The 5th Anniversary

Hard to believe we have been going 5 years already. Networking Projects had progressed from a dream in Malcolm's university dorm to a computer consultancy employing nearly 100 people.

Not sure if we were establishment or still the brash new kids on the block we celebrated at the Firkin and Fowl, a trendy restaurant cum disco bar. It was an odd night. Many of the whizz kids in the company were obviously uncomfortable with the etiquette of a formal dinner. But when we went through to the disco area the tables were turned. At 34 I was about the oldest in the company and felt well out of place amidst the strobe lights and techno trance music.

I was hiding in the corner, wondering what would be least conspicuous way to leave early, when Caitlin came over. I knew her by sight; a work experience kid who had joined our customer service team about a week ago. By all accounts useless but decorative. I had even heard that there was a sweep stake running among the programmers to see who would be first into her knickers. She was obviously drunk and wearing a tiny pink skirt and a blue top that left her girly nipples protruding. I knew full well she was under age and sensed trouble looming.

"My gran wants to talk to you", she said.

"What kind of chat up line is that?" I thought. But I followed her eyes to where another party were sitting on the far side of the room. I realised she was serious when a middle aged woman made eye contact and nodded.

I went over still not sure what was going on. It turned out that the woman worked for Barnes and Turnbull, an estate agency where I had installed an intranet a couple of months ago. She had recognised me and simply wanted to make conversation. "Two fish out of water had better swim together," was her way of putting it. I bought her a drink but it was difficult to talk in the racket. She seemed pleasant enough so on the spur of the moment I suggested that we find somewhere quieter.

Outside, as we walked down Churchgate, she told me that her name was Jenny. I got my first proper look at her and tried to guess her age. She read my mind and asked, "How old do you think I am, Mark?"

I hesitated to say what I thought but she prompted me, "Go on, out with it".

"50," I replied.

"You're a genius," she said not in the least embarrassed about admitting her age to a man.

"But you don't look it," I added somewhat fatuously.

She smiled and said "Yes I do but I don't care. You don't look like a geek so lets just be our selves." I liked that straightforwardness about her from the start and it broke the ice between us. We settled into a cosy alcove in the Rose and Crown and I discovered that when she relaxed she really didn't look fifty. She had blonde hair, nearly shoulder length and wavy, a slightly chubby face, with a few wrinkles around her eyes but an intelligent forehead and a nice smile. She was dressed simply in a black and white floral print strappy dress with just a necklace for ornament. She seemed to see no need for the excessive lingerie and make up of so many desperate older women. She really was intelligent and it was good to have a wide ranging adult conversation. But she didn't drink alcohol and soon got tired of orange juice so, regretfully on my part, we went outside for separate taxis. She was already sitting in the back of her taxi when she called out of the window laughing, "You could come and fix my computer, Mark."

I jumped in beside her, our eyes met and I gave her an exploratory peck on the lips. They were warm and tasted of strawberry lipstick but she didn't extend the embrace, seemingly embarrassed. Instead we talked about computers all the way to her place.

In private she changed. We settled on her comfortable sofa to watch a movie; a historical love story with a plot; not the usual Hollywood thrillers I so detest. We both got absorbed in it and in doing so forgot our inhibitions. Gradually our legs touched then we held hands. She let her hair brush on my shoulder and I put an arm round her. Everything about her was comfortably rounded; a complete change from my usual nubile type and I found it intriguing.

After the film she made tea and brought me a chocolate bar. She apologised that she only had one but I told her "let's share," and fed her one end. I nibbled the other and gradually we came to the middle. We both wanted to give the other the last square. Neither of us bit it and it dropped into the valley between the swells of her breasts.

Without thinking I reached down to pick it up. She slipped her dress strap off her shoulder to help me. Suddenly I was looking at the top of her breast. It wasn't big and showed a few freckles. But it was firm and tucked tightly into a pretty black and crimson lacy bra; its frilly hem curving in a graceful parabola deep into her cleavage. My fingers followed the plunge and cupped. There were no wires. Suddenly she was ticking all the right boxes for me and my fingers began to think the previously unthinkable, kneading her flesh eagerly.

"Mark!" she exclaimed in a chiding tone.

Not sure if she meant it I took my hand out just in case only to discover that I had forgotten the chocolate which had melted and was smeared all over her cleavage as well as my palm.

"I must go to the bathroom," she excused herself.

I went to the kitchen to wash my hands then back to the living room. Looking around I realised that it was full of photos of children and grandchildren. She actually was a granny and I felt ashamed of myself.

She was a long time upstairs and I went out into the hallway and called, "are you OK, Jenny?" She didn't answer but appeared at the top of the stairs. I looked up and my eyes followed her substantial but shapely legs. She smiled and said, "You men are so obvious," then lifted the front of her dress.

If her bra had been a surprise then her panties were a revelation. Black tangas with a low, lacy waistband hugged her hips without cutting into them. The vertical piece was too narrow for her broad shallow front and her fleshy mound and labia were peeping. Her panties weren't quite opaque and I knew she was smooth with healthy, lightly tanned skin. Delicious!

Jenny was refreshingly different. Most girls in my experience would have either told me to fuck off or gone all the way with an impromptu strip. But Jenny gave me only a few seconds glimpse then let the dress fall and came on downstairs.

Now don't get me wrong. I like a girl to make her desire plain. But Jenny showed me another way of doing it. She knew that the most seductive way to explore a woman's body can be slowly through her clothes.

She broke all my rules. I normally insist on long hair but hers was barely shoulder length. I fondled it a bit anyway and discovered that it was not only pleasantly soft but exposed a g spot on the back of her neck. That was elusive but when I found it she would reward me with eager kisses.

She didn't try to break the world record for long kisses but liked to cuddle as well holding my face gently against her neck and breasts. Impressions mattered to Jenny and she had taken the trouble to shower and delicately scent her cleavage. I was both flattered and turned on. She knew it and responded by letting her dress strap slip again and her hungry, now braless, nipple pop out.

Normally I am a sucker for miniskirts but Jenny's dress was knee length and put me off at first. But she showed me how to stroke her thighs through the thin, silky material. She did the same with my leg through my summer weight trousers and the feeling was smoother and more exciting than any bare thigh contact I've had.

Slowly, slowly friction eased the dress up until her lovely panties were peeping and slowly, slowly I grew until I had to let my cock out before my zip burst.

That revealed something else about Jenny. I have always had a modern attitude that anywhere, indoors or out, including the sofa is a good place to fuck. But Jenny was a traditional housewife. For her a comfortable bed was a must. She locked the doors and put the lights out then I followed her upstairs in the dark into her inner sanctum.

I hastily undressed, fumbling nervously with my clothes, still not quite believing that I was about to make love to a woman as old as my auntie Betty. By the time she illuminated the room with a warm yellow glow from a bedside light I was naked. She was lying on the luxurious sheet, head propped up on fluffy pillows, resting on her elbow, legs half open. She was also naked. I looked in amazement at her long, dark, surprisingly tight gash with a pink flower in it.

Suddenly for the first time she was nervous fiddling with her necklace and tensing her thighs.

I gambled by climbing on the bed from the bottom and slithering between her legs like a snake, my tongue hanging out. She laughed and I knew that she wanted me to relax her orally. I lifted the flower and tucked my tongue underneath the petals to made slow oval sweeps of her labia with the tip of my tongue. That soon did the trick. She sat up caressing my head and shoulders silently asking for more. When she began to moan softly and the first drops of cum left a salty taste on my tongue I eased out the flower, and placed it in her cleavage.

It was great not to have to stop for a condom and I thrust her deeply, repeatedly, finding a rhythm in time with her panting and the contractions of her pelvic muscles. Ummmm!

She adored my thick white cum, even taking some on her finger to inspect and taste before settling into my arms and tucking my hand under her breast.

"It's been 5 years, Mark," she said drowsily. "But you've made it go in a flash." We both knew she wouldn't have to wait another five before the next time.