I stepped into the darkened pub knowing that my stag nights would soon be coming to an end. My fiancée acknowledged I needed to get my carousing out my system, but with my increasing commitment to her came her increasing fear that I might stray. I had been unreservedly insulted by that suggestion. I had sown my wild oats and was now in my late thirties, utterly in love with Catherine, and quite ready to settle into family life. The pub was simply a place where I went to drink, laugh, and relax with my mates, not prowl for girls to shag!
Trev, the married guy in our group, had my actual stag party planned for several weeks away, just before my wedding, in detail down to the stripper. The cruel bastard couldn't wait to watch me squirm while a nude woman ground her crotch on mine in an attempt to force my body to respond against my better judgment. Sitting in a booth listening to his lurid teasing, I felt the colour rising in my cheeks along with the tent in my trousers. Normally such a fantasy held no appeal to me, since I'm an aggressive sort who is far more likely to get hard from the chase, but now that I wasn't supposed to do such a thing it held appeal! It did make me a bit nervous.
So I suppose I was trying to prove how ironclad my fidelity was that night when the strange woman plonked her drink on our table and sat down unbidden at our booth. The cheek of her! I was on the end, and her hip gave me a bump which forced me to half jump away from her. She grinned pleasantly and inched her round bottom in next to me, her thigh pressing mine. I was trapped. I glanced round the table questioningly, but none of my mates had an answer for who she was. Fortunately, she announced it.
Her hand closed round the nearest hand -- mine -- in a firm handshake, and she purred in a silky, rich American accent: "Good evening, boys, I'm Linda. I could use some local entertainment." Oh fucking dear. Her audacity both offended and intrigued me. I suddenly realised my clammy hand was practically limp in hers and made some attempt to regain my manhood, firming my handshake and introducing myself and my mates with the warmest grin I could manage. Just a brazen tourist seeking a bit of local colour, I thought. Harmless enough.
Faithful old Trev quickly made some attempt at rescue, his usual ebullience overtaking the conversation as he flirted with her behind the safety of his wedding band, and I did see Linda's eyes graze it. She was looking. My own hand felt quite bare. Of course she wore no band. What married woman would plonk herself into a booth of men and so boldly tease us? But she seemed to fancy Trev, and I knew he was impervious. I picked at food and kept drinking, hoping to dodge much talking -- and drown out her sweet scent. But my eyes were quite riveted to her.
Her hair was shoulder-length, dark and wavy, the sort that moved softly with her, brushing the straps over her tanned shoulders. After a second glance I supposed it was probably dyed, since she did appear older. Her eyes crinkled merrily when she laughed, and they were deeper in their sockets than a younger woman's typically are, hooded with painted lids to complement their warm brown colour. Her nose was long, not the short upturned nose of youth but a mature nose, its line a graceful, firm arc. Actually, most fat that had padded her youth had faded, leaving strong cheekbones, a refined brow, and thinner lips...
Dear God, those lips. Plump lips revealing a peek at upper teeth on a young woman usually set my blood boiling like any man, but there was something about Linda's warmly hued mouth when she spoke that made me squirm pleasantly. Her upper lip showed a few lines where their former plumpness had been, and her lower lip pursed sexily to reveal her lower teeth. This is something I mainly noted in older women, when skin began to loose its elasticity and sag, taking the mouth down with it, but ever since boyhood I'd found it heartstoppingly attractive. Probably just a throwback to boyhood when I'd lusted after adult women.
I caught snatches of conversation as my head began to muddle with drink. Cultured and refined, Linda seemed distinctly out of place in our quaint pub. Our local brews were foreign to her, and she tried them with an enthusiasm that escaped me. While I'd pissed away my adult life as a shiftless rake chasing skirts to compensate for a dull job, she'd raised two girls and was now free to travel the world courtesy of one cracking divorce lawyer. I was only now even thinking of marrying; Linda's eldest daughter was round the same age as my fiancée! Next to this accomplished globetrotter, I felt pathetic, and rather a pervert.
As her attention fell on me from time to time, her hand would touch my arm, warmly, comfortably, naturally, as if this gesture couldn't possibly unhinge a man's composure. I felt the hair on my arm stand on end and was thankful for the sleeves which hid my excitement, though I was sweating a bit and ached to roll them back. As the evening wore on, Trev had mentioned my upcoming wedding, and Linda actually threw an arm round me to give me a laughing, congratulatory squeeze and kiss to my cheek. Her arm was cool on the back of my neck, and I felt a taut nipple prick my arm as her lips pressed to me. Such a lovely, sweet woman, to throw her arms about what amounted to a stranger and snog his cheek in celebration of a new phase of his life, and me forcing a crooked grin as her innocent gesture sent my blood raging into an erection of epic proportions. I was in trouble.
I begged off to the loo to escape her, hoping my dark trousers would hide my burgeoning lust. Slipping behind the privacy wall to the restroom doors, I was relieved to find no queue. I stood over the toilet, dizzily steadying myself against the wall, my molars afloat. Perhaps she'd be gone when I returned. I thought of England and at last managed a good trickle. As relief flooded me, I briefly considered having a wank to put out my fire. But then I thought, 'Buck up, miladdo, Catherine will be wanting you when you get home. Save it!' And that's what I determined to do. I'd let this free-spirited older woman get me hot, then I'd go home and pound my lust into my beloved.
As I left the loo, my plans quickly unravelled. She was exiting the ladies' room. We were suddenly alone, shielded from prying eyes behind the privacy wall. She smiled with recognition and motioned to me, distracted about something. I'm a big lad, over 6 feet, and in her heels she stood near tall as me, rather intimidating actually. My eyes raked her curves for the first time. Her legs were bare, clad only in a modest skirt of clingy fabric that revealed the swell of her well-padded hips. The strappy shirt she wore was just light enough in both weight and colour to reveal the impression of hard nipples. They jiggled as she moved to grasp my arm, her deep voice coolly ordering me to hold her up. Then she leant over, lifting a foot to adjust a shoe strap.
I was numb, couldn't bring myself to put a hand on her. With an overly dramatic sigh of exasperation she grabbed my belt to steady herself. I gasped and snatched at her hand. She grinned impishly up at me as she adjusted the strap, then stamped her shoe down and stood to her full height, giving my belt a downward tug as she did so. I felt the wall thump my back, hadn't even realised I had stumbled backwards. My hands had gone slack on hers.
Linda leaned in, her nose scant centimetres from mine, and purred, "You, sir, are going to walk me to my hotel, and you're going to be a perfect gentleman about it in spite of the way you just undressed me with your eyes. Do you understand?"
