After finishing my education I'd worked abroad for a few years, but was pleased to be back in the UK for a while, especially as I intended to look up somebody I hadn't seen for some time. I'd worked with her when I was 18 and saving up to do a bit of travelling before I went off to University.
She was a few years older than me, but we'd got on really well. We had the same sense of humour, liked similar music and in fact had a lot in common. We'd stopped for the odd drink after work, but as an awkward 18-year-old I was a bit embarrassed to ask her out on a real date. Nevertheless, we laughed a lot together and I'd often joke: "OK Auntie, I get what you're saying..."
As a typical guy in his late teens I had my own stash of soft porn and had developed a passion for ladies in sexy lingerie and stockings. In fact some of my favourite photos were from the forties and fifties. When I worked with "Auntie" I thought she was the sexiest lady in the world. She always dressed smart -- skirts or dresses, never trousers -- and her legs were always encased in sheer nylons, the perfect MILF in my eyes.
We'd kept in touch while I was at Uni, and then while working abroad, so although I hadn't seen her for a few years it still felt as though we were good friends. Over that time she'd started her own business and moved to the countryside, so as I was now back in the UK I'd arranged to visit her and stay for a few days.
I arrived with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. However, when she answered the door and threw her arms around me in greeting, all my feelings turned to lust.
"Oh, it's so wonderful to see you again, it seems like years..." She hugged me and kissed my cheek, her long coiffed hair brushed my face and I inhaled the heady scent of her perfume.
"It's great to see you again as well, you look fabulous, and mmmm, smell incredible. Chanel No 5 as I remember."
"Always the charmer Simon, and full marks for remembering my perfume. But it really is so good to see you again, it's been so long, and I really want to hear what you've been up to over these past years. But first things first, drop your bags in the spare bedroom, then meet me on the terrace and we'll have a coffee."
A short time later I took a seat at the table on the terrace as she brought out a cafetière and two cups. Taking the seat next to mine she sat down, crossed her legs, and my eyes dropped to her knees as her skirt rode up slightly. My thoughts went back to when we worked together and I constantly tried to see up her skirt, hoping to catch a glimpse of stocking top.
I was abruptly brought out of my reminiscing: "I don't know what you've got planned for while you're here, but you must do whatever you want. Treat the house as your own, and please don't think you've got to involve me in your plans, you must have loads of places you want to visit."
I laughed, "But I've come to spend time with you, we've always got on well together, and we've got so much in common. I thought it'd be great to catch up and get to know each other again — you know, just the two of us having fun together."
"Oh, I see, that sounds wonderful Simon, I hope you won't be disappointed." She smiled, but I was sure I'd be the exact opposite if my wildest dreams were fulfilled.
"Well then, let's kick things off with a little celebration of meeting up again shall we? I'll cook us a nice meal tonight, and I'm sure I can find a suitable bottle of wine to do it justice."
My spirits rose: "Fantastic, and maybe we could get dressed up, you know, make it a bit of an occasion?"
"OK, it's a deal, I'll try to look my best..."
After unpacking, showering and changing into some smarter clothes, I came into the kitchen to find her by the cooker wearing a beautiful red patterned dress with a broad skirt. "Wow, you look gorgeous, give us a twirl — fantastic, and I love the black stockings." Although in reality I was a bit disappointed that they were seam-free and not the fully fashioned ones I adored on her.
"There's a bottle of white wine in the fridge, why don't you poor us a glass?"
As she turned back to the stove, I watched, captivated by the line of her dress as it ran down her spine and flared over her hips, hugging her curvaceous bum. Her legs were as shapely as I'd remembered and encased in those sheer black nylons were so horny.
I tore myself away and poured our drinks, handing one to her: "Cheers Auntie, you look really beautiful, I love your dress, it's stunning."
"Thank you Simon, that's very flattering, but are you trying to make me feel my age by calling me Auntie? What happened to Nicole?"
I laughed. "Remember back in the office? I used to call you Auntie when we were joking with each other, but you're right, Nicole, here's to us — and an exciting holiday." In reality, though, I was thinking that Auntie sounded much sexier — and I always called her that in my fantasies.
The rest of the evening went by in a bit of a blur. We talked and laughed, but I was so intoxicated, not by the wine, but by being with her.
We shared stories about places we'd each visited, she really was the best company, then: "So what about girlfriends Simon? Is there a special lady in your life at the moment?"
I smiled, but, maybe it was the wine this time, or I thought I'd try my luck. "Well Nicole, the thing is I haven't found the perfect woman yet — I've always wanted somebody like you..."
She sipped her wine, watching me over her glass quizzically. "That's a very sweet thing to say Simon, but I am older than you and there must be lots of girls your age that you fancy."
I laughed. "Age is irrelevant, you're my perfect woman, you're beautiful, intelligent, you dress so stylish, not like the sloppy clothes lots of youngsters wear. You're really fun to be with, we talk easily, laugh together, like the same music. In fact I've got more in common with you than anybody my own age."
Putting her glass down she stared at me: "Simon, you must have had too much to drink — what are you saying?"
Nervously I leant forwards: "I meant every word. I've been infatuated with you for as long as I can remember, whenever I saw you at work I never wanted you to leave."
She suddenly stood up: "I don't know what to say Simon, I never expected anything like this, the wine must have gone to my head, I don't know what to say."
Standing up I nervously took her hand, kissing it gently. She stroked my cheek then said softly: "We'll talk about this tomorrow." Then she left the room with a swish of nylons — her perfume lingering in the air.
* * * * *
The following morning I nervously went downstairs. I hadn't slept much, constantly going over the previous evening in my mind. Had I overstepped the mark? Had I spoilt our relationship? Was she going to tell me to leave? I found her sitting at the table where she'd left me last night, a mug in front of her.
"I've made coffee, pour yourself one."
I went through to the kitchen noting that, as usual, she looked radiant, perfectly groomed and dressed. My panic increased at the thought that she may tell me to go.
Returning with my coffee I sat down opposite her, waiting to hear the worst.
