The age difference meant nothing. He is thirty three years older than she is. It didn't matter.
Finding love once more.
I had been married to the most wonderful woman a man could ever wish for or hope to find. We had raised two children, one of each and had six grandchildren and four great-grandchildren. Ours had been a happy, for the most part, partnership sharing in the highs and lows of life. But sadly, after a visit to the doctor and subsequent blood tests, it was confirmed that Jen had bowel cancer, inoperable and terminal. Hers was mercifully a short battle before succumbing to that most dreadful of diseases. I thought my life was over. Rattling around in our apartment and wondering what to do with myself. I kept the place clean, did the laundry and shopped for one, all with the feeling that, perhaps, she would come back one day, and I didn’t want things to be any less than perfect.
And then the dog died. I thought he was attached to me, but it was Jen he pined for. His was a quiet death; he just went to sleep and didn’t wake up. He was old, so I shouldn’t have been surprised. His pining bothered me somewhat; he whined and kept his nose pointed at the door, waiting for his mistress to reappear. It was pitiful. I missed his screaming at the television when a dog or horse was on the screen. Mad as a box of frogs.
I was bereft of any company and started to become hermit-like, venturing out only to play golf once a week. Shopping was done online with home delivery. I didn’t sleep well, often not even going to bed, just sat with my feet up on the La-Z-Boy and watching mindless television. It was a slow descent into oblivion, one sure to bring about my demise. Would that have mattered, and did I care? After all, fifty-three years together forged a strong bond and a lifelong commitment. Essential organs of a lifelong commitment had been removed, leaving me an empty shell.
We live, lived in a gated block of apartments, built at the turn of the twentieth century, originally as almshouses by a philanthropic Lord something or another. The exterior of the block is grade two listed, inasmuch as nothing could be changed or altered in any way. Each of the thirty-one individual entrance doors were painted the same insipid green colour, which had to be mixed especially whenever needing repainting. The original RAL colour is long out of production. Much of the Victorian architecture remained. Carved Cherubs adorned the front door porticos, carved in wood with some fancy scrollwork. A clock tower is situated above what had once been a ballroom but had later been converted to flats. Even the rainwater downpipes were cast iron and impossible to replace. A communal garden with a two-hundred-meter lawn, kept nicely by the landlord, sported apple trees, a plum tree, shrubs, a double line of fifty-four lime trees and a garden of flowering bushes. All in all, we loved the place and had lived there for nigh on thirty years. We knew most of our neighbours by their first name and maintained at least a nodding acquaintance with them all. We, as residents, had created a WhatsApp group to discuss or notify each other of events. So, it was no surprise that many of them visited to offer condolences, at least for a short while. Then we, as a couple, were relegated to memory, and I was just the old man who lived at number thirty.
So, after more than fifty years, I was on my own. I could fend for myself, but it was nothing more than an existence.
Until.
The doorbell chimed. Terry, a woman who lived at number twenty-five, was waiting at my threshold. Terry, or Theresa, had been a friend to Jen in a casual way. They often chatted, swapped stories and could laugh with each other. I wouldn’t have called her a good friend, only a fellow neighbour who was quite nice.
Terry had been a bit of a wild one in her youth, but now, approaching forty, had calmed down a little. The all-night parties had ceased, but her love of drum and bass music continued, loudly at times. The steady stream of men, from all corners, had dried up too. None had lasted for more than a few weeks. She was now training kids in the noble art of boxing to keep them off the streets and perhaps learn a little self-discipline. In her training, she had shed more than a stone in weight, losing the puppy fat and now looked trim and fighting fit, even if a little on the solid side. At five feet three with a pleasant face and short brown hair, Terry was okay to look at and now, having lost some weight, looked even better. She could never be called pretty; her face was quite plain, but her personality carried her through. I had always admired her tits when she sunbathed in a bikini on the back lawn and had, on two occasions, seen her in all her naked glory. Pointy breasts that seemed not to need help in staying pointy and proud, and a large black bush hiding her modesty. In my defence, in both instances, I was walking my dog out for his morning ablutions and just happened to glance through her open window. Fortunately, Terry didn’t see me, and both were no more than a fleeting glimpse.
“Hi Rob.” She was dressed in something I vaguely remembered. A blue skirt and a matching boob tube that did little to suppress those magnificent breasts.
“I just thought I would come over to see how you are, see if you are okay. I haven’t seen you for months.”
I replied with my customary, “Hello Terry, how are you?” And then thought I should invite her in. Stepping back from the door, Terry passed me and climbed the stairs to my first-floor apartment.
While Terry checked out the place. I asked her if she would like a drink, tea, coffee or something else. She declined.
“I was searching through my wardrobe and came across this.” She waved her hand expansively over the skirt and top. “Jen made it for me a long time ago. I don’t think I have ever worn it.”
Suddenly, the memory of Jen, fretting over and working on the dress, slammed into my mind. Unbidden, a tear fell from my eye, followed by a single sob. Jen had been a first-class dressmaker who once worked as a theatrical costumier. The loss of Jen was still very raw, even after a year since her passing. Little moments like this often caught me out and the pain of loss was renewed. I guess my reaction was all too apparent, Terry was suddenly hugging me in a tight embrace.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t think. Please forgive me.”
“Nothing to forgive, Terry, it just caught me by surprise.” I extricated myself from her encircling arms and went into the kitchen. More as a sanctuary than to get a glass of water.
“I’m having a fortieth birthday party and wanted to invite you, we have been friends for something like twenty years, and I thought it would be nice.” She had followed me and stood in the kitchen doorway.
I turned away from the sink to look at her and declined the invitation, not feeling like socialising any time soon. The sun was beaming through the living room window behind her, throwing light on the back of Terry. I realised that, in this light, the dress and top were virtually see-through. I might be old, but the sight of a woman’s body still evoked interest and, yes, a little voyeuristic pleasure, although my libido had long since waned. I hadn’t had sex in at least ten years or more, just the occasional wank in the toilet.
I was able to see those wonderful tits with dark aureoles pointing at me and that dark bush, clearly visible. I tried not to notice, tried to ignore the fact that the dress and top were all she had on. I tried, honestly, I tried. But being a man, my eyes betrayed me. She must have noticed my gaze. Terry stepped back into the living room, denying me any further glimpse of her wonderful body.
To normalise things, I asked her when the party was to take place.
Terry stayed for an hour or so, chatting and regaling me with her exploits with the boxing kids. It seemed it was going very well.
Eventually, it was time for her to leave and go back to her apartment. She kissed my cheek while giving me another hug. Her breasts pushed into my ribs. It was all I could do not to touch them. Somehow, I managed to control my hands and keep them from just a little touch.
I promised I would think about going to the party, and we said our goodbyes.
Did I dream about her that night? Did I ever, and, as dreams go, wild things were imagined, and for the first time in a very long time, I got an erection. Wow!
_____________________________________________
The party was a success, I guess. Perhaps fifty or so turned up and consumed copious amounts of booze and other recreational substances. Feeling like a fish out of water amongst so many, much younger people than I, sobriety seemed like a good idea. Not seemly for the olds to get rip roaring drunk or spun out on coke.
I stayed to help her clean up once her guests had eventually departed. The music was turned off, thankfully. I’m too old for the noise they seemed to enjoy and even dance to. Other than rhythm, I could find nothing that sparked an interest in it. Repetitive chords, no lyrics to speak of and a synthetic bass drum just doesn’t do it for me.
After an hour or so, the place was back to its normal chaos. She wasn’t the tidiest person on the planet. Terry flopped down on a settee with a sigh. “I’m getting too old.” She commented, and I laughed.
“Too old indeed, Terry. Far too old.” I sat beside her, grateful for the respite of standing for so long. She yawned, which, as it does, invoked a yawn of my own. And then she was in my arms. Her head tucked under my armpit with her left arm across my torso. Just as my daughter liked to sit with me all those years ago. It was companionable and really, quite nice. A pleasant feeling of having a woman in my embrace once more.
She fell asleep. Like a light going off, she fell asleep and began to lightly snore. I thought about gently getting up, finding a cover and leaving her to slumber, but being so close to another human was, for me, comforting, something I had missed for quite a while. So, I, selfishly enjoying the contact, sat and then drifted off by myself.
Morning sunlight woke me, that and a cramp in my arm that Terry was still sleeping under. Carefully, so as not to wake her, I managed to extricate myself and gain my feet. Perhaps I made a noise, or Terry had felt the shift in position.
“Good morning.” She groggily managed to say. “Are you okay, and thanks for last night. I slept like the dead.”
“My arm can attest to that.” I was trying to shake some life back into it.
“What are you doing today?” She asked while unfolding her legs and stretching her lithe body. Her mind was like that, changing direction, even in the middle of a conversation. If it entered her head, she would blurt it out. I always found it a bit infuriating, especially as I would lose the thread I was on.
“Making some butter and a loaf of bread.”
“You make your own butter? That’s so cool. Can I watch?”
“Sure. I gotta shower first, so do you wanna come over in half an hour? I’ll show you how easy it.
I left the front door open so Terry could just come up. A shower and change of clothes took no time. I began to prepare the kitchen and unpack the Kenwood mixer. She didn’t knock, just came up the stairs and found me in the kitchen.
“So, six hundred millilitres of double cream go into the bowl. A teaspoon of salt and that’s it.” I fitted the bell whisk and set the mixer to a medium speed. It takes about ten minutes for the buttermilk to separate and the butter to collect in the bell whisk tines. Then we strain it in muslin cloth over a bowl and squeeze out any remaining buttermilk. If you don’t do that, the butter will go rancid.”
Terry was enthralled by the simplicity of the production of half a pound of butter.
“I save the buttermilk to make a small loaf.” I reached up to an overhead cabinet and grabbed a pack of premixed bread flour. Washed the mixer bowl and set it back on the stand. “You need three hundred and twenty millilitres for the mix.” The dough hook was fitted and the speed set to low. Pretty quickly, the dough had formed into a ball around the hook. The rest of the operation is just kneading and proving before baking in the air fryer.
“Do you want coffee?’ I waved the cafetiere at her by way of invitation.
We sat in the living room sipping the hot drink, Terry at one end of the three-seater settee and me at the other. As usual, I had “Classic FM” playing on the smart speaker. She asked what station I was listening to, and I told her.
“I like classical music,” I said with a shrug. “It soothes me.”
“I slept like a log, cuddled up to you last night. Best night’s sleep I’ve had in like, forever.” The expression on her face was guileless, but the words pricked my ears. Interesting, I thought to myself.
“Funny enough, I managed to sleep pretty well, too.” It was true. Having a warm body next to me was… comforting. But I didn’t say that. Instead, I murmured that having her in my arms was special for me, too.
Terry’s radar must have been on full alert. She put her coffee cup down on the coffee table and scooted over to me.
“Cuddle me again.” She said. “It was so nice last night and something I haven’t had for ages.”
Of course, my arm, as if on autopilot, went around her shoulder, encircling her body to mine. It felt great. I kissed the top of her head and took in the aroma of her shampoo and conditioner. There is something special about a cuddle or a hug. Not sexual, just a connection with someone and the comfort of their presence.
Terry looked up at me with her brown eyes and, damn! I couldn’t help myself. I kissed her lips and was rewarded with a return kiss. Terry turned and straddled my legs so she could face me front on. She was much lighter than I thought she would be. The second kiss was initiated by her. It lasted a lot longer until lips were opened, and tongues collided in her mouth.
Christ! was I turned on. A second stiffy in as many days.
“I must check the loaf. Otherwise, it spills out the sides of the bread tin.” Was I running away? Was I suddenly afraid of what might happen? More importantly, was I being unfaithful to Jen?
I set the air fryer to bake with a little water in the bottom of the tray. The steam helps to cook the loaf and stops it from becoming too crusty.
Terry followed me into the kitchen and put her arms around my waist. Asking why I was doing what I was and the reason for it.
Once I pressed start, I turned in her arms and kissed her again, my arms holding her in an embrace. This was, for me, the stuff of dreams. A young woman offering herself to me. A young woman, fit and nubile. The result on my dick became quite apparent and evinced a smile from her as she felt it against her stomach.
“How long does the bread take?”
“Thirty-five minutes.”
“Then we won’t have much time. Take me to bed.” She demanded.
Well, I have never been one to deny a woman’s demands. Especially one who was very much in control.
Funnily enough, we were both a little nervous. Me because it had been so long since I last had sex, and I wasn’t entirely sure everything would function as one might hope. I suppose for her, not knowing what to expect from a bloke, thirty-odd years older than her. Turns out, our nerves were not needed.
Terry had my cock in her mouth almost as soon as her clothes hit the floor. She knelt at my feet and slowly engulfed my hard-on while maintaining eye contact. It is both submissive and empowering to have a man in her control. To me, it was just sublime, and heaven might have been calling me.
All good things come to an end. I didn’t want to blast her tonsils with my spend, or for it to end quite so quickly. I backed up the edge of the bed and disrobed while she scooted into a prone position. Terry, naked, was all and everything I thought she might be, and those tits just stood firm and upright in pointed mounds.
I had to have one of them in my mouth, resistance is futile, as they say in “Deep Space Nine or is it “Star Trek?”
Terry threw an arm around my neck and pulled me tighter to her breast, relishing the attention it was receiving, I hoped. I wanted to take my time. Explore every inch of her body, caress every crevice and taste her. Of course, I wanted to fuck her; I was almost desperate to plunge into her body. Lord knows she was ready and willing. But I wanted to savour her before committing to the finale act. I admit to more than a little trepidation. Would I lose my erection or cum too quickly?
Releasing her breast, I kissed down her body, poked my tongue in her belly button, which made her giggle, before travelling down to her black pubic hair. Her legs had parted, her arousal apparent in the aroma of her sex. Slowly, my tongue connected with her slit, tasting her secretions. It was heavenly. My tongue did what it used to do with Jen, explored her lips and clit. The muscle memory is almost automatic.
I found her pubic hair to be a bit annoying, being so thick and coarse as it was. But I soldiered on, as one does.
I hadn’t paid much attention to what my efforts were doing to her until the sheets bunched up in claw-like fists on either side of her thighs. She was moaning and encouraging me with muttered, Yes, yes. I needed no further encouragement and set too with relish.
The air fryer bleeped, signalling that it had completed the cycle. Normally, I would be all over it, not wanting the bread to dry out. I was a little slower than normal. Leaving her in such a state went against all instincts. But I did take the bread out and left her panting on the bed with a promise I would be back momentarily.
She was lazily rubbing her clit when I returned. The reaction of squeezing her tits together between her forearms only made them stand up even more firmly. Perhaps the most erotic sight I had ever had the pleasure to witness. She spread her legs in invitation and, of course, I responded.
My raging hard on quickly found its place in the haven of her body, plunging as deep as it would go. God! She was hot. Her insides, while slick and silky, were like a raging furnace. It was heaven to me, and then she locked her heels behind my arse and pulled me in even deeper. It wasn’t to last long. I hadn’t had sex in so long that the feelings were too immediate for me to control. I came inside her, hard and fast, almost passing out at the sheer pleasure and emotion of climax.
“I’m sorry it was so quick, Terry.” I felt somewhat ashamed that it had only taken minutes.
“It was perfect. Just what I needed. Thank you.”
__________________________________________
Terry left then, hurriedly putting on her clothes, leaving her panties off and promised to return after her boxing sessions with the little oiks that lived locally.
“I’ve got to taste that bread.” She said over her shoulder as the front door closed. I could wait, and besides, I had things to do, including cleaning up and cleaning off the smell of sex.
The day passed slowly. I tried to distract myself by hitting a few golf balls into my purpose-made practice net out on the lawn. Perhaps I shouldn’t have done. Hitting the ball with any kind of conviction or authority was just not going to happen.
I watched the six o’clock news, mostly bad news of war and needless death on both sides. I have no political views, neither left nor right, but the slaughter of innocent people was something I couldn’t comprehend. Such a waste of life. Russia had a lot to answer for.
I don’t remember what I cooked for dinner. Probably something packaged as a meal for one. Eating had waned since Jen left me. Not that I was a big eater anyway. It was just something I had to do to stay alive.
It must have been after eight when she rang my bell. It was dark outside with just the house lights illuminating the pathways. She slipped in, casting a glance at the flats with their lights on as if worried someone might see her coming to my door. I suppose it was a realistic fear, not much gets missed by the curtain twitchers.
I cut her two slices of my home-made bread and slathered my butter over. “Do you want jam?” I asked from the kitchen. She was sitting in the living room on one of the leather La-Z-Boy settees.
“OH my God! This tastes amazing,” She had taken a huge bite out of one of the slices. “Butter that tastes like butter, and the bread is wonderful. Thank you.”
Dismissively, I waved a depreciative hand at the compliment, then noticed her attire. A pair of black gym shorts and a white T-shirt. Trainers on her feet with no socks. She looked delicious, I thought.
“Anything on the tele?”
“What would you like to watch? I have one of those firesticks, it has been hacked, so I can get pretty much anything.”
“Even porn channels?”
“Yup. But I rarely look at those.”
“Fire it up, Buster. I like a bit of porn, gets me all revved up.”
So, in quick order, we were watching some girl-on-girl action with a dubbed soundtrack of moans and the like, which were not coming from the subjects on the screen. I flicked through the various channels until she said. That one. A young guy ploughing a chick’s arse, which was at the other end of a very pretty girl. The young stud was going for it, big time.
“Do you like anal?” I sputtered, surprised by the question.
“Um, I haven’t really tried it.” I had once, with Jen. She couldn’t relax enough to enjoy it, so it never happened again. I suppose our sex life might have been called vanilla, but it had been rewarding enough for us with a bit of light bondage and the occasional role play.
“I like it in the arse. That rocks my boat.” I was flabbergasted at her forthrightness and spluttered again.
The guy on the screen had reached his vinegar strokes and was now rubbing one out so his seed splattered over the girl’s back. It did little for me, but Terry was squirming a little, and I was getting a sniff of that familiar aroma, a woman on heat.
“I like it in the arse and love cum, all over my tits” She lifted her T-shirt and pointed at her breastbone. “Just there so I can rub it all in.”
Fucking hell! I’ve hooked up with a sexual demon. I thought to myself. I’m going to need Viagra if I am to keep up with her.
The TV screen had morphed into another, unlikely scenario with an improbable plot. What there was of one. I turned it off and killed the television.
“Would you like a drink?’ Those liquid eyes were scrutinising me intently. “Gin, tea, coffee or something else?”
“Let’s skip the drinks and go to bed, eh?” So, we did, and I knew I would be screwing her arse at some point. It was a thrill and a doubt at the same time. Would I be able to perform? Would I last long enough for her pleasure and, perhaps, get her off? Mixed feelings followed me as I shut the bedroom door.
Terry had dived on the bed, somehow removing the two bits of clothing while in the act. Her trainers got kicked off to hit the floor at the foot of the bed.
“Do you ever shave?” Where did that come from? “I mean, down there?” Looking at her black fleece, so bushy, like a cloak to something hidden. What on earth had made me ask such a banal question?
“Occasionally. If I’m going on holiday, it gets shaved. Wouldn’t want hair sticking out of my bikini.” She giggled and held her arms up, inviting me to lie over her. We kissed. A touch of lips and then, an exploration of each other’s tongues. My shirt and trousers joined her trainers, quickly followed by my pants.
Terry grasped my cock and started to slurp on it, making appreciative moans as she did so. I have always been a fan of a blow job, especially if she can get it to the back of her throat, or even deeper, if possible.
“You taste so good.” She murmured after a few minutes of devouring me. “And you have a nice dick, all smooth and hairless.” I had always thought of my cock as average at best. Having been circumcised as a baby, the head is desensitised somewhat, which is handy in not blowing a load too quickly, under normal circumstances.
“Um, thanks, Terry. Your body is a marvel, and I adore your tits, always have done.”
“You have never seen them until today,” I confessed to having glimpsed her twice.
“Pervert!”
“Guilty as charged. But I did like what I saw. Very much.”
I kissed her again, wrapping tongues and swapping saliva. She radiated heat, my temperature was rising as well. My dick was waving in the air as I knelt over her, wanting to join in on the action.
“Do me.” Her demand was lascivious and wanting.
I slowly lowered myself and covered her body with my mouth, firmly planted on one of her teats. My left hand was behind her neck while the other began to explore very much south of the equator. Twisting her pubic hair in my fingers and gently pulling. It had the desired effect. Terry was squirming and breathing hard. Then, my fingers wormed their way to her slit, parting her nether lips and began to stroke just inside her. I found that ribbed area, her G-spot and massaged it, bringing forth a gasp of pleasure from her. Terry was lying on her back, not moving too much, allowing me to explore and savour her delicious body. My thumb found her clit and lightly rubbed it. Her legs came up as she thrust her hip towards the torment my fingers were administering.
“Fuck me, Rob, fuck me, please?” It was a desperate plea.
“In a little while, Terry, I’m in no rush here.”
“Bastard!”
I continued massaging and slowly pushed my fingers into her depths, delighting in the tightness of her vagina, feeling her muscles contract and expand at my ministrations. I was keeping her on edge, gauging her impending orgasm and ceasing just before she came. Terry could produce copious amounts of secretions. Her genitals were slick and soaked through. The smell should be bottled as an aphrodisiac and given to men to get them going.
Eventually, I relented and sank into her, groin to groin and began that most wonderful dance of coitus. The pace was slow, allowing for the friction between her sheath and the skin of my cock to radiate and not get lost in a frenzy of rutting. Just a pleasurable pace while hands caressed and encouraged. Her tits held my fascination. How they were so pointed and rigid while also being soft and pliable blew my mind. We were kissing at the same time, swapping hot breath between open mouths and savouring the taste of each other. The amazing thing was, I managed not to get overexcited and could keep the need for climax at bay.
We swapped positions, me on my back and Terry riding me, using her hips in pelvic rocks and stimulating her clit against my pubic bone. This was heaven to me. Buried deep in her body and her wonderful breasts in my hands, while she did all the work.
No words were spoken. No muttered endearments or encouragement, just sighs as the pleasure we both were getting was enjoyed.
Then, typical of her scatter-brain, in mid coitus, Terry knelt up, grasped my dick and placed it at the entrance of her anus. I worried about lubrication briefly, but Terry was just going to go for it.
Slowly and inexorably, she lowered her knees, putting pressure on her sphincter until the head of my cock pushed into her. Past the outer ring and past the inner muscle.
“Mm.” That was all she said as she slipped more of me inside her. I lay, rigid, not wanting to spoil her concentration or ruin the moment. And then, I was balls deep in her arse with her sphincter squeezing me in a tight embrace. The sensation was exquisite.
Terry put her hands on my chest and began to rock back and forth. It felt good, but little movement of my cock inside her vice-like grip. She started to add a little rise and fall to her movement. Just slowly at first while her bowels adjusted to the intrusion. Gradually, she increased the pace until I was sliding in and out of that tight confine.
“Tell me when you’re about to cum.” She said, breathlessly. I nodded, not quite able to articulate. She picked up the pace, slamming her bum down, almost squishing my balls. The friction in her arse was incredible, and I knew I wouldn’t last too long.
I don’t know how long we were at it, but all too soon, the moment of no return was approaching rapidly.
“Terry, I’m going to cum.”
As if scalded, she jumped up and threw herself supine on the bed. “Cum on me, Rob. Cum on my tits. Let me see it.
I straddled her belly and began to rub my slick dick, aiming at her breastbone. And then, I was there, globules of cum spurted out of me, hitting right where I was aiming. White viscous fluid in strings, nestled between those fantastic points. I might have groaned. I might have made no noise at all. I just came and emptied my balls on her milky white skin.
Terry screamed and blasted the sheets with an orgasmic flush as she rubbed my spend all over her breasts. She massaged the creamy fluid over her breasts, spreading it into a sticky sheen on her skin.
I just collapsed beside her while she worked my jizz into her skin and shivered in post coital bliss. And then she cried. Tears were streaming from her eyes, running down her cheeks. Sobs wracked in hicks, her fist in her mouth as if to stem the flow.
“Terry, what’s wrong?” Had I hurt her or done something to bring on this misery? I cupped her cheek and turned her face towards mine. “What did I do?’
“Only fulfilled my ultimate fantasy, Rob. One I have dreamed for, longed for, but could never find a guy willing enough. It was all I hoped it would be. Thank you, thank you so much.” The tears still dripped from her.
“Why are you crying?”
“Because I’m happy, you nitwit. Because I have never cum like that before, and I’m afraid your mattress might be ruined.” She giggled while the tears continued. “Oh my God, that was something else.” Gradually, the tears subsided as I held her in my arms.
Later, over a coffee, Terry explained that, even though she had had many lovers, young men who just wanted to screw her, none had listened to her wants or taken the trouble to accommodate her needs. To me, it was a simple thing, just giving her what she wanted and taking great delight in doing it. Few would do her in the arse or take the time to rev her up. Foreplay was hurried or non-existent, just pure animalistic rutting until they emptied their sacks and probably left. Some had rubbed one out on her body, which was nice enough, but wasn’t the full scenario she craved. Her fantasy had arrived in her mind a long time ago and had taken root. It wasn’t perverse, just a wish she had and pictured in her mind, painting the scene in ever-increasing detail. Much as fantasies do, it had featured in her regular masturbation sessions.
She kissed me goodnight and quietly left for her own home. I turned the mattress and renewed the sheets before falling into blissful sleep. Did I dream? Who knows.
___________________________________________
I didn’t see her for a few days. My perambulations around the estate didn’t find her. I nodded at some of the residents and thought I caught a knowing look in Fred’s eye as we exchanged pleasantries. Fred lives with his wife a few doors down from Terry. He is almost completely deaf, so any screaming she did wouldn’t have registered with him.
And then, she turned up at my door, hopping from one foot to the other excitedly. “I wanna play golf.” I might not have said that she could be hyperactive at times. “Please take me to your club and teach me. Please?”
It was something I had said I might do, a long time ago. Terry had bought a half set of clubs, but I didn’t take the suggestion seriously. Just one of those comments that rarely come to fruition or are entirely meant.
So, we ended up at the club, in the practice nets. I showed her how to hold a five iron, where to position the ball in relation to her stance. How to turn and keep your left elbow straight and hit the ball. It was fun, even if a little disastrous. She had the coordination, alright, but just not the technique. Then I took her onto the practice putting green. As is often the case, a beginner will always hit the ball too hard and see it flying past the objective.
“Can we go round the course?’
“I’m afraid you cannot play. Apart from not having cubs, which had been left at home, you must pass a proficiency test before you’re let loose on the course. You can, of course, come round with me as my caddy and see how it’s done.” I only played nine holes. She seemed to enjoy it, asking questions and always at the wrong time. “We don’t talk while hitting the ball, it’s off-putting and really, gets up people’s noses. She got the hint and only gabbled while walking on the fairway.
“How come it’s so green?” She asked out of the blue. “We’re in the middle of a drought”
“We invested in a borehole several years ago. About a hundred and fifty feet down is a chalk aquifer. We use that water in our sprinkler system. I knew what the next question would be, so, explained what an aquifer is. “That way, we don’t draw water from the water board and sidestep the hosepipe ban.”
“Cool.” I could see the information being absorbed. “What are we going to do now?”
“I’m going to put my gear away, then we can go into the bar and have a drink. Wait here for me.” I left her under the gazebo while I entered the locker room and shoved my bag and shoes into my locker.
It was late afternoon when we got back and immediately bumped into Jade and Johnathon with their new baby, who has an old-fashioned name, Nora or Margo or something else just as out of the ordinary. Pleasantries were exchanged, but I noticed a subliminal conversation going on between Terry and Jade that had nothing to do with actual words. A mutual understanding, I guess. They live in the flat above Terry, new to the estate and very nice people. Jade had been a physiotherapist before the arrival of the baby. Johnathon is a design engineer. How is it that two women can talk without speech?
I expected Terry to go to her flat when we parted from them, but she didn’t; she followed me to my front door.
“They know, you know.” She said. “Jade knows we have been together, fooling around.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Trust me, she knows, and, do you know what? I couldn’t give a flying fuck.” The way she stated that left nothing to the imagination. She truly didn’t care. I thought about it for a short while and then said.
“Yeah, who cares? We are both adults, single and old enough to do as we please. Who cares what the neighbours think?’ I realised, as I was saying the words, that I meant it. Fuck them!
So, we went inside and continued to fuck like bunnies. No holes barred. Pegging, for me, was a revelation and, perhaps, an entirely separate story.
Inevitably, some serious issues arise in a blossoming relationship. Keeping two flats going while mostly living in one didn’t make much financial sense. Terry earned a bit from the boxing coaching while I lived, quite comfortably on my pensions, both state and private.
In one of those post coital moments, I broached the subject and asked her outright.
“Do you want to move in with me? Plenty of room in the wardrobes for your clobber.”
“I thought you’d never ask.” She said and gave me an extra tight squeeze. “Just tell me when.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Sure, why not. I can rent out the flat and keep an eye on it.”
Terry, over the space of a few days, moved her clothing and a few knick-knacks she was fond of. The clothes and bits and pieces hardly made a dent in the space that was my home. But her presence had a huge impact. I fell in love with this delightful creature. Fell in love with the grasshopper-like mind she has. But most of all, I fell in love with her capacity to love in return. A human I could be so comfortable with, but beguiled at the same time.
The neighbours didn’t even blink, just accepted that we were a couple and left us to it.
Was it love? Well, yes, it was. Mixed in with more than a little lust. Hers is a body a man could die in, happily. She knew no bounds and catered to my every whim. As much as an old man could have whims. I cared for her greatly