found myself realising that part of your attraction was your penchant for saying little things that made me smile inside. The sort of internal smile that kept a person warm, banished the blues, made life worthwhile. 

Not that you were aware of that indefinable quality of yours, and that made it even more special. I mean, how many people do you know who give you that inner sense of well being when you're with them? You did, and how long had I known you? 

Yes, two lovers felt the same way, but that was different. There was love involved. With us, the age difference meant that we wouldn't be proceeding down that route. And even if we were the same age, we'd only met one another a few short hours ago. No, this was a different feeling. 

Definitely some sort of chemistry - but it was indefinable, all the same. One that said, despite the short time we'd spent together, despite the difference in ages, despite the strong probability that our interests would be different, I was immensely enjoying your company and really didn't want it to end. 

Okay, I accept there was a physical attraction, on my part at least. It would be unlikely that you'd be sexually attracted to your granddad, wouldn't it? But sexual magnetism is a transient thing. Or, it is to anyone who has a modicum of intelligence. You can fancy someone, but often, most of their attributes therafter leave you for dead. 

If attraction doesn't start in my mind, then I walk away from it. Always have. Okay, there has been the odd exception, but they've only served as exceptions that prove the rule. With you, I was definitely attracted (who wouldn't be?). First, by those seductress eyes and then by all your various physical charms, in any order you wanted. 

But this was more than that. 

I wasn't enjoying your company because you were attractive. Without sounding boastful, I'd been in the company of so many beautiful women over the years. No, I was enjoying being with Sammi-the-person. Not Sammi the sexy young bird. It was you I liked so much, your personality, what was inside as much as the exterior of Sammi. 

"Still with us, are we?" I heard you ask. The question, and the mischievous look on your face, made me smile again. That internal smile. 

"You seem wrapped up in your thoughts again," you continued. "Though after your last answer, I think it would be better if I didn't ask what they are, don't you?" 

This time we both laughed. For a few moments, we leant forward across the table, not speaking, but smiling contentedly into one another's eyes. For a second, yours seemed –what, I don't know, innocent? – but then that Sammi-bedroom look appeared just as quickly and –BINGO- my pride and joy slowly unfurled and stood to attention again. 

If there was some way of bottling that look, I suddenly realised, the world could do without viagra, or any other sexual stimulant. Having problems with your libido, Sir, the doctor would comment, not a problem, take this bottle of Sammi-potion and the old pecker will never be an issue again! 

"Come on," you encouraged, your slim young hand sliding across the short distance to allow a finger to run down the back of my hand, drawing a little circle on my skin. "You haven't stopped talking since we met, surely the cat hasn't got your tongue?" 

"Never did understand that expression," I grinned. "But no, I was simply pondering on why it is we get on so well." 

Your eyebrows went up in a perfect arch, even if your Sammi-expression remained in those wonderful blue eyes. "Really? And the answer is?" 

"Well..." I slowly replied, attempting to disguise my attempt at a joke with a serious look on my face. "I think that you probably go for sex appeal, whereas I go for intelligence. So it's a perfect fulfillment match." 

For a second – a very brief second – your face changed, but almost immediately, the humour registered. "Cheeky bugger," you laughed, throwing your head back. 

Suddenly, your foot was running up my shin, your hands were pulling your top tight against your breasts, allowing me to see your twin delights with their hard bullets. 

"So," you continued, raising your eyebrows again, just as suddenly pulling your foot away and sitting forward again. "Being so intelligent, I take it that your body is immune to my charms?" 

I nodded, feeling my skin tingle from the impromptu show of sexuality. My hand surreptitiously reached down under the tablecloth to adjust my 'reaction'. 

"Absolutely! No reaction at all. It's your mind, I'm after," I weakly managed

The spontaneous burst of laughter from us both resulted in people glancing across at us. The 'father' was enjoying his conversation with his 'daughter'. If only they knew... 

"But tell me," I said, "purely as a matter of interest. Have you ever made love in a plane?" 

"Made love?" you mimicked, with a laugh. "You mean had sex? Joined the mile high club? No, well, not yet." 

I nodded, for a moment imaging where and how you'd accomplish your membership. Then I jerked the thought out of my head. "What about on a ship?" 

"Of course," you laughed. "Who hasn't?" 

"But not one cruising the Thames," I said in what I hoped was a mysterious way. 

"Cruising the Thames?" 

"That's my thought," I added. "A romantic hour on the Symphony ship, with a glass of champagne while we check out the sights - the Houses of Parliament, Big Ben, the London Eye, Tower Bridge, the Tower of London, the Millennium Dome..." 

"Alan," you interrupted, with a sigh. "You've got to be kidding! I'm a Londoner, I know what the sights are. And I've seen them all." 

"Maybe," I said. "But this way? On board the Symphony? What do they call it, a floating glass palace? Where's your sense of adventure, Sammi?" 

Actually, I realised that looking at London's sights from a ship, even one as impressive as I'd been told the Symphony was, was hardly exhibiting a sense of adventure. Though fucking one another on it would be! What the hell had made me preface my suggested rendezvous for the evening with questions about sex on a plane or a ship? 

"It won't take much more than an hour, I shouldn't think," I hurriedly went on, before the same realisation hit you. "Then maybe we could go back to my hotel for a nightcap?" 

+++++

So that confirmed it, I thought. He does want to fuck me. Tick that box and get that detail out of the way. But am I going to let him? Certainly not on a fucking, that made me smile, boat on the fucking Thames. Is it a fucking river, I wondered and, indeed is the Symphony a boat where you can arrange a fuck. I doubted that very much. Surely they don't have private fucking cabins or, even fucking private cabins; that would make it a floating brothel and dear old Boris, our mayor could never condone that.




Recollections Ch. 03



Of course that was why you had asked about whether I'd had sex on a plane or boat.

"Actually, Alan, yes I have."

"What?"

"Had sex cruising the Thames."

"Really on the Symphony?"

"No on a friend's father's boat."

"I see, was it good?"

"The boat or the sex?" I laughed running my fingertips round the palm of your hand which you had laid flat on the table.

"Both, but particularly the latter," you smiled back closing your hand and holding mine.

"It was good. Actually it was part pleasure and........."

"Part, how can sex be part pleasure?" You asked gripping my hand more firmly.

"If, granddad, you didn't interrupt, you would have heard part pleasure and part business."

"How, what do you mean?"

"I was at uni and was trying to earn some money."

"Yes? Go on," you said lifting my hand upwards from the table, which strained the few buttons done up on my blouse.

"A friend had got me some modelling work."

"Doing what?"

"Photographic stuff."

"Photographing what, modelling what?"

I wasn't sure that I should really tell you about it. I paused for a moment as I looked you right in the eye. I tried smiling with my eyes, smouldering with them even; I probably just looked as if I had a squint.

Quietly I said as I felt one of your fingers stroking the back of my hand. "Me."

"You?"

"Yes me?"

"What do you mean?" 

"I was modelling for the photographer on his boat?"

"Yes, but what were you modelling?"

"I told you, me?"

"Oh I see, you were posing for him?"

"Yes exactly, lots of girls do it for their boy friends. It's quite the rage."

"What sexy photos?"

I laughed at the phrase. "Yes daddy o, sexy photos. That's what mobile phones and digicams were invented for isn't it?"

That made you laugh.

"Stops you having to go to Boots doesn't it?"

"So was he your boy friend?"

"Not before, but I suppose he was after?"

"How come?" You asked squeezing my hand as your knee pressed against mine under the table. I squeezed back with my hand and pressed back with my knee.

"Because," I said hesitating for a moment and staring even more intently into your eyes as I saw your's flittering from mine to my tits and back. I went on slow and quiet "He found out what it felt like to fuck me Alan, so I guess he had to become my boy friend didn't he?"

+++++

That's an interesting premise," I said, starting to feel out of my depth at the way the conversation had turned. How the hell had we got to this point, I wondered? Still, now that we were here, there was no point in not pursuing my thoughts further. "So... fucking someone means they have to become your boyfriend, does it?" 

"You don't think so?" 

"Well, that's interesting," I said, unaware that I was repeating myself. "Personally, I've never fucked anyone I hadn't become attached to, in one way or another." 

"For an intelligent man, you don't half speak bollocks sometimes!" 

For a moment, I was taken aback. Then that ability of yours to make me laugh resurfaced. 

"Something funny?" you asked with a smile. 

"Sorry," I apologised. "My laughter was part nervousness and partly in appreciation of the way you speak your mind. Yes, you're right, I suppose, but exactly which part of what I said was bollocks?" 

"Personally, I've never fucked anyone I hadn't become attached to, in one way or another," you repeated, in what seemed like an uncanny mimicking of the way I said it. "What the hell does that mean?" You went on, "Unless of course the attached to is meant literally."

I pursed my lips as I wondered exactly what it was that I did mean. "It's obvious," I began, before realising it wasn't really. "I mean... oh, fuck... I don't know what I mean. Maybe it's just that someone of my age takes the act of fucking..." 

"The act of fucking," you interrupted with what seemed like a frustrated smile. "There you go again." 

I paused, wondering how to regain control of this conversation. How to re-establish the 'intelligent, man of the world' reputation that seemed to be in severe danger of slipping away? 

"Speak more plainly," you advised, taking advantage of my temporary silence. "You'll feel much better!" 

It wasn't just your voice that encouraged me to speak my mind. It was the way your hand squeezed mine, the way your knee pressed so firmly against my knee. I realised that I'd entered unfamiliar territory. Having been out of the dating scene for a while, I was behaving like an adolescent schoolboy. 

Out of the dating scene? Shit, you had a point there! I was talking bollocks. 

"Okay," I said, taking a deep breath. "Let me explain what's going through my mind. If I just wanted sex, I could pop into any phone booth and call any one of the numbers in there. That would take care of the erection that's been pretty much permanent since we met." 

My pause was more to allow you the opportunity to interrupt, than any doubt about what I was about to say. Your inquisitive eyes told me that no such interruption was likely. For better or worse, I ploughed on. 

"I don't want just sex. That's cold, impersonal, and apart from briefly satisfying my body's craving, would leave me disappointed." 

"What do you want, Alan?" you asked, your hand and knee maintaining their pressure. 

"I want the mental stimulation, as well as the physical," I responded, hoping I wasn't lapsing into bollock-talk again. I tried to explain. "I want to know what it would really and deeply feel like to have sex with you, Sammi." 

"I told you," was your immediate response, though this time it felt like some sort of test. "Unbelievable." 

"I know that," I responded. It was true, I had no doubt of that. But it wasn't what I meant, or wanted. I needed more. "I'm talking on an emotional as well as a physical level. Sex is sex. But sometimes it can be more. Or less." 

"Hmmm," you responded. It was the sound of someone who was either deep in thought, or distinctly unimpressed. 

I had the feeling that I should have departed from bollocksville some time ago, and simply attempted to 'seduce' you into my bed. I mean, persuading a young bird into letting me fuck her at my age was impressive enough, wasn't it? 

I realised the answer was no. Or, to be truthful, partly no. Yes, it would be impressive, but I wanted so much more than instant sexual fulfillment. I might be struggling to explain, but I knew exactly what I meant. 

"I understand," you suddenly said. "You want to take me to your hotel room, fuck my brains out and have me do the same to you, before sending me home before it gets too late." 

"Not quite," I responded, hoping I wasn't killing, or hadn't already killed my chances. I just wasn't ready to part company with you just yet. "What I want, Sammi, is to take you to my hotel and have you stay with me for the night. I want to experience you, not just sleep with you" 

+++++

I sort of understood what you were going on about. It was actually the sentiments that most girls expressed. 'I don't fuck just 'cos he's good looking, it's because he wants to know me as person.' Yeah right! What she means is 'Please don't look at me as a slag if I have sex with him on the first date, for it's not just sex, it's so much more than that; we are getting to know each other as people, as real human beings! Again, yeah right. 

Some girls and many blokes, mostly older, married ones, make such a big deal of this 'getting to know the real you' and 'experiencing you' as if it was something so unusual. They make it sound as if it was almost a spiritual experience they were after as opposed to a good shag. They ramp it up to make it sound as though it was something special to them 'I am different to most men, its not your 'tits and ass' that excite me, it's just the nearness of you,' I want. Can't they see, can't you see, I was thinking that it's not rare, it's not unusual, it's not specific to them and it doesn't make them much different. When you cut through all the bollocks, who are they trying to kid, the fucker, them, or the fuckee, her. Whose conscious are they trying to salve, whose dignity are they trying to uphold?

"Yeah, er right Alan, it's all the emotional experience is it?" I said in a dullish tone of voice.

"Well yes, sort of, I guess you could put it like that; well the physical as well."

"Right, can't have one without the other can you?"

Looking slightly less confident, even a little sheepish you nodded. "No, I guess you can't."

"Alan, don't you realise that what you have just said about wanting to experience as well as fuck me, is what everyone, in the main, is after? It's what sex and affection, shagging and liking is all about."

"Hmmm, but what I mean."

I interrupted. "What you mean is that you want to appear to be different to a bloke, particularly an older one, who picks up a bird, especially a younger one, and just shags her. Has what will be a one-night stand with her. What you want to be seen as is something different, so you want to 'experience' me as well as shag me. Yes?"

"Yes, yes I do."

"But Alan what is the big deal in that? It's what boy meets girl, boy shags girl is all about. It's nothing new, nothing different, nothing special. It's called having a good fuck with someone you like and get on well with."

"Yes Sammi , I guess you are right," you said rather resignedly, looking particularly dejected.

"If, and I stress the if, Alan, we do shag, I want you to promise that you will cut out all that crap. Take me and have me for what I am and what this is. Promise?"

"Yes, but I am not sure I understand."

"You probably don't now and maybe never will."

"Why not?"

"Because basically, and without being rude, you are old and I am young. You look for reasons, we just look at opportunities; you look for meanings, we look for feelings, if we have good vibes we do it, if not we don't; we thrive on our intuition, not on facts and analysis; you look and follow rules and structures, we seek and go with gut instinct and how things feel; you read instruction manuals, we just do it and we can work VCRs and programme Sky plus, your lot can't," I finished with a laugh as I ran my fingers up your arm and my toes, out of my shoes up your calf.

"So what, essentially Sammantha, does all that mean?"

"Firstly, Alan," I said looking from side to side and removing my hand and foot from you. "I think it means we should go. We have entertained this lot almost as much as I might have done the people having photos developed in Boots, which seems about a week ago."

You quickly settled the bill. I thought of suggesting I pay my share, but felt that was pointless, for I was sure you wouldn't let me and, in any case it made me feel more like a proper pick up letting you pay.

We walked out into Wellington Street in the depths of Covent Garden. It was still warmish, but there was a breeze so I pulled the thin pashmena I always keep in my large, totally impracticable, because you can never find anything, WAGS bag and wrapped that round me.

"Now that's a shame," you said.

"What?" I asked.

"Covering that lovely sight up of course, see I forgot the rules."

I laughed and took hold of your hand.

"Now, now, don't get carried away. What's the time?"

"Just after eight thirty."

"Perfect, just right."

"What for?"

"For where we are going."

"And where's that?"

"You'll see, come with me." I said pulling your hand. "By the way, what and where is the hotel where you want me to stay the night with you so you can experience and fuck me?" I asked as we stopped outside a building with a large, black door with six or so steps up to it. There was a large bouncer at the top of them.

"So what's this then?" You asked.

"Just the best and most exclusive lap dancing club in town, come on I've got a VIP pass."

+++++

My mind was whirling. 

Everything Sammi said was true. You had the old versus young thing off to a tee. This young bird was wise beyond her tender years, I found myself thinking. But still, you missed my point. And I didn't know how to explain my point. Not any better than I had. So, I chose to do the only thing possible in the circumstances. Forget about trying to make you understand. The reality was, that it was all bollocks to you. 

Just go with the flow. 

As for the lap dancing club, that thought made me laugh. There I had been a little earlier, attempting to second guess a woman and come up with a romantic venue for the evening! Yet your suggestion was not just a lap dancing club, but the most exclusive lap dancing club in town!! 

I should have known better than to try and second-guess a woman, especially one as perceptive as you. I found myself thinking that whoever wrote 'Men from Mars, Women from Venus' had got the basics exactly right. 

So, where the fuck did all this leave me? Being dragged by the hand up the six or so steps, past the bouncer and through the large, black door. So, we had a VIP pass? 

I'd been to a few lap dancing clubs before, all with 'the lads' of course. Though curiously, I'd never had a private dance. The girls in Leeds, Preston and Liverpool all had one thing in common. Well, two actually. Very good bodies, and being very good at what they did. 

But the three clubs were soulless, despite the baying hordes that were 'appreciating' the girls' efforts. Maybe this place would be different? I mean, if it were as exclusive as you were indicating, perhaps it would reach the parts that the North of England clubs couldn't reach? 

My thoughts flickered to the movie, Showgirls. Universally panned, but any movie starring Gina Gerson would do for me. And then there was the lap dance that Elizabeth Berkley performed. Now that was a lap dance!! 

It also occurred to me as I stared around the grand interior, that there was one other difference with this place compared to the Northern clubs. There were women in the audience. Well, there had to be, didn't there, if Sammi had brought me in there. 

Hmmm. Did that mean...? 

"Tell me," you said, tugging my arm. 

"Tell you what?" I responded, turning to see that amused Sammi-look staring at me. 

"Your hotel, daddy," you told me, raising your eyes to the ceiling. "The venue for the proposed great seduction. For your spiritual enlightenment. For your emotional experience. Where you want to experience me, and fuck me! Where is it?" 

Very funny, I thought. For a second, I almost gave you my best 'don't-fuck-with-me' look, but decided it would be a waste of time. This wasn't a girl, or a situation, that I was going to be in control of, so why try? 

What was it I'd told myself earlier? Just go with the flow! 

"The Landmark," I said. 

"Really?" 

I nodded. "Yes. My favourite. But please don't tell me that you've had any modelling experiences there," I said, hoping to disguise the feeling of whatever I was feeling in my voice. 

"But," I continued before you could respond, "It's the four poster bed and mirrors on all the walls that attract me." 

Your blue eyes did a double take, knowing I wasn't telling the truth, but maybe wondering a fraction. 

"Ever watched yourself having sex?" I asked, the words spilling out before I could stop them. 

You didn't need to answer. Those blue eyes said, of course, hasn't everyone? 

"Okay, no four poster or mirrors," I conceded, wondering when, where, with whom, how many times and probably half a dozen other things. One thing was for sure, I'd never met anyone quite like you before. 

"But they're still great rooms." I lamely added, glancing around. Time to change the subject. "Anyway, enough of where I go to for spiritual release, tell me what the form is here. I assume we'll enjoy a nice drink and some entertainment before I arrange for you to have your private dance?" 

+++++

"Don't be daft, guests can't dance," I replied as we followed the shapely, black hostess to the VIP area at the back of the club. 

This was raised up with a bar on a sort of balcony so that the 'VIPs' could look out on the less fortunate and preen. Myrla, our hostess, took our drinks order, and we found a booth away from the balcony. These could hold up to eight punters and each had its own small stage, which was really an extension of the table, the banquette running almost all the way round the table; yes you got nearly 360 degree views of the girls fannies! Each booth also had a little controls console, which closed the curtains round the booth, opened them to the main stage and had a small TV screen.

"Well not here, maybe later as part of your 'experience with me," I smiled flopping down on the deep, red leather almost circular settee.

"Really?"

"Who knows, gramps?" I smiled back actually now really beginning to enjoy myself.

Was it perverse I was asking myself as I saw you sort of squirming as more and more I wrested control of the situation away from you. It was strange, but then maybe it wasn't and it was just that I was half, or more, pissed, but I liked that, and that wasn't really like me at all. Generally with a new bloke who is a potential lover, I'm fairly meek and tend to follow his lead, as really I had with you earlier on. Now though, for some reason I wanted to lead and control; what a mixed up, silly little bitch I can be sometimes.

"How do get a VIP pass for this?" You asked. "It really is a fabulous place," you went on looking round. 

Massive plasmas were all over the place, most showing women, but a few showed men. Not just both sexes stripping, but also catwalk models, dancers and beautiful people doing beautiful things. The hostesses, waitresses really, were all beautiful and scantily dressed in retro 'bunny' fashioned outfits; their almost uncovered boobs and black fishnets very much on show.

"From the agency I pitched to Lejaby, we have to entertain clients."

"What you bring male clients here?" You asked sounding very surprised, quite naturally I suppose.

"No, but sometimes I come along with a larger group."

"Phew, I would hope so," you said seriously.

"Yes it would be a rather outrageous thing for a young bird to bring a male client, or otherwise to a lap dancing club wouldn't it?" I asked laughing as I switched the on the TV.

You got irony of my remark.

"Yes, sort of double standards on my part really."

I laughed as the menu came up on the screen.

"Goes with the territory, the age," I giggled. "So what sort of bird do you want?" I asked flicking through the menu which listed all the girls the club used with those who were working tonight being clearly shown.

Myrla returned with our drinks and stood before us in a rather provocative pose.

"Will there be anything else miss, sir?" she asked.

"No not right now luv, thanks" I said, letting her get on hustling for more tips.

You looked at the screen as a galaxy of very tasty birds flashed across it and then looked up at me. We were sitting fairly close, I had my hand on the seat, you put yours on top of mine and looked at me.

"Well Sammi I saw some lovely girls there."

"Yes they are all beautiful."

"But none were quite what I really want."

"No? And what is that?"

Squeezing my hand and moving closer you said. "Well a blonde, of course, and naturally a natural one. Young, twenty two or three, slim with nice, but not big boobs and nicely tanned legs."

I saw where you were going with it and decided to play along as we sipped our drinks, both of us it seemed very aware that we had drunk quite a lot during this amazing day..

"And what would you like this young blonde bird to do?" I asked, pressing the button that controlled the curtains. We were completely isolated.

"Er well undress of course."

"Like this?" I asked, standing up and undoing a button on my blouse.

"Oh fuck Sammi , can we do this here?"

I laughed "No, I was just joking. Come on make your mind up let's order something"




Recollections Ch. 03



You did actually choose a girl who I think looked like, well at least resembled, me.

She was wearing a short, sparkly skirt and a see-through bra when she came onto the little stage which connected to our table by a short bridge, I suppose you would call it. She writhed around to the sounds of Enigma, kneeling and showing both of us that under the skirt she was naked, and then turning her back to offer you the chance to undo her bra. Like most men, you seemed to fumble with the clasp, far more than a woman would. Her tits were not unlike mine in size, but I thought they looked floppier and she had darker and rounder areolas and more prominent nipples than I did. They were eminently suckable as the creative guys I came with would say.

We moved closer and you put your arm round my shoulders as Lita danced for us several times, slowly pulling her skirt up until it was bunched round her waist. She was completely bald on her pubis and all round her pussy; I made a mental message toi try that soon, it seemed to be the rage.

"Do you find that sexy?" I asked, letting my hand fall onto your leg slightly nearer to the top of it than the knee. I felt you tense up.

"What, your hand?"

"No, her pussy."

"What shaved?"

"Yes, well both. The fact she's shaved and the look of it?"

"Not especially."

"What the shaving?"

"That's more emotional than physical."

"What do you mean?"

"It's a bit like a girl not wearing a bra, a short skirt or flashing a lot of tit." 

"What do you mean?"

"Well it indicates that she thinks about sex, just as shaving does, and that's the excitement."

"Oh fuck, says lots for me then." I laughed understanding what you meant.

"Yes," you laughed "On the thinking about sex monitor you would be off the scale by now."

"And where is that monitor?" I joked as Lita removed her skirt while she laid flat on the table in front of us on her back. Pulling her feet backwards and raising her bottom she knelt right before us, cupping her breasts and pinching her nipples, which visibly hardened as we looked at her, by the direction of her eyes, I suspected that mine were doing exactly the same thing. Slowly she bent backwards until her bum was pressing against her heels and the back of her head was almost on the floor; quite some gymnast was the supple Ms Lita, I thought as slowly she opened her legs.

As we both looked at her opened pussy, which seemed to be slick and wet so you took my hand and pulled it up your thigh until the side of it was pressed against the bulge in your trousers.

"This is my monitor," you said softly so Lita wouldn't hear. 

She finished her act by rubbing her clit and pulling the lips of her pussy apart, actions, which I was told by my work colleagues, were reserved for the VIP section.

"Thank you Lita," you said opening your wallet and removing a note. Taking my hand away from your groin, I reached out and stopped you giving it to her.

"There's no need Alan, that's all fixed on the bill."

"Yes where is the bill?" You asked.

It goes straight to the agency, forget it.

As Lita left us you protested about paying your way, but there was nothing you could do, it was a done deal.

"So what did you think of her?" I asked as we finished our drinks, still closed in by the curtains.

"She was good, better than the girls I've seen up north," you replied adding. "Nice figure and she put something into her act, effort I guess, most I have seen don't."

"Well that I wouldn't know."

"No?"

"No, this is the only lap club I've been to."

"I would hope so too," you said, again adopting that rather parental or schoolmaster tone.

"Now, now, forget all the bollocks of age. You're in the young world tonight," I said smiling at you as I leaned forward and put my hand back on your leg, but not quite as high as before.

"So do many young women come to places like this?" You asked moving your leg, possibly trying to ease my hand further up. I didn't respond, but kept it exactly where I had put it, four inches or so from where you wanted it.

"Alan, stay in the zone, stay with the young ones. Most do, we like this sort of thing."

"Why?" You asked putting your hand on my shoulder.

"Does there have to be a why?"

"No I suppose not, really, but do young women."

I mimicked you "Young women."

"Don't take the piss. Do women your age like looking at other women."

"Yes, I think we do, why not, they are beautiful aren't they?"

"Yes, well you are as well. And you like looking at naked girls."

"Yes, I think I am part of the first completely bi generation."

You laughed. "Hmmm maybe, so you like seeing girls' tits."

"Yes don't you?" I replied cockily feeling so very brave and in control that I felt outrageous.

"Of course, but I'm a man."

"Oh I know that very well," I said, I saw how you looked at Lita's tits. Did you like them?"

"Yes, of course I did."

"As much as mine?" I replied running the back of my fingers right over your mound, which I swear, shuddered. I brought my hands to the front of my blouse and looking down, I undid the remaining three buttons, which were still done up. As I slowly pulled the blouse apart, I equally slowly raised my eyes and stared deeply into yours.

"Well Alan?"

+++++

I was lost, completely lost. Out of my comfort zone, and as horny as I think I'd ever been in my life. All because of this young woman. This was an erotic fantasy come true. I had never experienced anything like it before.

My eyes must have been as wide as the proverbial saucers as I sat there, staring upwards as you stood beside me. They devoured you. This wasn't just a pair of tits, they were so much more. Not that I'd confess that to you – I didn't need another lesson on the old v young generation. 

Go with the flow, you'd intimated. I was in the young world tonight!! Those were my exact thoughts, too. 

My eyes gazed lustfully into yours, watching them radiate with the sheer eroticism of exposing your breasts to 'gramps'. For a few seconds, we simply stared at one another, your gaze defiantly daring me not to look at your tits. I felt myself gulp to rid myself of the lump forming in my throat, which was almost as big as the one in my trousers. 

My eyes took in your silken, blonde locks as they danced lightly on the very tops of your shoulders, framing your aroused face and resting on a sea of freckles. For some men, freckles can be a real turn on. I was one of them. 

They covered your upper chest, adding a wonderful sexy quality to your beautifully tanned skin. My eyes ran across the sea of freckles, following them downwards to admire the way they spread themselves across the top of your cleavage. 

My gaze continued down to the breasts themselves, framed by the thin white top that your hands provocatively held open. They were more than I expected, almost perfect in their roundness. For a moment, I nearly told you that, but I could almost hear your reply – they're only tits, Alan! 

Well, 'only tits' they may have been, but right there and then they were the sexiest tits I'd ever seen in my life. My eyes searched all around them, fully recognising why they'd be any photographer's dream. Your dark pink, areolas were perfect circles, almost sculptured, and contained the most deliciously thick nipples that just begged to be sucked. 

I didn't have any choice, did I? 

"Well?" you repeated, as if the mesmerised look on my face wasn't reaction enough. 

"Magnificent," I replied, although my voice sounded remarkably like a croak. 

Slowly my arms reached forward, hands outstretched, the very tips of my fingers tracing across your tits. For a few seconds, my featherlike touch scraped across your soft skin, feeling your hard nipples push back against my softly brushing fingers. 

With a knowing smile, you took my hands away and pulled them down to your waist. I could tell from your breathing that was as heavy as mine - you were as aroused as I was. 

I gripped your waist, then ran my hands around to your back and down over your skirt to that exquisite ass. Digging my fingers in, I pulled you towards me, close enough for your exposed breasts to brush against my face. My eyes looked up into yours, watching them smoulder down at me as I slowly licked across the underside of your left breast. 

I fully expected you to stop me. But you didn't! 

Your blue eyes continued to stare down at me, narrower and cloudier than before, the unmistakeable signs of lust radiating from them. 

I held your gaze; mine upwards, yours downwards. I slid my lips from your left breast to your right. My mouth followed the curve of each tit, avoiding the nipples and areolas until I fully explored each wonderful swell with my tongue. 

Your breathing was coming harder now, little pants of arousal mixed with low moans. Your hands were in my hair, taking control back again by dragging my head from one tit to the other. 

I turned to your nipples, now swollen and thrusting out, thick and firm. I kissed one, and then sucked it gently between my teeth and into the warmth of my mouth. When I gently nipped on it you moaned again, and my hands could feel your hips begin to slowly move in small, sensuous circles. 

I sucked harder, then softer, running my tongue around each bud before surrounding it with my saliva and sucking it deep inside again. A gentle bite, a soft pull, another moan. The rules were set – my hands stayed on your ass, yours worked my head back and forward, and my mouth pleasured you until... until... it was time for more. 

My hands inched down until they reached the hem of your skirt, then under it, stroking across the delicious ass that was covered only by a skimpy thong. I dug my fingers into your naked skin, kneading the wonderfully firm, youthful flesh, feeling as if my cock was about to burst out of my trousers. Fuck how long had it been since my hands had felt such taught, youthful flesh?

But then your fingers were tightening in my hair, pulling my head away. "Did I say you could do that?" you huskily admonished, your come-to-bed eyes telling me something. What the hell was it? 

I felt so out of my depth so, in a way, inexperienced. And that was bloody incongruous. A sixty year old feeling inexperienced with a twenty three year old girl! I had probably had more sex and more partners than you could possibly imagine. I had traveled the world, been involved quite heavily in big business and all the 'entertaining' that involves, been married and had numerous lovers, yet I felt sort of gauche with you. What incredible role reversal it was. What amazing, unexpected events were occurring as I came to terms with Sammi's world, the world of youth, the world of the bi generation, perhaps. My issue, problem dilemma, concern, worry or whatever, was that Sammi was doing little to try to come to terms with my world or my concerns. But then perhaps that was fundamental to her world, her insular, rather uncaring and fuck you world?

Just yet one more problem of getting old I guess.



Recollections Ch. 04



Ok, the scene has been set, the characters established, both parties' needs are clear and the game is ready to start. Let's turn up the sexual volume!

++

I think it was the languid, unhurried pace more than anything else that so appealed to me. The way that you seemed to have time for everything. The way that you completed one task, such as anointing one breast or arousing one nipple, before moving on to another, that appealed so much. Your patience, your diligence, your concern for me and your conscientiousness in ensuring that you did everything sort of, how could I best describe it, ah yes, as well as you could do it all contributed to making that surreal period in that booth so fucking horny that I almost had a climax. Almost, but not quite.

'Why the fuck am I doing this?' Suddenly came into my mind as you sucked my nipples and then slid your hands up my skirt and grabbed my arse. As nice as that I felt, I stopped you. I was having a mental battle with my alter ego.

I don't like ageism, but for Christ's sake, he's in his sixties, I thought? So? I countered, what's the problem? He's got a cock, you know that, he gets it very hard, you know that. He wants to fuck you, you know that and, so far, he's been a great lover, you know that very well. But, he's old. So? You will be one day and wouldn't it be nice if a young bloke took a fancy to you?

"Come on," I said. "We have to go."

"Why?"

"Because Alan this is not a knocking shop, we can mess around a bit, but there are limits and we're in danger of breaking them."

"Oh sorry."

I laughed, "It's a strange new world isn't it A?" I said, as I did up a few of the buttons on my blouse and put the pashmena back round my neck in preparation for outside, but didn't tie it. "So I take it the answer's yes?" I said as we threaded our way through the very busy 'ordinary' peoples' area.

"To what?" You asked

I replied rather louder than necessary as we walked past a large group who looked at 'gramps and young bird.'

"As to whether my tits are better than Lita's?"

"Course they are girl," a bloke standing with his mates watching a girl strip on a plasma said. His mate added. "Well give us a flash and I'll tell yer."

"Bloody cheek," you said gallantly.

"Let it go Alan, we're in a man's world here."

We wandered out of the club into the hustle and bustle of Wellington Street.

"I never knew it was common for girls to go to such clubs?" You said.

"Well it's becoming so," I told you. "You did enjoy it, I take it."

"Yes of course. And the answer Sammi," you said as we came to a narrow alley that ran down towards The Strand, I think, actually near the celeb restaurant Joe Allen. "Is that yours are better."

"My tits you mean," you said as we turned down the alley.

"Yes," you said putting your arm round my waist, and resting your hand on my bum. I wiggled it.

"You liked looking at them did you?"

"Of course, any man would."

Smiling, I said as I fiddled with the pashmena. "So would quite a few women, you know."

"Yes of course," you smiled rubbing my bum through the denim. "You're the bi generation aren't you?"

Laughing I said "Something like that," as I turned into a deep doorway.

"What's this?" You asked your hand leaving my bum as you followed me into the darkness of the doorway.

Going as far in as I could to where there was just a little light, but where we would be unlikely to be seen, I turned and leaned back against the plate glass of the office doors. As I did I pulled the pashmena from round my neck and said.

"Well you can look at them again now Alan."

Your eyes were as big as organ stops when you saw that I had again undone the buttons on the blouse and had pulled it open. The cooler night air on my tits, not only felt good, but also made my nipples pulsate to their hardest erection.

+++++

My cock was aching. Aching with arousal, aching with lust, aching with excitement. Aching with the need to fuck.

I had decided some hours earlier that I wanted this young woman, though truthfully, our age difference had suggested that was highly unlikely. I mean, it was a problem for me, wondering whether it was 'right' to pursue someone so much younger, whether I could satisfy you if you succumbed to my 'charms', whether my sixty-year-old body would be a turn off for someone as young and attractive as you. 

So if it was an issue for me, God knows what must be going on in your mind. Hell, you must have major doubts! But if so, you were disguising them well. Not only had you taken me to a lap dancing club, you'd hinted at your bi sexuality, flashed your tits at me in the club, and were now doing the same in the dimly lit area you'd provocatively led me into. 

For some reason, the thought of you with another women had been running through my mind. Every man's fantasy! This talk about the bi generation was inflaming my arousal, the thought of you with another woman, or women even – maybe your blonde hair entwined with a brunette or redhead, or all blondes together – her/their mouths on your pussy, those wonderful tits, oh fuck! 

Oh God, if I didn't do something about my cock soon, the mind wanks you were invoking in me would bring on an orgasm without the need for any other stimulation. And the sight of you in this secluded alley, those Sammi-cum-to-bed eyes glinting at me as you leant back against the plate glass of the office doors and exposed your tits again. 

For a few seconds, I struggled with myself. I wanted to yank my trousers open, expose myself. I wanted to grab your blonde hair and force you to your knees, experience the feel of your mouth on my hardness. I wanted to rip that thong in half, spread your legs and jam myself inside you. 

I wasn't aroused – I was beyond arousal. 

What stopped me from doing any of those things was partly respect for you. I've never forced myself on anyone, though I had an almost definite certainty that either action would be welcome to you, too – would enhance your arousal as well as mine. 

But what really held me back was my age. Okay, maybe my body couldn't compete with the sort of young bucks you were used to. But perhaps the way I could give you pleasure, could? 

Until either of us decided otherwise, this was all about your pleasure before mine. 

Actually, that wasn't quite true. Because giving pleasure can be such a turn on, the moans of a woman being more arousing than your own, the sound of a woman cumming on your cock, tongue or fingers almost as wonderful as the moment she coaxes your manjuice from you. 

God, was I in verbal bollocksville again? Time for action! 

I closed in on you as you leant back against the window, my hands finding your tits at the same time as my lips found your mouth. I stroked your twin beauties, caressed them, kneaded them, my fingers pulling on the nipples that demanded attention. God, they were as hard as my cock! 

They were by no means big tits, B cups probably, in fact looking at them now, they were really quite small, but they looked good and felt fucking incredible. 

You moaned into my mouth and I grunted into yours. Our lips fought. But as passionate as it was, this wasn't a quick kiss I was after. 

My hands left your tits to take hold of your wrists, pulling your hands above your head and holding them there as I ground my hardness into your pussy. Our heads tilted at an angle as one set of lips forced the other into position, allowing our tongues to flicker against each other like candle flames in a soft breeze. 

I paused for a brief second and pulled away a little, allowing me to kiss the corners of your lips, the left and then the right, licking across your top lip and then softly pulling down your bottom lip between my teeth. Drawing back a second, I watched the cloudy look in your blue eyes and slowly ground my cock into you again while I provocatively held your gaze. 

Only when I felt your hips grind back did I close in for another kiss - wetter, deeper, passionate. Our lips collided, battled, co-operated, in a desperate need to mouth-fuck one another. 

I tightened one hand around both your wrists, keeping your hands above your head as my right hand slid back to your tits, massaging them, feeling your hard nipples against my palm, rotating my hand to enhance your pleasure. Then it continued its downward journey, rubbing your cloth-covered pussy before diving under your short skirt and sliding down into your thong. 

We both grunted at that first touch, the feeling of my fingers running up and down your wetness. God, you were soaking. A growl came from the back of my throat as I withdrew my hand to let you see me taste your juices, before sliding my fingers back to where, at that precise moment, they belonged. 

Your legs willingly parted as our mouths clashed again, your tongue catching as much of your taste from my lips as you could, and swallowing it in. My kiss was more forceful this time, pushing my lips harder against yours, grabbing your tongue between them and sucking on it just as if it was your clit. 

When I heard and felt a gurgly moan emerge from your lips, I pulled my head away again, no more than a few inches, but enough so that I could look into your eyes, and you could into mine. My fingers traced the wet contours of your vulva – gently, unhurriedly – adjusting each stroke in line with the way your breathing changed and yet another moan emerged. 

Your eyes flickered closed, so I stopped all movement, forcing you to open them. Only when I had your gaze again, did I allow my fingers to resume their pleasurable torture. Your legs widened to allow me more freedom. I took it willingly, aroused by your arousal. 

"Good?" I unnecessarily asked, as I slid a finger inside you and flicked your slippery clit with my thumb. 

Your groan gave me the answer I wanted, and as your eyes closed again, I leant forward to run my tongue along your neck, just the very tip, feather-light, stroking your skin the way my thumb was stroking your clit. 

"Oh, God," I heard you mumble as you rotated your hips against my hand, fucking yourself on my fingers. I sensed rather than felt the build up inside your body, feeling you begin to spiral upwards as your moans increased and evaporated into the empty air. 

"Not yet," I teasingly whispered, licking along your neck again as I eased off until you calmed. 

I waited until you looked at me before beginning again, ever so slowly finger fucking you. You opened your legs wider, your movements and moans betraying your urgent need. My cock needed action but I denied it; that would hopefully come later. 

Instead I continued with the insistent tempo of my fingers, working faster in time with your moans and the sexy thrust of your hips. You gurgled again as I slipped a second finger inside, working them harder as I searched for your g-spot. 

When I found it, you came. Instantly! Loudly! 

God, I love a loud woman! 

Your body began to tremble, your knees so weak I had to pull the hand away from your wrists so that I could wrap it around your waist and support you. As you flooded my hand with your honeyed juices, I dropped my head to your tits, suckling one, then the other, like a baby at its mother's breast. 

Slowly, you recovered. Our joint breathing, pants really, began to return to normal. My hand continued to stroke along your wet pussy, in what I hoped was more a comforting gesture than any deliberate attempt to arouse you again. Caressing your pussy, suckling your tits, I felt your hands on my hair, stroking at first, and then pulling my head upwards. 

Our eyes met. 

"Not bad for a granddad?" I asked, with an aroused grin. 

+++

I really don't know just what it was that made that orgasm so powerful. I have no recall as to why that finger fucking had such an effect on me: being in the open air, the possibility of being caught, the pent up excitement or purely your skill? Any of those, although I suspected that the amount of skill needed to bring a girl off by wiggling your finger up her pussy was not that great. 

But there was something else, another emotion an additional feeling. What was it I kept thinking as you removed your hand from my knickers and I did the buttons up on my blouse, yet again? Then, as I tied the pashmena in place and wiggled the tiny skirt down to its 'full' eighteen inch length, it hit me. It was the position, how I was standing and leaning, how you were holding me. Yes it was having my hands held above my head. That position was so defenceless, one of total capitulation. It was a position of supplication, surrender and extreme submissiveness. What the fuck's got into me I asked myself as I said.

"No, not bad at all, what the fuck did you do to me, drug me?"

"Just what comes naturally to mature and experienced men, to granddads," you smiled kissing me.

"Well perhaps we ought to start a company, Granddads for hire, finger fucking a speciality," We both laughed as we walked out the alley. I went to turn left. You grabbed me. 

"It's this way."

"What is?"

"The hotel."

"Is it."

"Yes, up there towards Charing Cross Road."

"Ok good."

You pulled my hand.

"My station is this way," I replied.

"So?"

"Well that's where I'm going."

"Sammi please."

"What?"

"I thought you were going to come to the hotel."

"What for the experience?" I smiled.

You smiled back and moved closer putting you arm around me as you bent and whispered "And the fuck."

I moved away a little, looked you right in the eye and said, probably a little too loudly.

"I don't fuck on a first date Alan, sorry."         

+++

I was taken aback, to say the least. Thoughts bounced around my mind, all converging with one another and battling for release.

Either Sammantha was the consummate cocktease, or was playing hard to get. Or maybe you'd just changed your mind? Had second thoughts? Perhaps the experience in the alley had been a step too far?

In some ways, it didn't make sense. In others, it did. What did I expect? A sixty year-old guy, attempting to pick up an attractive twenty-three year-old! It was never really going to happen, was it?

Disappointment filled my head. But curiously enough it wasn't only disappointment at the outcome. After all, your reaction had seen my almost constant erection subside, as if I'd been dowsed in cold water. Or more accurately, hit by a dose of reality. No, that wasn't the only reason.

The point was - I didn't want the evening to end just yet, and not like this. I'd thoroughly enjoyed your company throughout the day. And who knows if I was to see you again? Probably not. So, another hour together would be the perfect way to end what had been an exceptional day.

"Look," I said, staring into those blue eyes that affected me so much. "It's okay, Sammi. Right now, forget about the sex thing. I promise I won't mention it again tonight, or try anything for that matter."

Your eyes opened wide and an amused smile touched your lips. "You promise?" you breathed, as if such an assurance was beyond my capabilities.

I nodded. "Believe me, you're safe," I confidently said. Male pride dictated that having been 'rejected', I wasn't going to reopen that door. "But that's not the point."

"What is the point, Alan?"

"Isn't it obvious, Sammi?" I asked, with a sigh. "We've enjoyed our day together. Isn't it a shame to abruptly end the evening like this? Why don't you come back to the hotel, we can have a nightcap together."

"Nightcap. Is that all?" your suspicious yet amused voice asked.

"In the bar," I retorted. "Not my bedroom. That's out of bounds!"

"Out of bounds?" you laughed.

I nodded again. "Absolutely, you've blown that chance, blue eyes."

"I'm crushed," you laughed. So did I.

"Look, Sammi," I said, with a firmness neither of us expected. "Neither of us wants to mess the other around. And we're not going to. There are two choices. If you'd like to head back home now, I'll walk you to the station, not a problem. Or... we can have a drink in the bar, and a late night sandwich if you'd like to soak up some of the booze we've consumed. Then I'll order you a taxi back to your place. What d'you think?"

"What do I think?"

Geez, were you being deliberately difficult? Was this part of the young v old interaction we'd talked about earlier. Was I missing some clues here? My old head said 'fuck it!'

"Sammi!" I snapped, frustration spilling over. "No games. I'd love to spend more time with you, but it's your choice."

+++

Things were getting silly, but interesting. You could say they were becoming interestingly silly or even sillilly interesting. But no one probably would, other than a mixed up, horny young adchcik who was being pulled by a granddad. 

They had become complicated, but easy to fix. Just say yes. Just go back. But why? Why would I want to go and sit in a fucking hotel bar for a sandwich? I don't need one, I don't want one, I don't even like sandwiches very much.

"Er in case it slips your mind Alan, we only finished dinner an hour ago, I have my figure to think of."

Rather predictably you said. "And a very nice one too."

"Yeah right thanks."

We just looked at each other. Neither seemed to want to say anything. Oddly I suddenly found myself wondering what you would like naked? Would your skin be different, would the feel of your back to my fingers seem odd? I almost smiled when I thought to myself, 'If the feel of his cock against me is anything to go on then no, things won't feel different.'

"What I mean Alan is it's all too soon."

"Really, after all we have done."

"That was just messing around, going to bed and having sex is the real thing. I think we should step back, think about it then decide what to do."

"I take it that means no to a drink in the bar."

"Yes Alan it does, along with nos to the experience, your bed and the fuck, tonight."

"Is there nothing I can do to persuade you?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Just tell me."

"What?" I interrupted.

"What's this evening been all about for you? Why did you do those things?"

"What flash my tits?"

"Yes and let me make you cum. Didn't they mean anything?"

I felt a little sorry for you. The difference in ages was so much more than physical. 

"Alan," I smiled running the back of my fingers across your cheek. "It was the buzz, purely the buzz, it hasn't been real, nothing is, it's all a load of bollocks really."

"What is?"

"Life, I guess. Living it in this time at my age is all for the buzz."

"I don't understand."

"No you wouldn't, luv and that's why I won't let you fuck me, yet, maybe one day."

++++

Maybe one day, I thought, as I hailed the cab that was passing at that moment. I pulled out a business card as the black taxi pulled to a halt beside us.

"Maybe one day," I thought again, though this time I said the words. "My mobile number's on there should that day ever arise," I added, with a smile. You are a remarkable girl.

I held open the back door, allowing you to clamber in, then handed the driver a twenty-pound note. "To anywhere the young lady would like to be taken," I told him.

Turning back to the still open rear door, I leaned in and softly kissed your lips, sighing into your mouth as I thought of what might have been. Or what might still be to come? You never knew.

"Night, Sammi," I said, flashing you a final smile as I closed the door and turned towards my hotel. 

It had been a day, an encounter, a woman, I wouldn't forget in a hurry. 

The call came when I was least expecting it. How long had passed? It was a few weeks, at the very least. Long enough for me to convince myself that I wouldn't hear from Sammi again.

"I'm doing a survey," a familiar voice told me. "Do you have a few minutes to help?"

I thought, but couldn't be sure, that it was you.




Recollections Ch. 04



"Of course," I replied, settling back on my couch as I felt an instant reaction between my thighs. Even after the break in contact between us, you still had the same effect.

"I'm from a London agency," you continued. "Privacy prevents me from saying exactly who. I have few questions."

Yes, that was Sammi. Her voice was unmistakeable.

"Fire away," I answered, my nervous voice trembling a little.

"Could I ask where you are answering the questions from?"

"My home in Yorkshire."

"A-ha. Are you alone?"

"Yes."

I'm sure I heard an almost imperceptible sigh of appreciation. What did that mean? "Good. First question. Have you had sex lately?"

I gave a soft grunt as my hardening erection hardened further. I moved the mobile phone from my right to left ear, so that I could stroke myself through my jeans while I answered. "No, not for some time."

"Good." 

Good? Was it? 

"Are you keeping yourself for one particular person?" you continued.

"I hadn't thought of it that way," I answered.

"But right now, talking to me, you have an image of someone you'd like to fuck?"

Damn, Sammi! I was so hard now, that I had to yank down my zip to ease the ache. When I pulled my cock out, the cool air did nothing to help my predicament. 

"Yes."

"Is she from London?"

You know she is, I thought. But this was your game and I was going to play along with it. "Yes."

"How old?"

"Twenty three."

"How old are you?"

For God's sake, Sammi! Stop teasing. "Sixty."

"SIXTY? You can still get hard at sixty?"

"Hard enough," I grunted.

"Hard enough? Hard enough to fuck a twenty-three year old blonde?"

"Absolutely," I said through gritted teeth - if you were here right now, I'd fuck your brains out. On the couch, the floor, or even on top of the window sill.

"Impressive," you said, and I felt a little better. "For a granddad," you added, deflating my bubble, though not my erection.

"Do you get hard when you talk to her?"

"Yes," I replied, my hand softly running up and down my shaft.

"Do you masturbate when you talk to her?"

This is our first real conversation other than face to face, so I only had this experience to go by. And I was already masturbating. We both knew it.

"Are you hard now?" you continued, without waiting for my answer.

"Yes," I conceded, though my voice was little more than a grunt.

"Good. Are you masturbating right now?"

Geez, you knew how to turn the screw. "Yes!"

"Thinking about your young blonde?"

"Yes!"

"Thinking about fucking her?"

Oh, God. I wasn't going to last much longer. How long was it since I'd previously masturbated? Too long! All that pent up emotion was gathering in my balls, threatening to make this a 'personal best' for spilling my juice. 

"You're thinking about fucking her while you wank?" you continued, your words as effective as my heavily stroking hand.

"Yes."

"Do you know whether she's wanked thinking about you finger fucking her in that back alley?"

God, your words were threatening to suck my seed from me just as effectively as if it was your soft mouth wrapped around my cock. That image filled my mind. Your soft blonde hair dancing on your shoulders as your head bobbed up and down on my cock, your flicking tongue running up and down my hardness, then your pink lips sucking me deep inside your mouth.

"She may be wanking now," you continued, "Thinking about you stroking yourself."

"Sammi," I grunted, feeling my creamy manjuice beginning to gather for its upwards journey.

"Legs apart," you continued, and from the way your voice had become harsher, more of a growl, I actually believed you were wanking along with me. "Thumb on her clit, two fingers inside, wanting to cum."

Sweat formed on my brow, my imagination went into overdrive, just like you wanted. I saw you in my mind, wantonly spreaded legs, eyes closed, masturbating. Oh, fuck. My balls were tightening.

"She's thinking about you cumming," you continued, leaving me wondering how and at what point we'd changed from the pretence of a survey to outright telephone sex. "You are going to cum, aren't you, Alan?"

"Yes," I grunted, only seconds away from that most exquisite of moments.

"Good. I'll be in Covent Garden at 5 on Saturday afternoon. Don't be late. Now, baby. Imagine Sammi's mouth on that sixty-year-old cock, sucking hard. Imagine it Alan, and give me that cum!"

I 'saw' you between my legs, your pink nipples gently brushing my knees, your soft lips teasing the very tip of my shaft before plunging down. It was too much. My hand movements were a blur. 

"Cum, granddad," you almost shouted. "Cum with me!"

Oh God, that was it! I came like a beast, roaring into the phone at the same time as my Sammi-tribute launched itself high into the air. 

I made no attempt to stop the fountain, after all, this was your mouth, your throat, I was firing into, but the line had gone dead, you had gone.



Recollections Ch. 05



I had only meant to have a bit of a joke. 

I had been thinking about contacting you for some time. Well really almost from when we parted the first time. But then things happen, things come up, there are things to do, places to go, stuff to get on with and men to fuck us. Adchicks are so in demand by our account directors, media planners, creative dickheads et al we sometimes have no time to phone granddads to arrange experiences!

At last, though, I found the time. And fuck me look what happened. We wanked together, can you believe it, I can't? And it was bloody good. As I cut the call I thought if he fucks me half as well as we wank together then I will be a very happy adchick indeed.

I left it a bit, long enough for my knickers to dry out and called you back.

"Er Alan, Covent Garden is big you know, any particular place or shall I just wander round until I find you, or someone?"

Perhaps I should pretend to be a hooker? Maybe not pretend, but be one. Get myself pulled by a punter and then let him fuck me somewhere for money. Shit what a turn on, being fucked by a stranger, someone I will never see again and doing it for money. Talk about Christine Deneuve in Belle de Jour, fuck Bogey you watch her, one of the most beautiful female film stars of all time. Check her in that and Hunger with Susan Sarandon, yet another horny female star. Not that I am into vampires, but the seduction scene blows me away. I watch it all the time, SS has the most exquisite tits!

"You decide," you languidly reply.

"Are you coming down on Saturday?"

"Yes, by train."

"Why Covent Garden?"

"Why not?" 

"Why not indeed?"

"Are you staying the night?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"Not sure."

"My mum's away."

"Does that mean the little girl can stay out late then?"

"Oooooo, sarcy, I thought that was my part."

"Even us oldies have our moments."

"Yes so I just witnessed, you did cum didn't you? You weren't acting were you?"

"No Sammi, I wasn't acting at all, were you?"

I looked down at the tee shirt I had pulled up round my neck, my tits that I had yanked out from the bra, which I had kept on, my sludgy coloured, elastic waisted combat pants pushed down to my knees and the black lacy, fashionable shorts that were half way down my thighs.

"No Alan, it was for real for me too and yes it means that and other things too."

"What does?"

"My mum being in Spain trying for reconciliation with my dad, or a fuck with the guy who runs the local health club."

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is that I will be in a big, five bedroomed, three reception, massive fitted kitchen, snooker room, large conservatory, secluded grounds and a heated pool all by myself."

"Lucky girl."

"Alan stop being a fuckhead."

"What?"

"Daft expression I know, but at the moment it sums you up."

"How?"

"Never mind."

"So what are you saying?"

"In easy to understand words, Alan, why not come to my house," I said, giggling as I added. "Or even cum in my house?"

+++

What was the feeling running through me at that precise moment? 

Unbridled lust? That would explain the almost permanent erection throughout most of the train journey so far. 

Almost shitting myself with fear in case I couldn't perform in the presence of such a sexy, young woman went some way to explaining the trembling in my chest. 

Excitement at the thought of what lay in store? That would explain why the hairs were standing on the back of neck. 

Apprehension at the 'cumming' together of the old versus young generation. That would explain the nervousness circling around my body.

Was this a granddad thing I wondered, trying to come to terms with the mixture of emotions playing inside my head? 

Stop it!!! 

Where was the cockiness I'd felt at the start of the journey, I wondered? Well, actually, 'cockiness' was the least of my problems right then. If I didn't put thoughts of Sammi out of my mind, I'd have to take my 'cockiness' out and stroke it into submission.

Mind you, the middle-aged couple sitting across from me might object. Their conversation seemed to be primarily focussed on Arsenal's chances of ever winning the Premiership again. The thought of someone wanking in the train seat across from the two of them might not go down too well.

Middle-aged couple? Hell, what did I mean? I was actually as old as either of them, probably older! That was one of the craziest things about growing older, I thought. You still saw life out of young eyes. But then they weren't going to a fucking big house, to fuck a fucking horny young chick were they?

In an attempt to somehow resist the temptation of sliding my hand underneath the table and onto my hardness, I closed those 'young' eyes. 

It wasn't a good move. 

In the darkness behind my eyelids, a young figure emerged. It was you, somehow underneath the table separating me from the couple discussing football. Behind my eyelids, you were unfastening my black jeans, somehow opening them in the confined space and reaching inside. My tented boxers were being fumbled with, your hands searching for the opening so you could drag out my cock. 

I groaned.

"Are you okay?" a voice came. My eyes flickered open, to see that the couple were sending me a concerned look. "You groaned. Are you okay?" the man asked again.

"Fine," I grunted, my body jerking slightly as the woman in my mind dragged my cock free and jammed her mouth down on it. Oh, God, Sammi. 

"Migraine," I mumbled, closing my eyes again.

"Poor thing!" This time it was the woman's voice, sympathising with my condition, but I wasn't listening. You were easing me out from between those pink lips and were running your tongue around the head of my cock.

"I have some tablets," the female voice continued.

I didn't answer. How could I when you'd just tilted your head to the side and were licking up one side of my hardness and then down the other?

"I said, I have some tablets," the woman repeated.

"Thank you," my voice said. Fuck off, my mind said. 

They gave me a sympathetic look as I smiled at them. Except it wasn't a smile. It was a gritting of my teeth as you took me deep inside again, my cock twitching in my jeans in the same way as it did in your imaginary mouth. If I wasn't careful, I was going to explode in my fucking trousers. Without being touched! 

How the hell would I explain that?

"I'm getting off in a minute," I told the couple, instantly realising the unintentional double entendre. "Not long now."

The woman sucking my cock smiled up at me with that Sammi-gaze. I know what you're doing, the mischievous blue eyes said. You think by talking to them you'll get rid of this image. Not a chance, your twinkling upward gaze told me.

"Travelling far afterwards?" the man asked.

"No," I croaked as you deep throated me. "No," I said again as you cheeks bulged. "No," I repeated, parrot fashion, as I touched the back of your throat.

Oh, God!

"Good," the woman's soft voice murmured. "You get to bed as soon as you get there. I know what it's like, when you're feeling like that. You need some relief."

I need some fucking relief all right, I thought, as your blonde hair began to bounce in line with the bobbing of your head. You were going for broke now, and my cock was reacting. Control, I screamed at myself. Where was my control? 

I knew the answer, of course. I had none! A woman has all the control when she uses her mouth like you were doing.

Oh, fuck, this was too much!

Oh, fuck, Sammi, please stop!

Oh fuck, I was on the edge!

Oh fuck, I was going to cum in my fucking jeans!

My eyes scrunched, attempting to stave off the inevitable.

The hand tugging my arm temporarily interrupted the moment. It was touch and go. Then another tug, harder this time. Then another. My eyes shot open to see the woman across from me holding out two tablets and a white train cup, half filled with water. 

"I can see from your face how much you're struggling," she said. "Poor thing. Take these, please. They'll help. I swear by them, they don't come any stronger.

I gave a weak smile, now she was into unintentional double entendres!

I realised I was panting heavily as the feeling in my cock gently subsided, taking one pace and then a second back from the brink. That's it, I gratefully thought, swallowing the uneccesary tablets as my erection returned to more acceptable proportions. 

Under the table, your amused eyes stared up at me. Got away with it that time, they were saying. But don't worry, I've only just started.

A station announcement over the tannoy interrupted the thought. The beating in my heart that had begun to gently subside, immediately started up again. I had arrived at where I was going to meet you again

Geez, that fucking erection was back again!!

+++

You had told me that your train was arriving at Kings Cross at 11.20 and that you would get a cab. I had explained that my mum's house was some fifteen miles or so outside London and that it would not only cost fifty quid or so, but would take ages. I had said for you to call me when you were an hour so out from Kings Cross.

"Hi it's me Alan," you had said by way of introduction when you called my mobile at 10.20, on the dot.

"Hello Alan, it's me Sammi," I retorted. "Where are you?"

"Opposite a middle aged couple," you said very quietly.

"How middle aged?"

"Fuck I don't know," you whispered."

"Why are you whispering? Can they hear you?"

"Yes."

"Well move then silly so you can talk freely."

"Oh right yes, good idea."

"OK now, the old couple out of earshot?"

"Yes I'm between coaches."

"Splendid. You do realize Alan that my station is not on the main line from the north to London."

"Er, yes, I guess so."

"Well then, where I live in Essex is miles from Kings Cross, you have to come into London then go out again."

"Oh." 

"Never mind. I'll meet you off your train, we'll have lunch somewhere then get the tube, the Central Line out to Essex, ok?"

"Yes, see you soon then."

"Yes hopefully at eleven twenty at Kings Cross."

It was a daft thing to do really. All things being equal, I would have been better off, just letting it go, not bothering to contact you. No good could really come from it, could it? But then you never know and my instinct told me to go for it. To check it out, to see where we might go, to run with the buzz. Hence the phone call, hence you travelling down and hence me on the tube to Kings Cross.

Usually with men, I am fairly decisive. I seem to know what I want when I meet one and usually I get that. I am generally able to work out why I like the guy and can then have a relationship making best use of that. It might be friendship, intrigue, his intelligent mind (rarely), the dates he takes me on, his romantic nature, adventure or him being great in bed (also rarely). The common theme is that I usually know why I am seeing him. I had no clear idea as to why I felt that I wanted to see you again. Sure I liked you, but near OAPs are a whole new field to me! Nevertheless, during the few weeks after that quite extraordinary day in Covent Garden I gradually found myself thinking of you and that then developed into that screwy plan that, actually, worked out so well. 

I dressed in a rush, no don't tell lies, I dressed young, very young and trendy. I guess I was making a statement, but of what? Who knows?

A blue and white hooped, long sleeved, but low cut tee shirt, very French, like an onion seller. Dark blue, quite thick tights. The tee came down to just beneath my waist and just that and the blue tights looked good in the mirror. Maybe I should go like this I thought, turning, looking over my shoulder and gazing at my bum in the almost sheer tights. Perhaps not? I slipped into the raggedy, denim hot pants I had earmarked, and did the zip and brass button up. I put the denim waistcoat on and slid my feet into the silver, high heeled, strappy, tart's pumps. Did I look daft, tarty or what? I didn't know and frankly my dear I didn't give a damn as I waited by the gate at platform twelve. But I was pretty sure I looked cool and that was the most important thing.

+++

I was out of my seat even before the train pulled into the station. Partly due to my eagerness to catch up with you, but also to escape the couple sitting opposite. For a moment, I thought they were going to offer to accompany the 'invalid' until I reached my destination.

Once off the train, I paused and dropped my overnight bag at my feet. Steady on! Don't get there flustered! You'd be waiting near the exit barrier and I wanted, needed, to look cool and in control.

Pulling my light gray jacket tighter around my shoulders and straightening the open collar of my casual shirt, I double checked the zip of my black jeans and picked up my bag. Time!

The sexy vision that had remained in my mind all these weeks had grown sexier with each passing day. But not quite like what was waiting for me. Those denim hot pants!! And your legs! I'd always had a fantasy of fucking a young bird wearing thigh high, thick stockings, though the lack of any naked skin suggested they were tights. 

That did nothing to destroy the fantasy!

The few men who weren't staring at your pert ass in those hot pants had their eyes glued to your tits. The cleavage on show above the low cut tee shirt and denim waistcoat was almost mouth watering. As for silver, high heeled, strappy pumps, simply sex on legs.

When you walk in the bar, And you dressed like a star, Rockin' your fuck me pumps!

Change the words of the song from bar to railway station, and they would have perfectly fitted the situation.

But it wasn't just they way you were dressed. Nor was it the way you threw your arms around me, pulling me into a hug that seemed to last forever. And that perfume - it danced around us like some sort of expensive aphrodisiac. But even that wasn't it.

The drug was your eyes... they way they twinkled mischievously, that undeniable 'Sammi-look' that promised so much. A few weeks ago, that looked had suggested nothing was impossible. Now it implied that everything was probable. Though after the way we'd parted, I still had my reservations. 

Sammi the temptress or Sammi the cocktease? The jury was still out. 

"Okay," you grinned at me, taking my arm. "First things first, we can catch up over lunch."

I smiled warmly, though couldn't help glancing around. It seemed everybody's eyes were on us. Or was that, every man's eyes were on you. They were thinking one of two things. You were a young daughter meeting her dad. (I refused to contemplate the granddad possibility!) Or we were a rich, older man, with his bit of young stuff. 

It made no difference to me. Eat your hearts out, boys.

"Where are we going?" I asked, as we walked outside the station into blazing sunlight. 

"You're the man, you decide."

I laughed. It was a typical Sammi response. "There's only one place around here," I responded. The immediate vicinity of Kings Cross was always depressing. "Konstam at the Prince Albert."

Your eyes flashed that cheeky smile. "Fancy you knowing about that. It's an old pub they've tarted up. Very nice."

Thank goodness for Google!

"You hungry?" I asked, heading for a taxi. It wasn't far, but I had no idea in which direction.

"Oh, yes. Starving," you smiled. "I never like to fuck on an empty stomach. What about you, gramps? Need to build up your strength?" 

+++

It was a funny old tube journey up to town to meet you. Luckily, the hated Central Line was behaving itself so we whizzed from Loughton to Liverpool Street where I changed onto the Circle Line, having to remember that's the yellow one on the underground map.

It was after the rush hour, which is the time I usually travel, so I had a seat all the way, most unusual. Nice though, but I felt relieved I was wearing the thickish tights, seats on the tube and upper leg and panty decorum are not natural bedfellows, as I have learned over the years. Still it was preferable to standing pressed up against the sweaty hordes with all the crotch and bum squashing that entails. I really do believe that every morning during the rush hour there must be hundreds of minor sexual assaults.

I was struck by the profiles of my fellow travelers and how different they were to the earlier crowd. The main difference being age, for most on the train seemed to be retirees; in my mind, with a little smile, I saw numerous Alan's taking their, grey permed haired wives shopping!

I still wasn't quite sure why I was doing this. I still wasn't sure why I had invited you to 'my' home and I still wasn't sure whether I would fuck you or not. More to the point, for 'your generation, still cling to the clear differentiation between the genders than mine, whether I would let you fuck me. On balance, as I walked from the Central to the Circle at Liverpool Street, I thought I probably would, after all I am not a PT as the boys call it, am I? But why the fuck was I even contemplating sex with an OAP, or nearly? That I couldn't answer now, but I did wonder if I would find that over the next day or so.

At Kings Cross I felt better. There were more young people, more of a buzz and hussle, it always seems to be like that in town, I like it. That's why, when I can afford it I will rent a flat there and not live in the dull, no that's not quite fair, Essex suburbs where I have grown up.

Mum was away. She had gone to visit dad in Spain for a few days. Ostensibly to talk about finance, maybe work out a divorce settlement and see how he was coping with his business falling apart, I suspected that she also wanted to get laid. By dad for sure and by the tennis coach at the nearby country club and the physical trainer at the gym and any other youngish guy she could attract, I suspected. Last time I was there with her, both coaches had been all over both us, putting my nose out of joint a bit by seeming to fancy her more, but then she has got better tits than me.

"Now, now Sammi, no ageist stuff so soon," you said as we looked crestfallen at the massive queue.

"Sod it let's walk," I said unthinkingly grabbing your hand.

"Where? To the restaurant?"

"It's not far, come on I'm sure you can manage it," I laughed thinking about the way I had, without thinking, welcomed you. I had flung my arms round your neck, and that wasn't posed. When a woman opens her arms like that to a man, or another girl come to that, she is exposing the fullness of her breasts to the other party and inviting them to squash their chest against them: I am sure there is some subliminal, Freudian message in that gesture. What may be even more Freudian was that I had made the gesture to you at platform rwelve, with loads of onlookers, and possibly what's more so, was that I liked my breasts being squashed against you.

"I'll get there, I'll make it," you muttered, putting your right arm round my shoulders and adding, "But I may need some help," as we turned down a quiet passageway leading from the station

Laughing, I reached up and grabbed your hand which was dangling down my chest from my shoulder. I looked up at you and said, "What like this?" As I rubbed your fingertips across my breast; just quickly and lightly more as a joke than anything else.

"Oh yes," you said pushing me back against a wall, wrapping one arm round my shoulders and cupping my breast with the other as you kissed me.

'"Fuck, it's supposed to me who's daring and up for anything not you,' I thought as your tongue probed nicely into my mouth. We kissed for a moment or two almost, but not quite oblivious to our surroundings. 

Three things happened during that kiss: I enjoyed it; I realised how hard you were and you discovered, if you hadn't worked it out already, that I was not wearing a bra. Actually I lie, four things happened and my response to the fourth was to whisper in your ear.




Recollections Ch. 05



"Shall we forget the Konstam?"

"Huh. What do you mean?" You asked reluctantly it seemed, breaking the kiss and taking your hand away from my breast, which did, though, continue tingling with arousal.

"I can make a salad or even run to heating up a pizza, why not come to my home for lunch, right now?"

+++++

"Sounds good," I answered, smiling at your eagerness and hoping that meant what I thought it did. 

Though for me, this wasn't all about fucking. I enjoyed your company, enjoyed our verbal sparring, and actually wanted to learn more about you. But even I had to admit that, right there and then, fucking you dominated my mind.

Maybe you hadn't expected the aggressive reaction to you lightly rubbing my fingertips against your breast, but it seemed that every sexual tease --words or actions- that you shot in my direction, had an effect that was unfamiliar. They inflamed the feeling of horniness inside me, like someone setting a match to a fire.

One suggestion or gesture resulted in a throbbing that brought an overreaction, it seemed. I'd turn a peck on the lips into a passionate kiss, a brushing of your breast into a full-blown grope and had we not been in public, hell only knew what I'd turn a brief, clothed, grinding into!

The feeling of your braless breast against my hand, your hard nipple against my palm, burned itself into my mind. I almost think I love a woman's breast more than any other part of her, though there are so many delightful alternatives to consider.

The erection that had briefly subsided was back again with a vengeance. The image of your lips around me that had brought me so close to a disaster on the train, returned. The thought of taking you, aggressively, in your bed, on the carpet, or even on top of a fucking wardrobe, jumped around inside my head.

"Sounds good," I repeated, hoping the look in my eyes didn't give the game away, that the bulge in my jeans wasn't too obvious and that the slight breathlessness as I said the words didn't tell you what I was thinking.

Then, images of you walking away from me after finger fucking you in the doorway returned, God knows where from. They made me nervous, uncertain. Part of you did, too. A glorious uncertainty, yes, but they created a hesitancy nevertheless.

You couldn't be the ultimate pricktease, could you?

I'd walk into your house with you, and your mum would be there, with her friends, your friends, and my friends, all shouting, "Surprise!"

Or maybe there'd be a guy there with a big red book. "Today, Alan Taylor, you thought you were visiting London to fuck a young bird's brains out. But today," he continued as the audience of family and friends were to reveal "Today, this is your Life!"

"You okay?" I heard you ask. "Depriving you of your lunch, am I? Don't deny it, I can see it in your eyes. Here I am offering you a salad, when all you can think of is something more substantial, much juicier, that you want to devour. Is that it?"

Those Sammi eyes twinkled at me again. They were saying, why don't you fuck me now, right here, in front of the world. That would be a new experience for you, wouldn't it?

For me, yes, though it wouldn't be the first time I'd had sex out in the open of course. For you, I wasn't so sure. With Sammi, anything was possible! And anyway, I'm sure that wasn't precisely what your eyes were telling me. It was just my horny brain that was suggesting it.

Wasn't it?

"Back to the station," I suggested, attempting to get a grip on reality. "Head for the Underground?"

"Better than heading for the hills," you joked, taking my arm again. "Circle Line, that's where we're headed. Circle Line to Liverpool Street, then we'll change. But don't worry, daddy-o. You won't get lost. I'll look after you."

"Ever fucked on the Underground?" I asked, instantly wondering where the words had come from, and wishing they hadn't. "Sorry, forget that," I mumbled, feeling myself blush. Think of something intelligent to ask instead - some fascinating subject that would impress you with my man-of-the-world knowledge. "Er, what do you think of Boris Johnson?"

Shit! Was I really that stupid??

You gave me that other Sammi look, the one that says, don't be a prick. "What everyone else thinks," you told me. "As for your first question, it might be easier to ask me where I haven't been fucked."

No, I didn't ask the question, though the way my libido was at boiling point, it was a subject I'd have loved to explore.

"We'll be at my house before you know it," you added, as we headed back into the station and down the steps to the Circle Line. "You can get settled first while I whip up something to eat. You'll like your bedroom."

Fuck, there you went again. My bedroom? What about your bedroom, Sammi? Or, our bedroom? What did you mean, my bedroom?

The laugh you gave as you saw my puzzled expression sent another shiver down to my toes. Fuck, Sammi, you couldn't help it, could you? Teasing this previously respectable, well regarded, ex blue chip company Director, pillar of the community... teasing him into a frothing at the mouth, out of control, lascivious... what? 

Dirty old man?

Or a young man inside a George Clooney look-alike body (okay, my imagination was running wild) desperate to taste the delights of the young woman who'd gradually invaded my psyche?

One of the things I realised there and then was that I didn't care. More basically, I was an animal circling its prey, heading for the younger females in the herd, not just because they were younger, but because this particular one stood out from the rest. 

She could have been much older. She could have been less attractive. But she would still have stood out in the same way.

Okay, you had already dismissed such thoughts as bollocksville. I could accept that. Different generations thought differently. And I was only too aware I was invading the territory of the younger generation. But........, who knows?

Invading your territory I might be, but this animal had separated out a potential female mate from the rest of the herd. And given the opportunity, he was going to take her on a sensual journey to places her fucking younger generation rarely visited.

++

"Would you mind if we got a cab from Loughton Station I asked?"

"No not at all, why?"

"Well it's only a few minutes walk, but we would have to walk past the neighbour's houses and they are very nosy."

"You mean you don't want to be seen with an old man," you said as we whizzed through Buckhurst Hill station.

"Age has nothing to do with it, I don't want to be seen taking a man of any age into mum's house."

"Ok I was only joking."

"Wow, this is impressive," you said as we pulled into the 'in' gate of the front garden.

"The ill gotten gains of a now defunct and probably bankrupt property developer," I said as you paid the scandalous seven ponds fifty fare.

"And this is even more so," you continued as you followed me up the steps to the porch of the unnecessarily large, very Essex, posh suburb almost, but not quite, footballers' wives type of house. I saw the cabbie who I am sure had dropped me off before staring at us. I smiled and waved.

"Yes, ripping off unsuspecting souls by buying property at lower than proper prices, messing it around a bit then selling at a hugely inflated price, brings its rewards. Five or six bedrooms, study, bloody great dining and two other downstairs rooms plus a snooker room, gym, pool complex and a tennis court."

"I take it you don't full approve of your parent's having such a place. It must be worth a fortune in this area."

"Guess so, but dad's finances are all fucked up, so who knows? Who knows really who even owns it? Anyway sod all that?"

"I'm sorry," you said considerately as you slid your arm round me.

"Thank you," I replied letting you pull me into your arms."

You held my face as our bodies molded together. We kissed for the second time today. It felt good, but I didn't think I was ready yet to go further, even though the sensation I felt pressed against my stomach indicated that you was.

"Come on" I said, "Let me show you your room."

The look on your face as I said that for the second time was hilarious. 'He really is beginning to think I'm a PT," I thought as I wiggled out of your embrace.

I showed you the formal dining room overlooking the gardens to the side, the lounge, the conservatory and study and then the pool.

Holding your hand, I said. "Shit I should have told you to bring your cossy, you won't be able to have a swim now."

"No?" You replied in a tone that suggested you would. "I'm all for skinny dipping," you went on."

"Ooooo at your age as well," I replied laughing. 

We walked round the garden and looked at the tennis court. "Won't be able to use that either, and we can't do skinny tennis." Here's our little gym," I said showing you into the room at the back of the double garage complete with a couple of machines, weights, a big exercise mat, a bike and rowing machine and a massage table. 

"That's interesting," you said.

"Yes where mum gets her relief, I reckon."

"What do you mean?"

"Well she has a PT, personal trainer not what you were thinking, who is also a masseur, who I reckon is giving her one."

We wandered through the garage and back into the house.

"Come on, upstairs," I said leading the way to the staircase.

"Best invitation I've had all day," you said, brushing your hand across my bum.

"Well play your cards right and you may get an even better one later," I said, giggling as 

we got to the top of the stairs, your hand still on my bum. I showed you mum's room which was quite spectacular with a massive bed, all white carpet and fittings, a bank of mirrored wardrobes down one side, and floor to ceiling patio doors leading to a balcony on the other.

"And this is where I live," I told you as walked down a corridor to the 'granny flat' built over the garage.

"It's just like a flat you said," as I showed you the small kitchen, a study cum sitting room and of course the bedroom with the ensuite wetroom and the double bed. 

Mum and dad had had the place done up for me when I took my A levels to give me more privacy.

"So, where is my room?" You asked.

"We'll see, it just depends how well you behave yourself," I said smiling.

"And how will I know how to behave?" You asked coming over to me and putting your hands on my shoulder.

"Use your instincts," I replied, not moving but looking you right in the eye as you let one hand run down my arm to my elbow, your wrist brushing against my breast.

"How's this?" You asked, gently cupping my boob.

"Not bad, you're learning," I replied gently pressing against your hand.

Still staring into each other eyes I felt your finger and thumb find my nipple and then pinch it.

"And this?"

"Yes, that's good," I breathed feeling a strong rush of arousal. "What's the time?" I asked.

"What?"

"I asked if you had the time?"

You looked at your watch. "Ten past one."

"Thanks."

"Why did you want to know?"

"I was wondering whether it was time for lunch."

"I see, and is it?"

"Maybe," I replied putting my hand on the back yours, which was still on my breast. I pulled it tighter as I said softly. "It could be Alan."

"Really?" You said looking totally confused.

I made my mind up.

"So what would you like, a drink, a cup of tea, some lunch or......" I paused before adding in a croaky whisper. "Me?"



Recollections Ch. 06



Sammi and Alan, her older lover, find out their sexual compatibility, but cracks appear in their emotional on.

*

Bit ironic, don't you think?" I asked, unbuttoning the top button of your denim waistcoat.

Your blue eyes narrowed in puzzlement. "What is?"

"You calling me gramps, and yet you live in a granny flat," I laughed, flicking open a second button.

Your eyes followed my fingers for a moment, before returning to meet mine. "Well, you should feel at home here, then, shouldn't you?"

"At home here?" I asked quizzically, opening the third of the five buttons on the waistcoat you were wearing over the long-sleeved blue and white tee shirt.

You nodded. "Yeah... keep up. A granddad in a granny flat."

"I understood," I explained, flicking open the fourth button. "It was the assumption that I was going to be staying here. Thought you said it depended on how I behaved?"

"It does," you grinned, glancing down at my hands. "What are you doing?"

"What you told me," I answered, opening the final button and pulling the waistcoat open.

"Which is?" you asked, feeling my fingers run across your stomach, gently edging up the very, low cut tee shirt.

"Using my instincts," I told you, my voice not much more than a whisper.

You leant in and kissed me as you felt my hands under the tee shirt, my fingers tracing a light pattern across your bare tummy. When we previously kissed, I had the impression you were unsure whether you were ready yet to go further. This time, the soft, entwined lips the dueling and the unhurried kiss suggested you were.

"That's good," you murmured into my mouth, your body trembling slightly as my fingers edged upwards across your naked skin. "I like it when you use your instincts."

"Mmmm, me too," I agreed, running my fingertips around the deliciously round undersides of your tits. "So, there I was, wondering whether you were a pricktease."

"And now?" you interrupted, gasping as I cupped your naked tits, palms gently kneading the flesh, thumbs flicking your hard nipples. 

"And now," I said, leaning in and running my tongue along one side of your neck, "I think your nipples feel wonderful."

"Mmmm, your hands feel pretty good tool, too," your aroused voice told me in your typically understated style, as your hands went to the back of my head and stroked my hair.

"Good," I murmured, trailing little kisses down the other side of your neck. My hands kneaded your tits, loving the warm roundness of them against my palms. "Think my lips will feel good, too?" I whispered as our lips parted.

"Your lips?" you asked, digging your fingers into my hair and pulling my head back, so that you could look in my eyes. You were giving me that Sammi-look and we both felt the extra surge between my thighs in response. I'd made a point of not grinding into you yet, but we were both aware of the hardness pressing against your hard body. "Yes, they do feel good," you mumbled.

"That's good, Sammi" I murmured again into your mouth as I took each nipple between thumb and forefinger and lightly pulled. "But that's not what I meant."

Your eyes narrowed in both desire and puzzlement.

"I meant on your breasts," I explained before you could speak again. "Kissing them... licking them. I meant on your nipples. Feeling them hard in my mouth, sucking on them. Think my lips will feel good on those fabulous tits of yours, Sammi?"

Before you could reply, I roughly dragged your tee shirt up to your neck, holding it there with one hand while I lowered my head to your right breast.

+++

It came as a bit of shock. But then to have your tee shirt pulled up, your breasts exposed and your nipples sucked all in quick succession would, wouldn't it? But it felt right. And in my book if it felt right, then it probably was right. And if it was right, then my inclination was to go with it. Like in the doorway, it felt right to let you finger me, but not fuck me. So that's what I did. Now it was different. I felt different; you seemed different, more relaxed, cooler, more with it. Most importantly, I felt different. I was on my home patch, but where, strangely enough, I had never had sex. In fact, I had rarely even brought boys back here, let alone a mature man, I smiled thinking, one old enough to be my 'elderly' father, one older than either of my parents. Above all else I felt free and comfortable. I felt good about you and us, felt good about myself and what we were doing and I felt assured being in my own home. Reveling in the lovely feelings your teeth and tongue were giving me on my breasts and the anticipation your other hand was providing by my squeezing my bum, I wanted more. More felt right, and at that moment, right was good. I grabbed the hem of the tee shirt and with you at first not seeing that, for your eyes were otherwise engaged, I pulled it up. I had to struggle a bit, for what you were doing was hindering what I was doing. You looked up, your mouth still enjoying my boob and our eyes caught, just before I yanked it over my head. I was bare above the waist and that felt great. When I am like that, naked above the waist and dressed beneath it, I do feel sort of liberated and get some feel as to how the bra burners felt in the sixties. Rather tritely, but nevertheless sincerely I whispered as I cradled your head to my chest. "They're yours take them." I pushed them more firmly against your face, loving your attention, patience and understanding. Purely by coincidence, I promise, we were standing so we were reflected in a full length mirror. Glancing at and seeing my half naked form with your hands on my bum, and your mouth on my breasts as I leaned back my hands behind my head, gave me a tremendous turn on. At that moment I knew we would not just fuck, but also make love. I said quietly. "Did we decide whether it was the drink, pizza or me you wanted Alan? 

+++

I glanced up at you as you spoke. Your eyes weren't looking at me; they were looking over to the side. I followed your gaze, feeling a sudden surge of arousal at our reflections in the full-length mirror. I hadn't really noticed that the mirror was there, and the sensual sight that surprised me instantly brought an extra inch to the length of my cock.

There was something about the reflection on display that was so erotic. Maybe it was the fact you weren't totally naked? Dressed in just your hot pants and tights, naked breasts covered in saliva, with those diamond hard succulent pink nipples, you were picture frame perfect.

Add the fact that your hands were behind your head in a submissive pose, your back arched, and the eroticism of the scene increased threefold.

The fact that I was there, too, hands kneading your wonderfully firm ass, mouth paused at your tits ready to resume their pleasuring, only added to the arousal running through my body. You looked hot, but the sight was even hotter because of the aroused look on your face, and the knowledge that I was the cause.

"We didn't decide," I said, turning my gaze away from the mirror to look up into your narrowed blue eyes. "Though if you believe in actions rather than words, I think my feelings are obvious."

"And if you believe in words?" you asked.

"Then I need to tell you that I want you, Sammi. The drink and pizza can wait."

"Really? But we have all day..."

"... and all night," I added. "I hope. But right now, some things can't wait."

"Such as?" you asked, watching me closely.

"I'm hungry," I told you, my tongue sneaking out to lick around the outline of your right breast. When you gave a small moan, I took your nipple in my mouth again and lightly pulled on it with my teeth.

"But not for pizza," I explained as you moaned again. I left your breast and slowly licked my way up your freckled chest. "I want you, Sammi. Right now."

"What do you want?" you asked, dropping your hands to my hair. "Tell me."

"I want a three course meal," I murmured, lightly kissing your lips while my fingertips stroked along your legs. "Aperitif, main course, and sweet. The main course can follow tonight."

"And now?"

"Now, it's the aperitif. I want to start by showing you what an old man can do. I'm going to make love to you, Sammi. With my lips, my tongue, my mouth, my fingers. I'm going to make you moan, Sammi. I'm going to have your body twisting in pleasure. I'm going to have you begging me to fuck you. But before then..."

"Before then?" you asked, and I swear your voice was unsteady.

I gently ran my hand over your hot pants, lightly pressing and rubbing along the length of your young pussy. "Before then, Sammi, I'm going to make you cum..."

The soft moan you gave from my words, or the touch of my fingers on you sex, made my mind up. 

My hands moved to the brass button on your hot pants and pinged it free. Watching your blue eyes, I slowly pulled down the zip, as if every movement had to be exaggerated and unhurried so it was teasing to both of us. The pants slid easily down your thighs and you stepped out of them. The look on your face said you were unsure, but that you wanted to see where this was going, find out whether gramps knew what he was doing. My fingers went to the waistband of your almost opaque, blue tights. It was more difficult to unpeel you, but a few drags and tugs eventually did the trick, with you holding onto my shoulders to make sure you didn't topple over as I forced the material down your legs and off your feet. It had entered my mind to try to fuck by, either ripping a hole in the tights or, with them just rolled down beneath your bum. On balance I thought it wiser for such more overt stuff to be left for later. With just that thong to protect your modesty, you looked every bit the young temptress you were. I almost expected you to put one finger in your mouth, Lolita-like, and provocatively suck on it, but you didn't. Instead you stood there, your eyes telling me this was my show. What next, they asked? Surprise me, they said. But they sent out a warning, too - be careful, because I'm moving out of my comfort zone. Glancing around, I tugged you across to your bed, gently easing you down, onto your back, not a word being spoken as I leant forward to kiss you. A soft kiss, one you returned, your hands raising themselves to stroke my hair. I pulled away a fraction, so we could look at one another, try and read each other's eyes, see what the other was thinking. At the same time, I reached down, taking hold of one end of the thong with my right hand, and another part with my left. Eyes on one another, I gripped and ripped, the sound of the material ripping in my hand surprising you enough for your eyes to blink, your mouth to open. I took advantage, kissing that open mouth, our lips and tongues clashing at the eroticism of the moment as I pulled the ripped pieces of your thong away. "I'll buy you another," I whispered, my eyes smiling as my head moved downwards, my hands already taking hold of your long legs and directing them apart. 

Typically, you answered. "Yes you fuckingwell should, that was sixty quid of AP's best stuff." My lips and tongue found the inside of one thigh, and then moved across to the other. An upwards kiss, lick, kiss, lick across both thighs and then I was there, staring at the treasure I wanted so badly. You were smooth, delightfully smooth -- smooth just for me, I wondered? I let your eyes see my tongue - not lewdly, just a glimpse - as you stared down, propping yourself up on your elbows. My eyes surveyed your wet opening and then my head dipped forward. It was just the very tip of my tongue that licked across the full length of your opening, my senses savouring the touch and your unique taste. You body shuddered, then trembled. Your hands reached down to my hair, perhaps unsure whether to pull me closer or push me away. I lapped again, with a little more pressure this time, my fingertips drawing the lightest of patterns on your inner thighs, a feather like touch, running up and then down your soft skin. I heard a noise. A murmur? A groan? A gurgle? A moan? I licked again, harder this time, pushing my tongue along your soft folds so that you could better feel the pressure. Your body trembled again, just a little. A tremble of pleasure, I hoped, though this was unfamiliar territory for both of us. Take it slowly, I told myself, though my arousal insisted I should feed on the wonderful offering open to me. My hands went to your knees and slid under each one so that I could pull and push your bum upwards. Taking advantage, I slid my tongue along that tender flesh between your sex and your ass, for a second or two toying with your bum hole. Your body jerked in my hands, and I slid my tongue back on its return journey, this time slipping it inside your wetness and tongue fucking you for a few seconds. The move was sudden, unexpected, and your body jerked as my hands pulled your legs a little wider apart. Your hands gripped my hair more tightly. To stop me? Or encourage me? Whichever, I changed the pace, sucking in the Sammi-juices that were flowing into my mouth and then moving upwards, my whole mouth engulfing you clit. I sucked it inside, as much and as deeply as I could, until I felt your body move, your ass press upwards, as if involuntarily offering yourself for more. Then I released the wonderful mouthful of flesh and allowed my tongue to get back in on the act, slowly lapping up and down the little bud, then drawing figure eights all around it. For a brief second, I wondered if this was giving you as much pleasure as it was giving me. 

+++

From the moment when it had become obvious that you were trying to pull me and from the time when I had realised that I didn't particularly object to what some might consider that rather ambitious aim on your part given our ages, two things had occupied my mind.

The first was whether your maturity and experience would make it much different. Would you go about having me in a different manner to younger guys: are there techniques that men acquire with experience; do they give more pleasure? I simply didn't really know, but somehow doubted it. Sex could well be a little like rock and roll, there's quite a low ceiling; that's why stuff from the seventies sounds as good as new, with rock that is, but maybe sex as well. I mean there are only so many ways a clit can be pressed, a nipple sucked or a girl's pussy can be stuffed with a guy's cock isn't there? Isn't there? I wondered, but knew that I would soon find out. And second, was how you would feel. Daft I know, but I am a bit touchy feely, tactile isn't it? By that I mean to myself, would your skin and flesh feel different to the other younger guys who had been in my arms? An odd thought maybe, but one that seemed important to me. So those thoughts had been occupying much of my thinking. They were there when I phoned you with that joking customer call, when we were arranging to meet, when I was waiting for the day and when I waited; aroused I have to admit, at the platform at Kings Cross. God aren't railway stations and trains sexy things? Well I think so. They had also been near the forefront of my mind when we sat together on the Central Line to Loughton, tube trains are the exception to my sexy feelings with railways by the way, and in the cab to my home. And, of course, as I showed you round they were uppermost in my mind for I knew the time that I would get my answers was nigh. As we kissed, as you touched me, as you undid the waistcoat, as your hands went under my top and as you caressed and then sucked my breasts those questions were screaming out to be answered. Somehow, though, when I pulled the top over my head and bared my breasts for you, offering them to you, giving them to you to do with as you wished, things changed. How you would go about taking me seemed rather irrelevant. It was merely the technical aspect of sex. As was how you would feel, did it matter? No not really. Those thoughts that had troubled me so much, that had been in my mind so frequently, that had kept me awake as I masturbated myself thinking about them, suddenly lost their significance. As you removed my hot pants, as you stared at my half undressed form, your eyes boring through the dark blue nylon of my lower half and the total nakedness of my upper body, they didn't seem to matter. As so quickly you stripped those tights from my tummy and legs and so wantonly wonderfully ripped the thong to bare me completely, the technical and the feel slunk into the back ground. Yes, as you took me naked to my bed, all that seemed to matter was us. Not a young, blonde bimbo and a mature, aging, man, not a pick up and a seducer, not an adchick and a retired businessman, but simply a man and a woman. A man and woman about to make love. And make love we did. Well to be precise, and at such times precision does seem important, you made love to me. Not that I complained or really saw anything wrong in it, but it was a little odd. It was exciting to be stripped naked slowly, with just the right touch of aggression, it was amazing to have my legs lifted, twisted, pushed apart and opened. It was so stimulatingly stirring to have your head go down on me. It was incredible to feel your tongue explore me and find all those sensitive places 'down there.' But it was odd, and somewhat lonely is the term that comes to mind, to be naked, to have a man orally fucking me and to find my orgasm growing, while he is still fully dressed. There was no skin on skin, no flesh to flesh. So, as your mouth anointed my cunt, as your tongue probed me and as your fingers accompanied that so that you built up slowly, but very markedly my orgasm, yes as you started to make me cum I did not get any real answers. Your mouth was as other mouths, both male and female, that had visited me there before and I did not 'feel' you, so my quest for that knowledge remained just that; a quest.

+++

I'm not sure exactly why I wanted to make you cum. Well - that's stupid, of course I did. What I mean is, why I wanted to take you to orgasm this way? With my mouth. Why I wanted to put your pleasure before mine? Why was this all about you, not me? 

Perhaps I felt we had all day (and night) and I wanted to take things slowly, step by step?

Maybe I felt I had to prove myself to you? 

Perhaps I needed to show you that a man of my age could give pleasure without the need to drag my cock from my trousers and get 'down to it'. 

Maybe I felt I should show you that it wasn't all about me?

Perhaps the moon was made of blue cheese? 

Fuck, I didn't know! All I did know was that I so needed to put your enjoyment before mine, that I went down on you. I wanted your juices. I wanted your groans. I wanted to make your body squirm. I wanted to hear you grunt and moan. I wanted your fingers in my hair, urging me on.

I wanted your orgasm.

The way your body bucked when you came made my cock twitch, strongly. It sent a bolt of electricity through my body as well as yours. My befuddled mind, that had told me to take things slow, changed its mind. How could I take things slowly when my need for you was so great?

No, not my desire for you, although that was undoubtedly true. Nor my lust for you, despite that arousal being self-evident. Right then, at that moment, you were the sexiest woman on the planet and there, in your bedroom, on your bed, I needed to sink my cock inside you. 

I had to experience you. Experience what?

Your velvet walls around my hardness!? The look in your eyes when I entered you!? Your young flesh pressing against my not-so-young flesh!? The way your face contorted as I slid inside!? The touch of your skin against my skin!? The way you reacted when we were joined!?

Would your hands grip my ass? Or dig into my back? Or grab my head? Would you bite or scratch? Would your legs widen to welcome me? Would they wrap themselves around my back? Would your feet plant themselves firmly on the mattress? Or cross over the top of my buttocks? Would your heels dig into my ass, forcing me deeper? 




Recollections Ch. 06



Would you groan? Would you grunt? Would you moan? Would you purr?

Slowly, I rose to my feet. I stood above you, looking down and devouring your naked body as I removed my shirt. My eyes watched your eyes. They ran over my body as I threw the shirt away. What were they thinking? 

Did you expect my chest to be tanned? Not being a sun worshipper, it wasn't. Were you disappointed?

Did you expect wrinkles? I giggled inside at the thought. I might be a lot older than you, but I had the impression you actually expected my skin to be hanging from my body.

Reaching down, I took your hand and brought it to my chest, holding it there as I ran it across my smooth skin. Your touch was cool. I was making a point, as well as reassuring you. What I hadn't expected was the way my cock throbbed at the sensation of your fingers on my flesh.

I held your hand more tightly as I dropped it to the bulge in my black jeans, gratefully feeling you grip me. I couldn't help but moan.

My hands went to my belt. I unfastened it with an urgency that was running through my psyche. I ripped it away and then unzipped myself, watching as your hand dropped away as I pushed my jeans down to my feet. I kicked them away and then dragged one sock off, then the other. 

Your eyes were glued to my crotch and I pulled my boxers down, allowing your gaze to feast on my rock hard cock. 

Feast? 

Okay, that may have been the wrong word. The good news was that I was fully erect, hard and aching, just for you. The bad news was that I was no larger than average. Was that a disappointment? The good news was that if you and when you felt me, you wouldn't be able to tell the difference between me and the young bucks who I assumed you'd been with.

"Want me to put a bag over my head?" I asked, watching every emotion on your face, in your gaze. "See if you can tell the difference?"

+++

It was a strong climax, a heavy orgasm; you gave me a monumental cum. Truth be known it had started when I took my top off. That outlandish gesture, something that really was out of character for me, had got things going. Your mouth and hands on my bare breasts, your eyes adoringly scanning my body, your removal of the rest of my clothes and you taking me to my bed, naked had increased the tempo. Kissing me, touching me, caressing me and opening my legs had started making me shudder. Your fingers visiting my clit, sliding along the length of my pussy then going inside had opened my floodgates and your mouth on my most womanly place had crumbled every single vestige of defence I had. As I lay whimpering my legs spread, your head between my thighs, your tongue doing such amazing things to me, every part of my body joined in a symphony of seemingly synchronised sensations. They combined to join up each sexually sensitive place I had. My clit felt as though it was hot wired to each of my nipples. My pussy seemed intrinsically linked to each of my breasts. They all exchanged 'good vibrations,' vibrant sensations, sensual messages, erotic signals and such fucking incredible feelings. I wasn't just cumming with my body nor with just my mind, I was not climaxing just with my tits or nipples, clit or cunt, I was cumming with everything I had and I was cumming everywhere. My little toe seemed to be as affected as each of my ridiculously bloated nipples, my blonde hair felt it as much as my breasts and my kneecaps reverberated with such powerful sexual shudders as did my cunt. I trembled and shook, thrust and surged and almost convulsed as all hell let loose everywhere. I was a blubbering, moaning, groaning grunting and whimpering mess as it felt as though your head slid all the way up my cunt. That went on for some time, just how long I have no idea for time had ceased to exist. In fact, nearly everything else had also seemed to no longer exist. There was just you, me and, most crucially, my body that was left to exist. But then things changed again, marvellously and so erotically. You started to undress for me. That was perfect. Both the act of baring yourself and the moment you chose to do it. I always find it adds something to my arousal to be naked, or as good as, whilst my partner is dressed; I also find similar things happening if I am dressed and he is naked. Odd! So when you 'disrobed' you added even more to the already extreme excitement of the situation. I was still trembling. My tits felt so full and heavy. They also felt big, as big as I would like them to be, as big as my mum who has ample C cups. My nipples were still aching with the need for further relief and my cunt, inside, out and all along each lip was on fire. I was coming down from the awesome height of my orgasm to the level where I need to be held and loved before being fucked. So to have you 'perform' for me was so in keeping with what was happening that I felt even more pangs of orgasmic delight. As you revealed your cock to me I have to admit to a slight feeling of relief in that you were superbly hard, for I had had some worries along those lines. Naked cocks in pictures do little for me. When the cock has little or nothing to do with me, but is simply an inanimate object owned by an unknown, I rarely look on it as a massive, or even moderate come to that, turn on. It's not as the view of a female breast or thigh is to a man, then it is the look and shape irrespective of whose flesh is on show that is the turn on. Perhaps that's part of the reason why men find it easier to shag someone they don't know, whilst we struggle with that. So a cock, as hard and as sturdily appealing as that you were flaunting at me has little appeal in isolation. If what you were showing was in a photo in a newspaper, I would probably turn the page and check the weather, it would be more exciting! But when a cock is as close up and personal and its target is clear, obvious and is me, everything changes. Then it does thrill, it does excite, it does arouse for it becomes an object of serene beauty. That's almost certainly due to the realisation that soon it will provide me with the ultimate female sexual thrill, that soon it will become an invader, that soon it will enter and penetrate me. Yes, that soon, that hard, ready and so available cock will be fucking me. As both of my hands found my waiting breasts and caressed them, so I smiled gratefully at you. Stroking the tingling flesh and gently pinching my aching nipples, I said quietly. "Thank you Alan that was beautiful." Full of the confidence in your own nudity that comes with experience, as I had found with DD and another older lover, and is generally lacking in younger men, you stroked your cock as you laid on your side beside me propping your head up with your hand. "Oh Sammi," you whispered as you stroked my face, "You don't need to thank me." "Yes I know I don't," I said, slipping my arm round your neck, pulling your face towards me and lifting my head so that we could kiss. "I just wanted to though," I whispered. "That's lovely," you said, stroking my breast. "So do you want to?" You asked. "Yes of course Alan, I want to, very much," I replied, thinking you meant did I want to make love. "Have you got one then?" "What?" "A bag," you replied laughing. We both realised the mix up at the same time and laughed. "Don't be silly, that's not what I want?" "So no bag then?" "No." "Not over my face?" "No of course not." "What then, Sammi? What do you want?" "This," I groaned reaching out and wrapping my fingers round your erection. "This is what I want Alan," I went on looking you right in the eye as I slowly pumped that stirring lump of blood engorged flesh. I want this, I want your cock Alan. May I have it please?" +++

My cock was so hard, it ached. It ached because of your words. It ached at the sight of your stunning young body. It ached at the recollection of you moaning under my pleasuring tongue. It ached under the hand that was gently stroking it, making it even harder. And it ached at the thought of fucking you. 

At last! At long last! Fucking Sammi!

"Of course you can have it," I softly said. "It's yours for as long as I'm here. To do with what you want." Twisting around to move my body against yours, I added, "And to do with what I want, too."

At first, you mistook my movement. You thought I was preparing to fuck you. I wasn't, not yet. Instead, I took you in my arms, pulling your head onto my shoulder, dragging one of your legs and draping it across my thigh. We had all the time in the world.

One hand gently stoked your soft hair, while the other caressed the soft skin of your ass. Just my fingertips. I traced along the heart shaped curve of your bum, softly, gently, loving the contented sigh that escaped from your lips. Slowly I adjusted position, so that my hand dropped from your hair to run along your shoulder, as if finding and tracing each freckle.

My other hand advanced up to your back, running up to the top of your spine and then back down again. I could feel my cock twitch with each tender gesture and knew that you'd feel it, too. For the moment, we both ignored it. It would be time soon enough.

My fingers lightly caressed your back, out to the sides, up to your arms, and then back down again. When you twisted a little in my arms, I brought my hand to your stomach, circling your navel, drawing patterns along your tummy, and then sliding upwards to your tits.

I ran my fingers around the curve of one breast, and then the other. Slowly, exaggeratedly so. Then they found your nipple, hard and erect. The tip of my finger pushed it in a little circle, loving the hard feeling as I manipulated it with just the one finger.

My cock told me I couldn't wait any more. It told me it couldn't wait anymore. Your soft moans suggested you were thinking the same way. Not that they made any difference. I was in that moment when a man needs his willing woman, when it would take a wild horse to stop him from, what's the quaint phrase, plighting ones troth?

You were rolling onto your back even as I began to change position. My body slid between yours, my knees pushing your widened legs even wider. I rubbed my cock along your wetness, but made no attempt to enter. Not yet. I sat up on my knees so that my cock could tease you further, while my hands took your wrists and pulled them together above your head.

Our eyes met and I leant down to kiss you. It was a gentle kiss to begin with, or a series of kisses to be more accurate. Our heads adjusted position to explore different angles, lips on lips, tongue flicking against tongue, teeth biting on lower lips, tongues searching around the inside and outside of each mouth.

"Want my cock?" I breathed into your open mouth.

"Yes," you gasped.

"Want me inside you?"

Your grunt answered for you.

"Want my cock in your cunt?" I asked.

Your grunt turned into a moan.

"Want gramps to fuck you?" I teased. "Want gramps to fuck his horny young bitch?"

"Yes," you groaned, finding the word from somewhere. "Yes, you bastard."

I stared into your eyes. That come-to-bed Sammi look had disappeared. It was replaced with a fuck-the-life-out-of-me look. Without you even knowing I slipped a condom on and moved closer to you.

My cock was aching so hard, it hurt. I slid it against your oily, labial lips, searching for entry. Like a homing beacon, it found its way home. To where it belonged. Inside, Sammi.

Your legs raised either side of me, hanging loosely then resting on the top of my ass. I slid in an inch, then another. Slowly, like a surgeon carrying out a delicate incision. I love that moment of entry. The exquisite feeling is so unlike any other. The sheathing of a man inside a woman! But the fact it was you, Sammi, simply exaggerated the pleasure...

"Ready?" I asked, gripping your hands more tightly above your head. My tongue licked across the outside of your lips, tracing their shape. Your ass lifted from the bed, taking half of my cock inside me.

Suddenly, the teasing was over. I groaned. I moaned. I may even have whimpered. As your legs gripped me tighter, I threw my head back and thrust all the way inside. Home at last

++

I had forgotten just how wonderful a feeling it is when a new lover enters me for the first time. It's always something special. It might not last though; sometimes not even to the end of the shag. It's odd how women, well me at least, can fancy a man so much and to the point that I am on my back legs spread and dripping for him, only for me to then be wondering, almost as soon as he is embedded in me up to his hilt, 'Why the fuck am I doing this?'   It can be the attempts he has to make to get his angle of entry correct, he may not be hard enough, I may not be wet enough, he may use too much force, not enough, rush things or miss the sodding hole completely and slither his dick between my legs. He may grip me too hard, hurt me, squeeze me painfully or squash me. So many things. His breath may smell, his kiss may turn animalistic and he may simply not feel nice to my touch. And when any of those things happens, no matter what other skills he has and irrespective of how hard he tries, the fancying of him to the previous level can never return. But when: It slides in easily first time; He holds me wonderfully; It fits into me like a hand into a glove or, more appropriately perhaps, a cock to a condom; His body moulds perfectly to mine; The pressure of him and his hands is just right and When his back and bum are lovely to my touch then It really does feel as though he has come home at last and it's as if I am welcoming the prodigal son into my person. To my enormous relief, that was exactly how it was with us. And that is exactly how it was right through our first bout of lovemaking. You made me cum very quickly, but then that is a problem I usually encounter with a new lover. I seem to get so keyed up, so excited, so aroused and so ready for him that almost as soon as he is in me and I have the relief that he is ok, then that causes the other relief and my outpourings in both my female juices and my emotional satisfaction are so strong that I climax. "Oh yes Alan, oh yes, yes, yes," I moaned my legs wrapping themselves more firmly round your hips as, realising my need, you slammed yourself into me as far as you could go and held it there, ramrod straight and granite hard. "Oh yes, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me hard you dirty old bastard." "Is that what you want? You asked rhetorically, seeming as if by instinct to grasp my mood and needs. "Is that what you want?" You repeated, adding. "To talk dirty, to have me talk dirty to you as I fuck you, as I fuck your young juicy cunt." "Oh God yes," I groaned thrusting my young, juicy cunt as firmly as I could against your mature, smooth and hard cock. "Tell me Sammi, tell me." "Tell you what?" I groaned almost out of it from delirium. "What you want granddad to do to you, what you want the dirty old bastard to do to the sweet young baby?" "To fuck me." "Hard?" "Yes fuck me hard as hard as you can." "Where do you want to be fucked Sammi?" "In my cunt." "You want gramps to fuck your cunt?" You asked. "Yes, fuck me, fuck me in my cunt." And that is exactly what you did for the next two minutes or two hours for all I know. 

+++

There's something about entering a woman for the first time. 

On one level, it's the culmination of the chase. Everything, from meeting a woman you find attractive, discovering that there is chemistry between you, engaging in the mating ritual, is leading up to this point. Sometimes of course, the chase proves to be more pleasurable than the end result, though on the whole, it's true what they say.

Sex and golf are the only two things you can be crap at yet still enjoy.

On a second and wholly different level, it's the physical aspect. Does it feel like two different people that first time? Clumsy and uncertain? A coldness and feeling of distance, despite the intimacy. The sensation of two strangers coming together? And yes, I do mean coming together, as opposed to cumming together.

On either level, you actually know before you slide inside that this could be a mistake, that's if the act of fucking can ever be described as a mistake, of course. Maybe a feeling of let's get this over with descends, and then it's a race to the finish line as quickly as you both can.

Conversely, when it feels right... it's bliss. That's how it was with Sammi.

Everything felt right, from the moment I undressed you, gazed at your naked body, went down on you, tasted you, made you cum on my tongue and fingers. From the moment I took my clothes off, allowed you to see that sixty isn't that old after all, felt my cock twitch merely by the fact you were looking at it, then asking if you could have it.

It felt right from the way we kissed, a mixture of tenderness and passion, deep and soft, sloppy and wet, exchanging saliva, tongues fencing with one another, searching, licking, entwining. From the way I held you, stroked you, our bodies felt next to each other, how we fitted together.

All of the above combined to make the moment of entry truly special. 

Your soft skin felt perfect against mine. Your young body seemed to fit under me so well. Your legs wrapped around me in just the way that enhances my arousal. Your hands and fingers on my skin made me tingle. And the way your velvet insides sheathed my pride and joy, accepted 'him' so comfortably and easily, created a surge in my cock and balls.

This, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, was as close to perfection as I could ever remember.

To begin with, I pushed all the way inside you, my belly slapping against yours as I rammed myself home. As always happens when I start what I know is going to be the perfect fuck, I felt the surge inside me threaten to produce an early end. I did what I always do in that moment.

I stretched my body to its absolute limit and held myself there, ramrod straight and granite hard. Don't fuck back, not quite yet, I silently implored you, biting down on my lower lip. Thank God you heard my silent plea. Your legs wrapped themselves more firmly round my hips and we stayed like that for a nano-second, perhaps, two nano-seconds, until my crisis had passed.

My relief was palpable. Now I could get down to business.

But even before I could react, your body was shaking and trembling. Were you cumming? So quickly? The thought made my cock grow another inch. I wanted your orgasm... your orgasms... as many as I could create before I had to give in to the urges that would become unstoppable in my own body and psyche.

You began to talk dirty to me, and that heightened my pleasure more than I could ever have expected. Your skin, your fingers, your hands, your thighs, your legs, your young, juicy cunt and your panting, gasping, husky commentary all combined to inflame my senses.

Oh, fuck!

I realised I wanted a video of this, but one that contained feeling as well as picture and sound, so that I could repeat the moment over and over again whenever I wanted. Or bottle it, bottle the whole sensation, so that I could dab it on my body whenever the mood drove me there.

I fucked you slowly, very slowly, but occasionally changed the pace to a sprint, pounding hard inside you, watching your tits bounce, your eyes widen, your breath catch, before slowly easing back down again. Each time I dropped the pace, I leaned down so that our faces touched, whispering into your ear. Asking questions. Telling you things.

"Remember the alley," I whispered, running my tongue around the soft flesh. "Did you like my fingers inside you?"

"Does my cock feel the same now? Tell me how it feels," I said, pressing my pubic bone down on yours.

"Did you like my tongue on you, sucking your clit..." I murmured, rotating my cock inside you. "Mmmm... it felt delicious, Sammi."

"Want to know something? You have the youngest, juiciest cunt I've ever tasted. Or fucked," I said, seconds before I went into overdrive for another good few seconds.




Recollections Ch. 06



My balls slapped against your ass with each increase in pace. I could feel your juices flowing over my cock. Your cunt muscles gripped me tighter. Your breath became a wheeze. Your body bounced up and down on the bed. And then I slowed again...

"Like that?" I asked, pulling down on your earlobe with my teeth. 

"Like being fucked by your granddad?" I added, licking along your neck.

"Like having my old cock inside your juicy cunt?" I murmured, lowering my mouth to suck on your left nipple. 

"Like the feel of my hardness fucking your young pussy," I mumbled, switching tits and sucking your other had bud inside my mouth.

Then I went into overdrive again, leaning on my elbows and knees to derive maximum speed and force as I pounded your young body down into the mattress. The sweat began to form on my forehead. That familiar tingle began to garner in my balls and spread throughout my body. I could feel my seed begin to gather. 

Slow down, I urged myself. For fuck's sake, slow down

+++

It was good. There's no doubt about that. As good as DD? Not sure on that, because there's a lot more between him and me and you and me. But you were certainly a better lover than most men I'd had, although, to be fair I haven't had that many men, most have really been boys. These were the faintly ridiculous thoughts that were going through my mind as I lay snuggled up against you, after your flaccid dick had slipped out of my still throbbing pussy: that takes ages to stop. Another nice touch was that you wanted to hold me and cuddle after you had fucked me. Some men/boys I've had, or more to the point have had me, want that like a hole in the head. It seems that after they've had their wicked way, the furthest thought from their mind is sex and tenderness so, as soon as they can, they leave the bed and the bird. And just at the time when she is at her most vulnerable. The emotional outpouring for a girl when a man gives her an orgasm is enormous. It's largely, so I am led to believe, due to how she has given her body to him and he has taken that and her mind. Whatever their real relationship immediate post sex, the girl loves the man; she has to just to preserve her integrity at having given herself to him. The problem is many men, post sex, hate the girl, maybe not hate, but lose respect for her; the old syndrome of get his way and fuck off. It was lovely for you to be so different I thought as our bodies rubbed against each other as we both came down from our climactic highs. "So, Alan, let me pose the question again," I said running my fingers over your chest and pressing my breast against your side. "What question?" "I asked what you wanted, tea, food, a drink or me?" "Oh yes," you laughed stroking my hair." "Well you've had me, what now?"

+++

"Not too difficult a question," I said, leaning into you and gently planting a kiss on your forehead. "We're still on the aperitif."

Your head turned so that you could look into my eyes, at the same time as your hand reached for my cock. "Hmm, not sure you're quite ready yet," you suggested, as you fingers circled my pride and joy and slowly began to jack it in your closed palm.

"You'll be surprised how quickly I can be ready," I grinned, sweeping a strand of loose, blonde hair away from your eyes. "And if you keep doing that, it'll take no time at all."

"Really? Are you sure, gramps?" you asked, teasingly tightening your grip and feeling a surge in your hand, in response.

"Sure," I said, widening my eyes. Even had I not had good recuperative powers, you could have corrupted an angel. That Sammi look was back on your face, those blue eyes sending signals down to my sexual soul.

You leant in for a kiss. It was nice, tender, a firm brush of lips, a light joining of tongues.

"But," I added, shuffling onto my side and glancing around. "I think we need six things. I've brought three of them, and you can supply the other three, okay?"

Your eyes narrowed and I gave a soft laugh. You were normally one step ahead of me, I'd previously noticed. I was going to enjoy my time in the driving seat, albeit a very brief time.

"Explain?" you asked.

"Okay," I grinned. "I have three liquids, and something flammable."

Your eyes raised to the top of your head as you thought, then returned to meet mine. If I wasn't mistaken, there was a tinge of 'get on with it' in there.

I sat up and nodded at my cock. Your caresses had him well on the way to the required state. In fact, I was hardening so nicely, for a second I wondered about taking you right there and then again. I didn't of course. Some variation is essential in any long sex session, don't you think? Something that would make this different for you, make it special. 

"Okay," I said. "I have the Chilean Shiraz in my bag, you supply the glasses. I have the mango bubble bath, you run the bath. And if you have any candles, that'll be really romantic."

"A bath?" you spat out. The way your brow furrowed was delightful.

"Absolutely," I told you, raising my eyebrows. "After a good bout of lovemaking there's nothing like soaking in a romantic bath together, with a glass or two of vino. And afterwards..."

"Afterwards?" you said with that hint of wonder in your voice.

"I've brought some sensual oil, too. Fancy a massage?"

+++

This was going differently to how I had imagined. More pertinently, I realised with a start, it was also not going how I wanted it to. I know my thinking and feelings might be unfair, but I felt that they were relevant and that your's probably were not. Was it an age thing? A generational gap, perhaps, an expectation that people your age have about relationships, possibly the need to justify having sex, by bringing romance into it? I didn't need to do that. I didn't want it. I was perfectly comfortable having sex with you, without bringing other stuff into it. However, it didn't look as though you were, something I had heard from girl friends who had much older lovers. I didn't want fucking romance, just fucking. Romance is all about love and long term togetherness and neither of those had featured in my thinking about you. For Christ's sake it was only the second time we had met and you were into your sixties, how bloody long term could that make anything! You were also beginning to piss me off a bit. Sure you had fucked me nicely and when you had gone down on me it had worked. You knew what you were doing and you did that well. But it was all a bit intense. I guessed you wanted to overcome the potential age problems. Prove to me that you were as good as a young guy. Impress me with your experience, turn me on by how much you knew and by how quickly you could recover, and I had to admit that getting hard so soon after shagging me was impressive and as quick as any bloke I'd had. But it was becoming a little mechanistic almost robotic. It was as if you had covered the first chapter of the 'How an Older Man Should Make Love to a Younger Woman' instruction manual. Get her undressed, fiddle around with her tits, using firstly your hands and fingers then, when she seems comfortable, move onto using your mouth and tongue. Show her how cool you are by not trying to shag her for some time and indicate that older men are so concerned with giving their partner pleasure, by giving her pussy a good lick and suck, making her cum as soon as you can without asking for anything in return: that'll impress and please her. Only when you have done that should you fuck her and then do that using both fast and slow, holding yourself in her rigid and trying out every trick you've ever learned. I could hardly believe that you had brought a bottle of wine with you from wherever the fuck it was up north that you lived when there is a perfectly good Threshers just round the corner who sells eight quid a bottle Chilean Shiraz and three for the price of two, I had noticed! Didn't you think that I would have baby oil? Oh no, of course yours is 'sensual oil' whatever the hell that is? All fucking oil other than what you fry chips in is sensual when it slides over your body so what, I thought, is special about what you had carted down from Yorkshire? As I thought all this, I knew it was unfair, unreasonable even, but I couldn't help it. It seemed that we were so far apart in so many ways. For Christ's sake you had called me honeybunch had talked about 'a glass or two of vino.' Vino, what the fuck sort of talk is that? No one, but no one I know would say that, would call it that, it's wine for shit's sake. Another example of the age gap, I thought wondering just where we were going. "After, as you term it Alan, a good bout of lovemaking, I don't need a romantic bath." "No?" You asked, sounding surprised. "No, not really, why would I?" "Well it's romantic, what with the candles and everything." "Alan," I said, probably sounding rather more cold than I intended "What's romance got to do with anything?" "Well with sex and us." "Do you really think I invited you here because I had romantic needs or intentions? Did you?" "Er well yes, I suppose I did, so haven't you?" I sat up, crossed my legs and stared at you. "Alan, we live in different worlds and we're from different generations, we both know that." "Yes, so?" "I did not ask you here to have a romantic weekend or because I wanted romance in any relationship we might forge between us. Did you think that's what I wanted?" "Well I didn't really think about it." "Exactly." "What do you mean, exactly?" You asked. "You assumed I wanted it because you do. You ascribed your standards, your thinking, your interpretation of the situation. You didn't really think what I wanted, but assumed that you would need to prove you were better than younger guys, that your greater experience would surpass their stamina." "That's not really fair." "Love and war, mate," I said getting up from the bed and slipping my tee shirt back on. "If I wanted more stamina, Alan, I'd have a young stud fuck me." "I'm confused," you said pulling the sheet over you as your erection softened. "Why did you invite me?" "Fun, curiosity, because I like you, an experience, lots of reasons." "And now I'm here?" "You need to lighten up. Forget about trying to be young physically, be younger emotionally. Just go with the flow, trust your instincts. I couldn't give a sod really if I had to work hard to help you get a hard on, stop trying to impress me by your experience and maturity." "Not sure I follow." "Ok great, you showed the patience to not shag me for some time, you undressed me and made me cum with your mouth and then you undressed and we had sex. Not once really did you consider what I wanted." "Yes I did all the time." "No Alan, what you did was do what you thought I wanted. You thought I wanted you to undress me and make me cum like that with you still fully clothed, didn't you?" "Yes, I was trying to give you pleasure." "Your interpretation of what you thought would give me pleasure you mean." "Well yes true, but what did you want?" "Being blunt, as I usually am Alan, I wanted to be fucked. I wanted that quick and hard, I wanted to feel you, your body, your chest and your cock. That's what I wanted, not to be treated like some bloody concubine. I wanted us to have sex together, not you have sex with me, not to have sex by the manual. Haven't you heard that kids of my age don't read fucking manuals we just do it? Do you understand me or am I talking garbage?"

+++

No, not talking garbage. You were just giving me your usual blunt Sammi-view of the world. A spoilt bitch view perhaps, but as honest as always. I could have grown annoyed. I could have objected, argued. 

But basically, I didn't give a fuck.

So you were pissed with me? I'd ascribed my standards, my thinking, my ways to the situation?

And just what the fuck were you doing now, Sammi?

You'd given me your Sammi view of the world, of my world actually, and it was a heavily critical one at that. It seemed there was nothing I'd done right so far -- except, maybe, 'I'd fucked you nicely'. Well, that kind of shitty criticism is liberating really. If you're going to feel that way, I might as well just get on with it and do my own thing.

Okay, I'd try to 'lighten up' to 'just go with the flow, trust my instincts'. But I wasn't going to change being me. No way.

I'd said 'honeybunch'. I'd said 'vino'. And 'no one you knew --but no one- ever said that'. Big fucking deal. So what??

Okay, maybe it was a generation thing. But for fucks sake, what did you expect? Of course it was a sodding generation thing. I was thirty plus years older, after all. Of course I was trying to impress you by my experience and maturity. I was fucking sixty and you were fucking twenty-three. Reverse the position. Wouldn't you feel you had to impress me? Well, not any more. That fucking message had finally got home.

And oh yes, while my mind was having its rant, what else had you said? You wondered just where we were going? Now that was a really good question. After listening to you, I had no idea. Except I did know that before I left, I was going to fuck your spoilt bitch brains out. 

And sooner rather than later, Sammi Cannock.

I'd have to check my manual, of course. After all, I'd covered the first chapter of the 'How an Older Man Should Make Love to a Younger Woman' instruction section. Hopefully chapter two would be more enlightening.

After all, it was becoming a little mechanistic almost robotic, apparently.

What I needed, it appeared, was to be more spontaneous perhaps? Well, the opportunity had just arrived. You turned to get something from the bedside table and your inadvertent pose reminded me of that bikini photograph you'd sent me during one online chat. God, I'd spilt gallons of creamy manjuice over that photo.

Creamy manjuice? There was another one, Sammi. I bet none of your friends --but no one- had ever said that! Well, fuck them!

Or rather, fuck you! Even as you stretched on all fours, my hands reached for your hips, dragging them back against me.

"Wait," you gasped as I fitted my body behind you.

That word was fine. I was okay with 'wait'. Had it been 'no' I would have stopped instantly. Probably an old fashioned thing, Sammi, but when a woman says no, I instantly assume it means no.

"Wait?" I asked, grabbing the back of your neck and pushing your head down onto the bed. "Wait for what?"

You gasped again at my roughness. I waited for the word 'no'. It didn't come.

My free hand slid around to your stomach and down to your pussy. "Wait for this?" I asked, slipping a finger inside. You were already wet. That was one good sign at least. "Or wait for this?" I asked, rotating my finger in your juicy wetness and flicking your clit with my thumb.

Your groan gave me an answer. It said something like, 'continue, you bastard'. At least, that was my interpretation.

"Want it?" I asked, whispering in your ear as I leaned forward over your back. I stroked your wet folds with my hard cock at the same time as I slipped a second finger inside. 

It brought another moan as you rested on your elbows and involuntarily raised your near perfect bum. 

"I don't," you gasped, but we both knew it was a lie.

"Oh, yes, I think you do," I grunted as my knees slid inside yours, forcing your legs wider. With each nudge, the adrenalin in my body increased. From the way your juices covered my fingers, I guessed that your adrenalin was close to overheating too.

"Tell me," I mumbled, running my hard cock along your wet labial lips. "Tell me you want to be fucked."

Your head shot sideways, your aroused blue eyes looking back into mine, a panting, lustful look covering your face. You couldn't help but groan aloud as my fingers curled inside you and my cock pressed against your delicious wetness.

"Tell me," I repeated, my hand leaving your neck and diving under your tee shirt to squeeze each of your breasts. They felt sensitive, as if aching to be touched. I cupped each of them in turn, rotating your nipples in the palm of my hand. "Tell me, Sammi," I whispered again. "Tell me you want this old cock inside your juicy young cunt." At first you didn't respond, but as I manipulated your cunt and tits, you gave in. But then, you had to give in. That's what chapter two of the manual said, didn't it?

"Yes," you gasped as I brought both hands to your breasts, squeezing, pulling, mashing and pinching those wonderful, hard, nipples. My cock pushed against you, it was so close, but not ready to enter. 

"Yes!" you repeated, pushing your ass back, confirming your need to have my dick inside you. Your breath grew ragged as you became caught up in the delicious soft friction between us. I began to pant as I continued to rub myself along the whole of your wet opening.

"Want me to fuck my spoilt bitch," I grunted, sitting up on my knees. My cock was throbbing and any thoughts of continued teasing were rapidly leaving me. Fuck, I needed to be inside your sexy young body!!

You looked back at me again over your shoulder. Your Sammi-eyes were wild, your nostrils flared. With an aroused growl, your hand shot down between your legs and grabbed my hard cock. In one movement, you fitted me inside you. 

Fuck, you were so wet that I entered immediately. I gasped at the entry, loving the way you felt as you sheathed me. The sound was more like a hiss. I could feel your cunt muscles accommodate and squeeze me. Bollocks, I'd forgotten the rubber.

"That's good, you little bitch?" I grunted, one hand finding your blonde hair, gathering it into a ponytail. You gave a soft whimper as my grip tightened and I roughly dragged your head upwards.

"Want me to fuck you?"

"Yes!"

"Want my old, hard cock, to fuck you hard?"

"Yes."

"Your juicy little cunt needs my dick?"

"Fuck, yes!"

They weren't just words. They were grunted out, full of arousal, full of hot lust, said with throaty groans while with each question, I tightened my grip on your hair. 

I yanked your head back and then pushed it forwards in time with my thrusts. With each growl you gave, I pulled backwards until I was almost free and then rammed myself back inside you again.

"Like that?" I grunted, not really knowing what I was saying. I was losing it, moving faster, grunting more loudly, and yanking your silky locks backwards more tightly. "Like the way gramps fucks your juicy young cunt? C'mon you spoilt bitch, fuck me, too!"

You did. Fuck me, and how! You couldn't help yourself. Your backward thrusts started slowly but then grew more frantic. Geez, I could hardly contain myself and lost contact with who was fucking who. All I knew was that sweat began to drip from me as I lost myself in the white-hot heat between us.

"Oh, fuck, Sammi."

"That's it," I heard you pant. "Just there. Like that."

I had no idea what I was doing, other than losing myself in the fuck. How long was it since I'd abandoned my mind and body to a woman in such a way? My balls slapped against you as I fucked, knowing I was either going to send a volcano full of cum inside you or have a heart attack in the attempt.

"C'mon, you old bastard," I heard you grunting. "Keep going. Don't fucking dare stop. Not yet. Not fucking yet. Yes. Like that. Just like that. Yes... yes... oh fuckkkkkkk."

I've no idea how long it had lasted and I didn't care. All I knew was that I was exploding, sending depth charges from my body to yours. I closed my eyes and scrunched my face in exquisite pain as each release tore itself from me. Fuck, how much was there???

Somehow I knew that you were cumming, too. In the distance of my mind, I could hear you shout out as your climax overpowered you. Your body trembled, mine jerked, and I swear your juicy young cunt sucked out every single last drop of cum that I had to give.

I fell sideways onto the bed, sweat streaming from me, my face red, heart pounding, trying to come to terms with the electrical currents still pinging their way around my mind. As rationale thought returned, I glanced across to see your sweaty face looking at me, a few strands of your blonde hair stuck to your forehead.




Recollections Ch. 07



As if from afar, I heard you say, "What did I do wrong this time?" 

"You fucking well raped me," I gasped, still out of breath from the energetic fuck.

"That wasn't rape, my dear."

"What the fuck was it then?"

"Maybe near rape, possibly slightly forced, but certainly instinctive sex," you replied, sounding slightly smug to me as you continued. "At no time did you say no Sam and I assure that had you, I would have stopped immediately, you do believe that don't you?"

I did actually, for above all else you were a gentleman, with both the good and the not so good, that brings.

"I guess so," I sighed turning onto my side facing away from you. I glanced at the clock, it was just two thirty, about three hours since you had arrived at Kings Cross, just over an hour and a half since you had entered my home, and less then that since you had started to undo the buttons on my waistcoat. It seemed amazing that we had fluffed around for so long with me playing hard to get by not contacting you, yet within an n hour or so of you undoing the buttons on my waistcoat you had fucked me twice and made me cum several times.

"And you did tell me to go with the flow and trust my instincts didn't you?"

"Yes," I mumbled, feeling quite confused at my feelings.

"So I did, I felt some aggression was needed, you needed a hard fuck and I gave you that, didn't I?"

I realised that you were a bit pissed off at me. Nothing new in that, lots of blokes go that way with me, especially during sex. I get funny after cumming, maybe some bloody hormonal thing, who knows? 

I realised also that you were venting your 'pissedoffatmefeelings' by basically saying 'fuck you I'll do what I want and in the process I'll take control.' Oddly, I liked that. It doesn't happen often. Most blokes sort of pay homage to me, probably the blonde hair, blue eyes, pert tits and open legs I guess. Indeed, you had and that frustrated me, I suppose. 

As I lay there on my side, my body bent at the waist my bum just touching you, somewhere, I felt you stroking my hair and then running your fingers up and down my back. That felt nice.

"Mmmmm, I like that Alan."

"Did you enjoy the sex better that time?"

"Yes much better, it was fantastic, thanks."

"Good, but now perhaps we should have a little rest," you suggested.

Smiling and turning onto my back and looking at you I said, as I held my hands above my head stretching my boobs. "Yes at my age I need to take things slowly."

You laughed at that.

"Maybe now it is just some food or a drink and not me on the menu. What would you care for?" I asked, running the back of my fingertips across my breasts.

++++

After two energetic fucks, I wasn't going to get hard again, not for a while. But I swear the sight of you running the back of your fingertips across your breasts made me twitch.

There's something about a woman's breasts that are so fucking attractive. I love them. I love the sight, the feel, the shape, the touch... Your breasts were pretty near what I consider perfect. Not too big, but large enough. Beautifully round areola. Delightfully thick nipples. 

As I gave some thought to your question, I reached across and covered your hands, pushing them down so the more or less cupped your tits. Slowly, I rotated your hands across your breasts, pushing them down, pulling them sideways, and rotating them in circles. 

Your eyes looked down at my hands, watching them as I manipulated yours, then glanced back into mine. Your mouth was open slightly, and I was sure your breathing had increased a little. Mine certainly had.

I forced your hands into a rougher movement, pushing down hard, mashing them into your tits, wondering if your nipples were hardening into your palms. 

I leant forward and hardened my tongue, stroking it up one side of your neck, then across and around to the other. We kissed for a moment, gently, breathlessly, and then I pulled my face a few inches away so that I could stare down into those blue eyes.

"Pizza," I said, feeling my cock twitch again at the way you looked back at me. Even at rest, it seemed my pride and joy was unable to resist that Sammi-look. "And wine," I added.

I pulled your left hand away from your right breast and held it down at your side, my prisoner, while I lowered my head to that wonderfully erect nipple. I took the hard bud between my lips, slowly suckling, delighting in the shape, the hardness, the feel, the taste.

I sucked harder, but this time I took more of your breast into my mouth, sucking in as much as I could before allowing it to escape with a pop.

Then I was pulling your right hand away from your left breast, gently twisting your arm so that the effect of being my captive was emphasised. My mouth plunged to that newly freed breast, taking as much as I could between my lips again and sucking hard.

I was sure I heard a moan, and transferred my attention to your nipples only. God, they were wonderfully hard. I sucked like a baby --or what I assumed a baby would do- attempting to draw any taste I could from your swells. 

When I heard you groan again, I let go of your hands, gratifyingly feeling them go straight to my hair, digging in, pulling me tighter to your tits.

I glanced up at your face. Your eyes were closed. 

"Hey," I said, reluctantly leaving your tits and running my tongue upwards, across your freckles, to your lips. I kissed you again, before asking, "Where's my fucking wine and pizza?"

+++

I giggled. "Come on let's have some naked dining," I said as I got out of bed.

You followed me downstairs and once in the kitchen I was able to have a good look at your body. I chuckled to myself as I thought of what you had said earlier about wearing a bag over your head. In reality the only meaningful difference between you and a thirty or so old were the wrinkles on your face, so yes a bag would have removed that age indicator, I suppose: a better action, though, was to ignore the wrinkles. 

As I was beginning to find out, however, it was not the physical side of life that creates difficulties between people of different ages. Ok, I thought you tried a little too hard, you were a little too 'text book' in your way of making love and at first it was a bit one way; you fucking me, not us fucking each other. But you had made me cum to varying levels at least half a dozen times in a short space of time, you had made oral love to me in quite a spectacular way and you'd shagged me twice. So much for older men lacking stamina, I thought. 

There were emotional differences though, generational ones, language, honeybunch, vino, your pride and joy, fucking hell what bilge, and did you use TTFN in one of your texts or phone calls? There was also 'what this was all about differences;' you wanted to 'experience' me, I wanted you to fuck me and fuck the experiencing each other. Clothing and style too: rimless glasses and short sleeved shirts were not exactly cool, even for a sixty year old, I thought, but then what was I after, I asked myself? Why had I invited you here? It wasn't as if I was that short of invites that I had to crawl to you; it's not that hard for blondes, with perts tits to get themselves laid when they need. Unanswered questions really, for I had no specific answers, even though some vague notion was forming in the back of my mind.

As I opened the big American fridge mum had recently installed, the blast of cold hair on my nakedness immediately hardened my nipples and brought my chest and tits out in goose bumps 

"You open the Chilean Shiraz," I said, a little harshly, "I'll do the pizza and salad."

"You can manage to cook that can you?" You asked rather sarcastically, but more in the spirit I was used to and felt comfortable with than the more 'lovey dovey' way you seemed to prefer.

"Yes I'm ace at cooking salad," I said over my shoulder as I chopped up a few tomatoes, some cucumber and other ingredients.

Cooking, well defrosting and microwaving actually, which is more my style, making a salad and laying the table in the kitchen, naked, was hardly romantic, but it was quite sexy. 

That said though, we soon seemed to forget both our nudity, the fact that we'd had sexe several times and would surely continue later and became, in effect, nudists. I almost forgot to look at your face, let alone cock as we finished the Chilean Shiraz, the wine loosening both our tongues and our verbal inhibitions. 

"What are you after Sam?" You asked.

"How do you mean?"

"Well sexually and with me. I'm under no illusions, I know you don't need me, I know you could pull almost any man and I'm not really as big an adventure for you as you are for me."

"Am I Alan?" I asked leaning forward my breasts almost dangling down like mum's big D or even DD cup mounds do. I stroked your wrist.

"Yes of course. Unless you're a Rolling Stone or an Eric Clapton, a Bernie Eccelstone or Peter Stringfellow, few sixty year olds get to have girls your age."

"Yes I see."

"So what's the appeal of an old fart like me?"

"Truthfully Alan, there was little appeal at first. I didn't even think you were interested, but we did have a fun day and what we did in the alley was cool."

"So was that why I got the Sammi command?" You asked slightly moving your chair so you could run your foot up my lower leg.

"I'm not sure," I replied getting up and moving over to your side of the table. I sat on the edge, facing you, my legs slightly parted, our knees touching.

"When do you think you might know more?" You asked your eyes focusing on the lips of my pussy which I knew would be on view through the neat thatch of my nearly blonde pubes.

"Come and sit here," I said, patting the edge of the table. "Well prop yourself, don't sit."

You did as I asked. I stood up and again faced you. I felt aroused once more and I guessed that probably showed with my nipples and by the amount my lips would be glistening. I put my hands on your legs, each just above your knees. I looked you right in the eye as I slowly bent down, almost as If I was curtseying. Lower and lower until I was kneeling; now my posture was not looking as if I was genuflecting, but praying. I was kneeling between your opened legs. Your naturally, still flaccid cock was right in front of my face. I took hold of it and lifted it. It was warm, not cool as I expected. My eyes raised and my face lowered I slowly brought it to my lips. Holding your gaze I muttered. "And for dessert Alan, I think you know what's on my menu?" Just before I licked the length of your cock and slipped it into my mouth.

++++

I swear, at that moment I felt like I was in sexual heaven. Because of what I'd seen, what was happening, and what was about to come.

Or was that cum?

By 'what I'd seen', I mean the way you'd gone down on me. With me, sex is in the mind as well as the physical. If my mind isn't turned on, then my body won't be either. That doesn't mean I can't/won't fuck of course. It usually makes no difference to my abilities in that respect. But if my mind is turned on too, it enhances the whole thing, raises the sex onto another plane. For me at least.

That's what I mean by experiencing as against just fucking, I guess. But let's not go there. I was never going to be able to explain that, and even if I did, I'd get the same Sammi scathing scepticism. 

For the youth of today, one fuck is the same as the next, one blowjob is the same as the next. For the older generation, good sex --by which I mean good sex- is something to be savoured.

So, returning to 'what I'd seen', let me explain. Only one previous lover had ever gone down on me with anything like the sexiness you had, and that was a long time ago. What was so sexy? Well, okay, it was this ...

Your eyes.

Yes, your eyes. Not just your eyes, of course, but that's where the feeling started. The way you looked at me with that sexy, Sammi-like gaze. It kind of homes in on your sexual psyche, hitting parts that other gazes can't reach. I can't really explain, except that the Sammi-look intensifies the feeling of excitement, brings it alive, even before the physical contact takes place.

If that wasn't enough, you kept your gaze on me throughout. From the moment you put your hands on my legs, and slowly bent down, lower and lower, until you were on your knees between my open legs. The sight of you there was intoxicating, and yes, it was enhanced by the way you looked at me throughout.

As for 'what was happening', your fucking lips were on me of course. Not on my hard dick. But on my still flaccid cock, which was still recovering from our two bouts of lovemaking upstairs.

It reminded me of a time I'd slept with a sexy young woman --a redhead- who had the 'ability' to cum approximately every thirty seconds or so. Very sexy. But that's another story.

We'd made love, okay, possibly we'd fucked - I'm not sure, from about seven 'til midnight. The meal I'd gone there for was completely ruined, a source of much tittering later (fuck, I said tittering -- you gonna hold that against me?)

Anyway, back to the point. The next morning, she woke me up by sucking on my flaccid cock, bringing it to life in her mouth, before sitting on me and fucking me (yes, definitely fucking this time!) until I came with a force I can still remember. Fuuuuuck. 

Other than that one instance in my life, the cock sucking has taken place when I was already aroused, or half aroused. So... that's why the way you took my still recovering cock, cradled it, and licked the length before slipping it into your mouth... well, Sammi, that's why it was fucking hot.

Okay, okay, these are probably things that mean very little to a twenty three year old siren, but to someone sitting on the other side of the generation gap, they had quite an affect.

As for 'what was about to come', my imagination was alive and dancing a jig of joy (no, don't quote that). I looked down into those Sammi-blue eyes and my body jerked at the sight. I watched your lips cover my cock and I grunted my approval. I felt my cock start to react and I dropped my hand down to your blonde hair, slowly gathering it between my fingers.

Oh fuck, Sammi. Every part of my body was throbbing at 'what was about to come'...

+++

Feeling a cock grow from its soft and quite useless, sexually, state into a powerfully hard fucking machine is always an incredible sensation for a girl. In your hand it's wonderful, against your body, especially your stomach, its great, but when it happens in your mouth it's absolutely fucking marvellous. And it's not just the feeling of power, the cockiness of thinking 'I did that, I caused his excitement', it's the emotions and sensations, the pleasure you give him and the mutuality of doing something so wonderful together; it's also real sex, I think.

Now and then, it happens quickly. Hardly has my hand, tummy or tongue touched the salty softness of a soft dick then it's ballooning into its full majesty. That's generally the second time, the time after we have shagged and are about to have the other half. That's nice, well actually it's bloody marvellous, but the sensation is insignificant to when it happens slowly; it's nowhere near as sensational as when I have to work at making it happen and when my lover has to try hard. That can be, say the third or fourth time in an evening, or for an encore in the middle of the night, but don't get me wrong, it is nowhere near the frequent an occurrence I seem to be making it sound.

DD is in his forties. A good age for men, but a rotten one, I imagine, for women. For men, though, or so I have read and been led to believe, it can be an awkward time. Physically, and mentally, so the books, and Marie Clare and Cosmo say, and they are such bibles of feminine sexuality, it can be a difficulty age. To cut to the quick, it is the time when a man's 'essential equipment' their 'prides and joys' can start to go on the blink; the time when some of his juices dry up and when his eventual deterioration into a pretty useless 'fucking machine' begins. Not for all, by all means, but for some for sure. And from his forties, most men know that their essential equipment will never perform as well again. It is with men of that age, and up, even though until you, I'd had no experience of the 'and up,' that women have to try hardest, and that means slowest and that means sensational. Perhaps that is the reason some of us, an increasing number too, I read, are attracted to old farts!

Taking a cock into your mouth is quite some adventure. There's the smell and taste to enjoy or, occasionally overcome, and there is the sheer intimacy of both, being so close and having a man in a non-traditional part of your body. There's also the 'problem' of how far you will go and the situation of ''what should she do?' When I go down on a man I tend to think it's my show, my party piece, my action. Ok let him stroke my hair, maybe tug it a bit, caress my breasts or gently pinch my nipples, even rub my body anywhere and, perhaps, just perhaps, touch my pussy. But he should not have full involvement. I don't want to be finger fucked, I don't want my tits sucked or my bum invaded. I'm doing it for him, no for us through him, and it's a gesture where he really should 'lay back and think of England' (not playing 20/20 though!). There are other times and probably places too, where we can both oral each other, but this was not one of those.

Staring, not too intently, but hopefully beguilingly into your eyes I licked you. You tasted nice and you smelt muskily perfect, you reeked of sex and that was fine by me. With my mouth wide open, I put my tongue on the bottom of the bulbous tip holding the slightly thinner tube between that and your stomach, with my fingers. I could see the desire, the want, the pleasure and yes, probably, the thanks as well in your eyes as you stroked my hair. I closed my mouth so that your cock was wrapped between my tongue and my upper lip. I ran the fingers on my other hand up your thigh until I reached your scrotum. Turning them so the tips were upwards I lifted your balls and then, slowly I closed my fingers round them. Then like Captain Queeg from the Bounty with his ballbearings, I rolled a pair of real balls in my hand; they felt wonderful. The feel of a man's balls to a woman is nearing, I think, to the feel of a girl's tits to a man. Having felt both though, I can say for sure there's not much in it!

My heart leaped a little when I felt you twitch, I looked back into your eyes and saw a sparkle there, a sparkle of triumph or relief perhaps?

I removed it from my mouth. Sucking was not what was required, well so I thought, but then I am by no means an expert on the art of sucking a guy's cock, I work by hope and instinct! Licking was what I felt was needed to get it hard then sucking to keep it that way until we worked out how to finish up. 

Holding your, slightly more firm I thought, dick in my hands vertically up your, belying your age, flat stomach I looked right into your eyes. I squeezed it, gave it a little kiss right on the tip, smiled at you, maybe slightly closed my yes and whispered.

"Would you like me to suck your cock now Alan?"

+++

Would I? Are you fucking kidding? 

YES!!! Pleeeeeaaase!!

I wondered what it was like for a woman? Did she get the same pleasure from the feeling of a cock beginning to grow in her mouth as a man does? I mean, the man can feel it, but the woman caused it. Which pleasure is greater??

Not only did I begin to lengthen, just the fact that this was your mouth sent a surge of my arousal from my brain to my cock. That only helped the process.

Process? Fuck me! Not the right word at all in the circumstances. Far too clinical. 

And the feelings running through my mind, and my body, were far too compelling to be described in such a cold way. My cock was being resuscitated like a patient needing mouth-to-mouth. Except mouth-to-cock was a much better approach. All first aiders should take note! 




Recollections Ch. 07



But also, my mind was being engulfed with erotic thoughts and images. And the combined sensations of mind and body were sending electrical currents through me just as surely as if I'd been plugged into the mains.

There were three other factors. First, this was Sammi doing this. The young blonde temptress who'd so thoroughly captivated my libido. Enough said. Second, it was like I was a captive. I was a helpless prisoner, completely under the control of this sexual vixen whose mouth had me completely under her influence. Remarkably, I found that was a helluva turn-on!!! And thirdly the setting was a turn on. Your kitchen, the remnants of our meal, me propped up against the table and you kneeling between my legs was so fucking sordid it was helping my recovery.

Despite our two recent bouts of fucking, I was slowly unfurling, my pride and joy reacting to the power you were exerting. Did women know how invincible they were at moments like this? Hell, I was so turned on that if you told me to bark like a dog, I swear I would have howled.

Our chat while eating pizza had been praying on my mind. I mean, if men in their forties found their 'essential equipment' starting to go on the blink, then what did that suggest for an (albeit fit) sixty year old? But... if such a thing were true... I'd maybe found the antidote. 

The sight of Sammi sinking to her knees, taking me in her mouth, and asking if I wanted her to suck my cock now. Bottle it and make a fortune. Record it and sell it to Television X.

Fuck, all of a sudden I was hard. And I mean fucking hard!!

My hands left your hair and I sank back onto my elbows, getting myself at just the right angle to watch you go to work. I didn't want to participate. I wanted to watch, a voyeur observing what I anticipated to be the best blowjob of my life.

Don't let me down, Sammi!

I stared down at you. Your slightly closed blue eyes stared up into mine. Your mouth kissed the head of my cock. Your tongue ran along my length. And your fingers captured my balls. 

"Yes," I murmured. "Yes, please. Suck my cock now, Sammi..."

+++

I had never done anything quite like this before. Sure I had sucked guys' cocks, of course I had given blow jobs, well they're almost mandatory nowadays aren't they, and yes I had let a couple cum in my mouth and I had swallowed what they put there? But they had all been in bed, most with the lights out with both of us on our sides. They had been more two way things, as we squirmed around on the bedclothes without either really looking at the other.

Kneeling on the kitchen floor between your open legs, the lights full on, me making the advances, you being submissive to me made this so different. And to my amazement I loved it.

As preoccupied as I was with that scenario and as aroused I had become from taking the lead, I still felt a tremendous surge of, I'm not quite sure what, as I felt you hardening and growing. It was fantastic in my mouth, on my lips and in my hand. The strength and the power, the hardness and the warmth and the smoothness and the promise of what was to come in more than one way got to me.

I lost my cool a little and began to, what's the most appropriate phrase, yes gobble and slurp. Yes perfect. I was gobbling your cock and slurping over its rampant hardness. Moving my head up and down, squeezing and releasing the pressure with my lips, taking it out and licking noisily and slurpily at the glistening purple end and sucking it all the way from the tip down to your balls. Holding them, gently squeezing them, doing my Captain Queeg again, sucking one then the other then both into my mouth. Putting your cock back there and sliding it slowly down as far as I could go and then back again so it almost popped out. I did everything I could think of with my lips, mouth and tongue. And then also with my hands. I stroked and rubbed your legs, your thighs, your stomach, caressed your balls, reached up and found your nipples and then remembering that little patch behind your balls I stroked you there. I was thinking, almost smiling, 'He'll think I've read the manual too.'

"Oh yes Sammi yes, you groaned reaching out with your hands to try to get to my tits. It was too far and in any case I didn't want that, not this time; this was my show, I pushed them away and managed to mumble.

"No let me, leave me alone, let me suck you Alan."

"Oh God, yes, please, that is so good," you moaned.

I lifted myself up a little so that the angle of your cock in my mouth was as it would have been if I was straddling your thighs and fucking you from on top. I slurped my mouth up and down your length a few time before holding it like an ice cream cornet and licking and sucking just the top. I pushed the tip of my tongue right against the hole in the end, having no real idea whether that was sensitive or pleasurable, but hoping it was both. I put it back in and slid my lips down to just past the bulbous end and then ran that in and, almost, out of my mouth, quickly. 

Your hands were on my head stroking, twisting and gently tugging my hair. That was ok, I liked that.

I could feel tremors in your cock. There's always more feelings, albeit of a slightly different nature, with a cock in the mouth than in the pussy. There the sensations are mine, here they are yours. I could feel it pulsating and throbbing. What I couldn't believe was that they were usually the indications of an approaching ejaculation. Could that be the case with you, the third time in such short a time, surely not?

++++

Inside my head, I was talking. 

Words like, Oh fuck! 

Phrases like, Oh fuck, Oh fuck! 

Whole sentences like, Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

What was it that Michael Douglas said to Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct? 'It was the fuck of the Century.' 

Well, in this case, it was the blowjob of the Century!!! 

Okay, maybe it was because I was an old git and you were a sexy, young bird? Perhaps it was because you were Sammi, and I'd fallen in complete lust with you. Maybe it was the mood of the moment? Perhaps it was a combination of all those things?

Or perhaps it was because you had the power? Maybe it was because I was in such a submissive position? Is this what it felt like to be a woman, on her back, while the guy drills into her? Knowing she's completely at his mercy. Giving herself completely? 

Because that's how I felt - at your mercy, giving myself to you, or more accurately giving myself to your mouth, or even more specifically, giving my cock to your mouth.

But right then, right now, the blatant sexiness, wantonness, sheer fucking mind-boggling way you were kneeling on your kitchen floor, your wonderfully blue eyes were mind-wanking mine, your mouth, lips and tongue all combining to create the most wonderful physical feeling I think I'd ever experienced in my life. 

I loved the gentle way your mouth made love to me. It felt sensational. But then when you really got into it, your mouth turned from making love to fucking, and man, did it fuck me good!

Your hair swayed. Your head bounced. Your mouth slurped. Your lips gobbled. Your tongue licked, all separate sensations then all combining to send a range of psychedelic colours around the inside of my pysche.

My mind spoke again. Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck!

You took me in your throat. You sucked my cock all the way from the tip down to my balls. You held them, squeezed them, sucked one then the other... fuck... and then both into your mouth.

Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck!

And all the time your mouth did those incredible things, your hands and fingers were busy, stroking and rubbing everywhere. A burst of precum sprang free and your mouth hoovered it inside. You were so into what you were doing, I don't even know if you realised.

The knowledge made my cock twitch, though it was already pulsating, throbbing and twitching from the attention it was receiving.

I began to tell you how good it was. 

"Oh yes, Sammi yes." 

"Oh God, yes, please, that is sooo good." 

"Just like that! Yes! Fuck me, just like that!"

"Don't stop. For God's sake, DON'T stop!"

I couldn't stop myself. I moved from voyeur to participant. My hands found your blonde hair, gently stroking, twisting, tugging and encouraging. Urging you on.

Oh fuck, I was close. Surely I couldn't have much more cum inside me? Surely I couldn't cum again in such a short time? Surely I couldn't release my seed three times in what was it, not much more than an hour, couple of hours? Fuck, I'd lost track of time.

But I was close.

Should I say anything? Should I tell you? You might pull me out, make me cum in your hand. Or over your stomach? Or tits? Or on your face? I'd never done any of those things. Well... not really.

But I didn't want that. I wanted to cum in your mouth. Feel myself explode in your throat. Fire my creamy cum between your lips. Splatter the insides of your sucking mouth.

I had to tell you. First, to give you the chance to do what you wanted -- pull away, suck harder. Second, you'd done this, you needed to know. And third, it was a macho thing, a need for the primeval beast to roar into the wide open spaces that he was about to give his all to his female mate.

"Sammi," I grunted...

"Sammi, I can't hold back..."

"Sammi... oh fuck, Sammi... I'm gonna cum..."

"Sammi...!!!!!!!!!!"

+++

Despite your maturity, which should bring responsibility, despite your typical, middle class respectability and despite your mature sense of what's right and wrong it would be fucking madness to let you cum in mouth. But I knew I was going to. It had been an inevitability since the moment I had knelt between your legs. It was not an inevitability because of habit. I had never let a man cum in my mouth the first time we had fucked, but I knew that I was going to let you?

Why?

There was no need. You were clearly signalling in words that you would take it out if I preferred. That was typical of you. Maybe not that cool, possibly not that streetwise, edgy or sharp, you were however a good man, a nice bloke, a granddad figure. And granddads would always offer to take their cock out; they are just considerate like that aren't they?

So I knew I didn't have to, and I knew that in spite of the 'near rape' nature of our last fuck, you wouldn't force it.

I didn't know why, for sure. Partly because I'd been a bit of a bitch, but then it was ungracious to think of it as a reward or a sorry. More because I think it is what you wanted and my psyche is always part nice and part horror, part please and part shock. Also because you clearly wanted to cum in my mouth, probably just as much as you would want me to swallow and, if our relationship continued, to fuck my arse. That's just how sexual relationships progress, and that's what we had and were having.

In the end, I guess, it was for those reasons that I decided to 'invite' you to cum in my mouth

++

It wasn't just what your eyes said, though I admit that sexy look was like that of someone preparing to set off a depth charge inside me. No, it wasn't just that look, it was the fact that you'd seemed to think about it, to make a conscious decision. 

You weren't just allowing me to cum in your mouth. You wanted me to.

The knowledge only served to intensify my arousal. From the way you grunted, it seemed the thought also communicated itself to your lips and tongue. As we both prepared for the explosion, for the creamy rocket to explode from its base, you took me in deeper, accepting the whole length into the deepest recesses of your throat.

Your teeth caught against me, sending little warnings of erotic tinged delight to my clouded mind. You moved a little faster and I thrust my hips upwards, both searching for the release in our different ways. My hands tightened in your blonde hair. Your eyes had already acquiesced, but my grip gave a deliciously wicked sense of coercion to the moment. 

I felt the orgasm reach boiling point. Fuck, Sammi, it was as if you were summoning my manjuice from every part of my body, a succubus sucking my milky offering towards the heart of my genitals, from where your mouth would feed on me as I detonated.

The moan started at the back of my throat, a distant roaring noise in my ears, getting louder as it raced into the previously empty air. You both heard and felt the warning signs and I could sense you tense as you prepared to receive my creamy offering.

And then I came...

The fountain tore from me and gushed into your mouth, spitting like a venomous snake. It spurted from me, soaking your throat, cascading over your tongue, spurting across your teeth and lips. I have no idea how many ropes you coaxed from me, but the voracious way your mouth swallowed as if savouring the taste, delighting in the texture, brought a couple of extra bursts that I didn't even realise were inside me.

Eventually, it was over. An experience—yes, experience, Sammi!—the like of which I'd only been able to enjoy in my masturbatory imaginations. 

Who was I kidding? This feeling magnified any other real or wanking orgasm by a factor of God knows what. 

I found the energy from somewhere to pull your face upwards and share a soft, cum-soaked kiss of gratitude, and then flopped back down on the table, on my back, as spent as I'd ever been in my life.

+++ 

I had taken it in the mouth before. I had sucked a man until he climaxed. I had had a, very and special, few cum in my mouth and I had made oral love to some men. But I had never had my face fucked before and I had never had a man surge himself in and out of it so energetically. Never had things come together so well that as I sucked he fucked. I had never orally fused with a guy to the level we did as you blatantly, consciously and so wonderfully, used my mouth as a cunt and fucked it as hard as you could.

The surge of sperm shooting into my throat surprised me. On the other occasions it had more been a dribble, this seemed more like a fountain. But then, as you came you were holding my head quite tightly with both hands, your cock was horizontal to the floor, I was holding it and you were fucking my face hard and fast. You had both the lubrication of a cunt and the tightness of a young girl's pussy to fuck, and fuck it you did. It was not the fact that your cum shot from your cock so fast that surprised me, it was the fact that it shot out at all. I couldn't believe it. I don't think there was that much, but when it slides down ones throat you don't really count the calories do you.

I had never really believed in or, understood what deep throating was. But I suppose that when you ended with the tip of your dick tickling my tonsils, that was pretty deep throat.

I swallowed. I looked up as I did that, catching your eye, smiling and making it obvious what I was doing. You smiled back, pulled me up and kissed me. Some of your semen slipped past my lips onto yours and into your mouth.

'Fuck,' I thought, this is pretty heady stuff. I was going where I hadn't been before. I hadn't been totally open with you and by my words and behaviours, letting you finger me to a climax in a Covent Garden doorway, and baring my tits at a lap dancing club for instance, I had probably given you the wrong impression. The bottom line, as they say, was that I was nowhere near as experienced as you probably thought and as I had led you to believe. 

After we both showered, separately at my insistence, because I needed to wash my private parts very carefully, squirt some 'sperm killer' stuff and a sort of deodorant up there. I also wanted some time to think and ponder.

You had brought a dressing gown with you in the same bag you had carried the Chilean Shiraz. You were sitting in the swivel chair at my desk in the study off the bedroom, the desk where I had written so many e-mails, where we had chatted and the chair where I had masturbated to your words.

I had thought of dressing up, stockings, sussie belt and all that stuff, but as they were in the bedroom the impact would have been lost had you seen me collecting them. Instead, I slipped on a mid thigh length, yellow, cotton tee shirt over my wet hair and walked into the bedroom and then the study. I sat on a low chair opposite you.

"Alan, we need to talk," I said quietly, wondering at your reaction.



Recollections Ch. 08



An older man and a younger woman recall a sexual adventure.

*

I was worn out. The way a man can be when he's had a very special session and served up all the cum he had in him. Occasionally, that can be after one cum. But more often, after two. On the rarest of occasions, it can be after a third. But I'd never cum three times in such a short period. And I'd never ever supplied as much of my seed as I had with you.

Call it excitement, call it inspiration, call it sexual chemistry. I'd never been taken to the very limit like this before. I felt happy, proud actually and very pleased with myself. Not so much because I was sexually sated. But because you'd enjoyed everything we'd done too. I'd wondered about that on the train down to London. Would we have sex at all? If we did, would you be disappointed? 

Would it be thank you very much, that was nice, but you can go now?

Sitting there in just my boxers, I could feel my eyes droop almost as much as my cock. Despite the refreshing shower, I needed sustenance. Something to restore me to full, working condition again. If I was going to spend more time with you, I wanted to be at my best.

This was all surreal. My being there at all. The sexual chemistry between us, even if the generation gap did create hiccups now and again. And what we'd done. I'd never almost raped a woman before. I never would, of course. Any objection and I'd have backed off before you could say... good evening, Officer.

But you hadn't objected and my roughness seemed to have enhanced your enjoyment.

Nor had I ever been sucked quite like that. Never by a 'Sammi'. And certainly not in such a way that you overpowered me completely, and yet towards the end I'd responded by fucking your mouth. I hadn't expected that would happen, but something inside me was aroused to such a level it felt natural. And you'd seemed to be turned on by that, too.

As for the volcanic explosion! Fuck, where did all that cum come from? The force of the explosion had, I think, surprised both of us. Isn't it wonderful when you're with someone who turns you on so much that you experience things you didn't thing you were capable of?

That's how I felt with you.

And the sexy way you showed me you were swallowing my offering. Oh, fuck! I just had to kiss you there and then, though I was still unsure of that taste that passed from your mouth to mine. I couldn't object, of course, but was that really my cum?

I wondered whether to be truthful with you. Not that I'd lied, but I might have given you the impression that what we were doing was a regular occurrence with me, or at least something I'd done a few times before. But the truth was, I'd never made love to someone I'd known for such a short time. I usually needed to know the woman better, before carnal relations took place. Another sign of the generation gap, maybe?

Carnal relations? Did I say that? Geez, that would come up again somewhere down the line.

Hang on though. Did I also say, 'made love'? Should I have said, 'fucking' instead? Which had we done? Or had we done both? And what awaited?

I swivelled in the chair, back and forward, wondering what you meant by, Alan, we need to talk

You looked so cute in that mid thigh length yellow, cotton tee shirt, and your wet hair. And remarkably sexy, too. Not enough to draw a reaction from my pride and joy, I hasten to add. He needed some rest before he could be coaxed into any sort of interest again. But there's something about women with wet hair. Especially when they're wearing nothing but a tee shirt.

But back to the subject. Alan, we need to talk. Hmmm... 

I was happy to talk. In fact, I couldn't do much else at that moment. But when Sammi prefaces something like that, I'd learned it was to disguise that I might not like what was to come. Only one way to find out.

"Of course, Sammi" I smiled, swivelling in the chair again. "What about - MP's expenses, The Apprentice, Big Brother? Or was there something else?"

I smiled. Although you had a sense of humour about as far away from that of most men I knew as England is to Oz, you did have your ironic and funny moments. This was one of them.

+++

"Oddly Alan," I said tucking my feet under my bum and leaning back in the chair, stretching the material tightly across my boobs and riding it up my thighs. "Neither of those."

"What then?"

"Actually us I suppose."

"Really?"

"Yes, really I would hardly have said it otherwise would I?" I asked wondering just when you would be ready again, not that I was panting for it, but just from curiosity. I mean I didn't want to fuck you to death, after all you might have a heart condition, I didn't know. 'Shit' I thought 'how the hell would I explain that to mum? A man old enough to be her father having a heart attack in my bedroom. Not too many excuses come to mind for that.

"No I suppose not, so what then? I didn't know there was an us."

"Alan, you have fucked me and I have just sucked your cock and let you cum in my mouth, that does sort of constitute some form of us I think, don't you?"

Smiling, half, I think at my 'wit' and half with pride in yourself you said, slightly smugly. "Well when you put it so eloquently Sammi, yes I guess there must be." I liked the edge to what you said, that was much better. "What did you actually have in mind to discuss, the taste of my cum?"

"No, but did you like it?" I smiled.

"Probably needs a little seasoning."

We both laughed.

"I'm being serious Alan."

"Good, go on then."

"To say the least we are unusual aren't we?"

"You mean agewise."

"Yes."

"Then yes we are. I don't know of anyone having a, er um, girl friend your age."

"Come on don't sod around, I'm not that, I'm your bird, bit on the side, not girl friend."

"Ok sure," you said resignedly clearly getting a bit pissed off at my mouthiness; something I am quite used to.

"And I certainly don't know anyone with a sixty year old 'boy friend," I retorted putting a strong emphasis on the last two words.

"No I suppose not."

"And we both know it's going nowhere, there's no real future is there?"

"What with us?" You asked.

"Yes, who else are we talking about for fuck's sake," I said feeling and probably sounding a bit pissed off at your obtuseness.

"No."

"No what?" I asked.

"Future for us, Sammi."

"Yes Alan, 

"Is this the push off then? Like I've fucked him so he can fuck off now?" 

I smiled, but liked the phrasing.

"No, not at all."

"What is it then?"

"Well what I have in mind could sort of be the start of something."

"Something like what, a dating agency called 'Fuck a granddad?"

"That's better," I giggled "But no, it's better than that?"

"Come on you hussy, get on with it."

"Ok, here goes. We have so far done some pretty outrageous things haven't we?"

"Yes I suppose we have."

"Supposed, you know full well we have. The alley, the club, you near raping me."

"Now, you didn't stop me did you, you do know I would have stopped don't you?"

"Yes, yes Alan I do and I didn't complain did I?"

"No so you liked it?"

"Yes very much, maybe too much really."

"Hmmm," you mused "Where's this leading?"

"Like some tea?"

"That's what it's all about, getting me to drink tea?"

"No don't be daft, come on let's go to the kitchen."

I got up grabbed your hand pulling you up and walked across my 'flat.' I could feel your eyes on my bum swaying under the thin tee and my tits wobbling and jiggling as we made our way to the kitchen and I made a pot of tea.

"Let's take it into the pool shall we?"

"Good idea," you said again following me. Smiling I looked over my shoulder.

"Like the view?" I asked ambiguously as you stared at my bum and we entered the rather spectacular pool area.

You got it. "Yes both actually," you muttered coming up close behind me and stroking my bum.

We sat beside the pool on wicker chairs with a table in front of them. I leaned back and put my feet on the table, knowing full well I was showing lots of leg, but that didn't seem to matter, after all we were lovers.

"Ok," I said, just as my mobile rang. "This is what I wanted to talk about............"

+++

I idly glanced around as you answered your call. Quite where you'd kept your mobile hidden - well, I didn't like to ask.

My eyes looked across at you and your jaw had dropped open. You turned away from me and spoke quickly into the phone. I couldn't quite hear what you were saying. Then you were on your feet, walking up and down the poolside. Something was either agitating you or exciting you, I wasn't sure which. 

As I watched your bottom wiggle, or your tits jiggle, dependant on which way you were facing, my mind replayed our conversation. You wanted to tell me something. Suggest something. Hmmm. Okay, let's walk through the clues -- as thin as they were.

Number one - it wasn't the push off, and there was --officially- an 'us'. This might be the start of something. Not a dating agency, called Fuck a granddad or anything else. It was better than that. Maybe you wanted to start a petition for a national day's holiday -- Fuck a Pensioner Day? 

No, okay, even for my humour that was stupid. 

Number two -- you'd said that so far we'd done some pretty outrageous things, and that was true. Things that even a few weeks ago I would never have believed possible. And you'd enjoyed it. So that hopefully meant you wanted more?

Number three - whatever you had on your mind was giving you a problem, or so I seemed. The normal Sammi didn't beat around the bush, she came right out with it! Being coy wasn't your style.

As far as I could tell, that suggested four possible options. When you ended the call and swung around to face me, I knew I'd quickly find out.

"Guess who that was," you said, with what seemed like a sigh, heading for your seat.

"Your mum," I answered, hoping against hope that she wasn't on her way back home. Just in case we were running out of time, I patted my knee in a suggestion that you might prefer my lap to your seat. You did, though instead of sitting 'side saddle', you surprised me throwing a leg across my lap and sat facing me.

"Good guess," you said, leaning forward for a kiss. "Worked out what I want to talk about yet?"

I nodded, and then pursed my lips. "Well, I have it narrowed down to four possibilities."

Your blue eyes widened and you grinned. "Shoot."

I smiled and ran my hands under your tee shirt and onto your hips. "Hmmm, give me another ten minutes to recover and I'll try," I joked.

"Ten?" you laughed. "Make it five. Now, the first possibility is?"

"Marriage," I firmly said, trying to maintain the same expression. "You've realised what a catch I am, how funky my humour is, and you want me to ignore our age difference and make you the happiest woman on earth."

I have to admit, the way you kept your face straight was impressive. "Well, I don't want to give any clues," you simply said. "So let's hear them all before I answer."

My hands slid upwards across your stomach and up to your tits. I gently cupped them. Your skin felt lovely. "Holiday. You've realised a weekend isn't long enough for my style of loving and you want me to whisk you away to hotter climes and pleasure you for a week."

"Your style of loving?" you said with a snort and a grin.

"I squeezed your breasts more tightly. "That feel good?" I asked.

"Hmm, it's okay."

I kneaded them with one hand and ran the other down between your thighs, running a single finger along the length of your soft lips.

"Maybe that's better?" I asked, continuing quickly before you could let loose one of your smartass putdowns, "But the third possibility is that, because you have lots of female friends and now know that I should have been christened Don Juan, you want to hire me out as a gigolo. And as my manager, you want ten per cent."

You shook your head slowly. "That's ridiculous."

I rubbed a little harder between your thighs. You were opening up to me now -- deliciously moist -- and we both stifled a groan. 

"Ridiculous?" I repeated. "Okay, fifteen per cent. Not a penny more."

"Not funny," you said, though I was unsure whether the pained expression on your face was because of the finger I'd just slid inside you, or my attempt at humour. 

I slipped a second finger inside and you gave a gasp and locked your hands behind my neck. "And the fourth?" you hoarsley asked, planting the soles of your feet firmly on the floor as you began to ease your hips in what seemed suspiciously like a circular motion.

"That's easy," I said. "Your mum's just phoned to say she's coming back early and you want me to stay and fuck her as well?"

+++

Despite the references to funky and the rather silly suggestions, other perhaps than about my mum, I found your response quite humorous. I smiled. I also found your hands roaming around my body, interesting to say the least. I couldn't understand, though how, if you would not be able to perform as you had told me you wouldn't, just what you would get from touching my tits and fingering me. In any case, I wasn't ready again yet and I felt a little pissed off that you were sort of using me, well that's how it felt. And from the lack of movement in your boxers you weren't even hard. It was an incongruously, awkward situation; one I had not been confronted with before. How can a man want to play with a woman when it's clearly not exciting him and he can just as clearly do nothing about it? 

"Just leave me, for a while, please Alan," I said, moving away and pulling the tee shirt dress back into place.

"Why, was that wrong?"

"No, not wrong, let's say inappropriate at the moment," I smiled. "Ok?"

"Sure, so if it wasn't any of those four what was it?"

"What was what?"

"You wanted to talk to me about?"

"Oh yes, sorry. Would you like some wine or anything?"

"Yes maybe, what are you going to have?"

"Coke I think, maybe Seven Up."

"Are we out of Chilean Shiraz?" you asked smiling. "Actually a soft drink would be fine, either would be great." 

I poured two Cokes. "Ice?"

"Yes please."

"OK listen and keep your hands to your self," I said laughing. I sat on the edge of the pool and dangled my feet over the side into the water, which my mother kept obscenely and horrendously expensively warm. You joined me.

"Right blues eyes, give," you said in that rather silly American accent you put on now and again.

"I might not be able to verbalise my thoughts very clearly Alan, for I am not too sure what I am after myself."

"Just spew it out babe and we'll try and make sense later, how's that sound?"

"Fine. Here goes. Look we will never have a normal relationship will we? Our age, your family, my family, my mum, I would never be able to trust you with her, the distance between where we live, to name just a few."

"Hmmmm yes, right I see that."

"But I assume you do want a relationship of a sort?" I asked.

"Do you Sammi?"

"Yes I think I do.

"Then yes, of course I do, what old fart wouldn't with a young sexy blonde like you?" you said slipping one arm round my shoulders and resting the other hand on my bare thigh, where the tee shirt had ridden up my legs.

"Have you thought out how it might work?"

"No, not at all, I had no idea of your intentions. Whether this was just a one off or what?"

Putting on a mock serious tone I said. "Well sir, what do you take me for, a one night stander?"

"Sorry ma'am if I gave that impression," you replied squeezing my shoulder and perhaps, though I wasn't sure, slipping your hand a little further up my leg. It felt nice actually, so I didn't struggle.

"No you didn't Alan," I said snuggling up against your chest and resting my hand on your thigh.

"That's good, so what type of relationship then?"

"I said that I hadn't thought that through fully didn't I?"

"Yes, but you must have some idea, however vague."

"Yes I do."

"Well tell me then."

"You may have gathered, Alan that I am extremely curious about sex. That I want to try things."

"Like in that alley?"

"Precisely. I like and want to do things like that. I enjoy new experiences, pushing the boundaries out, if you wish."

"So does fucking a granddad fall into that category."

"Well in a way, yes it does, I guess."

"I see, so I'm an experiment am I?"

I laughed. "I suppose you are yes, and a fucking good one too or, putting it another way, a good fucking too."

"Thanks," you said, this time making no pretence at all of whether your hand was sliding further up or not. Your thumb slid under the hem, which itself was only a few inches down from my crotch.

"So what exactly did you have in mind young lady?"

"Exactly, I don't know, but generally, I suppose it's a relationship where we experiment"

"How do you mean?" you asked, your thumb now well inside the hem, just a centimeter or so from my lips.

"Try things, teach each other, push our boundaries out."

"Mmmmm, good idea," you whispered as you slid your hand right up the tee shirt and pushed the side of your hand against my fanny. "Like fucking you on the edge of a swimming pool?"

"Could be," I replied squirming out of your grip and letting myself fall into the pool. I swam out a few feet.

"I was more thinking that we become sexual adventurers," I gasped treading water.

"And what?" You asked as you stood up and slid your boxers off "Are sexual adventurers?"

"People who use sex as an adventure."

Standing on the side naked, you went on. "How?"

"By trying anything that either of them fancy, as long as the other agrees," I said swimming over to the other side, leaning back against it and putting my arms out as if being crucified. That lifted my body nearly up to my waist out of the water. Looking down I saw how tightly the yellow tee shirt was clinging to my breasts and nipples.

"Anything?" You asked sliding into the water.

"Yes if we both want to."

As you swam up to me. "Like fucking in a swimming pool?"

"Yes of course," I replied reaching down and finding your soft dick. I smiled "But maybe some other time, perhaps now we just think of the sort of things we would like to experiment with?"

+

I found it interesting to say the least that you were stroking my soft dick. I mean, you'd twice backed off from my advances and yet you still wanted to stroke me. If you didn't want me to touch you, as you had told me was inappropriate, just what you would get from touching my cock? 

In any case, I wasn't ready again yet and I really hoped that you weren't sort of using me, well that's how it felt. It was strange, how can a woman want to play with a man when she's clearly not excited herself? 

"Just leave me, for a while, please Sammi," I said, smiling at you while I considered your question.

"Why, you were touching me!"

"Just because I thought you'd enjoy that," I said. "I wanted to see if I could turn you on." 

Reaching across to the side of the pool, I picked up my coke and took a long sip. It was deliciously cool. My gaze flickered over your body. You looked so sexy there, half in and half out of the water, the yellow tee shirt clinging tightly to your breasts and nipples. I felt a sudden stirring of interest and almost pulled your hand back to touch me. The thought of another fuck there and then was appealing definitely. But as you weren't into it, I parked the thought.

Putting my glass back down on the side of the pool, I hauled myself up and sat there again. "Fantasies? Hmmm. Interesting."

You weren't too sure about your ability to verbalise your thoughts, you said. And you weren't too sure what you wanted yourself? A normal relationship was out of the question, clearly (irrespective of whether you could trust me with your mum or not). But you did want some kind of relationship. That felt good. Sexually appealing, but something more than that. Not sure what though!




Recollections Ch. 08



So -- sexual adventurers. What were my fantasies? One of the things I'd enjoyed so much about our session in the alley was that it had been off-the-cuff, spontaneous. Impulsive, spur of the moment sex is always much better than anything planned. Many of my fantasies were around that, but if you shared them and made them reality, then they wouldn't be spontaneous, would they?

Hmm -- felt like I was in Joseph Heller territory.

I paused while I took another sip of my drink and ran my eyes across your body again. You looked like a model, on one of those exotic swimming pool type poses. Put the way you looked onto a poster or calendar and you'd make a fortune!

I had a better understanding of my appeal, now. And a better appreciation of what made Sammi tick. Always curious. Always wanting to experiment. They were both good qualities.

It crossed my mind that with just about any fantasy I had, the chances were that you'd already have been there, done it. My number one fantasy was to be with two women. Pleasuring them both, having them pleasure me, watching them pleasure each other. Although we'd never spoken about the bi-side of you, I felt pretty much sure that you'd already have experienced that one. Maybe more? 

You'd said we could teach one another. That could well be something you could teach me. With a girlfriend? A stranger? Your mum? Hell, that was a thought worth conjuring with!! For me at least.

Better to keep that in reserve. A conversation for another day, perhaps. 

I'd never had sex with a prostitute either. That had always intrigued me. So had taking a stranger, someone you just met and fancied, finding that something just clicked and going at it like rabbits without necessarily even knowing one another's name. But they were individual fantasies, not something that would involve us both.

As for you and I, one thing came to mind immediately. Well, two actually, but they combined to make one.

"Well," I said, draining my glass. "I love the idea of sex in unusual places. I love the idea of sex in public, with no one else knowing. And I love the idea of danger. The possibility of being discovered."

You looked at me. "Give me an example."

"Well, let's say you're at the cinema. Would it be possible to fuck there, without anyone noticing? Or in the changing room of a big store, with the assistants outside. Or on a beach, or picnic area, with people around." 

You raised an eyebrow. It was impossible to guess what you were thinking.

"Well?" I asked. "How's that for starters? Or did you have something else in mind?" 

+

It was all starting to come together and beginning to make sense. I was getting the vague thoughts together that had been haunting me for some time. I liked the ideas that you were putting to me. They intrigued and exited me and together helped me formulate the wacky concept that had been at the back of my mind for some time.

"Do you mind if I just whitter on for a while Alan?" I asked climbing out and sitting on the side of the pool.

"No of course not," you replied looking up at me.

"How about going in the sauna, it should be warm enough I turned it on before coming up to Kings Cross?" I told you as I stood up.

"Yes great," you said using the ladder to climb out the pool.

"This way," I said walking ahead of you and leading the way to the sauna.

Once inside you sat down on the bench. I stood in front of you and we looked at each other. "I think I'll take this off, it feels all clingy," I said peeling the hem of the wet, yellow, long tee shirt up my body, over my head and off. "Ok sit back and listen, hear goes," I said sitting on the bench opposite you.

"I'm nowhere near as experienced sexually as I have probably led you to believe. I haven't really done that much or been with that many men. But I have thought a lot about sex. In fact I've thought a great deal more than I've done. But I want to change that. There's something inside me that's pushing me to experiment, to find out, to discover, to extend my sexual and sexuality boundaries. I've read a lot recently, about sex that is and I've always been a bit of a free thinker, I studied philosophy and psychology and I wrote a thesis in the 6th form on how religion has influenced sex and sexuality: that really did go down well with mum and dad and some of the teachers."

You laughed. "Yes I bet." 

Leaning back, enjoying the freedom of my nudity without the interruption of sexual arousal, I thought how nice it could be to be a naturalist, but then I smiled as I realised that the nudity would, sooner or later, be interrupted by sexual arousal. I continued.

" I believe that sex and love can be separated, just as the Scandinavians do. That you can love someone, but can also have sex with others, it doesn't have to be cheating. Not all couples have the same level of interest or the same drive, so why should one have to change? Why shouldn't they be able to find what it is they want elsewhere, but with the other's blessing."

"What sort of free love or open relationships?"

"Yes I guess so, but I don't like to label things, just let them happen, let them be, if they happen great, if they don't , then say fuck it and try something else."

"Ok Sam, but where is this all going?"

"I told you when I started, this is all more of a vague notion than a firm process."

"Yes I understand."

"In essence I want to try everything I can, I want to experiment, extend my boundaries and be, as I once read of it being described, a sexual adventurer."

"Yes I get that, but why me?"

"Ok, but don't take this the wrong way."

You replied, making me smile "Sammi, I've taken quite a lot so far, a little more won't hurt."

I returned the smile and said in a mock coquettish tone as I cupped my right boob. "Worth it though aren't I?"

"Yes Sammi you are, so come on open up."

Laughing I said, "Now now, I'll keep them closed, for the time being if that's all the same to you. Ok why you?"

"Yes why me."

"Simply because our affair will go nowhere. Neither of us expect anything other than sex from it, well perhaps an experience as well."

"Ok don't take the piss."

"I don't have to think about what you think of me, my reputation is safe with you."

"Not sure I quite follow that."

"No I didn't explain it well," I said leaning back against the wooden wall and wincing a bit with the heat on my back. I stretched one leg out straight and bent the other at the knee, making doubly sure for some reason to keep my thighs together. It was odd morality really to be naked in a sauna with a man old enough to be my granddad who had fucked me a couple of times, yet to worry about him seeing my pussy.

"What I mean is, you are experienced enough to recognise that my wish to explore sex and sexuality does not make me a slut, merely curious. Does that make sense?"

+

I wish I could describe the thoughts pervading my mind, the feelings running through my body, the messages that were transmitting themselves to my brain. But I can't. 

But right then, the little man we all have on our shoulders (do women have women?), you know, the one who kicks the shit out of us when we do something wrong (I think he's a close cousin of our conscience) - well, he was busy congratulating me. The inner conversation was going something like this...

"You lucky bastard!"

"Who me?"

"Don't play coy. Yes, you!"

I straightened my imaginary tie and slicked back my hair in a gesture of self-congratulation. "Yes, okay, I know exactly what you mean. I am a jammy sod, I have to admit."

"Jammy sod? And some! You met this young bird completely by accident. She's young enough to be your granddaughter...."

I held up a hand. "Let's go with daughter..."

"Whatever. But she's as sexy as hell. Has a great personality. And in the short time you've known one another, she's taken you to a lap dancing club, let you fingerfuck her in an alley, given you one hell of a blowjob, let you fuck her twice in her own room and..."

"There's an and?"

"Of course, stupid. That's the point. The and is that she has a spirit of sexual adventure and has chosen you as the man she wants to explore with. Fuck knows why!"

"Hmm," I pondered. "Animal magnetism, I guess?"

"Yeah, right."

"Yeah right? What does that mean? I'm the one who's performed don't forget. I'd been worried about that, as you well know. Whether being faced with the sexy Sammi would get into my psyche and that would affect my pride and joy. But we've done all right haven't we?"

"You want a medal?"

I snorted. Sometimes I could strangle the little git during one of our internal 'conversations'

"But your age does has the one adventure," the voice said.

"And don't I know it," I replied, preening myself. "Stamina and experience comes with age, not to mention a Richard Gere-like maturity."

"Nah," the voice corrected. "What Sammi's thinking is that at your age, you're harmless enough, so you're perfect for the experiment."

Now, that wasn't quite how I was regarding the situation, but even if my inner voice was correct, I didn't give a fuck. The opportunity to play out some of my fantasies -- and hear and act out some of yours, was simply too good to resist.

"Have you finished," I heard you ask me, and I turned my attention back to the beautiful Sammi who's wide blue eyes were staring at me. Sweat was now beginning to drip from her tanned skin and a small rivulet had run down her breast and was perched on her nipple. I wondered how she'd feel about me licking it off?

"Finished what?" I asked, managing to maintain my decorum even though I was as hungry for that perspiration covered nipple as a parched man in the desert is for a drink. Okay, maybe not the greatest analogy. But you get my meaning.

"From the expression on your face, you look like you were talking to yourself," you said, with that sideways turn of your head and arch of your eyebrow that you give when you're scoring a point.

Fuck, if you only knew! "Not at all," I lied (no, not a lie, a small fib perhaps). "I was just thinking about your suggestion."

"And what were you thinking?" you asked, shifting slightly so that the bead of sweat finally dripped from your tit and onto the floor. What a waste!

"Lots of things," I said. "That I'm definitely game for it. That you've made a perfect choice of companion for your sexual escapades! That we're going to have great fun, not to mention pleasure. And that your next thesis can be entitled something like, 'How I explored a variety of sexual positions in a multiplicity of public places with a like minded adventurer old enough to be my... er... dad'."

"Dad?" you snorted.

"Absolutely. Some people have kids later than others. But that's not the point, is it Sam?"

"No? What is the point, Alan? I'm sure there's one in there somewhere." 

I smiled. That was better. This was the quick-tongued blonde I found so intriguing.

"The point is, blue eyes that you get to explore everything your curious mind ever wondered about, and be able to do it with such a wonderful partner in... sexual exploration... as moi. And no, of course that doesn't make you a slut. It makes you a sexy adventuress, perhaps in the Lara Croft mould. Er..." I laughed. "Except for the tits , of course."

"Thought you like my tits?" you grinned, cheekily cupping them.

I licked my lips. "They're perfect," I answered, with all sincerity. "Now then, you've heard my fantasies. Tell me what's bubbling away in that curious mind of yours??"

+

"Tell you what, dad, why don't we get showered and dressed and pop out for a meal?" "Come on Sammi, I'm just starting to recover and you want me to get dressed, in any case I love looking at your body."

I smiled, "You've got all tonight and tomorrow for that, you need to save something, or I might have to look elsewhere, call up one of my twenty something superstuds."

"Ok let's dress and go."

"You use the guest bathroom, this way," I said opening the door to the sauna, "Come on this way." 

Both naked, you followed me out of the pool area, through the garage, into a small conservatory and up the back stairs to my 'granny flat.' I knew, of course, that your eyes would be on my bum and, as I suddenly remembered I had when I had gone to the loo in the pub when we first met, I accentuated the swaying of my hips and wiggling of my cheeks. What a fucking diva, I smiled to myself.

"Second, no sorry third door on the right along the landing," I told you opening the door from my 'suite.' "When you're ready, pop down to the kitchen and help yourself to a drink, open any bottle of wine, but I don't think there's any Chilean Shiraz," I said pointedly.

I showered quite quickly and dried my hair. It had gone lank from the pool and sauna so, whilst I didn't really want to I'd had to wash it. It was quite warm out and I knew that the pub we were going to would be heaving and very hot. Loughton is a busy town with loads of bars and cafes, it's very much a city boy and Essex girl place, so really pretty much goes in dress and outlandish behaviour. I have a love hate with the place, at times finding it far too Essex, but at others loving the buzz. Tonight I was going with the buzz and fuck my Essex girl image, I am one, so I will be one in spades, I thought.

I went downstairs and saw that you were in the garden sipping your wine. Momentarily, I was filled with doubts. 'What the hell am I up to?' I asked myself wondering just how I would introduce you when we met anybody I knew. I couldn't answer that and thought perhaps I should forget the idea of the pub and let you fuck me in the garden instead. I saw from the kitchen window that you were headed towards the conservatory area covering the pool. I whizzed in there and draped myself in one of the big whicker chairs. You didn't see me when you strolled in and you visibly jumped when I said.

"Hi Alan, like the frock?"



Recollections Ch. 09



There are times when you take my breath away. This was one of them.

I had been wondering about what lay in store as I'd showered and dressed. Pop out for a meal. What exactly had that meant? Were you thinking of some quiet little place, maybe romantic, out of the way somewhere? Or were you planning somewhere more central, where we could be seen by anyone you knew.

I wasn't too sure how I felt about that. And I wondered whether you'd thought that through? Being confronted by any of your friends, how would you introduce me? What would you say? What would your demeanour be like? In some ways, I was looking forward to that. It would help me see 'inside' Sammi and add another piece to the jigsaw of what makes you tick.

Nor had you shared any of your fantasies with me, yet. Maybe we could talk about them during our meal. 

Perhaps this was one of your fantasies? Taking me to a restaurant that you knew well and having me fuck you in the restrooms, up against a wall, under the table – or, best of all, on the table with plates and glasses hitting the floor around us while people gasped in shock and horror.

I could just hear the owner, tapping me on the shoulder as I drilled down into you. "Excuse me, you're disturbing the other guests. This particular table is for eating only. If you want to fuck, we have the beer garden out the back!"

But all those thoughts momentarily disappeared when I saw you sitting there in a wonderfully short light blue dress. Arms spread out and resting on the sides of the wicker chair, perfect tanned legs crossed and showing a large expanse of thigh, sexy white shoes, those Sammi-eyes sparkling at me.

The reaction between my legs told me I'd fully recovered from our earlier exertions.

"Hi," I answered. "I just love the frock!!! It's so classy, but as sexy as hell, too. A perfect combination."

Your smile widened. "That's me – classy and sexy!"

"Wait," I quickly said, as you began to stand. "You look so stunning there. One kiss, before you get up."

You grinned and raised your head as I bent forward, offering your glossy lips to mine. 

But that wasn't quite what I had in mind. I slid to my knees in front of you and took hold of one leg, uncrossing it as I pulled it to one side of my body. My other hand took your right leg and pushed that to the other side of me. You were spread now, long tanned legs spreadeagled, white panties – or was that a thong? – clearly on show. 

My hands went under your knees, pulling your bottom forward so that your head dropped back as your body slid forward. For a second, I felt like running my tongue along your cloth-covered pussy. It was so close to my face after all. All I had to do was bend my head forward.

Instead, I pushed my crotch against yours, letting you feel the hardness that was forming there. My hands slid upwards, checking that you weren't wearing a bra under the dress. With the softest of featherlight touches, my fingertips traced little circles around your nipples. I pushed my hips closer, so that I could ever so gently rotate my hardness against your pussy.

I did think of dragging those thin straps downwards to expose your tits, devour them with my mouth, but held back. Don't spoil the moment.

Instead, I closed in for the kiss, moving my head back an inch each time you tried to respond, letting you know that I was controlling this.

When our mouths touched, I licked across your lips, down to the edges and back again, before slipping my tongue inside your mouth, flicking it against your teeth, your gums, your tongue. Hips rotating, fingertips caressing, tongue brushing yours – all as lightly as I possibly could – I felt our breaths intermingle, enjoying that special, sexy moment.

I pulled away as quickly as I'd sank to my knees, taking your hand and helping you to your feet. I hoped you felt as I did. Aroused in a sensual rather than outright raw, needy way. 

Though... God!... was I hard!!!

"Want a glass of vino before we go?" I joked.

+

The bar of Fleece was, as usual, crowded, was it never? What was nice about it, from the point of view of me being with you, was that it drew people of all ages, it wasn't a 'kids' pub which I hate.

"You get the drinks, Alan," I said rather more authoritatively than I intended, "I'll sort a table."

"What would you like?"

"I'll pass on vino, but a large glass of Chablis would be great," I smiled over my shoulder as I walked through to the back room to find the owner, Ralph. "Wait there," I mouthed to you.

I looked around and was relieved, I guess, not to see anyone I knew. 

It looked to be a smart crowd, mainly. Lots of jeans and tees of course, ridiculously short micro skirts, glitzy tops with thin little straps and sequins, blouses undone a button or two too many and tight clothes everywhere; and as for the girls??

"Any chance of a table for two, please Ralph?" I asked standing just a little too close to the forty something owner who I had always quite fancied, but had never yet fucked.

"For you Sammi," he replied staring unashamedly at my tits "Anything. Want it now or later?"

Smiling at the double entendre, I replied. "Oh you know me Ralphie I'm an anytime girl."

"I wish," he quipped back. "Say twenty minutes and you can have the one in the window."

That was the best table, for in addition to the window it was by itself.

"Great luv, thanks," I beamed at him, "I owe you one."

I returned to the bar and found you. "The table'll be twenty minutes," I told you leaning against the bar.

"Great. Here sit on the stool," you said pushing a bar stool towards me.

I smiled. "You are joking aren't you? Sit on a stool in this?" I said looking down at my, barely, crotch covering dress.

"You said you wanted to be a sexual adventurer," you smiled.

"Yes but not where I am known, those adventures need to be my, well our secret."

"Ok I see, but it's not the most challenging adventure in the world to flash those pins to all and sundry is it?"

"Ok" I said smiling and feeling a little excited as I climbed up onto the high stool, my social conditioning taking over as I made sure I didn't flash too much when I crossed my legs.

"Yes very ok," you said moving closer and partially shielding me from most onlookers as, staring right up my skirt, you ran your fingertips slowly from my knee to the hem of the blue dress. Looking into my eyes, you slid your fingertip under the hem for a centimetre or so. I held your gaze. We just stared at each other as you moved your fingertip in tiny circles on my thigh. Your gaze seemed to be asking questions and my mind was answering. Your eyes were saying 'want me to go further?' My mind was saying 'yes I do.' But we both knew that was not possible, well not here, not in The Fleece, not where I knew so many people. But by Christ was my body screaming out for you to shove your hand right up my skirt as I spreaded my legs on that stool so that you could get your fingers into my cunt as everybody looked on. What a fucking buzz that was.

"Your table's ready Sam," I heard Ralph saying as if from afar. It wasn't from afar, though, for he was standing just behind me and was looking intently at your hand on my leg. I beamed a big smile at him and leaned forward as I stood up, the front of the dress gaping a bit.

"Thanks Ralph, by the way this is my uncle Alan. Alan this is the owner of the pub, my good friend Ralph."

A little like two adversaries sizing each other up, you shook hands saying how pleased you were to meet each. Fucking liars, I thought, secretly feeling pleased at the obvious antagonism between you.

"So, I take it you have fucked him." You said very matter of factly after Ralph had taken our orders.

"No I haven't, why did you think I had?"

"The way you get on and how he looks at you."

"We have got near, but never gone very far."

"Would you like to?"

"What fuck him?"

"Yes."

"Not really in the normal course of events, too messy, his wife is close friends with my mum, and he has got a loose mouth."

"What do you mean normal course of events?"

"Life generally."

"Is there an alternative?"

I smiled, again leaning forward so I knew you would see most of my boobs and possibly my, hardened nipples too. "Yes for sexual adventurers there is Alan."

"How do you mean?"

"How about him fucking me as you watch?" I asked my heart starting to pound at the the thought.

+

I wondered whether 'Uncle' was worse than 'Grandad', and decided that I didn't give a fuck. Suddenly, I'd been rocked out of my warm feeling and a sense of irritation splashed across my insides.

Why? I wasn't sure.

Perhaps it was because I'd been introduced as your Uncle? With my hand halfway up your thigh, it was quite clear I was anything but. So why lie? Wouldn't 'this is a good friend of mine' have done instead? Coyness wasn't one of your attributes, so why use the Uncle line?

Okay, it wasn't that important. Unreasonable, maybe. But combined with two other things, it built into something more than it was.

Two other things? 

First, I didn't like Ralph. Why? Partly because I don't like cheating. Okay, an old fashioned notion, I know. But there you go. But it wasn't just that, of course. It was because he fancied you and that you fancied him. That was so obvious and easy to see from the way the two of you interacted; actually flirted might be a more apt term. The smiles, the words, the tone, the intonation...

Hell, I suddenly realised I was jealous. Now that was unexpected.

But even those two things were as nothing compared to the third point. When you'd talked about our sexual adventures, I'd assumed that meant exactly that. Sex involving the two of us. I guess a liberal interpretation was that by watching, it did involve me. But that was kinda stretching the imagination.

The man himself made his way back to our table. "Ready to order?" he asked.

Given that he'd only handed us menu's a couple of minutes ago, I thought that was quite a piss take. "No," I spat out, my eyes saying, fuck off.

"Not quite yet, Ralph," you interjected, giving what appeared to me to be a sugar-sweet come on smile.

My irritability edged up another notch.

"What's wrong?" you asked, flashing me a different sort of smile. Smug, I thought. Your foot ran up my shin.

"Nothing," I lied, deciding to come right to the point. "So, our sexual adventures includes others?"

"Of course."

"Hmmm. So tell me, being adventurers together, what do I get out of watching you and the man with the big gob fucking each other's brains out?"

You raised your eyebrows and took a drink from the glass of wine I'd bought. "Don't you think it would be exciting to watch another man fuck me?"

"No," I sullenly replied. "Not at all."

"Shame," you said, that twinkle in your eyes getting even bigger as you played me like a puppeteer. "I think it's really hot, well actually I think it would be cool. I'd get off big time on it."

I sighed, trying to maintain my mature composure. "Even though he'd tell everyone of his success?"

"Well..." you hesitated, "maybe he'd watch while you fucked me afterwards?"

"No," I instantly replied, unsure whether you were joking but not willing to play that game. "Not fucking likely."

This time you laughed and your foot pushed further up my leg. "Struck a nerve?"

"Only that this is a development I hadn't considered," I replied, draining my wine in one go.

"I see," you said, sitting back and crossing your arms. "So at my very first suggestion, my fellow sexual adventurer is saying no?"

I stared into those bedroom eyes. I really had no idea whether this was a wind up, or something you really wanted to do. Knowing you, it could be either.

"Au contraire," I said, leaning forward and aggressively planting my elbows on the table. "As sexual adventurers, anything goes. If this is what you really want, then I'll reluctantly go along with it. But what's that saying? What's good for the goose..."

"Ah," you smiled. "So you like the concept, it's just me and Ralph you have a problem with? Okay, so if you watch him fuck me, I have to watch you fucking someone. Is that the deal?"

"No," I firmly said, still unsure whether you were pulling my plonker. "Not quite. If I watch him fuck you, then I want to watch you being fucked by a woman!"

+

'Au contraire,' I thought. 'Fuck me where does he get his language from?'

I looked around. Partly to see if anyone could see under our table, they couldn't, but also to see if Ralph was looking, he was. That excited me. It was an odd situation to be sitting with you, talking about being fucked, running my foot up your leg and leaning forward to flash you my tits, as Ralph, a man I had come near to having a fling with many times, looked on: a bit like I had, half jokingly suggested in reverse, with you watching as he fucked me.

"Is that, along with us shagging in dangerous places, the main things you would like to do, uncle?" I said looking up at Ralph and emphasising the uncle, hoping he hadn't heard the earlier part."

"Are you ready now Sam?" He asked.

I smiled up at him. "Yes I think we are, aren't we, uncle?"

The look on your face almost made me laugh out loud; it was such a 'fuck it' look.

"Yes, what do you want or, should we ask the waiter what he suggests?"

"Ralph owns the place Alan, he's not a waiter.

"Whatever."

We ordered and ate our meal almost, but not quite, in silence. 'Had I gone too far? Had I pushed things further than you would take? Had I, as I had often in the past ruined things before they had really got going? Why don't I learn, why am I always the smartarse, the flash one with words, why do I get so in people's faces? Fuck knows, but that's part of being an Essex girl and an adchick, and that was me and that was what I had to offer, well apart from a pert pair of tits, blonde hair, a tight pussy and a very open pair of legs to the right person.

I slid my hand across the table as I slid my foot up your shin. I put my fingers on the back of your hand. "Sorry, Alan," I said looking right into your eyes.

I think that surprised you. You looked sort of relieved and pleased.

"That's ok," you replied taking hold of my hand, which I didn't like. Stroking is fine, rubbing is ok, but holding hands, fuck off that's what boy and girl friends do, and certainly we were not that, we were sexual adventurers weren't we? I pulled my hand away.

"Shall we go? You had enough?"

"Yes I think so."

"This wasn't a good idea was it, bringing you here?"

"No it's ok?"

"Come on, be truthful, you hate Ralph don't you?"

"Hate's a bit strong."

"What is it then?"

"He's unfaithful to his wife, you say he's got a loose mouth and.."

"And what?"

"Well you fancy each other, don't you and I don't like that."

"Are you jealous?" I asked.

"Sort of yes and, before you say it, I know it's daft."

I liked your honesty, it made me feel closer to you. I felt all warm and cuddly and wanted to share that with you. I don't know why I did it. It was so unlike me, but I found myself standing up and putting my hands on your shoulders I leaned across the table. I was vaguely aware that as I did, so the front of my dress gaped and the hem rode up my thighs. It didn't seem to matter. It was almost as though it was a film, as if it was happening to someone else. I forgot all normal conventions and momentarily I toyed with the idea of pulling the front of my dress down and shoving my bare tits right into your face. That seemed such a great idea, but of course, my 'better' self prevailed. 

As my sex addled mind was contemplating pulling my front down, I was also thinking just what it would be like if I pulled the hem of my dress up and flashed my, nearly, bare arse at the diners? If perhaps I laid flat out on the table, my legs drawn up and parted and said, 'Fuck me Alan. Fuck me in front of everyone.' 

Of course I didn't, It was unthinkable to do that, but wonderful to think about. Instead, knowing that my tits and my bum were on show, I kissed you.

"It's not daft, Alan, it's nice," I whispered.

"Really Sam?"

"Yes really," I went on wondering if Ralph was watching, but aware that if he wasn't plenty others were looking at the tiny white thong snaking between the rounded orbs of my bum.

I whispered. "Perhaps it's time you took me somewhere and shagged me

I was impressed at how cool you were. How well you took my exhibition in your stride and how you handled having a bird in a skimpy dress draped all over you. I knew it could not have been easy and many blokes, particularly those of my age would have been totally pissed. Experience on your part, I suppose.

As I sat down again you looked at me and smiling said, just as Ralph walked over with the bill, which I had asked for by that daft sign of pretending to sign my hand.

"Yes perhaps it is time for that Sammi?"

Ralph heard that and looked from you to me holding the bill in his hand. I knew that he would be burning up to know what it was time for? My chair had slid back from the table when I had stood up so now, sitting again my legs were not under it, but were fully on view. The already rather ridiculously short dress had ridden up even more so that when he looked down he saw my legs almost up to my pussy and maybe even got a glimpse of my white thong. As that view was hidden from you by the table, you would not have known just how much he could see, but would probably have guessed it was quite a lot. And it was.

As Ralph took it all in he proffered the bill to you, but I intervened.

"No my treat Ralph, he's my uncle, not sugar daddy."

I gave him my Amex as you looked on. You'd lost the cool and collected manner that had been so impressive when I kissed you. That had been replaced by an awkwardness that I had caused, the bitch that I can be, but then that's rich bitch Essex adchicks for you. There was also a fireyness to you, you were annoyed, probably pissed off and wanted nothing more than to punch Ralph in the face and tell him that you were not my uncle but my fuckmate. But of course you were too well mannered and too much the gentleman for that, so you fumed in silence, as Ralph handed me the bill.

"Thanks Ralph that was great as usual," I said smiling up at him as he ran his eyes from the cleavage I was showing from the low cut top to the expanse of bare legs on the chair.

"And as always Sammi, you are most welcome," he said turning to you and adding "It was nice to meet you Alan, you have a lovely niece." At that I thought you were going to explode, but instead you simply stood up and replied.

"Yes Ralph I am perfectly aware of that."

It was strange to be sitting with two men standing around me as I worked out fifteen percent to add to the bill. Neither of you spoke as I did that and then finishing I looked up. What made me do it I don't know, but it seemed to fit in with what had been going down in The Fleece ever since I had made what was probably the mistake of bringing you there.

"Lucky me then," I purred glancing from one to the other.

"Yes, you are," Ralph replied as you walked behind him to go round the table. His eyes met mine and while I thought I was hidden from you by Ralph, I slowly and slightly parted my legs. 

"Well so are both are we, aren't we Alan," he smiled looking at the gap between them. "See more of you soon then Sammi," he said as you pulled my chair out and I stood up smoothing the skirt down the few inches it stretched beneath my pantyline.

"What the fuck was all that about?" You said as we walked out onto the street.

"What?"

"Come on don't play the fucking innocent with me," you, almost snarled."

"What didn't you like, apart from Ralph of course?" I asked.

"The whole exhibition, particularly flashing yourself at him."

Smiling I said as I put my arm through yours and snuggled my body against your side, your arm pressing against my right boob "But then I flash at everyone Alan, so what's the difference?"




Recollections Ch. 09



"Oh you know" you said, adding "How do we get to your house, walk or cab?"

We had cabbed it there and it was a fifteen or twenty minute walk, largely uphill back. The Fleece was round the back of the High Street near to the forest, which was close to the town at that point.

"That depends."

"On what?"

"Several things."

"Such as?"

"Well whether you would like to see the town, have a drink in a bar, look in the shops, have a walk with a young bird or..."

"I think I have been around enough as an uncle with a young bird for one night. What's the or?"

"Whether you would like to fuck me somewhere."

"What outside?"

"Yes, anywhere."

"Oh shit Sam don't sod around or do you mean it?"

I stopped and turned to face you. We were in a side road that led to the high street and were just a few yards from the junction. We could see and hear that the main road was busy with cars and people going by the end of the road. Where we were was fairly quite and there was no one else in the road. Looking you right in the eye, I slowly slid one and then the other thin strap of the dress off my shoulders. The neckline without their support buckled a little and slid down almost to nipple level, it was probably my hardened buds that prevented it slipping off each breast. 

"Yes Alan, I do," I said softly as I reached up, took the neckline in my hands and slowly peeled it away from my tits. "Do you want to? Do you want these?" I had no idea where this all came from for it really was not very me.

"Oh my God," you groaned, your eyes sticking out like organ stops as you stared at the exhibition I was putting on. 

You were clearly excited, but then so was I. The whole idea of what you had told me about wanting to have sex in places where we might get caught was an enormous turn on for me. I'd never really done that other than when I let some oiky Italian kid fuck me on a sun lounger on the beach in front of a hotel I was staying at with my parents some years ago. Despite being drop dead gorgeous to look at, to my inexperienced body, he wasn't much of a lover, although he did cum twice in half an hour, but being fucked when I could hear music and voices, including my mum and dad's, from the hotel was amazing.

"Then take them, touch them," I whispered moving a little closer and kissing you.

It felt fantastic having my tits and nipples squeezed and stroked on the pavement in the centre of my home town. I squirmed against you, kissing and licking your face as you slid one hand downwards, across my waist and stomach and onto my bare legs. A moment's fumbling and your hand slid up my short skirt. You knowingly and skilfully immediately found my lips and slid your finger along them a couple of times before resting it right on my clit. That made my body jerk. It wasn't just having a finger on my cunt and a hand on my tit that provided that intensity, it was being where we were. Cars were going past just a few yards away, people were walking past the end of the road, there was noise, the smell of car fumes and music from the bars. And, most intensive, at any moment a car could turn into the road from the High Street or could come down the hill from the forest, on catching us like two rabbits in its headlights.

I pressed myself more firmly against you as you pulled my skirt even higher at the back. There was clearly no need for you to do that to get at me, it was purely you exhibiting my bum, I thought and that thrilled me even more, for now I was as good as naked with my tits and my arse.

I could feel you were ready. Your cock had wonderfully grown against me and was now rearing right up the middle of my stomach, gorgeous. I thought' Who need young kids to be fucked by.' 

I was near to having an orgasm, what was that my tenth today? My body was shaking and my breath was coming out in gasps. I now badly needed to be fucked, but even as aroused as I was, just like in the restaurant, my 'better self' prevailed.

"We can't do it Alan, can we?"

"Regrettably no," you replied thrusting your erection proudly against my stomach.

"So where do you want to fuck your niece uncle? Back up the hill in the forest, over the other side of the main road in a car park or in the side road leading to my house?"

+

"I have a better idea," I said, pulling your dress back into shape and grabbing your hand.

"What?" you asked, giving me a puzzled look.

"You'll see," I said, tugging you back the way we came. "Is there a back to the restaurant?"

"Back?"

"Yes, Sammi, a back, car park or something. Preferably with a window outside Ralph's fucking perch or the kitchen, anywhere he might see us."

"See us. What do you mean?"

"Too fucking right," I said, panting like a dog on heat. Not only was I hard, I was aching with my hardness. Aching so much it almost hurt. I wanted you with an intensity I couldn't put into words. But more than that. I'd seen you flash your pussy at him. Well, you could do that whenever you wanted, I guess, except when you were with me. I wanted 'revenge,' Y

es I wanted to fuck you with him watching.

"Don't be silly, we can't do that," you replied.

"Why not, you wanted to fuck him with me watching, so what's good for the fucking goose is also good for the gander." I, almost, snarled.

"There is a car park, we could go there if you want, but i don't think we could do it so Ralph sees us," you replied adding after a pause. "That is unless I go and ask him."

We were near to the pub again and I could see the entrance to the car park. It was a little way from the main building so I saw what you meant.

"Yes I see what you mean" I said as I dragged you around the side of the restaurant into the almost, but by no means completely, dark car park. 

The smallish car park was still half full, but then it was early. Glancing at my watch i saw that it was only eight thirty. There were several cars jotted around and there was a couple of outbuildings that looked to be locked up, so we couldn't use them, but they did provide a degree of shelter. I knew that it would be impossible to get the bastard to see us unless you went and asked him and under no circumstances did I want that. It worried me that you appeared quite keen on the idea, fuck this sexual adventuring if it had to be that.You were unpredictable and I had no idea what might happen, probably you fucking him and me having a wank watching, trust my fucking luck.

We were standing just inside the car park. No one was around and nobody in the pub could see us. 

"Get your tits out again Sam?" I asked forgetting all my vows about needing affection and tenderness and wanting an experience and not just a fuck. 

My excitement was growing in equal measures to the size of my cock. I was actually amazing myself for this was at least the tenth erection I'd had since meeting you only nine hours ago. And that doesn't count those I had at home as I got ready and on the train from York thinking about you. I was starting to think of myself as superman, where had all this ardour and potency come from? As I watched you, demurely almost, slip one then the other spaghetti strap off your tanned shoulders and then ease the front of the dress down exposing your gorgeous tits, I got my answer. 

"Now pull your skirt up," I ordered huskily, half expecting you to say no.

But you didn't. It was becoming more and more obvious to me that you were getting as much out of this blatant exhibitionism as I was. And that excited me even more. I also began to get a clearer idea on your concept of 'sexual adventurers.' 

You eased the skirt up so it was bunched round your waist. You looked absolutely fucking marvellous and so utterly desirable. There was an immense combination of beauty, eroticism, wantoneness and sheer fucking horniness as you turned and walked towards one of the buildings. You clearly had reached the same conclusion as me as to where we could fuck.

I followed the raunchy vision of your arse cheeks swaying from side to side framed by the material of your dress and the slither of white plunging down and vanishing between their rounded fullness. 

You turned into a small gap. It was secluded so we would not be caught if anyone came into the car park unless they wanted the black Rangerover sport in the corner or the Porsche almost opposite the gap where you were now leaning against a white painted brick wall as good as naked.

"Fuck it Sam this will do me in," I smiled undoing my jeans.

Letting go of the hem of your dress you slid your hand into my boxers.

"What a way to go though" you muttered huskily, pulling my granite hard cock out. "Mmmmmmm, nice," you said stroking it. "Want to fuck me here and now?"

"Of course, this is just so fucking raunchy Ii could almost explode," I grunted realizing that I was about to fulfill one of my big fantasies. As I squeezed both of your tits, which were now becoming so familiar to me I almost knew each freckle on each boob, I momentarily wondered if I might fulfill the other main one? Just what the fuck you would look like with another girl's head between your legs was mindblowing for me.

I suddenly felt a surge of energy. No it was more than that it was a rush of sexual adrenalin. Over sixty and I was just fulfilling the sexual ambitions I'd had for so long. The adrenalin made me want rough, hard sex. That in any case was more in keeping with fucking a young half undressed Essex bird up against a wall in a car park where, at any moment we could be seen and caught.

I grabbed you, turned you round and yanked your thong down your thighs. Pushing my boxers and jeans down, I dragged them down my legs, letting them fall round my ankles along with my boxers. Wishing that the bastard Ralph would appear, I grunted as I slid my hard, aching, cock inside you.

I was so turned on, I almost climaxed there and then. You were so fucking tight. But I wanted to put on a show for I was imagining that he was watching and was burning up with jealousy

"Is that good," i grunted, starting off slowly. "you like that, being fucked while Ralph watches?"

You were supporting yourself against the wall with your arms outstretched, I was behind you and in you, one hand roughly squeezing each tit and pulling each nipple in turn, the other rubbing your clit, which if i didn't know better, i would have sworn had grown.

"Imagine that fucker's watching us," I growled, slamming myself up and down your magnificently soaked cunt. 

"Fuck yes," you grunted, your breath a harsh rasp as you clearly enjoyed the way I increased the pace. Your blonde hair hung over your shoulder as you squeezed your eyes closed shut and thrust your perfect ass backwards.

My cock came out slightly, the length moist with your juices. With a murmur of annoyance, I slotted it back inside. I leaned into you, enjoying the feeling of your soft body.

I slapped one hand across your ass as I fucked you; it made a red mark on your arse. Then another. When you moaned in half-hearted protest, I drifted my hand down between your legs. My experienced fingers softly rubbed your clit, feeling your juices against my cock as I continued to work in and out.

"Can you see him watching, can you imagine it? I asked, as my fingers flicked at your clit. You moaned and i liked that. Boy, was I going to make you fucking moan!

Your legs spread themselves wider as your skimpy white thong stretched down around your knees; how wonderfully, fucking wanton was that sight. I grunted as you tightened your cunt muscles around my manhood, sending a surge down to my balls.

Burying my face against the top of your back, I gently bit at your shoulder, my teeth leaving a mark on your skin. I could taste your perfume and sweat; it was an exquisitely erotic cocktail. 

Sliding my hand up your chest, I squeezed your breast hard. "What do you think of those, then, Ralph?" I grunted adding "But i suppose he's already seen them and felt them hasn't he?

I felt your nipple taut in my fingertips. It grew harder as I began to pound into you. You cried out in either pleasure or delicious pain asI put pressure on your firm breast and hard nipple. I didn't really care which.

"No," you moaned.

"No what, too hard?" I asked pinching your tit even harder.

"No. No he hasn't seen them." You groaned.

"But you'd like him to wouldn't you? You'd like to show your tits to Ralph wouldn't you Sammi?"

I wasn't sure whether your grunted "Yes" pleased, thrilled or disappointed me

I also grunted again, moving like a machine, my groin slapping against your ass wishing that bastard was at the window. My hand worked furiously on your clit, stretching and moving it around as I fucked your hot little body. 

"See him?" I grunted. "See the bastard watching?"

I fucked you harder, wanting your orgasm before mine. But I wasn't too far off. 

"Yes, yes, i can. Ralph is watching you fucking me," you said quite loudly

"You'd like that wouldn't you?" I said. You didn't reply. I leaned away and smacked your arse, hard and far more roughly than I would normally, I pinched and pulled your nipples. A little pain seemed to be appropriate, but even then and as aroused as I was, I was careful with you.

"Wouldn't you?"

"Yes Alan, yes i would."

"And you would like to fuck him too wouldn't you as I watched?"

"Yes, yes you know i would."

You were bucking your heart shaped ass backwards against my thighs to meet my forward thrusts. Your head craned upwards to watch our imaginary watcher. Leaving your bare breasts dangling. I wrapped some of your blonde hair in my hand, yanking your head up and causing you to cry out with pain.

"Cum, you bitch," I grunted, yanking your head again. "Ccum while he watches."

With one final shove of your aching legs, you pressed yourself fully backwards against me, holding yourself still. For a moment, our flesh seemed as though it was superglued together in a remarkable stillness. And then your body began to spasm. Your deliciously juicy cunt contracted tightly around my cock.

I grunted again as your orgasm swept through you. This was what I wanted. Are you watching you bastard, I silently asked. 

Your thighs shook and trembled as you crested. You began to shudder, your head sinking back down as your orgasm swept through every part of your body, rumbling on and on until... eventually... it came to a stop.

We had both completely forgotten where we were, well nearly. We had certainly forgotten how exposed we could be and how easy it would have been for someone to see us. But as that realisation hit us, it simply added to our excitement. 

I'd slowed down to allow you to enjoy your moment, but now I wanted my reward. You knew that too and lewdly spread your legs wider to accommodate me.

I looked up but Ralph had gone. Or maybe he'd just moved out of sight? But of course he had only been there in our imaginations. I didn't care. My eyes were bulging with arousal, with need. I pumped like a madman, racing myself to my orgasm. You set yourself, unselfishly stiffening your body to allow maximum penetration. 

I grunted. You moaned. I whimpered. You groaned.

I felt my balls tense up and then all hell was set loose. The surge was like a shot from a gun, two quick streams of cum firing one after another into your thirsty body. I anchored the soles of my feet on the floor as I exploded, still slowly fucking into your fiery hot sex but easing up slightly to catch my breath with each successive burst as I looked round.

'Thank fuck' I thought seeing that the Rangerover Sport was still there, but 'Oh shit' as I saw that the Porsche had gone!

"Now that, Alan," you whispered, "was what I call a good fuck. Come on let's go home for,as Rhett said, 'Tomorrow is another day."