The Object of Forbidden Desire

This is my first story. I hope you like it. If there is interest, I'll write more parts to this story. Positive feedback is welcome.

She couldn't help herself. Her eyes were fixed on him, just as on that first morning. His smooth tanned skin covering the steely muscles beneath. No, it wasn't the same that first day. It was different. She moved away and sat on a chair. She brushed her forehead with her hand, trying to think about the first time she set eyes on him.

She'd been expecting him because he'd rung the day before. But, when he'd rung the bell, she'd been washing the dishes from lunch. He'd arrived early. A little flustered at being taken out of her routine, she went to the door whilst trying to take off her apron. But the knot wouldn't undo and she was fiddling with the string when she opened the door.

"Good afternoon," said a nervous voice. "I'm Mark Pryce. We spoke on the phone." Phyllis didn't look up, and after a pause, "It is Mrs. Roberts, isn't it?"

"Yes, that's right. Good afternoon," she responded still playing with knot. When she looked up her hands fell away from the tied string and she became hypnotised by the Adonis in front of her. The gentle voice belied the statuesque figure that stood in the doorway. His dark hair was cut short and brushed backwards. His eyes were a pale blue and sparkled. His skin was lightly tanned, the exact same colour that came to mind that they always mention of the Italians or Greeks: olive, yes that was it. His teeth flashed white in a nervous smile, framed by thick luscious red lips. Her hands rushed to her hair to check that it was still in place and decent enough to receive such a good looking man. She laughed to herself, her cheeks flushed: what was she doing?

She recovered from her stupor, "Yes, that's right. Please, come in," moving aside to let the stranger pass her gaze remained transfixed on him. He was a good six inches taller than her, she estimated. At five foot five inches, she wasn't exactly small but he must have been a little over six foot. He wore a very nice dark suit. And, as he passed, his heady cologne seemed to fill the room. It was a little too sweet for her liking, but pleasant all the same. She indicated for him to take a seat. "Would you like some tea?" she asked, "then we can make a start on the formalities." The young man agreed.

She collected her thoughts in the kitchen. 'Wow!' She thought. 'I've not felt like that for a long time.' The truth was, he reminded her a lot, of her late husband. Not that they were identical twins or anything, it was just that he, too, had been tall and dark with an air of powerful sexuality.

She went back into the living room, tray in hand. "I've brought some biscuits. Do you like digestives?"

"Very much so, thank you," said the visitor.

"Good. Do you want milk?" Again she received a soft affirmative. She'd already begun pouring before she'd heard the reply. All this nonsense about lemon in tea: she'd never met anyone who took it. She handed him the cup and saucer. "Please help yourself to sugar."

"That's okay, I never take sugar." He said sitting back adjusting his jacket and straightening his tie.

She sat back and studied him. Her body tingled just looking at him. "Erm... perhaps you'd feel more comfortable if you took off your jacket. The warm weather has arrived early and I'm afraid the heating won't go off for a few more weeks yet." Then explained quickly, "I'm afraid I don't know how to work the heater. It was set by the technician and I haven't touched it since."

He smiled and leant forward and put his cup down. She noticed that he had been going to put it on the coffee table itself that separated them before hesitating and putting it down on the tray. A nice show of manners, she thought. As he stood up to take off his jacket, she sat back to get a better view. She couldn't believe she was eyeing him up, but she couldn't stop herself. She could see he was well built. He had one of those bodies made from doing a lot of exercise: broad shoulders (the jacket wasn't padded), his biceps bulged slightly under the shirt which was tucked into his trousers over slim hips. His "packet" appeared to be a slight bulge under the trousers. But, they were quite loose so she couldn't be sure if he had 'a big one' or not. As he came to sit down again, she could make out the shape of his chest under the shirt: large hard square muscles. She was sure she could just make out a large dark nipple on his right chest, the other being covered by the breast pocket.

"So," she began, lifting her eyes to his, and trying to concentrate. "It's Mark, isn't it?"

"That's right." He flashed a smile back.

"Tell me something about yourself. Where are you from?"

"Well, I'm from the other side of the country, and I've just been offered a job here. So, I'm looking for a place to live."

"Where will you be working?"

"In the local council; I got the job after graduating from university."

"You're a long way from home, haven't you got any relatives in this part of the country?"

"None, I'm afraid. My parents are all I've got. I'm an only child."

"What about friends? Didn't any of your classmates come from here?

His nervous smile slipped as he was trying to read the situation. Was she rejecting him as a tenant?

Seeing his doubts she quickly, tried to allay his fears, "It's not that I don't want you here. I advertised for a lodger because I like having someone else around the house. Heaven knows in this day and age, it isn't safe for anyone anymore. But I want to be sure, and more importantly, I want you to be sure, that you want to live here. It's quite isolated; it's more than half an hour's walk to the nearest village and it can get quite lonely sometimes. So, I want you to have it clear in your mind that you can stay here, particularly as my rules are quite strict. I don't want to have to be looking for a new lodger every few months."

"I don't think I'll have any problems." He said plainly. His smile didn't return. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She didn't want to scare him away. He seemed a nice young man. And no one else had replied to the advert in the paper. "Perhaps, if we talk about the conditions," he added, "then we'll see if we fit together."

"Very good," she replied feeling better about the situation. "Let me show you round while we talk about it." She set her cup and saucer down and stood up. Mark followed suit. He left his jacket on the sofa and walked behind her. "Just a moment" she said, "I'll get the keys and we'll do this properly."

They moved to the front door, "The flat is virtually independent," she began as she moved outside, "There is a connecting door inside, but I haven't used it in years and I'd have to find the key. Anyway you'll really only be going to and from the flat from outside; so you won't have to come through the house." They walked round to the garage, and climbed some steps that led to a granny flat. The door opened into the kitchen. It was small and rustic. She spoke about the conditions whilst she showed him around. No loud noises; no parties; he could have people over though, as long as they stayed in his part of the house. There was a pool in the back garden, which he could use, if he so wished. The flat was furnished but if he wanted to bring his own furniture then he should tell her and they would sort out moving her furniture into storage. The rent had to be paid into her bank account because she didn't want to have a lot of money in the house. Breakages had to be paid for, etc. etc.

Mark had been brought up an only child and his parents had been quite strict. His rebellious nature had had its outlet when he was fifteen and now he'd settled down to a quiet life. The rules seemed quite exaggerated, but he was running against the clock. All he wanted to do was to move in somewhere and get settled in the area. In a year or two, when he could afford to, he'd buy his own place and move away anyway.

His thoughts were brought back to the present by the question, "When were you thinking of moving in?"

"Sorry," he smiled again, which made her heart flutter, "I was just trying to think of some more questions. I thought this weekend, if that would be okay."

"Yes, that'd be fine." She paused, "Do you have a lot of belongings?"

"Not that much. About two suitcases of clothes, some books, my weights... I like to keep in shape. Oh and my computer. Does the flat have a telephone connection?"

"I'm afraid not. But I have one if you need to make phone calls."

"It's for internet." He replied.

She kicked herself. She'd just proved to him that she was an old fuddy-duddy. "Well, you could have a line put in, I suppose. But you'd have to pay for that and it would be your responsibility."

"No, problem: I'll do it in a few weeks, once I'm settled in."

"Well, then, I suppose I'll have the rent agreement drawn up and you can sign it on Saturday."

With that, they shook hands. His large strong hand and firm grasp made her tummy tingle. She stared down at her hand in his for a while; for too long. After some moments he pulled his hands away and laughed nervously. "Oh, I'm so sorry" she said blushing, "it's just that you've got such marvellous hands. I mean, it surprised me how strong they were." She realised she was babbling and tried to brush off the incident. "It's just old woman talk." She laughed.

They went back to her living room to finish their tea. They chatted a little about this and that and at the end she was convinced he'd make a good tenant: polite, quiet, strong and charming. When it came time for him to leave she thanked him for coming and showed him out. Once he'd gone she tried to get back to her chores, but snippets of his conversation played in her head.

Over the following days, she found she couldn't get him out of her mind. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his face; his hands; his eyes. Her stomach was aflutter with butterflies. What was happening to her? She couldn't believe she was acting like a schoolgirl.

Even her friends noticed. On their weekly get together they'd spend the day in town and the evening at one of their houses, chatting, playing cards, watching films etc. They jokingly called themselves "The Old Woman's Club" because they were all just past fifty, and, with the exception of one, they were either widowed or divorced.

It was the married friend, Sandra, who noticed first. She commented on how Phyllis seemed to have bloomed. Phyllis laughed it off as a new batch of HRT the doctor had given her, but inside she was quite worried that her feelings were rising to the surface. She was especially worried as she herself was having problems making sense of them.

Mark appeared on the Saturday morning with a small rented van, packed with his things. Packed wasn't, perhaps, the right word. He had a bicycle and a small box of books, a briefcase with his laptop in it, his clothes and a box of what he called 'free weights'.

He knocked on the door to get the key, but Phyllis was already there. She'd heard the sound of the engine as it pulled up.

"My, you do travel light," she joked. "I need at least three times as much when I go anywhere."

"I'm sure you don't. You look like a low maintenance type of gal to me." He quipped back."Would you like me to help you with your things?" She asked.

"No, it's okay. I'll manage. There isn't much stuff to shift, as you've already said."

"I won't press," She said laughing, "I don't want to be one of those 'in your face' landlords who's always running in and out. And actually I'm quite relieved you said no. I don't think I'd be strong enough to lift any of it." They both laughed and Mark moved off to put his things in his new place and Phyllis went back to doing her chores.

The next morning she was awoken by a splashing sound. She wasn't sure what was going on until she realised it was someone in the pool. She got up to the window and tweaked back the curtains. She'd forgotten all about her new tenant; he'd been so quiet the night before she wasn't sure if he'd actually stayed or gone back to his old lodgings for more things. She looked down just in time to see him dive under the water. His long muscular body shimmered below the surface of the pool as he slipped along the bottom. When he came up for air at the other end, she saw he had a bathing cap on with goggles. "Quite the professional," she said to herself. He hoisted himself up slowly. The water ran down his sinewy back. As his waist rose out of the water she almost fainted on seeing his taut cheeks, squeezed tighter by the swimming trunks that they now called 'speedos' or something. God! He was handsome. He stood up and turned round. The water glistened off every muscle and every muscle stood out like some Greek statue. He wiped the water from his torso with his hands as he contemplated diving back in. His body tensed as he dove down through the water with perfect form.

She moved away from the window. Should she invite him for breakfast: like a good will gesture for his first morning? But she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and her world fell apart. She was old: not doddery, but certainly past middle age. Why would he possibly want to sit and chat with her?

But why was she so upset by it? Then it dawned on her: She was infatuated! She fancied him! How could she be so stupid? She sat down and gently sobbed. It had been some four years since her husband had died and in all that time she'd never even thought of another man. Now, with this young man, this Grecian god she hadn't even thought about her husband in days. She was unable to contain herself and she wept openly.

After a while she managed to gather herself together and get dressed. She decided that it would be a good idea to go and see her husband's grave.

When she came out the house about an hour later, she saw that Mark was now round the front also ready to go out. He was fastening a helmet to his head. He smiled and turned to face Phyllis. He was wearing cycling gear. Her cheeks glowed with self-indignation as she realised that she was staring at his cycling shorts. Did everything he wore have to be so tight? Unlike before, from her window, from here she could plainly see the bulge of his crotch. His cock leaned to one side, as if struggling to find an escape from its prison. It was thick and long. Even from this distance she could see that he was circumcised. Her mind raced and she became giddy and leant against the door frame. Somewhat perturbed at seeing her swoon, he moved towards her. His cock bulged against the material with every left step. "I'm... I'm alright." She said waving him away. "I'm going to see my husband. It always makes me a bit emotional."

He didn't notice her warning and carried on moving towards her, "Would you like me to come with you?" he asked concerned.

"No, no. I'll be fine. Please... you go on with your day. I just need a few minutes to rest." But he was already at her side. One hand closed round her arm and she felt his iron like strength as his other braced her back. "I... I... err... I think I'll go back inside and sit for a minute." She mustered. Mark helped her inside and sat her down on the sofa. He walked into the kitchen to fetch her some water. Her eyes were transfixed on his form. The more she looked at him the worse she felt, but she couldn't take her eyes off him. Those long powerful legs, his tight backside and slim waist, which spread out to those broad shoulders and thick arms. She realised that she was sexually aroused. As he came back with a glass in his hand her eyes burnt into his crotch. She didn't know how, but she managed to pull her head down and mop her eyes with a hankie. "Oh, thank you, thank you." She replied and accepted the water. "You can go now honestly. I'll just take a few minutes to collect myself."

"Are you sure?" he asked worriedly.

"Perfectly: Now you go along and carry on with your outing. I'll be fine." She insisted.

"Well," he hesitated, "I'll check in on you when I get back. I don't want us to be living on top of each other and not know if the other needs help." The words 'on top of each other' jolted through her and she almost chocked.

"Go, go." She chided.

Mark went and she was left alone. The tingling sensation in the pit of her stomach didn't leave her. She sat for a few minutes, thinking. When she'd calmed down sufficiently, she stood up and went upstairs to her room.

She stood in front of the wardrobe mirror and looked at herself again. She took off her hat and placed it on the bed behind her. She wore her hair short, as did most ladies of her age, because it was easier to manage and it had lost its strength since the menopause had begun. The once black hair had faded to a dark grey and soon it would be white. Suddenly, she wanted to see herself. Her clothes frustrated her. She took off her jacket and let it drop to the floor. She pulled her blouse out of her skirt and began unbuttoning it. Half way down, annoyed with the buttons, she pulled it over her head. She kicked off her shoes at the same time and then undid her skirt. She stood in her bra and pants looking at herself in the mirror.

She took a good look. Despite what she had thought earlier that morning, she wasn't in too bad a shape. Her stomach hadn't resisted time too well, though. She'd developed quite a paunch; she'd have to go on a diet. She took off her bra and examined her breasts. They'd sagged a bit but they were still full and firm. Her thumb brushed over her nipple. She'd always liked it when her husband touched her there. Sometimes he'd suckle her nipples when they were making love. Thoughts of him flooded her mind and she sat down on the bed, taking of her knickers. She lay back and began touching herself: her fingers gently running up and down the opening of her slit. She parted her legs more and began pushing her fingers little by little inside her and rubbing her swollen clitoris. She was already wet from seeing Mark in his tight shorts. Images flashed through her mind: memories at first of her late husband the way he'd touched her, the way they'd made love: and then, thoughts of Mark. Oh, Mark; those hard muscles and that large cock. Oh, the thought of it. She saw it again in her minds eye, wagging with every stride he made in those skin-tight shorts. What would it be like inside her; pushing deep inside her, dominating her? She could feel it, long and thick splitting her in two. Her breathing became more rapid and her body shook in orgasm. She withdrew her fingers and crawled up the bed till her head reached the pillow.

She was awoken by the bell. She'd fallen asleep. She grabbed her bathrobe and rushed to the landing window which overlooked the door. "Just a minute, please. I'll be right down." She called through the window. When she reached the door and opened it, there was her perdition: Mark. Breathing heavily, he took off his top to reveal his glistening torso. Unable to say anything, Phyllis was immediately grabbed and pressed against his sweaty body. His hands slipped under her robe and he lowered her to the floor. He kissed her breasts before lying on top of her and wrapping his lips around hers. His large cock, found its way into her and he called out, "Phyllis, oh Phyllis! I love you. I can't help myself!" whilst plunging into her. With every thrust he called out, "Phyllis, Phyllis!" All she managed to do was gasp as she was shaken again by orgasm after orgasm.

The sound of the door bell going woke her up. She wasn't sure where she was. She rubbed her eyes and sat up. The bell sounded again and she heard Mark's voice calling her name. Quickly she picked up her robe and ran down stairs. She opened the door and there he was; Mark. Breathing heavily he took off his top to reveal his sweating torso, "Oh, I'm glad you're okay. For a moment there, I thought something had happened." He sighed heavily and wiped his chest with the shirt. Phyllis was unable to speak. Was she still dreaming?