Recollections

I had only meant to have a bit of a joke.

I had been thinking about contacting you for some time. Well really almost from when we parted the first time. But then things happen, things come up, there are things to do, places to go, stuff to get on with and men to fuck us. Adchicks are so in demand by our account directors, media planners, creative dickheads et al we sometimes have no time to phone granddads to arrange experiences!

At last, though, I found the time. And fuck me look what happened. We wanked together, can you believe it, I can't? And it was bloody good. As I cut the call I thought if he fucks me half as well as we wank together then I will be a very happy adchick indeed.

I left it a bit, long enough for my knickers to dry out and called you back.

"Er Alan, Covent Garden is big you know, any particular place or shall I just wander round until I find you, or someone?"

Perhaps I should pretend to be a hooker? Maybe not pretend, but be one. Get myself pulled by a punter and then let him fuck me somewhere for money. Shit what a turn on, being fucked by a stranger, someone I will never see again and doing it for money. Talk about Christine Deneuve in Belle de Jour, fuck Bogey you watch her, one of the most beautiful female film stars of all time. Check her in that and Hunger with Susan Sarandon, yet another horny female star. Not that I am into vampires, but the seduction scene blows me away. I watch it all the time, SS has the most exquisite tits!

"You decide," you languidly reply.

"Are you coming down on Saturday?"

"Yes, by train."

"Why Covent Garden?"

"Why not?"

"Why not indeed?"

"Are you staying the night?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"Not sure."

"My mum's away."

"Does that mean the little girl can stay out late then?"

"Oooooo, sarcy, I thought that was my part."

"Even us oldies have our moments."

"Yes so I just witnessed, you did cum didn't you? You weren't acting were you?"

"No Sammi, I wasn't acting at all, were you?"

I looked down at the tee shirt I had pulled up round my neck, my tits that I had yanked out from the bra, which I had kept on, my sludgy coloured, elastic waisted combat pants pushed down to my knees and the black lacy, fashionable shorts that were half way down my thighs.

"No Alan, it was for real for me too and yes it means that and other things too."

"What does?"

"My mum being in Spain trying for reconciliation with my dad, or a fuck with the guy who runs the local health club."

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is that I will be in a big, five bedroomed, three reception, massive fitted kitchen, snooker room, large conservatory, secluded grounds and a heated pool all by myself."

"Lucky girl."

"Alan stop being a fuckhead."

"What?"

"Daft expression I know, but at the moment it sums you up."

"How?"

"Never mind."

"So what are you saying?"

"In easy to understand words, Alan, why not come to my house," I said, giggling as I added. "Or even cum in my house?"

+++

What was the feeling running through me at that precise moment?

Unbridled lust? That would explain the almost permanent erection throughout most of the train journey so far.

Almost shitting myself with fear in case I couldn't perform in the presence of such a sexy, young woman went some way to explaining the trembling in my chest.

Excitement at the thought of what lay in store? That would explain why the hairs were standing on the back of neck.

Apprehension at the 'cumming' together of the old versus young generation. That would explain the nervousness circling around my body.

Was this a granddad thing I wondered, trying to come to terms with the mixture of emotions playing inside my head?

Stop it!!!

Where was the cockiness I'd felt at the start of the journey, I wondered? Well, actually, 'cockiness' was the least of my problems right then. If I didn't put thoughts of Sammi out of my mind, I'd have to take my 'cockiness' out and stroke it into submission.

Mind you, the middle-aged couple sitting across from me might object. Their conversation seemed to be primarily focussed on Arsenal's chances of ever winning the Premiership again. The thought of someone wanking in the train seat across from the two of them might not go down too well.

Middle-aged couple? Hell, what did I mean? I was actually as old as either of them, probably older! That was one of the craziest things about growing older, I thought. You still saw life out of young eyes. But then they weren't going to a fucking big house, to fuck a fucking horny young chick were they?

In an attempt to somehow resist the temptation of sliding my hand underneath the table and onto my hardness, I closed those 'young' eyes.

It wasn't a good move.

In the darkness behind my eyelids, a young figure emerged. It was you, somehow underneath the table separating me from the couple discussing football. Behind my eyelids, you were unfastening my black jeans, somehow opening them in the confined space and reaching inside. My tented boxers were being fumbled with, your hands searching for the opening so you could drag out my cock.

I groaned.

"Are you okay?" a voice came. My eyes flickered open, to see that the couple were sending me a concerned look. "You groaned. Are you okay?" the man asked again.

"Fine," I grunted, my body jerking slightly as the woman in my mind dragged my cock free and jammed her mouth down on it. Oh, God, Sammi.

"Migraine," I mumbled, closing my eyes again.

"Poor thing!" This time it was the woman's voice, sympathising with my condition, but I wasn't listening. You were easing me out from between those pink lips and were running your tongue around the head of my cock.

"I have some tablets," the female voice continued.

I didn't answer. How could I when you'd just tilted your head to the side and were licking up one side of my hardness and then down the other?

"I said, I have some tablets," the woman repeated.

"Thank you," my voice said. Fuck off, my mind said.

They gave me a sympathetic look as I smiled at them. Except it wasn't a smile. It was a gritting of my teeth as you took me deep inside again, my cock twitching in my jeans in the same way as it did in your imaginary mouth. If I wasn't careful, I was going to explode in my fucking trousers. Without being touched!

How the hell would I explain that?

"I'm getting off in a minute," I told the couple, instantly realising the unintentional double entendre. "Not long now."

The woman sucking my cock smiled up at me with that Sammi-gaze. I know what you're doing, the mischievous blue eyes said. You think by talking to them you'll get rid of this image. Not a chance, your twinkling upward gaze told me.

"Travelling far afterwards?" the man asked.

"No," I croaked as you deep throated me. "No," I said again as you cheeks bulged. "No," I repeated, parrot fashion, as I touched the back of your throat.

Oh, God!

"Good," the woman's soft voice murmured. "You get to bed as soon as you get there. I know what it's like, when you're feeling like that. You need some relief."

I need some fucking relief all right, I thought, as your blonde hair began to bounce in line with the bobbing of your head. You were going for broke now, and my cock was reacting. Control, I screamed at myself. Where was my control?

I knew the answer, of course. I had none! A woman has all the control when she uses her mouth like you were doing.

Oh, fuck, this was too much!

Oh, fuck, Sammi, please stop!

Oh fuck, I was on the edge!

Oh fuck, I was going to cum in my fucking jeans!

My eyes scrunched, attempting to stave off the inevitable.

The hand tugging my arm temporarily interrupted the moment. It was touch and go. Then another tug, harder this time. Then another. My eyes shot open to see the woman across from me holding out two tablets and a white train cup, half filled with water.

"I can see from your face how much you're struggling," she said. "Poor thing. Take these, please. They'll help. I swear by them, they don't come any stronger.

I gave a weak smile, now she was into unintentional double entendres!

I realised I was panting heavily as the feeling in my cock gently subsided, taking one pace and then a second back from the brink. That's it, I gratefully thought, swallowing the uneccesary tablets as my erection returned to more acceptable proportions.

Under the table, your amused eyes stared up at me. Got away with it that time, they were saying. But don't worry, I've only just started.

A station announcement over the tannoy interrupted the thought. The beating in my heart that had begun to gently subside, immediately started up again. I had arrived at where I was going to meet you again

Geez, that fucking erection was back again!!

+++

You had told me that your train was arriving at Kings Cross at 11.20 and that you would get a cab. I had explained that my mum's house was some fifteen miles or so outside London and that it would not only cost fifty quid or so, but would take ages. I had said for you to call me when you were an hour so out from Kings Cross.

"Hi it's me Alan," you had said by way of introduction when you called my mobile at 10.20, on the dot.

"Hello Alan, it's me Sammi," I retorted. "Where are you?"

"Opposite a middle aged couple," you said very quietly.

"How middle aged?"

"Fuck I don't know," you whispered."

"Why are you whispering? Can they hear you?"

"Yes."

"Well move then silly so you can talk freely."

"Oh right yes, good idea."

"OK now, the old couple out of earshot?"

"Yes I'm between coaches."

"Splendid. You do realize Alan that my station is not on the main line from the north to London."

"Er, yes, I guess so."

"Well then, where I live in Essex is miles from Kings Cross, you have to come into London then go out again."

"Oh."

"Never mind. I'll meet you off your train, we'll have lunch somewhere then get the tube, the Central Line out to Essex, ok?"

"Yes, see you soon then."

"Yes hopefully at eleven twenty at Kings Cross."

It was a daft thing to do really. All things being equal, I would have been better off, just letting it go, not bothering to contact you. No good could really come from it, could it? But then you never know and my instinct told me to go for it. To check it out, to see where we might go, to run with the buzz. Hence the phone call, hence you travelling down and hence me on the tube to Kings Cross.

Usually with men, I am fairly decisive. I seem to know what I want when I meet one and usually I get that. I am generally able to work out why I like the guy and can then have a relationship making best use of that. It might be friendship, intrigue, his intelligent mind (rarely), the dates he takes me on, his romantic nature, adventure or him being great in bed (also rarely). The common theme is that I usually know why I am seeing him. I had no clear idea as to why I felt that I wanted to see you again. Sure I liked you, but near OAPs are a whole new field to me! Nevertheless, during the few weeks after that quite extraordinary day in Covent Garden I gradually found myself thinking of you and that then developed into that screwy plan that, actually, worked out so well.

I dressed in a rush, no don't tell lies, I dressed young, very young and trendy. I guess I was making a statement, but of what? Who knows?

A blue and white hooped, long sleeved, but low cut tee shirt, very French, like an onion seller. Dark blue, quite thick tights. The tee came down to just beneath my waist and just that and the blue tights looked good in the mirror. Maybe I should go like this I thought, turning, looking over my shoulder and gazing at my bum in the almost sheer tights. Perhaps not? I slipped into the raggedy, denim hot pants I had earmarked, and did the zip and brass button up. I put the denim waistcoat on and slid my feet into the silver, high heeled, strappy, tart's pumps. Did I look daft, tarty or what? I didn't know and frankly my dear I didn't give a damn as I waited by the gate at platform twelve. But I was pretty sure I looked cool and that was the most important thing.

+++

I was out of my seat even before the train pulled into the station. Partly due to my eagerness to catch up with you, but also to escape the couple sitting opposite. For a moment, I thought they were going to offer to accompany the 'invalid' until I reached my destination.

Once off the train, I paused and dropped my overnight bag at my feet. Steady on! Don't get there flustered! You'd be waiting near the exit barrier and I wanted, needed, to look cool and in control.

Pulling my light gray jacket tighter around my shoulders and straightening the open collar of my casual shirt, I double checked the zip of my black jeans and picked up my bag. Time!

The sexy vision that had remained in my mind all these weeks had grown sexier with each passing day. But not quite like what was waiting for me. Those denim hot pants!! And your legs! I'd always had a fantasy of fucking a young bird wearing thigh high, thick stockings, though the lack of any naked skin suggested they were tights.

That did nothing to destroy the fantasy!

The few men who weren't staring at your pert ass in those hot pants had their eyes glued to your tits. The cleavage on show above the low cut tee shirt and denim waistcoat was almost mouth watering. As for silver, high heeled, strappy pumps, simply sex on legs.

When you walk in the bar, And you dressed like a star, Rockin' your fuck me pumps!

Change the words of the song from bar to railway station, and they would have perfectly fitted the situation.

But it wasn't just they way you were dressed. Nor was it the way you threw your arms around me, pulling me into a hug that seemed to last forever. And that perfume - it danced around us like some sort of expensive aphrodisiac. But even that wasn't it.

The drug was your eyes... they way they twinkled mischievously, that undeniable 'Sammi-look' that promised so much. A few weeks ago, that looked had suggested nothing was impossible. Now it implied that everything was probable. Though after the way we'd parted, I still had my reservations.

Sammi the temptress or Sammi the cocktease? The jury was still out.

"Okay," you grinned at me, taking my arm. "First things first, we can catch up over lunch."

I smiled warmly, though couldn't help glancing around. It seemed everybody's eyes were on us. Or was that, every man's eyes were on you. They were thinking one of two things. You were a young daughter meeting her dad. (I refused to contemplate the granddad possibility!) Or we were a rich, older man, with his bit of young stuff.

It made no difference to me. Eat your hearts out, boys.

"Where are we going?" I asked, as we walked outside the station into blazing sunlight.

"You're the man, you decide."

I laughed. It was a typical Sammi response. "There's only one place around here," I responded. The immediate vicinity of Kings Cross was always depressing. "Konstam at the Prince Albert."

Your eyes flashed that cheeky smile. "Fancy you knowing about that. It's an old pub they've tarted up. Very nice."

Thank goodness for Google!

"You hungry?" I asked, heading for a taxi. It wasn't far, but I had no idea in which direction.

"Oh, yes. Starving," you smiled. "I never like to fuck on an empty stomach. What about you, gramps? Need to build up your strength?"

+++

It was a funny old tube journey up to town to meet you. Luckily, the hated Central Line was behaving itself so we whizzed from Loughton to Liverpool Street where I changed onto the Circle Line, having to remember that's the yellow one on the underground map.

It was after the rush hour, which is the time I usually travel, so I had a seat all the way, most unusual. Nice though, but I felt relieved I was wearing the thickish tights, seats on the tube and upper leg and panty decorum are not natural bedfellows, as I have learned over the years. Still it was preferable to standing pressed up against the sweaty hordes with all the crotch and bum squashing that entails. I really do believe that every morning during the rush hour there must be hundreds of minor sexual assaults.

I was struck by the profiles of my fellow travelers and how different they were to the earlier crowd. The main difference being age, for most on the train seemed to be retirees; in my mind, with a little smile, I saw numerous Alan's taking their, grey permed haired wives shopping!

I still wasn't quite sure why I was doing this. I still wasn't sure why I had invited you to 'my' home and I still wasn't sure whether I would fuck you or not. More to the point, for 'your generation, still cling to the clear differentiation between the genders than mine, whether I would let you fuck me. On balance, as I walked from the Central to the Circle at Liverpool Street, I thought I probably would, after all I am not a PT as the boys call it, am I? But why the fuck was I even contemplating sex with an OAP, or nearly? That I couldn't answer now, but I did wonder if I would find that over the next day or so.

At Kings Cross I felt better. There were more young people, more of a buzz and hussle, it always seems to be like that in town, I like it. That's why, when I can afford it I will rent a flat there and not live in the dull, no that's not quite fair, Essex suburbs where I have grown up.

Mum was away. She had gone to visit dad in Spain for a few days. Ostensibly to talk about finance, maybe work out a divorce settlement and see how he was coping with his business falling apart, I suspected that she also wanted to get laid. By dad for sure and by the tennis coach at the nearby country club and the physical trainer at the gym and any other youngish guy she could attract, I suspected. Last time I was there with her, both coaches had been all over both us, putting my nose out of joint a bit by seeming to fancy her more, but then she has got better tits than me.

"Now, now Sammi, no ageist stuff so soon," you said as we looked crestfallen at the massive queue.

"Sod it let's walk," I said unthinkingly grabbing your hand.

"Where? To the restaurant?"

"It's not far, come on I'm sure you can manage it," I laughed thinking about the way I had, without thinking, welcomed you. I had flung my arms round your neck, and that wasn't posed. When a woman opens her arms like that to a man, or another girl come to that, she is exposing the fullness of her breasts to the other party and inviting them to squash their chest against them: I am sure there is some subliminal, Freudian message in that gesture. What may be even more Freudian was that I had made the gesture to you at platform rwelve, with loads of onlookers, and possibly what's more so, was that I liked my breasts being squashed against you.

"I'll get there, I'll make it," you muttered, putting your right arm round my shoulders and adding, "But I may need some help," as we turned down a quiet passageway leading from the station

Laughing, I reached up and grabbed your hand which was dangling down my chest from my shoulder. I looked up at you and said, "What like this?" As I rubbed your fingertips across my breast; just quickly and lightly more as a joke than anything else.

"Oh yes," you said pushing me back against a wall, wrapping one arm round my shoulders and cupping my breast with the other as you kissed me.

'"Fuck, it's supposed to me who's daring and up for anything not you,' I thought as your tongue probed nicely into my mouth. We kissed for a moment or two almost, but not quite oblivious to our surroundings.

Three things happened during that kiss: I enjoyed it; I realised how hard you were and you discovered, if you hadn't worked it out already, that I was not wearing a bra. Actually I lie, four things happened and my response to the fourth was to whisper in your ear.