I was a pretty green 20-year-old who had just started his science degree at a university ten hours drive from his home town. Being on my own for the first time in my life was both exciting and daunting. A sheltered life is how many would have described my teenage years. A religiously conservative family had made my life very prescriptive. Here I was looking to spread my wings, so to speak, but outside of meeting a few other students in my dorm block, I knew no one in this city. So imagine my surprise when I bumped into an old family friend, Mrs Sinclair, as I walked down the main street of the CBD. The chances of bumping into someone you knew, in the downtown area of a city of over a million people, when you had only just moved there was extremely slim. I actually didn't know Mrs Sinclair that well, in that I had never really talked to her, but I must have attended dozens of gatherings, many church based, where she was also present. I knew she was a business woman of some sort and that she was quite well thought of within our church, but beyond that I was in the dark.
We both recognised each other instantly. She was looking at me like I had two heads such was her surprise. She was wearing a very matronly set of clothes that seemed to swaddle her body to the point that you could deduce nothing about her figure although she was clearly not a big person. I presumed she was actually quite small under all those clothes. Everything she wore was brown or a shade thereof. Tan, fawn, beige, hazel. All very drab even to my simple eye. Sure, she was pretty enough but her conservative hairstyle made her look quite frumpy and older than I guessed she was. Maybe 50 would be my inexpert guess.
We took a few minutes or so to politely catch up. I learned that her husband had died around a year ago and she had moved here relatively recently to take up a position as a partner at a medium sized accountancy firm. She then made an unexpected invitation. Would I join her for coffee at a nearby café? I was going to attempt to demur but the look on her face was curiously eager. I agreed and we made our way to an outdoor table.
After pleasantly chatting for about twenty minutes, she looked at her watch and said that she had a meeting to attend. She hesitated for a moment, clearly wavering about her next course of action. She seemed anxious. To my surprise and, dare I say it, chagrin she made another invitation. This time to her house the next day, Saturday, for afternoon tea. While I had enjoyed her company, I had no real interest in seeing her again but I could see no polite way to decline her offer. I was raised to be a very well-mannered young man who would always respect the desires of an elder. Little did I understand what the desires of this elder were to be! As I walked away, I reflected on our conversation. I couldn't help but think that, given the questions she asked me, it had felt like some sort of surreal job interview.
The next day I knocked on her door and when it opened, I was flabbergasted. I barely recognised the person standing before me. She was wearing a long, slinky, black gown that seemed to shine. Is the material called satin? I'm not sure but it certainly got my attention. It seemed to swirl around her diminutive frame.
This garment, which was currently my most favourite item of clothing in the world, had a plunging V neck that revealed so much flesh that I could only make the delicious deduction that her breasts were unfettered by any sort of bra or underwear. My theory was awarded instant confirmation as she shifted her weight from one leg to another causing her generous breasts to swing freely like some sort of dual pendulum. Had she accentuated that movement intentionally? A bizarre image of a breast-based Newton's Cradle sprang uninvited into my mind. There were no nipples visible but they could only be lurking under a mere minor fold of the glossy material. Given that I was almost a foot taller than her, my line of sight down her cleavage was giving me vertigo. She shifted again and I gasped as I observed her pendulous breasts swing back and forth. I watched like a tennis spectator, my eyes moving left and right with each mesmerizing oscillation.
I was spellbound but self-aware enough to know that if I kept gawking like this I would severely embarrass myself. I managed to mutter an inane greeting with only a slight catch to my voice. She smiled warmly and bade me welcome, seemingly ignorant of the impact her appearance was having on me. This impact was causing a very embarrassing expansion within my trousers.
She turned and beckoned me to follow her into her apartment. I couldn't help myself but I audibly gasped. The side slit in the gown (for want of a better term) momentarily flashed open right up to her pelvis! It exposed a breath-taking expanse of shapely leg. I felt like I was being bombarded with sexual allusions. Although my knowledge of female underwear was rather rudimentary, I instantly leapt to the assumption that, if she was wearing panties, I would have certainly caught some glimpse of said undergarment. Holy hand grenade! Could this mean the gown was the only item of clothing she was wearing! Could she, was she... completely naked under this tormentingly tailored garment?
I resolutely, albeit reluctantly, dragged my eyes up from the lascivious leg spectacle and tried to reattach my lower jaw to my upper one. I felt rooted to the spot. She looked over her shoulder and encouraged me in again. Was that a tiny smirk that fleetingly graced her otherwise smiling face? Was that a flicker of a glance at my crotch? It made me wonder if she did indeed understand the effect her appearance was having on me. I plodded after her like an automaton, simply stunned by the revelations of the last 30 seconds. My hands dangled zombie-like in front of me in a forlorn attempt to hide my rampant erection.
She led me to a comfortable sitting room and asked me if I would like a drink. So much for afternoon tea I thought. She explained that she was having a gin and tonic. I said I would join her and a few moments later we raised our glasses to each other. I took a healthy sip and had to manfully fight not to gag explosively. This drink was pure gin over which someone had waved a bottle of tonic and murmured the word "lemon."
She sat languidly on an expensive looking leather chair. Her bare feet were tucked under her in the manner I normally associated with someone younger but, given that I was scoring flashes of leg, thigh and breast, I was in no mood to condemn. I was on a matching couch that faced her chair across a low coffee table. While we idly talked I was able to soak up the extraordinary changes that she had made to her appearance.
Her hair was different, don't ask me in what way but it was certainly far more attractive and her makeup accentuated her high cheek bones and piercing dark, almost black eyes. I particularly liked the dark make up around her eyes; mascara is it? It made her seem very exotic. She had made the astonishing transformation from homely, if attractive, middle-aged lady to premium grade A milf. I felt like I had kissed a frog. I recognised that she had made a considerable effort to look attractive and I took that as a complement though I couldn't help but think though that there was just a tiny shade of desperation in her efforts. I started to entertain the thought that this invitation to afternoon tea might pan out in a very unexpected way. Regardless, I thought she looked absolutely gorgeous. In an impulsive and, for me, very uncharacteristic moment, I actually offered a clumsy, blurted complement, "You look very attractive." I immediately regretted my rash remark but she responded with an expression that started with relief but quickly moved to one of satisfaction. I still thought however that my chances of getting up close and personal with her were as remote as the island of Tristan Da Cunha. (Go look it up if you want but, suffice to say, it is very remote.)
We made small talk for a further few minutes and she then surprised me by moving from her chair to join me on the couch.
She took a big slug of her drink, drew a deep breath and began a startling monologue.
"It has not been easy for me to decide whether to broach this subject with you, so I hope you will keep an open mind." She took another deep breath, another big gulp of her drink and then announced, "I must insist on your absolute discretion concerning what we are about to discuss and any subsequent..." She paused searching for a word; "activities that may ensue."
I nodded and said that I understood. In reality, I had no idea what she was talking about.
"Good." she resolutely pronounced.
