This relates to a sexual relationship between a 19 year old girl and a man in late middle age. If you find that repugnant, please click away now.
We'd lived on the same quiet cul-de-sac, in a leafy, middle class, estate for 20 years. The epitome of "middle England", with a wide cross-section of residents. Younger couples in the smaller houses. And families, with kids of all ages, in the larger dwellings.
My wife and I, in our mid to late 50s, were amongst the oldest living there. Our kids (as we still insisted on calling them) were now grown up and had left home. Matt, aged 28, was working for a finance company in Paris. And Emily, two years younger, was living in London, where she worked for an advertising agency.
Angela and I had been married for over 30 years. And were, despite a few bumps along the way, very happy together. Angela was slim, still very attractive and always immaculately groomed. We both looked after ourselves. Eating well, not smoking, only drinking (by and large) in moderation and keeping fit and active.
Some may argue that we still had a reasonably healthy sex life, probably 2-3 times a month. More when we were on holiday. We had sex more often, I was aware, than many couples of our age (or who'd been married as long as us). But I would most certainly prefer to have had more frequent, wilder, sex. Simply put, I wanted, if not needed, more.
I'm not proud to say that our imbalance in sexual desire led me to stray occasionally (usually whilst away on business trips). Now and again with escorts. Or sometimes with willing, similarly bored and lonely, business women. And I was also a voracious consumer of pornography.
I often wondered if Angela knew about either of these traits. I suspect she did. But worked on the principle of "no harm, no foul". Or, out of sight, out of mind. Having these extracurricular outlets meant that we enjoyed the sex that we had. And stopped arguing about the sex we
weren't
having.
I really am not condoning my actions. I'm aware that I'm painting a picture of myself as a selfish narcissist. And, in some ways, I'd find it hard to disagree with that. But it was a formula that appeared to work for us both. Particularly as there was no emotional attachment to the other women I bedded.
We were friendly with several of the neighbours and regularly had meals, drinks etc with a number of them.
Two of our closer friends were Kathy and Ted, who lived opposite us. Kathy was an attractive, vivacious, blonde in her early 40s (we'd gone to her pretty wild 40th birthday party a few years earlier). Ted was calmer and about 10 years older than her. They'd lived on the estate for almost as long as us. And we were firm friends. Often walking our dogs together in the local parks and woods. As well as going out for occasional meals. And regularly having BBQs and drinks together in our respective homes.
They had two smashing children. Hugo was 18 and away on a gap year. Hannah was a year older and studying at University. We'd seen them both develop from cute, precocious, funny, kids into confident, really attractive, young people.
Hannah, in particular, was gorgeous. Sleek, blonde hair, like her Mum. Also shapely, but more toned (she was a county level 400m runner). She was one of those young women who appeared to be effortlessly attractive. A little more reserved (though most were compared to Kathy). But exuding charm and confidence. She was certainly aware of how good looking she was. It would have been hard to not be conscious of the impact she had on boys ( and dirty old men like me). Though certainly not a diva.
One evening, in early summer, Kathy bustled over, looking quite upset, as I was pottering in our garden. Angela was away with work for a few days and I was about to prepare a simple dinner.
"Jack, is your head office still up near the airport?" she asked.
"It is," I confirmed, "still on the same dreary business park. Why do you ask?"
"I was wondering, on the off chance that you are up there tomorrow, could you pick Hannah up?"
"As it happens, I do have a couple of meetings there tomorrow morning and am planning on leaving there late afternoon. Would that work?"
"Oh gosh, thanks Jack," she spluttered. "As I think you know, Hannah is on her way back from a holiday with some friends from Uni. I'd planned to collect her. But my Mum is ill again. And Ted and I are going up North tonight to see her for a couple of days. I'm getting really concerned about her."
"Hannah could make her own back, I'm sure. But the trains and bus connections from the airport are lousy. So if you can pick her up she and we would really appreciate it."
"No problem at all," I assured her. "Send me her flight details and I'll be there tomorrow to collect her. Now, you go off and sort your Mum out. Please give her our love."
So, at 4pm the following day, I was waiting at the departure gate for Hannah. As she trooped out with two other friends, lugging a big wheeled suitcase, I'm bound to say my heart skipped a beat. Flights from the Balearics at that time of year often contain their fair share of "babes". But these three young women were breathtaking. With Hannah, in my opinion, the fairest of them all.
She was wearing cut-off denim, "Daisy Duke", shorts, a tight vest and sporting a golden tan. God, she looked smoking hot. Though I immediately berated myself for thinking like that.
Seeing me waving, she raced over and gave me a huge hug. Squeezing me tightly and pressing those pneumatic tits against me.
"Hey Uncle Jack, thanks so much for picking me up." she gushed. "How's my Mum? And how is Grandma?"
"Your Mum's fine," I assured her. "She rang me whilst I was waiting for you. Apparently your Grandma seems a little better. But she's going to stay for another day so they can see the GP with her and try and get to the bottom of things. But we'll call her from my car on the way home. She wants to know, of course, how your holiday went."
We loaded her bags into my car and set off for home. As she strapped herself in, the seat-belt bisected her breasts. And this action, if anything, further accentuated their splendour.
As I looked across and clocked this I thought I saw a flicker of recognition from Hannah that I was checking her out. But she was either too polite, or too embarrassed, to pick me up on it. But I was sure she had a knowing smile.
I suspect she was used to this. But I didn't want her to think I was some middle aged pervert, leering after hot young women.
Spoiler alert, I really shouldn't have worried!
We made a quick phone call to Kathy, where Hannah assured her she was safe and well and looking forward to seeing her parents in a day or two.
Shortly after this, as we hit the motorway, she dropped off to sleep. So, whilst keeping my eyes on the road, I must confess I contented myself with occasional glances across, to drink in her beauty. And particularly her beauteous tits.
By the time we got home it was approaching 8pm. So we rung ahead and ordered an Indian takeaway, collecting it on our way through the village.
We went to Hannah's house. I found some plates and glasses in her kitchen whilst she dropped her bags upstairs and loaded her first pile of washing.
