Chapter 1: Anja's Old Neighbour
It had been a moment of boredom at work, when she'd signed up at the website. It was one of those "old school friends reunited" sites, and she'd playfully added her name and email address, recalling fondly some of her old gossip-circle, her first boyfriend... but it had seemed a cruel twist of fate that the only person who contacted her was Nigel.
Nigel had been a few years older than her, and coincidentally had lived in the same street, and as one of the school's most outlandishly antisocial high-achievers he'd been her saviour on more than one occasion. With a flutter of her eyelashes she'd been able to get him to help with her homework for hours if needs be, and he had never asked for anything in return. A few years older than her, he must now have been past thirty, and she had not seen him in a decade.
But when the email from him came, she was flattered that he remembered her, and she answered politely. A few emails passed back and forth until, suddenly, he announced that he was coming to town for a few days – "flying in" the next Friday. She jokingly replied that they should meet up. He accepted the invitation, and a time was set for dinner. When he later emailed asking if she could recommend a hotel for him to stay in she decided that if she was going to be hospitable then she may as well offer him her spare room: it wasn't as if it was used often.
So, on the Friday night when she got back from work she threw on a pair of jeans and a jumper. She brushed out her dark hair and fixed up her make-up, but she saw no reason to get dressed up, and imagined that this simple effort would make her presentable for dinner. She remembered the pale youth, bad complexion, thick glasses, a book always under his arm, and she began to doubt that she would enjoy this evening. Then the doorbell rang and she walked uncertainly to answer it. But when she opened the door she was quite taken a back: the glasses were gone (no doubt replaced with contact lenses), his complexion was healthy, and whereas many men had started to blur with beer-fat by thirty he remained slender; he was no male model, but it was a most pleasant surprise.
"Nigel! It's really good to see you." She surprised herself to find that she really meant it.
"Hi," he smiled awkwardly, "I hope I'm not early, or late, or..."
"No, it's perfect." She looked him up and down quickly, and decided, after all, to slip into something more striking for dinner. "Just let me change and we'll get some food."
She let him drive her into town, and suggested an Italian place that she liked for food.
"I don't know. Umm, I'm working in Bologna, so I get a lot of that stuff, anyway."
"Well, that explains the tan!" she smiled. "OK, then, how about Chinese?"
"That's along way from Italy," he agreed.
Over dinner conversation was difficult, but not as bad as she'd expected. He had travelled a lot, so when they fell silent she kept plugging him for travel stories, and that filled the silences.
"Have you kept up with anyone from school?" she asked, eventually.
"Only Mary Greyford, for a while."
"Greyford...? Oh yes, quiet girl, wanted to be a nun. You still in touch with her?"
"No. Not since August '98."
Anja suspected that there was a story there. "You kept in touch all that time, or you two were...?"
He did not catch her drift, or chose not to. "Anja, have you ever been to Switzerland?" he changed the subject abruptly. "I worked at Cerne for a while, and..."
She felt relaxed with him, and began to get to grips with his dry sense of humour, and she was happy to spend the evening with someone so profoundly harmless. When they returned to her house they spent another hour or so chatting amiably. He relaxed a little, and she sat back to admire him, well-proportioned, tight, tanned. She crossed and uncrossed her legs a couple of times and adjusted her skirt, but got no reaction.
She was puzzled by him: she had worn her most supportive bra, and had left her blouse unbuttoned far enough down the front to show off her cleavage, but not once had his eyes wandered down to admire her chest.
At length, she announced that she was going to have a shower, and left him to his own devices in the sitting room. She assumed that he'd flick on the TV, but instead he reached for a two-day-old newspaper.
When she had showered she felt no desire to dress again, and so she slipped into her long purple satin dressing gown, and fastened the sash in a bow at her waist. Back in the sitting room Nigel still thumbed at the newspaper.
"Well," she leaned against the doorjam, "it's half past ten. What are your plans for the rest of the evening?"
"Well, I've had a tiring journey, so, I thought, if it isn't rude, I might turn in. Go to sleep. If that's OK."
"Of course. Your bag's in the car? Fetch it in and I'll show you the room."
He was gone only a moment, and then she led him up stairs and showed him the small spare room, the single bed made up ready for him. He smiled, put his suitcase down on the side table, and then turned to her with a blank expression but a nervousness in his eyes. "Thank-you," he said, almost formally. "I've had a really nice evening." And then, to Anja's astonishment, he held out his hand, as if to shake hands.
She stood there, looking dumbfounded at his extended palm. "Nigel, can I ask you something?"
"Umm. I suppose so."
"Nigel, are you gay?"
His hand dropped to his side, he looked at his feet and he murmured, "Umm, no, of course not."
Anja stepped into the room, and with a wiggle of her hips beneath the sheer robe, she raised her hand up in front of her face. "Then look at my fingers." He looked nervously up, and as soon as he focused on her fingertips she moved them to her chin and then she began to lower her hand, past her neck to slide her fingers in between the hems of the dressing gown, easing it open as she let her fingers slide down to her navel, exposing the soft sides of her rounded breasts. "Are you sure you aren't gay?"
He looked down at the floor again. "No really, I'm not, not at all." And he blushed. Anja was stunned – a grown man blushing at no more than a glimpse of the curve of her breast! "Why do you, I mean..."
"Because Nigel, I have never in my life met a man who has shown so little interest in my body."
"I am interested!" he protested, still looking at the floor. "I always have been, I mean, even when I used to help you with maths, years ago, I mean, I think you're very... nice."
"Nice?"
"Umm, yes!"
She moved her hand to her breast, stroking the soft, sheer fabric, pressing the satin to her skin to show the outline of her nipple. "You look at this, and all you think is, 'nice'?"
His eyes flicked between her breast and the floor. "I mean, you're very pretty."
"Pretty?" She reached down and, without warning, grasped his crotch, seizing his cock, finding it exactly where she expected, standing bolt upright beneath his trousers. "You mean you want me!"
"No! Well, I mean, I couldn't say that - that would be rude!"
"Rude?" She laughed and stepped forward to press her body against his, and he immediately tried to step back, his feet hitting the base of the bed so that he fell heavily backwards. "That wouldn't be rude!" she laughed again. She leaned forward, her dark hair spilling forward to form a veil in front of her breasts as they spilled from the dressing gown, and she let her head sink slowly towards the bulge that she held through the fabric of his trousers. "This would be rude..." She dropped to her knees, and unzipped his trousers, pulling his underpants down enough to let his shaft stand freely. Looking up at him as he sat on the bed, she let her fingertips caress the taught skin, and then leaned forward, her eyes still fixed on his face, and let the tip of her tongue touch his helmet. "... Wouldn't it?"
"Yes! Oh yes!"
Laughing again she grabbed the waist of his trousers and underwear, and as he raised his hips she dragged them down his legs, pulling off them, his socks and his shoes. Then she laid her body on his thighs, moving gently up and down, letting her breasts rest on his bare legs, the layer of thin satin between their bodies, as she let her lips brush his belly, his hips, his balls, and her hair pooled on his skin. Then she looked up at him again, and let her tongue trace a path up the front of his hard shaft.
"Oh?" His face was wracked with conflicting mix of fear, pleasure, embarrassment and, most of all, lust.
She let the tip of her tongue circle the top of his cock, and then moved in to gently kiss it, then taking the very tip in her mouth. "Oh?" The shaft twitched, and she lowered her head, taking the helm into her, and sucking hard. "Oh? Oh! Oh!!!" Suddenly he twitched again and a gush of thick cum shot into her mouth. She raised her head in surprise as another fountain sprayed across her cheek and a third over her chin, lowering her head again in time to catch the last smaller spurts between her lips. "Oh – oh God I'm sorry!" She looked up to see his mortified expression.
"Sorry?" she grinned. "I like it!" And to make the point she scraped the salty cream from her face into her mouth, savouring the sharp tingling taste.
"But it was to soon – I spoiled it, I'm sorry!"
She moved up to almost stand in front of him, still leaning towards him, and put her hand on his chest, pushing him firmly onto his back. "If you want to say sorry to a woman for that, you have to say it properly!"
"How do I do that?"
She crawled up along his body, her dark hair and the purple satin trailing along his front and over his body, her breasts brushing along his chest and then one each side of his face, until her hips were level with his forehead. "Like this!" she grinned, placing one knee on each side of his head, and lowering herself towards him.
Only a thin barrier of soft satin separated his lips from her flesh as he tentatively began to kiss her, first pressing gently against her thighs, then against her mound, then between her legs. The soft touches felt heavenly to Anja, but she wanted more. "Lick me!" she purred.
He paused for a second, and then slowly and deliberately ran his tongue over the satin that hid her thigh, across her mound, down her legs again. She swivelled her hips to bring his mouth between her legs, and he dutifully lapped at her, his saliva mixing with her own juices to stain the satin.
She reached down and moved the fabric aside, keeping his tongue to her, and after another second's pause he took a series of uncertain laps which made her shudder. He licked along the edges of her pussy, the insides of her thighs, the hair of her trimmed mound, and then long slow laps to part her pussy-lips and lick inside, his tongue only once catching her clit. She giggled in delight.
"Is something wrong?" he broke off to ask.
"No, Nigel, you're just such a wonderful tease – keep going!"
