Hi, my name is Chrissie. I'm 39 and married. My kids have already flown the nest and I'm soon to be a grandmother. That really is scary.
I'm married to Pat, a very successful man who helps my dad run our family business. Unfortunately, he isn't much good at the wonderful art of bedroom fun.
His idea of having a good time is to get me to suck him for about five minutes, then a quick fumble around my bits, his cock sticking up me and after a few grunting thrusts shoots his come inside.
What next, you ask? Well, within five minutes he's snoring so loud he keeps me awake. But despite his obvious short-comings I love him to bits.
In every other way he is a model husband. He treats me like a princess, he spoils me, and nothing is too much trouble. Can you really imagine a man who clears the table and puts the crocks into the dishwasher every time we dine at home, even when we have company?
He takes me shopping, even chooses the underwear I love to wear for him, and sits outside the changing room while I try on all sorts of new things. And he never complains about how long I take choosing my new items. He'll even go back to the first shop where I saw that dress, but wasn't sure if it was really me, and let me try it on yet again.
All this makes the story I'm about to tell you more incredible, more unfaithful, more shameful.
We have a large garden—about three quarters of an acre. I love working in the garden, and most of it is in accordance with my planning and design. I took landscape gardening as one of my courses in school.
After a recent illness when I was unable to do much, it got a bit out of hand. Pat suggested we get a gardener to come help me fix it. At first I wasn't keen; it was, after all, my baby. But the following weeks of graft wore me down, I finally agreed to his suggestion.
I put an advert in the local shop window thinking a local pensioner might like to earn a bit of extra cash. We had so many replies I had difficulty deciding whom to take on. Being a bit of a coward, I asked Pat to interview them.
He spent most of Saturday talking to prospective candidates, choosing Bill, a seventy-three-year-old retired farm worker with the cheekiest grin imaginable.
Bill turned up the first morning, his belly hanging over his trousers, the scruffiest old man I think I have ever seen. To his credit, though, as soon as I told him what needed doing, he went to work like a man half his age.
The roses were hanging all over the place. He pruned them with expertise; honestly, I could learn something from this old man. The following day it was so wet I thought it best not to work outside.
I showed Bill around the green house and potting shed. He suggested all sorts of improvements, several of which I took on board. Before long, we had become good friends.
His sense of humour stopped me in my tracks several times. It bordered on rude. Well, not rude exactly, more like extremely suggestive. I often caught him looking at me in a way I never expected a man in his seventies would. He was perving me without a doubt.
By the time spring came round, my favourite time to be working outside, the garden was looking good. To be honest, I didn't really need Bill any longer, but he had become part of my life since we spent two days a week in each other's company.
I talked to Pat, asking him if we should dispense with Bill's services now that the garden was back in good order. He said, "No, you need more time for yourself. He can cut the grass and do the jobs you find hard." So Bill stayed on, becoming a permanent member of our household.
All this time, my working attire had been trousers or jeans with a baggy jumper or windcheater depending on the weather (a bit scruffy when I think about it).
However, as the weather warmed up, I wore shorts and a tee shirt in the garden, showing a lot more of my figure. I suppose you will need to know what I looked like; it sort of makes the story a bit more real.
I'm five feet five, brunette, and beautiful. Well, that's the description Pat always uses, but the truth is I'm a size 14. My measurements are 36E 26 36, a lot too curvy to be classed as beautiful, but I must admit I do like my shape, and work hard to keep it in good condition.
Keeping fit is not difficult for me, as we have a gym in the attic and an indoor heated swimming pool at the bottom of the garden, so I am able to swim all year round.
Bill was getting braver with his looks and comments about my body, saying things like, "You shouldn't be exposing all that flesh to an old man; you might give him a heart attack!"
I took it all in good grace, thinking it was just an old man thinking of his younger days, but I must admit to liking some of his banter. I am, after all, a woman; we all like compliments even if they are a little too suggestive.
Then the day came when I had been swimming and walked back to the house to get showered and changed for some gardening. Bill had made an early start, and when he saw me in my bikini, his eyes nearly popped out of his head.
It was very brief, only covering the smallest parts of my body (another gift from my devoted husband). It was white and very thin, when wet it hid nothing at all; thank goodness it had dried enough to regain some of its density. I walked into the house. He had caused me to wonder if he was really just teasing me. With his banter, could he actually fancy me? Could he do anything about it at his age?
The thought of his eyes watching my every step as I came back from the pool stayed with me as I showered. My pussy felt sort of alive. In fact, I touched myself and finished up lying on my bed fingering my clitty till I climaxed, thinking about old Bill.
I put on a very small pair of shorts that only my Pat had seen me in before. No panties. I topped it off with a bikini top that only just covered my ample bust. What was I thinking?
Bill was cutting the grass, so I started on the flower beds that run round the lawn, kneeling on the ground to reach the weeds, knowing my bum would be sticking up for Bill's benefit, the tight shorts cutting into me as I reached as far as I could to weed the borders.
Yes, I was prick-teasing this old man, whatever had come over me? I don't behave this way normally; I'm quite reserved most of the time. But it was making me so hot—so much so I could feel the moistness between my legs.
The shorts were white, so if I was getting wet it would soon show through the thin material. Bill stopped the lawn mower right behind me. Cutting the engine, he said, "If you don't cover yourself up quickly, I will not be responsible for my actions." I pretended not to know what he was talking about, so he enlightened me. "I can see everything you have to offer a man, and you look as if you are about ready for some cock. The sight of your almost naked ass is too much. Now go and put something on to cover yourself or I'm going to do something that will get me the sack."
