Getting to Now Sian

He was quite prepared for the fact that he might not recognise her. She had sent him a photograph of herself. But that had been more that two years ago. Not long after he had first 'stumbled' across her on the website. And goodness knows how old the photograph had been at that stage.

In the photograph, she was wearing skimpy knickers which she was pulling to one side to expose her hairy mound. Apart from a little smile, she didn't appear to be wearing anything else.

She was a slightly chunky woman. In one of their exchanges, she had mentioned that she was only five feet tall. And she had quite large, but unquestionably-attractive, breasts. She was a bit coy about her age. In another of their exchanges, she had said that she would 'soon be 50'. But whether 'soon' meant in five days' time or five years' time, she hadn't said.

Across from the coffee shop there was a small park. He could see a number of women and children in the park. And there were several women -- who may or may not have been supervising children -- sitting on the benches, looking across the street towards the coffee shop. He wondered if she was one of the women looking across. Waiting for him to arrive. Waiting to see what he looked like before coming across to meet him. Or deciding not to. Deciding that he was too old.

He had sent her a photograph of himself. But it wasn't a very good photograph. He didn't really 'do' photographs. The photograph that he had sent was one that someone had taken of him when he had gone on a river trip with the local ornithological society. He had been wearing a many-pocketed photographer's waistcoat-type garment. And a broad-brimmed hat. He was also leaning on his ashplant. It was an honest photograph. He was hardly pretending to be a younger man than he was.

'RamblingMan?'

He hadn't realised that the coffee shop had two entrances. While he had been keeping an eye on the main entrance, she must have come in through the side entrance. 'MaidstoneMaid, I presume,' he said, creaking to his feet.

She smiled. 'Have you been waiting long?'

'No, no. Hardly any time at all.'

'The traffic,' she said. 'I would usually walk. Or take a bus. But, today, I decided to bring the car. It would have been quicker to have walked.' And she shrugged her shoulders.

'They're trying to dissuade us from using our cars,' he said. 'Of course the people who make up all these rules are young and fit and get about on ten-speed touring bicycles. And then they get everything from a spare toothbrush to their groceries to... I-don't-know-what... delivered by ten-ton trucks that clog the streets and belch great clouds of black diesel soot.'

She laughed. 'Yes. That's so true, isn't it?'

He nodded. 'Anyway, what would you like? Coffee? Tea? Something else?'

She said that she'd like a cup of tea. 'With a slice of lemon. Thank you.'

'Something to eat?'

'No, no. Just a cup of tea. Thank you.'

He went up to the counter and placed their order.

'We're number six,' he said, when he returned with a matchbox-sized plastic cube. 'Or perhaps number nine -- if I don't place this cube thing the right way up.'

She laughed. 'How's your new house?' she asked.

'My little townhouse? Well, it's much smaller than my last house. But that's OK. It's all I need. And it has a nice sunny little patio. Or at least I am hoping that it will be sunny. Ever since I moved in, it seems to have been raining. Or threatening to rain. Harry has not been at all happy.'

'Harry?'

'My cat.'

'I'm not sure that I had you pictured as a cat man,' she said.

He frowned slightly, but then he told her that Harry had been his daughter's cat. 'And then, when my daughter moved out to Australia, Harry came to live with me.'

'And do you two get along?'

'My daughter and I?'

'You and your cat.'

'Oh yes. We seem to. I used to have a dog. I may have mentioned that. Pharaoh. But he died. I did think about getting another dog, but then my daughter parked Harry with me.'

'And you, a birdman.'

'Yes. But Harry's an indoor cat. He lives inside. And now, also within the bounds of the small high-walled patio. I think the birds are probably quite safe. And you... do you have any pets?'

'I have a granddaughter.' She laughed. 'Her mother and I are not especially close. But the little one and I seem to get on rather well.'

'And she lives nearby?'

'Wiltshire. But at least Wiltshire is not Australia.' And she laughed again.

When the girl brought them their tea and coffee, she also brough a couple of pieces of shortbread. 'Brian thought that you might like to try our shortbread,' the girl said. 'There were only two pieces left.'

'Thank you,' RamblingMan said. 'That's, umm... that's very kind.'

The shortbread was very good. Buttery and crumbly. And completely free of that uncooked-flour taste that shortbread can sometimes have.

'What sort of things does one do with a small person these days?' he asked. 'I'm a bit out of touch.'

'Small person?'

'Your granddaughter.'

'Oh. Yes. Well, there's a park nearby. She likes us to go and feed the ducks. And she likes to go on the slide. She's quite a fearless little thing.'

He nodded. 'Any swans? Geese?'

'There are. But she tends to steer clear of those. They're a bit aggressive.'

'They can be,' he said. 'Particularly the swans.'

Even though it was the first time that they had met in person, they chatted away like a couple of old friends. But, eventually, there was a pause in their conversation, and he realised that they were both nursing empty cups. 'Another?' he asked, nodding towards her cup.

She shook her head. 'No thanks. One is enough for me these days.'

'So,' he said. 'What next? Have I passed?'

She smiled. 'Passed? Oh yes. With flying colours,' she said.

'Oh, good.'

'And how about me? I expect you were hoping for someone a little younger, were you?' she said.

'No, no. You're perfect. Perfect.'

She laughed. 'I think it may have been a year or two since I was perfect,' she said. 'If ever.'

'You sell yourself short,' he said. 'So... what next?'

'Perhaps you could invite me to your place,' she said. 'You could introduce me to your pussy. And I could introduce you to mine.'

For a brief moment, he frowned. But then his frown turned to a smile. 'Oh. Yes. Well... yes... just name a date and time,' he said.

'Well, tomorrow is Thursday,' she said. 'I help out at the charity shop on Thursdays. But what about Friday? Friday afternoon perhaps?'

'Perfect,' he said. 'Oh... and my real name is Oliver. I don't think I've ever told you that, have I?'

'Sian,' she said. 'Spelt the Irish way.'

* * *

On Friday afternoon, Sian arrived at Oliver's townhouse a few minutes after three. 'Welcome,' Oliver said.

'This is nice,' Sian said. 'And it doesn't look that small to me. It looks quite spacious.'

'It's a lot smaller than my last house,' he said. 'But then I had reached the stage where I was only ever using two or three rooms in my last house. Having four bedrooms and two sitting rooms was all a bit silly. My daughter said that I should take in a boarder. But what do I want with boarders? At my age? And so I sold the house and bought this place.'

'Oh, and there's your patio,' she said as she followed him into the kitchen-diner. 'And it's sunny.'

'It is today. You seem to have brought a change in the weather.'

'The weather in these parts always seems to take a moment or two to settle,' she told him. 'Probably something to do with the Surrey Hills. Not that the Surrey Hills are particularly hilly hills. But you know what I mean.'

'I'll, umm, make some tea,' Oliver said. 'Or would you prefer something else? A glass of wine perhaps?'

'No. Tea would be lovely,' Sian said.

'With a slice of lemon?'

'Perfect.'

They had almost finished drinking their tea when Harry arrived.

'Well... you're a fine-looking fellow,' Sian said. 'I take it that you must be Harry.'

Oliver nodded on Harry's behalf. 'So you've decided to put in a special guest appearance, have you?' Harry made a sound that was halfway between a short bark and a meow, and he head-butted Oliver's leg.

'Gosh. He's almost dog-sized,' Sian said.

'Yes. He's a colourpoint Persian. They do tend to be quite chunky chaps.'

'And I'm assuming by the size of those feet, that he's not just fur,' Sian said.

'No, no. There's quite a bit of flesh and bone buried beneath that fluffy exterior. You certainly know when he comes to visit you in the night.'

For a moment or two, Oliver and Sian sat in silence, watching as Harry sauntered over to his food bowl and nibbled some kibble before filling his water tank like an old-fashioned steam locomotive about to start work for the day.

And then Sian broke their silence. 'Well... shall we take the next step?'

Oliver laughed. 'I suppose so,' he said. 'We've come this far. Perhaps we should climb the stairs. Take things to another level.' And he laughed at his own little joke.

'Another level.' Sian nodded, and she too laughed. 'Yes.'

They climbed the stairs. Almost sedately. Oliver's running up stairs days were long behind him.

'A room with a view,' Sian said, as they entered the bedroom.

'Yes. I suppose so.'

'And yet you are not overlooked. Perfect. Just the birds in the trees. Yes. Perfect.'

Oliver looked out across the patio and into the trees that were already in full leaf, as if he were seeing things for the first time. 'Yes. You can almost pretend that you are out in the country, can't you? Almost, anyway.'

Sian smiled. 'Right,' she said. 'Time to get this party started. Why don't you sit in the chair there, and I'll do a bit of a strip tease.' And she smiled again.

Strip tease? Oliver found himself nodding. A strip tease was not something that he had expected. Mind you, he wasn't really sure quite what he had expected.

Sian was wearing one of those long Virginia Woolf-style cardigans over a mid-calf length cotton print dress. The dress was highly patterned. In various shades of apricot and air force blue. Oliver got the impression that it might have been quite an expensive dress. The cardigan was a darker shade of air force blue. Sian stood in front of Oliver and 'opened' the cardigan like a flasher flashing. And then she closed it again, but let it fall from her shoulders. And then she turned her back and looked back at him over her shoulder.

Oliver smiled.

Then Sian removed the cardigan altogether and lay it on the end of the bed. 'But wait! There is more,' she said. And she slowly raised the hem of her dress until it was just above her knees. 'Stockings?' She paused. 'Or tights?' And she paused again. 'I think that you are a stockings man. Am I right?'

She was not wrong. 'Stockings. Definitely stockings,' Oliver said. And he smiled again.

Sian raised the hem of her dress still higher to reveal a hint of stocking top, and Oliver nodded. 'In olden days, a glimpse of stocking,' a voice in his head sang.

In time, the dress also found its way onto the bed -- but not before Sian had teased Oliver with further glimpses of what might lie beneath.

What lay beneath was a black, balconette-style bra. Quite a substantial balconette-style bra. But then Sian had quite substantial breasts to support. Sian was also wearing a matching black suspender belt, one of the deeper suspender belts that is part suspender belt and part open-front girdle. Oliver was pleased to see that Sian's plain black knickers were being worn over the suspender belt. Last on; first off! Why was it that so many people didn't seem to understand that?

After a suitably-teasing pause, Sian reached behind her back and unfastened her bra. 'Ready?' she said. And then she freed her breasts. They were possibly even larger than they had been in the photograph that MaidstoneMaid had earlier sent to RamblingMan. Or was that just a trick of the light?

And then it was time to lower her knickers. Just slowly. Just a centimetre or so at a time. Down... down... down. And then the first glimpse of dark, silky pubic hair. 'I am guessing that you prefer hair to bare,' she said. 'Although I could be wrong.'

'No. You are right,' he said.

She smiled and pushed her knickers all the way down to her knees. From there, they fell to the floor, and she stepped out of them. Then she slowly turned through the full 360 degrees. And there she was: standing in front of him, wearing just her suspender belt-cum-open front girdle, black stockings, and black shoes.

'You can stop there,' he said.

She laughed. 'I rather thought you might say that. Men, eh? Now... let's get your trousers off, shall we?'

Oliver kicked off his shoes, stood up, and allowed Sian to unfasten his belt and lower his zip. Yes, her breasts definitely seemed larger than they had looked in her photograph. It wasn't that Oliver was especially fond of larger breasts. At least he wasn't obsessed. But Sian did have particularly nice breasts.

'My cock,' he said, 'it's not always reliable these days. Sometimes....'

She smiled. 'Oh? Have you been overworking it?' she said. 'Have you been wearing it out?'

'Chance would be a fine thing,' he told her. 'Just too many birthdays. And all the pills and potions don't help either.'

She nodded. 'Don't worry,' she said. 'We'll take things one step at a time. What will be will be.'

Sian led Oliver over to the bed and sat him on the edge. And then she took his hand and placed it on the hairy junction of her thighs.

Oliver smiled. 'Your pussy,' he said.

'Pussy? If that is your wish,' Sian said. 'Though, personally, I prefer to think of it as my cunt. Cunt always seems so much... well, sexier.'

'Cunt,' Oliver said. 'Yes. I think you may be right. Cunt it shall be. Your cunt.'

For a minute or so, five-foot-nothing Sian stood in front of Oliver while his fingers explored her silky bush, testing her plump mound, and then her equally plump outer lips. 'Oh, yes,' Sian said. And then Oliver slipped his fingers between Sian's slippery inner lips. 'Oh, yes,' Sian said again. 'But hold that thought.' And she spread Oliver's knees and knelt between them. Oliver's cock was still limp, but it was now perfectly placed to receive Sian's tongue.

'Mmm. Nice,' Oliver said. 'Very nice. Very nice indeed.'

After about 15 minutes, Oliver said: 'I could do that. I used to be quite good with my tongue.'

'You can lick your own cock?' Sian said. 'I am impressed.'

Oliver laughed. 'Not my cock. No. But I could lick your pussy. Your cunt.'

'We could lick each other,' Sian said. 'Sixty-nine. I'll go underneath. You can go on top.'

Sian lay on the bed and Oliver straddled her, facing her feet. And then they adjusted their positions so that Oliver could access Sian's cunt, and Sian could just get her tongue to Oliver's hanging cock.

Not only had Oliver been quite good with his tongue, he still was. It only took four or five minutes for him to bring Sian to her first orgasm. 'Oh, fuck, yes! That is some tongue you have, mister,' she said. And then, while Sian stretched Oliver's hanging cock and toyed with his balls, he brought her to a second, even noisier orgasm.

But then it was Oliver's turn to make some noise. 'Aaargh! I'm stuck,' he said. 'Bugger. I can't move.'

'Stuck?'

'My back... my hips... they've locked up.'

Sian reached up and put her hand on Oliver's bony hips, and began to massage them gently. 'Just relax,' she said. 'First game of the new season, eh? I can see that we are going to have to work on your match fitness.' And she laughed.

Eventually, they managed to roll Oliver onto his side. And Sian went back to stretching and kissing his cock. And then, somewhat to Oliver's surprise, he was coming. His cock was still not hard, but he was definitely coming.

For ten minutes or so afterwards, they just lay there in each other's arms. But then Oliver could not resist making another exploratory visit to Sian's cunt. Her outer lips were still plumped up. Her inner lips were still warm and slick with juices. And her clit was still out and about, looking for fun. Oliver finger-fucked Sian to a third orgasm.

'I have some white wine in the fridge,' Oliver said, when Sian had returned from her heavenly flight to the moon on gossamer wings. 'Pinot Grigio. I could go and get it. Or we could go downstairs.'

'Perhaps we should go downstairs,' Sian said. 'I think we might have had enough fun for one afternoon.'

Later, as the sat out on Oliver's patio, sipping their wine, Oliver said that he was sorry that he hadn't been able to 'well... umm...

get it up

, as they say.'

Sian laughed. 'Sorry? Don't be. There is no need to be sorry. There are many, many more things for us yet to explore. Who knows? Maybe next time.'

'Next time?'

'Yes. Next time.' And then she said: 'I do hope there is going to be a next time. We can't stop now. We're only just getting to know each other.'