Introduction: I don't usually have introductions, as I like stories where it may not be immediately obvious what's going on and hopefully things develop and become clearer in their own way towards the end. I try to build up the background and anticipation and in this story I attempted to play around with the point of view, it may work or (more likely) it may not. Let me know either way.
This is a story of romance focusing more on the characters than the sex. While there is some of that in the story, there isn't a great deal and it isn't all that graphic. If you're looking for long sessions of thrust by thrust detail, please look elsewhere.
Anyway it occurred to me that some people may not know who the 'Cadbury Milk Tray Man' was. He was a character in an advert that ran for many years on UK television, a James Bond type guy who would perform a stunt such as parachuting onto a gin-palace yacht whilst holding a box of supermarket chocolates just to impress a lady. And he always wore black, from head to toe. So there we are.
Are we sitting comfortably? Then we'll begin.
* * *
The old man could only see sky through the window from where he lay on the bed.
White clouds drifted steadily, but he could see no trees, no buildings, no people walking past. Outside of his room that glimpse of sky was his world.
He could sometimes hear noises from the outside world; traffic, sirens, aeroplanes in the distance and sometimes he made up stories to himself about what was around the corner of the window frame, like the children's father did in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. Had he ever managed to watch that film all the way through? It was doubtful, parts of it went on far too long for a single sitting. If ever a film needed a decent editor, that was it.
Today he made his brain play tricks, so that it appeared that the clouds were stationary but the room was moving instead. It was as if he was falling through the sky, tumbling to earth. This made him feel giddy, so after several tries he concentrated on the light fitting in the centre of the ceiling. The long straight plastic moulding was unmoving and settled his mind, and when he returned his gaze to the window the blue and white had been replaced by featureless grey. Ah well, no more flying today.
He had a random flashback; scratchy material rasping against his ears and soft welcoming flesh against his mouth. As soon it came, it went and he was back in bed looking at the grey window.
Right now the nurse was due and she would be a welcome distraction from the monotony. She didn't have much conversation, but was handy with the rubber gloves, compensating for her brusque manner and severe haircut. It would be marvellous if he could have a young flibbertigibbet, a blonde with fluttering eyelashes but one mustn't ever complain, that would never do.
Right on time the door opened and she let herself into the room. Janice, she called herself. He could remember that because she had big lips and was a nurse. Like Janice from the Muppets, the one with the big lips who played guitar in the Electric Mayhem band and played a nurse in the Veterinarian's Hospital sketches. He couldn't tell her that of course, that wouldn't be terribly gallant. So - the nurse with the big lips.
He liked to find something to help remember stuff like names. He didn't have a clue about many of the modern shows on TV, but the Muppets was a classic. He wondered if this Janice ever played guitar.
Her face was pretty enough. Some coarse lads of his youth would have described those full lips as 'CS lips'. Cock-Suckers, such a crude and unpleasant term. He mustn't say such things out loud, behave yourself, Sonny Jim or you won't get paid.
Janice dragged the vacuum cleaner behind her and with a brief word of greeting started to clean the floor. The annoying whine from the motor filled his ears, but he had the pleasure of her rear view wiggling as she manoeuvred the machine around unseen obstacles on the floor. Damn, that was a mighty fine ass, tightly covered by her maroon cotton uniform. Did she suck as well as her machine? Behave yourself.
As she bent over to clean under his bed he was able to peer briefly down at her cleavage. The uniform was bulging with gaps showing glimpses of flesh pressing firmly against the material. The top button was undone and he could see soft pale globes nestled in white lace. Did women realise what that sight did to an old codger?
He noticed a movement and averted his eyes, but it was too late. She was retuning his gaze with a slight smile tweaking at the edges of that luscious mouth. She said nothing about his mistake though, just carried on with the tasks.
She retrieved a duster from her basket and went around the room, cleaning the surfaces. Her breasts wobbled vigorously with the movement oscillating in harmony with her ass.
His mind drifted back to a physics class from his school days. What was the name of the effect? Resonance. Providing the timing was spot on, one wobble amplified the movement of another. Like two people on a trampoline, one making the other jump higher.
He savoured the vision whilst anticipating what was to come.
There was another memory. An engine chugging steadily. The horizon was rising and falling; he was on a boat. A lady with a bare brown ass was bent over, revealing a clear white tan line at the crease where buttocks met thighs. He knew but couldn't see from this angle that heavy boobs were hanging down, swinging with the motion of the boat.
Strong legs were wide apart, braced for the effort of pulling a heavy weight out of the water. Showing the woman's pussy from behind, between her thighs. A glimpse of crimson against a background of bushy hair. Mustn't stare at her fanny, her husband is driving the boat and can see us. Is that the right word, driver? He doesn't mind people looking at his naked wife but it's rude to ogle.
The boat tilting, then Helen being hauled over the side to land in a sprawling heap on the floor. A laugh on her lips, dripping wet all over. For a moment the two women had been embraced, breast to breast. One lightly tanned, the other deeply. Toffee to coffee.
