I decided to treat myself to a pre-Christmas holiday. I had always wanted to visit Scandinavia, especially Norway and had found there was a company that cruised up the North Sea coast line. It was expensive, but as this was once in a lifetime chance, I decided, what the hell.
It was evening time and after eating a delicious dinner, I decided to visit the bar. Who knows, I thought. I might meet someone, maybe even strike up a friendship on board. It would be nice to have some company for the eleven day trip.
When I stepped into the bar, it was very quiet as far as guests was concerned. There were about twelve people in total, excluding the barman and the pianist, who was playing quietly in the corner. The other patrons were around my age, some were a little younger and all were very much into being with themselves.
I sat at my table, thinking that I had made a mistake coming into the bar, but I ordered a glass of white wine and pulled my book out of my handbag.
As I was reading, I found that I was actually listening to the pianist. He wasn't just playing. He sang too and had quite a good voice. I put away my book and decided to watch him play.
He finished playing a song and announced that he was going to take a break but would be back soon. I watched him rise up from behind the piano and walk over to the bar.
He was dressed in a pair of white chinos, a white collared shirt and blue blazer. He looked to be in his mid 50's and his salt and pepper coloured hair reflected that.
As he talked to the barman, I could hear that he was English. He turned around to look into the room and our eyes momentarily met, but I averted my gaze. In that instance, I felt as though I knew him. That we had met before. He left the bar but returned a few minutes later and sat at the piano to play once more.
As he played I tried hard to recollect where I could have seen him.
The fog suddenly cleared in my mind and a door opened in my memory, which I chose to walk through...
That was then...
My name is Carol. I was 60 years old when I met Alan. I am now 82. A lot has changed since then. I have more grey hair now. Back then I was a platinum blonde. My 40 inch chest has sagged a little during the ensuing years, although my breasts have still retained a certain amount of their shape. In fact, I have been told over and over again, that for my age, I look damned good. I still have a flat stomach, albeit a little softer than it was in my youth and my bum has held its shape, with very little sign of cellulite. But my cheeks are a little softer than they used to me. Most of the compliments come from men who have tried, unsuccessfully, to get into my knickers.
Anyway, I digress...
Back then, Alan worked in the gardening department of a DIY superstore chain, in a small town called Bolster and I ran a concession stand for a double glazing company. The job was thankless, but it paid the bills and I took small consolation from the fact that I had access to the store's free canteen during lunch and coffee breaks.
Alan must have been around 28 when our paths first crossed.
Nothing planned. Pure chance.
He spent most of his time in the garden centre, but now and then he would be called upon to man the checkout. It was on one such occasion that we met.
I thought he looked quite attractive in a boyish sort of way, but I never dreamed how our meeting would turn into such a memorable event.
For all the wrong reasons.
I began flirting with him, trying to find out things about him. He let it slip that he was going to be alone for the weekend because his wife and child were out of town, visiting his parents and he had to work that weekend. Cheekily, I told him that if he felt lonely, he could call me and come over, I could cook him a meal. I even gave him my phone number.
Alas, all the flirting and innuendos that we shared appeared to come to no avail, as my phone stayed silent that weekend.
On the Monday morning, he apologetically explained that plans had changed. His mother had come down with the flu and everyone thought it best to postpone the trip to a later time.
I found myself telling him that my offer was always standing and that if he every was in need of a home cooked meal or just someone to talk to you, I would be available.
Quite a few weeks went by and although our "relationship" was based purely on jokes and innuendos, I was sure that was where we stay.
Until one Friday evening.
It was around 9 0'clock when my phone rang.
"Hi Carol," said a male voice. "It's Alan from work. I hope I'm not interrupting or disturbing you, but I was wondering if the offer to come over is still open."
My heart rate went up and my breathing quickened. I told him to come over in an hour or so.
After hanging up, I had a quick bath, put on make up and my favourite perfume. I put on a red satin bra and matching panties and over this, I wore a white toweling bathrobe.
One hour later, my doorbell rang and when I opened the door, standing on my doorstep was Alan. He looked very attractive in his dark suit, white shirt and dark blue tie. I felt a small tingle in my stomach which released a tiny twinge in my vagina. Something I hadn't felt in a long time.
I invited him in.
We went to my living room, at the back of the house and I offered him a glass of Chablis, which he accepted. He removed his jacket and sat on my red velour couch. I sat on matching armchair, opposite.
We talked about nothing much in particular. He explained that he had a part time job, as a pianist, in a restaurant, but business had been slow that night and he had been let go early. He didn't feel like going home, so he thought it was a perfect opportunity to take me up on my offer. I got the feeling that he seemed anxious, or maybe nervous. It felt as though he was in a hurry because he repeatedly looked his watch and kept asking me to join him on the couch.
I had been looking forward to his visit because at work he appeared to be a fairly mature character. More so than most of his colleagues and this was a quality that attracted me to him in the first place. But now, under my roof, on my couch, he seemed a lot less mature.
At one point, after a fourth suggestion to join him on the couch, he got up and made his way over to my chair, whereupon he knelt beside the furniture, held my hand and kissed it.
To me it appeared as a futile attempt at seduction. Almost laughable.
"What are you doing?" I asked. "Is there something on my hand?"
When he became embarrassed and made his back to the couch. He was blushing and apologising profusely. I started to take pity on him and finally, against my better judgement, I joined him on the couch.
He immediately moved closer to me and put his arm around my shoulder. I felt like a teenage girlfriend, who had been invited to my boyfriend's house for tea. Who had been left alone, while Mum and Dad made the sandwiches, so that their son and his girlfriend could have some "alone time".
Then, out of the blue, he asked if he could kiss me.
"Oh I don't think I would be very nice to kiss. I'm a little old you know," I said.
He turned my face towards his and looked into my eyes. I felt my panties suddenly dampen as his gaze penetrated me.
"I think you should allow me to be the judge of that," he replied, in a very stern and strong tone. As his lips covered mine, I experienced one of the most softest yet strong and most passionate kisses that I had felt in a long time. I reached up with my right arm and placed it on his shoulder.
I felt utterly powerless as his hand undid the cord around my bathrobe and it fell open. The same hand caressed my mid-rift and slowly moved its way up towards my chest. I moaned as he gently massaged my right breast and I felt a tingle as the palm of his hand brushed over my hard nipple. My right arm had been draped over his shoulder while he kissed me, but as he pressed harder on my breast, I moved my hand to the front of his trousers and felt what seemed to be quite a large erection. I pressed the heel of my palm onto his throbbing cock. It felt very hard.
I was beginning to get really turned on. My nipples were harder than they ever had been and my pussy was juicing so much that I could feel my thighs starting to get damp. My panties were soaked.
But then it all seemed to go pear-shaped, when he tried to drag me off the couch and onto the living room carpet.
I was annoyed.
"What the hell are you doing?" I asked, as my head bounced off the edge of the couch cushion.
He looked a little shocked, as I pushed him away.
"I thought I would spice things up a little by making love to you on the floor," he answered.
I closed my bathrobe, certain that he must have seen the dark patch in my panties and thighs glistening with my juices.
"I am sixty years old," I explained, in an annoyed tone. "At my time of life, I don't need the "rough and tumble" kind of sex. I need slow and tender. Warm and loving. Not Wham! Bang! Thank you Mam."
I was on the verge of throwing him out, but it had been so long since a man had paid me any sort of attention, that I held back and took a deep breath.
"Look," I said, in a calmer tone. "I would like us to have a good time. I find you very attractive and would love to spend some time with you. But getting carpet burns isn't my idea of fun. Let's take this to the bedroom, shall we?"
His eyes lit up and he followed me upstairs to my bedroom, where I opened my bathrobe and let it slip to the floor. I pulled back the sheets and climbed onto the mattress.
"Would you care to join me?" I asked, in what I considered to be my best sexy voice.
He removed his shirt and trousers. I let out an audible gasp when I saw his erection protruding through the tight white material of his cotton briefs. There was a little damp patch, I assumed from his pre-cum. I wanted to rip those briefs off and devour that erection, but he never gave me the chance.
He slid onto the mattress beside me and kissed me feverishly. His hands were everywhere and at one point I felt the clasp on my bra "ping" and then it was on the floor. His kisses moved from my mouth to my neck and then to my breasts. He licked and nibbled my nipples, but it was all done at lightning speed, with no time for me to really enjoy what he was doing. In fact I was starting to wonder if he really knew what he was doing.
His lips moved from my breasts and onward towards my belly. He paused there and I felt his tongue lick my belly button, which felt very nice, but again the feeling was fleeting as he moved further down.
Then all went quiet and still.
I raised my head off the pillow and looked down to see him looking at my panties.
"You have me turned on, which is why my panties are damp," I explained.
He looked up at me and smiled.
"I've never seen that before," he replied. "Not even when I have sex with my wife. Mind you I don't get to see this much with her anymore anyway."
"Why don't you take them off," I suggested.
He slowly removed the sodden garment and I watched as he gently rubbed his finger along the gusset, touching my secreted juices. He sniffed his finger and then the gusset. Then he lay the panties on the bed and stared at my crotch. I didn't shave back then, but I did like to keep my bush trim and tidy. I lay there with my thighs apart and my pussy on display. He bent down and looked at my pussy.
"You're acting as though you have never seen a vagina before," I said.
"Not one as pretty as this," he replied.
I took a sharp intake of breath when I felt him run his finger around my outer lips. I was wet. I could feel it. He lifted his finger to his mouth and licked off the glistening fluid that my pussy had deposited there. He bent down again and I gasped as I felt his warm breath on my crotch and the intrusion of his tongue to my pussy. His tongue lapped at my hole, as he tasted my juices. I felt him moving about and looked down to see his face buried in my crotch whilst at the same time, he was removing his underwear.
