This account is a true story, involving real people, with real feelings. I do hope you will enjoy this journey into the indelible past, my indelible past.
I decided to have a holiday, abroad. It had been a quite stressful year. There had been pressure at work, financial pressure, and the unavoidable pressure of single life, flying solo.
I wanted to be at the coast somewhere. Somewhere clean, somewhere fresh, and sunny. I wanted to wake up late, grab a cappa, head to the beach at 3pm – all at my leisure. I wanted to lie back on a beach chair, hire an umbrella, and build up an easy, slow sweat, before diving into the surf. I wanted to take deep breaths, feel the absence of my usual world, the absence of pressure.
I decided to go south. I had booked an affordable hotel, hired a car and flown economy. I knew that Pamela had moved there, but I hadn't really contemplated this when I booked my trip. Perhaps I'd ring her once, to say hello, but nothing else.
I hadn't had sex in about 9 months. I was walking in a desert of dryness, alleviated only through self-pleasure and pornography. I had lived long enough to accept the way of the desert, the silence, the heat, the dejection. And also, the relief, at times, of a thorough and soaking rain, that cleanses and revitalises. You never know how long it will take for the showers to finally break, but when they do, it is usually well worth the wait, and often there are multiple showers – it never rains they say, it pours.
Pamela was a lady. She was discrete, elegant, classy. She was petite, actually more fragile than petite, being small boned and small breasted. She was well kept, ever so well. She was also wealthy, the kind of money that one retires on. She had moved to the coast a year prior and we had said farewell.
I first met Pamela in a coffee shop that we both frequented. That was about 5 years back. We became friends. She with her brown eyes, olive skin and jet black hair. I with my looks, my morbid view of life, and my raging lust. We would meet, sometimes monthly, sometimes less frequently. I had captivated her with my sorrow, and she me, with her elegance.
But she was 25 years my senior. That made her about 62 at the time, and the age gap (the fact that her children were my age- had children of their own), meant that she could not countenance anything more than a platonic affair, even though a strong sexual undercurrent swept beneath us.
4 years later she had emigrated, re-settled very comfortably. And now, here I was in the same city, on holiday.
It was a good holiday, just 1 week long, but after 2 days I was very relaxed. I had a routine. I would wake up, masturbate, sleep-in a little more. Then I'd walk out on the promenade, take a cappa and a paper, and read. By 2pm I would return to the hotel and have a 5km run. Thereafter I'd go to the beach and rest more, sunning and swimming. At night I would have a good meal, and retire to the hotel for TV and sleep. Pretty awesome, pretty quiet.
On my 3rd day I remembered Pam and rang her up to say hello. She was really excited to hear from me. She was lonely, unloved, but never said this. Yet, I sensed it. So we met. We drank a coffee, had a bite, caught up. The same old magic was there, and the same old resistance. She was 65 now, and I 40. She was still sexy, she had that gift. And she still resisted my attentions, she had that block.
I drove her home, and she invited me in. She wanted to show me her place, her little palace. She was house proud and vain...a lady. I was impressed. Her house was ornate, simple and expensive.
I couldn't help but to smile wryly. Here was a wealthy woman, living in the lap of luxury, money being of no consequence to her. And there was I, barely breaking even, budgeting for a 1-week holiday. And yet, she was a lady, and couldn't bring herself to pay for so much as bottled water. And I was a guy, drooling psychologically for her pussy and doing my bidding like an obedient foot soldier.
But I didn't mind. Her company was pleasant and my resting state was solid. I was on holiday and I felt no need for anything at all.
We kissed. We had kissed before, and as then, we kissed now. Not too deep, no tongue, just short of intimate. She maintained her control with stealth and confidence, and I offered, but did not push.
I left her place at 2am and decided to drive some. It was a beautiful summer night. The sky was black and the air was fresh. I opened all the windows and sped through the bends that lined the coastal roads. I drove, happy. This was unusual. Happiness and I had not traveled much of late, but we were good company, and there was no boundary or border that we faced. There was simply no reason to do anything but feel the ease of health and life.
I awoke the following day feeling the depth of that same energy in every cell of my very physical body. I had left Pamela behind completely. I had no need for her, I was content just so. Also, I had taken nothing from her, owed her not so much as a phone call. On the contrary, I had filled her up with warmth and attention, and I had been the perfect gentleman.
I looked forward to the day, to freedom. I drove into the country, I looked at the women, young, old, and in between. I reveled in the silent stirrings of my healthy cock. I enjoyed my composed and slightly arrogant mind. I felt the absence of fear. The holiday was in deed healing me and I drew a long and deep breath, a sigh with no emotion, just for the pleasure of it.
And then, she called.
Well, I had no intention of meeting up again, I was sure. But you see, when a woman casts her net, it is difficult not to get snared. My lust won over, and I agreed to meet. But such was my state, so confident and calm was I, that I put her off for that night and arranged to meet her the night following. That would be Thursday, and since I was flying home on Saturday, I reasoned that I would at least have Friday completely to myself.
I forgot about Pamela for the next 24 hours, but by midday Thursday, she was on my mind and I was in a state of mild anticipation. I took her to a very slick hotel on the waterfront. We dined and then walked along the jetty. At the end of the jetty was a bench. So, under a starry sky and with few guests around, I lifted her off her feet and sat her down on my lap. All at once her eyes were at mine, our skin so close, and we embraced in a deep, wet kiss that was intimate and pure. For the first time since I'd known Pamela, she showed a real affection, and I felt it.
I knew then that I had her. She could and would resist all she liked, but she was mine now, and I would take my time in priming her, petting her, and finally, plunging into her and ravaging her.
We retuned to her boudoir, and I had her clothes off quickly. She uttered this and that about her age, that she wanted to be respected, she shouldn't, she couldn't...etc. etc. But I said nothing, just showered her with attention and affection and forged on, no longer a foot soldier, but a mercenary, skilled and drilled, and in control.
My cock was soon in her mouth and her tits in mine. She was lovely. Her age had done nothing to spoil the youth in her small and firm b-cups. Her nipples were taut and sensitive to the touch and I savoured her flesh. I have always enjoyed small breasts, sucking them in, getting all of the flesh into my hungry mouth, or as much as possible, and releasing slowly, until the nipple is finally released by my lips.
Her joy was evident in her repose. She lay back, languishing in the sensations and abandoning defenses. I pressed my hand to her trimmed bush and felt at the wetness of her slit. Still embracing, I took the full scope of her vagina in my hand and squeezed, harder and harder. She responded with sighs and kisses. I began to spew forth an inordinate number of curses and vile associations in her ear.
A lady must be wined, she must be dined. A lady must be respected and elevated, on a pedestal. And when she is drunk with her vanities, when she is wet and loose and illusioned in the emotions of love, she must be taken, plundered, ravaged. She must be properly used. There must be nothing left but the shell that once housed the woman. She must be fucked in and out, right through. She must be savaged, in her pussy, in her mouth and up her arse. And she must then be left to sleep the deep sleep of the taken, so that she may awake again, pretending that nothing more than love has occurred, and that she is coy, and sweet and innocent.
I fucked Pamela hard. I told her, while the lights were out and ocean swayed below and 'romance' filled the air, that her whoring cunt was good, that her filthy arse was tight, that her little girl tits were frisky. I fucked her body with my cock and her mind with my thoughts. I told her that she was a dirty slut, that I loved her horny clit, and that when done with her wet snatch I was going to arse fuck her like a horny prostitute right up her disgusting little brown hole.
I didn't in fact. I only managed to finger her pucker-bud while I shafted her quim. But I took my pleasure with her, at my pace, and in my way, and once she'd been rightly seen to, I went down on her and ate her out, front and back.
