This story is from the time when you could park in a short stay car park at the airport close to the terminal and pick somebody up from a flight without being charged a small fortune. I was meeting Bridget in Northern Ireland and she had come to pick me up from the airport. We had met in Scotland. Bridget was across for the night with her sailing club and I was on a golf trip with my friends. We met in the pub on the harbourside where the band were playing folk music.
We got dancing and chatting, and when the pub closed we went back to a party on one of the boats. We had our first kiss there and exchanged numbers, but never really expected to meet up again. However, the next morning as I went to get a Sunday newspaper in the village, I saw Bridget and her party making their way across the sailing boats to get breakfast at the pub on the harbourside. I waited to say hello to her again and we chatted briefly, but it was enough to fan the flames of our attraction and persuade me that I would visit Bridget in Ireland.
I was newly divorced, whereas Bridget had been divorced for a good few years. We would meet up for a weekend every month or two. Generally I would fly over to Ireland, but sometimes Bridget would come to Manchester.
This particular weekend, I arrived from Manchester late afternoon on the Friday. Bridget was a teacher and had enough time after finishing work to come and pick me up from the airport. It was early Summer, and the weather was actually warm and sunny for a change. Bridget was waiting for me in the Arrivals hall, and we hugged and had a quick kiss before she guided me out to her car in the car park.
Her car was a Mini, and once we reached it she bent over to lift the hatchback and I put my case inside. We drove off and chatted away, catching up with our news for the last couple of days, whilst Bridget guided us out of Belfast. She lived on the coast in a small village about 40 minutes drive from the airport. Once out of Belfast, the roads became quieter.
Having not seen Bridget for a few weeks, I wanted to feel bodily contact again, so I rested my hand on her knee as she drove. She was wearing a summer dress that was just above her knee, so my hand was on her bare skin. It felt good to feel her warm body, and it started to turn me on. I was thinking that we might make a detour to the bedroom when we got to her house, but Bridget told me that we were going out straight away to have a meal with some friends. I adjusted my expectations, knowing that we would make up for it when we got home later.
Bridget continued chatting away as she drove, and I continued to rest my hand on her knee. In fact my hand was just gently squeezing her leg as we drove. Bridget did not object, so I slid my hand on to her thigh and continued the gentle squeezing. She gave me a glance that said "What are you up to you wicked man", but didn't try to move my hand away. As we got nearer to her house I got a bit bolder, and slid my hand a little higher up her leg. There was another quick look at me, but still no comment. My hand now was under the hem of the dress and feeling the softness of her upper thigh.
When we were about half a mile from her house I decided to be even bolder and moved my hand all of the way up her leg. I expected to feel the material of her knickers, but instead felt the downy softness of her pubic hair.
"Fucking hell Bridget, you've got no knickers on you dirty woman". I was shocked but incredibly turned on at the same time. Her legs were together but I ran my hand over her pubic bush. She had a broad smile on her face, laughing at how turned on I was by her little surprise. We were coming up to the turning in to her road and she moved my hand away, not wanting to get distracted as she manoeuvred the car along the road and reversed it in to the drive. Her dress was still a long way up her leg. I had become instantly erect when I realised she had no knickers on and I was trying to rearrange my cock in my trousers to get a bit more comfortable.
