Looking at how an older man and a younger woman handle the thirty-year difference as they begin an affair.
It's probably better if you read the previous parts although that's not essential as hopefully this works as a self-contained story. And, by the way there are at least four more parts to follow.
Hugs
Jayne.
Over the next few days, which frustratingly became a few weeks and drifted into over a month I forgot nothing. Jayne was on my mind almost constantly. Everything we said, how she looked, what we did and all that she promised, albeit non-verbally! All day she was there both with and without her glasses which, if anything, made her look even sexier.
Of course, I wanted to see her again, in fact I wanted her but for what? Naturally, as a red-blooded male my thinking veered from fucking her to other activities. Less intense activities, touches, kisses and affectionate moments. Simply just to be with her and look at her. Was that love, God knows? I didn't want to marry her or even be with her all the time, after all what would others say or think about a thirty-year age difference? What I most wanted, I think, was simply to hold her. For us both to be naked and in each other's arms was the vision that mostly came to mind although the memory faded a little with time. Maybe we would make love as I was more thinking of full sex with her now rather than shagging, screwing or fucking, but then maybe we wouldn't. That seemed almost secondary to holding each other. But then I would revert to being the red-blooded male and fantasise about fucking her rigid, silly old bugger that I was.
The call came when I was least expecting it. How long had passed? It was a few weeks, at the very least. Long enough for me to convince myself that I wouldn't hear from Jayne again.
"I'm doing a survey," a familiar voice told me. "Do you have a few minutes to help?"
I thought it was, but couldn't be sure, that it was her.
"Of course," I replied, settling back on my couch as I felt an instant reaction between my thighs. Even after the break in contact between us, she still had the same affect.
"I'm from a London agency," you continued. "Privacy prevents me from saying exactly who. I have a few questions."
Yes, that was Jayne. Her voice was unmistakeable.
"Fire away," I answered, my nervous voice trembling a little.
"Could I ask where you are answering the questions from?"
"My home in Yorkshire."
"A-ha. Are you alone?"
"Yes."
I'm sure I heard an almost imperceptible sigh of appreciation. What did that mean? "Good. First question. Have you had sex lately?"
I gave a soft grunt as my hardening erection hardened further. I moved the mobile phone from my right to left ear, so that I could stroke myself through my jeans while I answered. "No, not for some time."
"Good."
Did you say good? Was it? Why say that?
"Are you keeping yourself for one particular person?" you continued.
"I hadn't thought of it that way," I answered.
"But right now, talking to me, you have an image of someone you'd like to fuck?"
Damn, Jayne! I was so hard now, that I nearly had to yank down my zip to ease the ache.
"Yes."
"Is she from London?"
You know she is, I thought. But this was your game and I was going to play along with it. "Yes."
"How old?"
"Twenty-three."
"How old are you?"
For God's sake, Jayne! Stop teasing. "Mid-fifties."
"You can still get hard at that age?"
"Hard enough," I grunted.
"Hard enough? Hard enough to fuck a twenty-three-year-old blonde?"
"Absolutely," I said through gritted teeth. "If you were here right now, I'd fuck your brains out. On the couch, the floor, or anywhere."
"Impressive," you said, and I felt a little better. "For a grandad," you added, deflating my bubble, though not my erection.
"Do you get hard when you talk to her?"
"Yes," I replied, my hand softly running up and down my shaft.
"Do you masturbate when you talk to her?"
This is our first real conversation other than face to face, so I only had this experience to go by. And I was ready to masturbate and we both knew it.
"Are you hard now?" you continued, without waiting for my answer.
"Yes," I conceded, though my voice was little more than a grunt.
"How hard?"
"Very hard," I replied squeezing it through my jeans.
"Hard enough to fuck?"
"Oh yes well hard enough for that."
"Good. Are you masturbating right now?"
Geez, you knew how to turn the screw. "Why ask!"
"Thinking about your young blonde?"
"Yes!"
"Thinking about fucking her?"
"Yes,"
Oh, God. I wasn't going to last much longer. How long was it since I'd previously masturbated? Too long! All that pent up emotion was gathering in my balls, threatening to make this a 'personal best' for spilling my juice.
"You're thinking about fucking her while you wank?" you continued, your words as effective as my heavily stroking hand.
"Yes."
"Do you know whether she's wanked thinking about you finger fucking her in that doorway near the Savoy?"
God, your words were threatening to suck my seed from me just as effectively as if it was your soft mouth wrapped around my cock. That image filled my mind. Your soft blonde hair dancing on your shoulders and my stomach and thighs as your head bobbed up and down on my cock, your flicking tongue running up and down my hardness, then your pink lips sucking me deep inside your mouth.
