Bedtime stories number 6
Breaking up with a knockout girlfriend is not the typical way to start the sexual adventure of a lifetime, but I'm happy to say it was for me. If Chantelle hadn't dumped me, I would never have met Marjorie and Edith. Now, I know what you are thinking from the names alone. Yes, Chantelle was 29, slim, attractive and high maintenance, and Marjorie and Edith could not have had ten years between them before they were collecting their pensions, but they were not second prize by any means. I'll tell you my story and you can judge for yourselves.
By the way, I'm Jeff 39, tall, brown-haired and not yet gone to seed. I can wear a suit and not look like I'm going to a court appearance; which is good because I sell industrial kitchen equipment to everyone from five-star hotels to factory cafes. You have to get on with all sorts of people, including up their own arse interior designers, like the one advising on the refit at the big architectural practice where I met Chantelle. I think he gave me a hard time because she was more interested in me than him and sided with my suggestions. She was the managing director's PA, saddled with the job of organising the refit of the staff canteen. Chantelle was out of her depth, but I took her to one side and explained how to project manage the job. She did well, and the project was a success. `How can I ever repay you for everything you've done for me?' she said over a glass of champagne to celebrate the opening. That evening she was on her back in my flat, paying for the discount I'd given her on the equipment. I said my management consultancy advice was pro bono. She asked if that meant I was going to fuck her again. I said that's exactly what it meant.
We lasted six months until the managing director promoted her to a new position. I think it was sitting on his face in his London pied-à-terre while his wife and kids were safely ensconced in a six-bed detached in Hampshire. I thought the experience weekend surprise package I'd bought for us would go to waste when Chantelle gave me her own surprise. A proper Dear John letter. Nice to know the art of penmanship is alive, and classier than sending me an Insta photo of her jumping the bones of some headless bloke. So, as it was a no refunds deal, I decided a weekend in the Cotswolds was just the change of scene I needed to get over my loss. I thought of asking a mate to come with me, but it was not the thing you'd go to with another bloke. Unless you were gay.
I arrived just in time for dinner on the Friday night, following a mare of a journey on the M4 from London. Reception said I just had time to drop my bags and change before aperitifs. That should have warned me about the age of the crowd the event targeted. I mingled with middle-aged and retired guests, holding a glass of something fizzy and trying not to do a B movie James Bond impression in my dinner jacket. A quick glance at assembly suggested I'd be heading home after a leisurely breakfast in the morning. There were twenty couples all looking very married, including the obligatory gay couple, who it turned out had become grandfathers before acknowledging their sexual identity. Fair play to them, I thought. It looked like I'd be playing gooseberry until a lady approached me.
"Excuse me sir, are you waiting for your partner to arrive?" I put her at early sixties. Her heavy platinum blonde bob framed an attractive face and a welcoming smile. She must have been a real looker in her youth and had not lost too much middle age. She wore a black Grecian style evening dress with a bodice designed to draw the eye. So, I did not disappoint her. I lingered on her chest a moment too long, but her smile said you're welcome.
"If I was, it would be for another lifetime. We parted recently. I didn't want our booking to go to waste."
She put a consoling hand on my arm. I felt a ripple go through me. "Sorry. I hope it was not too painful."
"Thank you. We were only together six months, so no actual damage done. Are you here alone too?" She had deep blue eyes and the prospect of spending the evening looking into them was attractive. She blushed at my interest.
"No, I'm here with my friend Marjorie." She leaned in and I smelt her perfume and fell into the trap of her breasts. "We're not a couple."
I looked at the two gay guys. "I don't think it's a requirement yet."
She laughed. "Forgive me for being forward, but would you care to partner us in the weekend's activities? "She made it sound like she had propositioned me and I held her gaze for a long moment, pondering what might be on offer.
"On one condition. You tell your name."
She blushed. "Silly me, I'm Edith." She offered me her slim hand to shake and looked me in the eye. Her gaze made my cock lurch and I think she heard it. I never thought I'd be interested in a woman old enough to be my mother, but most women my mother's age did not look like Edith.
We found Marjorie sitting at a table studying a hand-written list in a small notebook. Our arrival took her by surprise.
"Marjorie, this is Jeff. He's on his own this weekend and has generously offered to accompany us in the activities." Marjorie seemed to take a moment to process her friend's information, then she smiled. It took my breath away. It transformed her round, middle-aged face. Her hairstyle was a grown-out youthful pixie cut with a ragged fringe. Black and cut into the nape. With her smile, it took twenty years off her.
Edith noticed my reaction. "She won't tell me how she does that." It was my turn to be embarrassed. Marjorie stood and offered her hand. She wore a similar sleeveless evening dress, but this one had an empire line. The high waist started just under her fulsome bust and hid her heavier build. Marjorie was also in good nick for her age.
"It's a trade secret, "said Marjorie, giving me another one. I fanned myself in a mock swoon and both ladies laughed.
The dinner gong sounded, and I offered them both an arm. "Look at me, big time Charlie bringing his wife and his girlfriend out for the evening."
"I didn't know you were a Frenchman, Jeff" said Edith, and we all laughed. This weekend would not be the washout I'd feared.
The `Who done it' dinner theatre was wonderful and everybody was friendly and enjoying a delightful time. I'd long grown tired of clubbing nightlife and thought if this is what the future holds for me, I'd look forward to it. Edith and Marjorie sat me between them and conversation pinged across me. I discovered they were next-door neighbours. Marjorie widowed three years, while Edith's husband was less considerate and ran off with her friend five years ago. Maybe it was the drink, but I said, `Why would anyone leave you?' she gave me a glassy-eyed smile and squeezed my leg. Another three inches to the right and she'd have had a handful of my straining cock. She saw the concern on my face and withdrew her hand. `Sorry' she said slyly, not fooling anyone.
We'd won a bottle of champagne for guessing the murderer and were merry on its contents. Marjorie had less capacity for drink than her friend and leaned on my shoulder when she spoke so I could hear her above the noise of the conversation. She had that delightful look of a woman who'd had just enough alcohol to enjoy a ravishing but not enough to pass out or throw up. I looked in her chestnut eyes.
"What are you thinking Jeff?"
"I'll let you read my mind, Marjorie." My expression required no interpretation.
She flushed and gripped the table. If I didn't know better, I'd say she'd just come. "Jeff, I don't know what to say." She looked away embarrassed. I tilted her chin towards me.
"How about do that to me again?" I gripped her thigh under the table, feeling the clasp of a suspender. I wanted to grab her head and kiss her right in front of everyone. Edith took my other hand and put it on her thigh. I felt the bulge of her skin at the top of her hold up stockings. I looked at Edith, whose expression suggested she wanted it as much as me.
People were getting up, and I suggested we join them at the bar. I wanted to get the two of them up to my room without anyone noticing our absence. There was one problem. "Edith, do you think you could stand in front of me while I get up?"
