Just Hard Enough to Be Perfect

I can't really remember exactly how or why I ended up at a fifty-year wedding anniversary party, but it was something to do with the family of a friend at work, and his "promise" that there would be some unattached attractive women in attendance. However, there were no pretty females (single or otherwise!), but as the selection of Scottish malts on offer was more appealing than an expensive taxi ride to an empty house, I stayed and politely flirted with some middle-aged women who were far more interested in me than I was in them. And by the time the party ended at around midnight, I was so drunk that when one of them offered to give me a lift home as it was "on her way", I just accepted despite wondering how she knew where I lived.

For most of the journey, it was a struggle to stay awake, but although I managed to direct the the woman to my house, I was unable to unbuckle my safety belt when we got there. She sniggered, opened her door, got out, walked round the car, opened the passenger door, leant in, pressed the clip by my waist with her wrist brushing gently against my zipper, and caused an instant, although minor, bulge in my trousers which I hoped she hadn't noticed.

The woman then helped me out of her car, stood me up, guided me down the short garden path while giggling quietly at my inability to walk, mumbled something about needing to help me get in, and while I stood with both palms pressed against the door frame to keep from falling, she put a hand in each of my trouser pockets.

It didn't occur to me at the time that she was doing anything except search for a key, and swiftly dismissed the thought that her hands were in my pockets longer than was necessary as drunken vanity. She pulled out my key, reached around my waist to unlock the door, guided me into the house, and down the corridor as I bounced off both walls.

I collapsed onto the floor when we got to my front room, and stared up at her as the room spun. It was difficult to focus but I managed to watch her step over me, pour what looked like a tall tumbler full of vodka from a bottle near the TV, and then, without speaking, step back over me to sit on the chair near my feet.

My head continued to spin as the woman whose name I didn't know, sipped from the glass, looked at me and then back at the glass, sipped from it again, smirked, and then took a gulp which left the tumbler three-quarters full: "I'll just make you a little more comfortable."

All I could do by way of reply was to was flap my arms aimlessly like a pair of landed fish as she got down from the chair, took off my shoes and socks, and then slowly unbuttoned my shirt.

My eyelids felt nearly as heavy as my arms, and it was difficult to know what was happening, but I can vaguely remember that she said something like: "You won't remember any of this in the morning, but I'll remember it for the rest of my life."

The woman then knelt beside me, unbuckled my belt, popped the button on my waistband, tugged at the zipper and in one smooth unhurried motion, stripped me naked from the waist down as I shook my head in a pathetic attempt to register some sort of protest.

"Maybe you should finish this?" she said in a way which sounded like a question, but not one where any sort of answer was going to make a difference. The woman then lifted my head with one hand so that she could pour the vodka into my half-open mouth with the other, and grinned when the glass was empty.

It was easier to close my eyes than try to keep them open, and that was preferable to watching a white-haired wrinkly old woman rub her hands over my chest, but I was semi-erect within seconds of her hand sliding down my stomach. She giggled like a woman many years younger, and said, "It's been a long time since I had that effect on a man, and a very long time since I had that effect on a man like you."

All I wanted to do was sleep, but I managed to open my eyes just long enough to see the woman pat her lower stomach: "I'm a little dry in here these days, so that should be perfect."

I didn't know what would "be perfect", and at that moment didn't really care as she stood upright, and slowly took off all her clothes except for a plain yellow bra. The woman then stood with her feet either side of my hips, grinned so widely that her face resembled a very large walnut and said, "I know this is wrong, but it's been a long time since I had a man inside me, and a very very long time since I had a man like you inside me."

Her dentures flashed white in the half-light as she continued, "And it's not as if you're going to tell anybody, is it? Who's going to believe that a seventy three year old grandmother could force herself on you?"

She lowered herself down, straddled my thighs, tugged, pulled and played with my erection until it stiffened a little more, guided it behind what looked like a bleached scouring pad stuck just below her navel, and purred with what could have been either excitement or satisfaction as I drifted in and out of consciousness.

I woke up alone, and naked except for my unbuttoned shirt as the morning sun shone through the open curtains. My head hurt, my lower body was a sticky mess, and the carpet was stained with what looked like a little map of Africa.

I staggered upright, shrugged off the shirt, went upstairs, and even though it really didn't matter, showered while trying to work out at what point the white-haired old woman had decided to fuck me regardless of whether or not I wanted it to happen, or if that had been her intent when offering the lift.