A more recent erotic episode took me equally by surprise. I had been having some raunchy dialogue online a few years ago with an American friend on ICQ (which was flavour of the month at the time). She was about 40, had been happily divorced for years, plump and wholesome with a robust and cheeky sense of humour; I was really quite fond of her. I shall call her Marilyn for the purpose of the story, as her name is quite recognizable.
When she told me one summer that she was visiting the UK in late autumn to look up her ancestors on the south coast, I was delighted. Apart from anything else, we had become good friends and confidantes and I looked forward to meeting her. Although, I did think that she would temper her familiar ardour as she would be staying at home with my missus and I for a few days. How I wangled myself into that scenario beggars description, it actually was too good to be true.
I had inveigled my other half into sharing telephone conversations with Marilyn, writing Birthday and Christmas cards, etc. in an effort to allay any suspicions she may have. Frankly she thought it amusing that I had struck up such a friendship; this woman really wasn't my "type" and coupled with her plumpness; well off the radar.
Anyway, the great day arrived and Marilyn called from Heathrow to announce her arrival. I had instructed her to catch the airport bus to bring her within a few miles of our home, where I would collect her, anyone who has ever visited Heathrow will understand why.
The missus had gone evening shopping anyway, so I had plenty of time to kill and drove off to collect Marilyn in a nearby town. I found her at the bus station by the river looking a little bemused, she hadn't understand a word anyone had said to her since she climbed down the gangplank from the aircraft and the local patois where I live is indecipherable to anyone from the next county, never mind an American, so she was greatly relieved when I appeared. I hugged her and kissed her neck and face with genuine delight. She was wearing a knee-length, fully buttoned summer dress in a pale blue colour, with red trim and a little red belt.
"Let's get out of here, honey," she said, with a husky drawl which impressed me enormously.
She had always sounded rather sexy and vaguely like Lauren Bacall. I took charge of her luggage trolley and steered her through the leaf-strewn country bus terminal towards the car. She hung closely on my arm, smiling and nodding at everyone like some terrified tourist. As we crossed to the car, she pulled me closer and whispered in my ear.
"I want to sit in the back of the car, if that's ok with you, honey?"
I never gave it a second thought and replied "You can sit anywhere you like, so long as it isn't on my lap, lass. I might get arrested!"
A feeble quip, perhaps, but she giggled like a schoolgirl and hugged my arm a little tighter.
I pressed the immobiliser and in the gathering gloom, opened the door and stood aside to let her seat herself, before turning to load her luggage into the boot.
She strangely, didn't let go of my hand, almost forcing me to pay attention as she sat herself down. Very deliberately, she lifted her left leg into place, slowly spreading her legs apart prior to settling into position. I was slightly shocked as I watched her stocking limbed thighs pause for a moment, exposing a glorious expanse of milky white flesh. Like a gentleman and an idiot, I looked into her caramel eyes and watched her lips open to mouth the words:
"Nice, honey?"
With hindsight I should have dwelt in the moment -looking up women's dresses is my fetish after all. Instead I tripped and stumbled my way to the back of the car and loaded her suitcase. Finally I started the engine, switched on the lights and pulled away to pick up the main road out of town.
