Part One.
Mrs Beatrice Goodwin entered my life in the role of a private mathematics tutor. Employed by my parents to help me secure a place at university, I quickly discovered she was an erudite woman who spoke knowledgeably on any subject, a feature she was keen for me to cultivate.
While awaiting the start of the academic year, I'd taken a year out, I remained in everyday contact with Bea -- that was what Mrs Goodwin insist I call her. I helped with the gardening, cleaning her car and other such menial chores. We enjoyed each other's company and Bea treated me like a grown-up, which at twenty I suppose I was. So it seemed natural our relationship must evolve.
At that time I never considered Bea as sexually attractive. Her unfashionable and outmoded appearance seemed to reflect that of a woman her age -- late forties, I estimated. Don't get me wrong, she always looked smart with the occasional dash of elegance that displayed well proportioned symmetry. But, I didn't look upon her as a sexually desirable woman.
However, that was all to change when out of the blue Bea presented herself in a new light. From her passé lifestyle a different person emerged. And, together with a sudden change in her fashion choices, her demeanour toward me developed a more intimate characteristic. In a nutshell - Bea starting exuding sexual appeal!
I mentioned earlier that Mrs Goodwin possessed a shapely body beneath her conservative choice of clothes. But when she took to wearing figure-hugging jumpers and tailored slacks, my eyes were opened to the fact that older women can look damned attractive, if not downright sexy! Gone were the plain cotton blouses to be replaced by smooth satin ones, some of which displayed more than a hint of cleavage; these were of great interest to me!
Bea's sexual metamorphism was fascinating to witness for a lad my age, especially when her choice of skirts were of close-fitting pencil or skater design, demonstrating she had a backside and legs worth ogling. There was also a more noticeable use of make-up and she changed her hair style. Indeed, Mrs Goodwin became barely recognisable as the same woman I first met.
I realised Bea's allure was having an effect on me when the throbbing erections became noticeably bedeviling, particularly when sitting opposite her and seeing her skirt rise alarmingly to display perfect legs and thighs. And, if I was lucky, a glimpse of a lacy hem belonging to a slip -- this woman had become a sexual magnet for my youthful lust and I wondered if Bea was aware of the impact she was having on me.
For instance, could she tell when I had an erection. Did she consider my visits to her bathroom were of a more nefarious nature than just for washing my hands or having a whiz? Did Bea actually realise that her newfound sexuality was causing me to fantasize about touching her body -- and to secretly masturbate in her bathroom!
It was during one of these self-indulgent episodes that I discovered Bea's nightdress and matching robe hanging behind the bathroom door. The sensual aroma emanating from their coffee-coloured folds drew me closer until I found myself clutching a handful of the smooth silk material and pressing it against my face inhaling her recently perfumed presence. I luxuriated in the heavenly redolence of her body, intoxicated by the knowledge that this silky nightwear had been in contact with the most intimate parts of Bea's body.
Without hesitation I unzipped and withdrew my aching cock, wrapping it in the smooth folds of Bea's nightdress. I began to stroke its rigidity, the lustrous fabric affording my knob a brand new sexual experience. My heart pounded, the sensual excitement energising my hand to move faster bringing the thrill of ejaculation ever closer. That was the moment I discovered the erotic appeal of lingerie. Its soft, silky material would become an essential element in my sexual psyche.
It was a truly sensational few seconds and I was quick to finish. An amazing happening, leaving me breathless. Unable to control my thoughts and administer restraint, I pumped a mass of spunk into the folds of Bea's nightdress, my impetuosity darkening the material.
After the initial thrill had passed and I saw the result, I panicked at the mess I'd made. So I hastily tore off sheets of toilet paper to clear up my cum, but the stained silk was all too obvious; I hoped it would dry out before Bea donned her nightdress again.
I purposely kept out of the way for the next few days fearful she'd discover the mysterious mark on her nightdress and put two and two together. Instead, I spent time with my current girlfriend, trying to make headway during our heavy petting sessions by finger-fudging around her pussy and even getting to feel her naked breasts. It was all very frustrating.
When I did pluck up enough courage to visit Bea again, it was with trepidation. However, nothing was mentioned about any inexplicable soiling of her nightdress and our relationship continued as before.
A couple of days later when I called on Bea, I found her in the kitchen washing up breakfast things. We greeted one another cheerily. I sat at the table and poured myself a cup of tea, all the time ogling the glorious vision of Bea's rear in a dress of gossamer thin, green material. The tight-fitting garment clung to her curves in a most erotic manner highlighting the fact that even at this time of the day she took the trouble to look immaculate.
I noticed how her legs below the knee-length skirt were sheathed in a fine mesh with a dark seam running down the back. I wondered whether they were stockings or pantyhose like my girlfriend usually wore. I mention this in light of the fact that, since Bea had taken to wearing stylish clothes, and I'd experienced the thrill of handling her silk nightdress, I had a growing penchant to learn more about Bea's lingerie choices and what she liked to wear.
I was in deep lustful admiration of her bra outline when I noticed Bea's shoulders shaking and deduced she must be sobbing.
'Is there something wrong, Bea?' I asked sympathetically.
My concern must have touched a nerve because she dropped the dish mop into the wash-up bowl and leaned her elbows on the sink edge crying unashamedly. I stood up and went to her.
'Whatever is the matter?' I asked putting my hands on her shoulders and gently squeezing. She placed her hands on mine. 'Can I help?' Bea straightened up and turned to face me. At that moment, as we looked into one another's eyes, I perceived our friendship had gravitated to a higher plain.
'Oh, Peter, I'm sorry. There is nothing wrong. It's simply that I've been thinking about my husband, George. The anniversary of his death is today.' Tears filled Bea's eyes once more.
Putting my arms around her seemed the natural thing to do in the circumstances, so that's what I did. What I wasn't prepared for was Bea's response. Expecting only a maternal embrace, she reciprocated by blatantly pressing her body hard against mine and hugging tightly, burying her face in my neck acknowledging my concern.
'Thank you for being here at the right moment, Peter.' She whispered against my skin. 'I just wanted someone to hold me close and tell me they care.' Embracing Bea felt wonderful.
'I do care about you, Bea.' I answered.
'Do you, Peter?' She replied intensifying her body pressure.
I was beginning to feel uncomfortable, my erection impossible to disguise.
'What do you see when you look at me, Peter? Just an older woman?' I felt unnerved at her line of questioning. What did she want to hear. I simply didn't know how to answer and at that moment felt very immature in the ways of women.
'I'm not sure what you mean, Bea.'
