The Past Is Present

Sally could have sworn she knew him. From the very first time he came into her restaurant the thought had come into her head, "I've seen him somewhere before."

He was so striking that it should have been easy for her to recall, but somehow the memory could not be retrieved. That nearly black hair and dark blue eyes were unusual, and his good looks, with almost the prettiness of an attractive girl. His sensual mouth that when he smiled revealed beautifully white and even teeth; but the memory would not surface.

The first time he had appeared in the restaurant it had been with a couple of other students. It seemed they had come to celebrate some academic triumph. The other two had drunk heavily, but he had been restrained.

Even in eating he had been almost as abstemious as one of those ascetics of long ago you could read about, but in all else there was nothing ascetic about him. She had been all too aware of his virile young body, lithe and with a sensuality about it that had sent a little frisson of excitement through her.

She had been annoyed by that tremor. No one – no man – had caused that response in her, and she had been determined they never would. Ever since...but no, she wouldn't think of that; it was all in the distant past; over and done with.

From the very first she had been aware that his eyes were upon her. That was not unusual since she was sufficiently self-aware to know that she attracted men. That had been one of the reasons for the restaurant's success, but any suggestion, any hint from one of her male customers, and they soon felt the cold draught of her rejection.

In a way she had been flattered by his frank stare of admiration since she was at least eighteen years older than him, and there were, after all, two very pretty waitresses about his own age, but he took not the slightest notice of them.

His gaze had been for her as she moved about among the customers playing the friendly hostess. She was good at that; flattering, sympathising and joking; but for some reason she could not quite define, she did not go near his table.

He came in at other times; sometimes with fellow students but often alone, and always his eyes had followed her round the room as if he was hypnotised by her.

She often wondered why he came because he drank so little and seemed to take no interest in the food, but it was her own response that most puzzled her. Why did he look at her so intently and why did she always feel that thrill of excitement when she saw him come in through the door?

Now, with the restaurant closed and the place cleared up and staff gone, she sat alone with him in the little office behind the restaurant bar.

His request was not unusual. Many of the university students came in to ask if there was evening work; washing up, cleaning floors or even waiting at tables if they felt they could manage it; anything to make a few dollars to supplement their meagre student grants.

She had been surprised by his request for work since she had always thought him to be financially well off. Not that he spent a lot of money in the restaurant, but his clothes, although casual in the manner of students, were obviously expensive, and she had noticed his car when it was parked in the area behind the restaurant; it was a model that did not come cheap. She had always thought that he must have well-off parents, or some liberal source of income.

Now he had approached her to ask for a job washing dishes and she was in the process of interviewing him. It was strange because although he had been in the restaurant many times, they had never exchanged more than a few words of greeting. His voice, unlike his slightly feminine looks, was a very male baritone and his speech beautifully articulated without being affected.

Given her view that he did not seem to be in need of money and there were plenty of students who did need it, she almost refused his request outright; but something in his eyes, something that both attracted and disturbed, had made her say, "See me after we close."

The interview was rather pointless really. Sally knew she was going to give him the job though if you asked her why she couldn't have given a coherent reason. She didn't need an additional washer-up and profitable though the restaurant was, she didn't need to be paying out more wages, small though they were.

She looked at him across the desk behind which she had sat as a sort of barrier or defence. He looked back at her with smiling mouth and eyes. Then the now familiar quiver of excitement that this time seemed to centre in her lower abdomen and cause a ticking sensation in her clitoris, and this in turn brought on a hardening of her nipples.

Even as she said in as formal a voice as she could muster, "Very well, Peter, I shall only need you on Thursday, Friday and Saturday evenings," she knew she should not be giving him the job.

He had been very polite and eager, but for all those smiling eyes she sensed danger; danger to herself. She tried to crush this feeling, telling herself it was stupid, just as that hint of sexual arousal had been stupid, yet the feeling persisted.

She seemed to be arguing with her self as she spoke; "What would he want with me? With his looks and charm he could get almost any girl he wanted and he's hardly likely to have a sexual interest in someone so much older than him."

But lurking deep in her psyche and barely acknowledged, was the thought, "What would I want with him?" Yet she had given him the job when her instincts had told her not to; given him the job when she did not even need his labour.

He rose and said, "Thank you very much, Mrs. Marlow, I'm sure I shall give satisfaction."

She looked at him sharply; had there been some double meaning in his words? Innocent though they were, it had been the way they had been said. His continuing smile was ingenuous.

"No, it was me," she decided, "I'm being silly and it's got to stop."

"Goodnight, Mrs. Marlow, I'll start next Thursday, then?"

"Yes, be here at six o'clock, goodnight."

He left. "Mrs. Marlow" was a title she used in the hope that it would defend her against some of the more suggestive of her customers. No one had ever met or even seen Mr. Marlow for the very good reason that there never had been a Mr. Marlow.

Sally had never been married, had never entered into a "relationship," and her determination was that she never would. It could be truthfully said that she was as chaste as a nun. Her life was centred on her restaurant to the extent that she even lived above it in a small flat.

She locked the restaurant door after Peter had gone and stood for a moment listening to him start up his car and watched it through the window as he drove past.

At that moment she realised she had not even asked for his address or a contact phone number. She would have to do that when he arrived the following Thursday to start work.

She sighed, took a last look around the restaurant, switched off the lights that were still on, and made her way upstairs to the flat, a shower, and then her virtuous bed.

As she showered that night she took longer than usual and did something she had never done before; as she washed she explored her body, lingering over her breasts and sex organ, even letting a finger slip inside her vagina. She gave her self a mental slap on the wrist when she became fully conscious of what she was doing and how much she was enjoying it.

Normally she slept soundly, undisturbed by disquieting dreams or nightmares. Not so that night. They were not exactly erotic dreams, neither were they by normal standards frightening. They were images of Peter's smiling eyes and the reiterated words, "Guess...guess...guess..."

For all their lack of fearful content Sally awoke perspiring. "Guess what?" she asked her self repeatedly, but found no answer, and then falling asleep again she had the same dream. Throughout the night it came to her until she dreaded going back to sleep.

When, after having fought against sleep she had finally succumbed in the early hours of the morning, she awoke from that sleep feeling that her world had changed but she didn't know how.

The room looked the same, and, when she took a morning shower to wash away the odour of female perspiration that clung to her body, she found the shower was the same, as was the restaurant when she made her early morning inspection.

It was all the same but different. There was a different atmosphere that was not exactly unpleasant, but was very disturbing. She found her self wishing it was Thursday and for a moment did not know why; then it struck her, "Peter will be here."

She breakfasted and after that the day began. The day staff arrived to prepare for the lunch time customers. Sally found her self unable to concentrate properly, and her staff, always used to her being very much alert to what was going on, were puzzled by her seeming inability to answer their questions in her usual incisive manner.

Poor Gordon the chef got his head snapped off when he tried to discuss the next day's menu and stock orders. He was immediately apologised to by Sally who said, "Sorry Gordon, I just don't seem to be myself today."

It was true, she wasn't herself, but couldn't make up her mind who she was.

Normally the hours and days flew by for Sally as she attended to the details of her beloved restaurant and played the hostess to the customers. Now time dragged by and the question "Guess what?" kept beating in her head.

She began to wonder if she needed to see a psychiatrist and made an effort to be the usually dignified but friendly hostess. But she left many customers bewildered when it became clear that she hadn't really heard a word they said, and had made incongruent responses to their remarks and questions.

Another change took place when Thursday arrived. From being a somewhat depressed and preoccupied woman, she suddenly became bright and effervescent; so much so that all those around her were somewhat uneasy about these unusual mood changes.

There was some return to normality when Peter arrived and started work, although they didn't associate Peter's arrival with the change in Sally.

The two pretty waitresses, who had always been rather flirtatious with Peter, were delighted he had joined the staff, but then become somewhat put out when he did not respond to their coquettish behaviour. He replied to their suggestive quips only briefly, and seemed totally absorbed in the task of washing and clearing up.

"A new broom always sweeps clean," one of the older members of the kitchen staff remarked sagely. The others nodded, and she went on, "He'll soon get bored with it and I'll bet he chucks it in; these students always do in the end."

To the general annoyance of the staff the prophecy did not come true quickly enough. They all knew that Peter was not really required, but he flung himself into the tasks and was always the last to leave.

Involved as he seemed to be in the work, Peter no longer openly gazed at Sally, but she was always aware of his presence, and it was almost as if he was still watching her. Several times she was on the brink of telling him he was no longer needed, but stepped back from the edge, unable to speak the words.

She got to the point where she finally admitted to herself that she was fascinated by Peter, even that she was in love with him. However much she tried to tell herself that this was madness and nothing could ever come of it, her days and nights were filled with thoughts of him, and worse, imagining herself to be in his embrace – surrendering her long preserved chastity to him.

To be with Peter was like being in hell; the thought of not being with him was another sort and more fiery hell. She tried to lose herself in work, telling herself she would conquer this nonsense; it did not help. She even took to masturbating, something she had rarely done during her many years of celibacy. None of it helped; if anything it seemed to heap more fuel on the fires that burned within her.

It was all so crazy because despite being in each others presence several nights a week, they spoke little. It was only when the restaurant had closed and all the other staff had gone and Peter was still bustling around giving a final wipe and polish to this and that, that they conversed at all. Even then it was nothing; they merely talked about the evening and how many customers had been in and other fairly inconsequential things.

It was not what they said, but how they looked at each other that really passed the message. Sally knew where it all must lead to unless she could find the strength to dismiss Peter, but that strength she could not find. So she waited, a willing victim, if victim she was to be, for the denouement.

She might have made the move herself, but the last vestiges of female pride held her back, besides, she knew for certain that one night Peter would approach her. Yet she had long to wait.

Night after night when Peter was on duty she moved with an uncomfortable ache in the region of her mons and wetness between her thighs. She took to looking at Peter's groin and could see plainly the hard lump that often pressed against his tight trousers.

It took five weeks, but finally it happened. Even though she had decided she could not or would not make the first move, Sally relented so far as to ostentatiously lock the front door of the restaurant before Peter had left.

She moved towards him where he stood by the bar that he had just finished cleaning. For a moment they stood looking at each other, and then Peter put his arms round her, pulled her close and kissed her.

It was not a deep passionate kiss, but very soft and tender. When they broke from the kiss Sally felt her legs grow weak and she sagged against him making a little whimpering sound.

"You know I want you, don't you Sally?" he said very quietly.

"Yes," quavered Sally, "come up to the flat and make love with me."

On the surface it was as simple as that, but Sally was quivering uncontrollably as they climbed the stairs in silence to her flat. Partly it was in anticipation of what was to come, but along with that was the realisation that she was about to break the resolution she had made after..."No, that is in the past, this is different," she told herself.

They entered the flat and Sally was wondering, "Where?" Her bedroom had only an austere single bed, not the most romantic place for making love. She need not have troubled herself, for it was Peter who chose the place.

In the lounge was a large divan. Sally used it to relax on when on rare occasions she did take time off from working or thinking about work, to listen to music or watch television.

Peter, seeing the divan, drew Sally to stand before it, and then kissing her again he began to slowly undress her. She was dressed in the clothing she customarily wore in the restaurant, a simple white blouse and black skirt. Beneath she wore only black bra and panties and black stockings with a suspender belt.

She felt Peter remove her blouse followed by her bra. He was still kissing her but with increasing urgency as he paused in his stripping her to cup and fondle her breasts. He bent his head over her breasts and kissed each nipple in turn, and then, with mouth open he kissed her deeply, thrusting his tongue into her mouth.

Sally, for all her thirty seven years, could only rely on her instincts to tell her how to respond. She pressed her still shaking body against Peter, feeling his hard manhood against her lower abdomen.

"Be gentle with me," she whispered.

"I'll be very gently," Peter replied as he undid the fastener at the top of her skirt. The skirt dropped to the floor and he began to remove her panties, his mouth once more pressed to hers.

The panties removed he left her stockings on and then stripped himself. He pressed her back tenderly onto the divan to lie on her back. He then carefully parted her legs and raising them to expose her sex organ, he bent forward and kissed it.

Sally gasped with passion and Peter came to lay beside her, his mouth once more on hers as his fingers explored her vagina and clitoris.

"You're very beautiful, Sally," he murmured, and Sally, her throat dry, could only gasp, "Oh Peter...Peter..."

Feeling that her vagina was ready for him Peter came between her legs and Sally felt the hard tip of his penis press against her vaginal opening. It was at that moment Sally realised what the possible consequences were if Peter ejaculated into her. A few moments before she might have protested, telling him they must wait until they had some means of contraception, but now he was in her, pressing his length into her, and she no longer cared.

She wanted him...wanted him as she had never wanted anything else before in her life. She surrendered completely to him only begging once more that he would be gentle with her.

His lips fastened to hers and his hand fondling her breasts, he began to move in her, drawing back until she almost begged him to press into her again. He moved so slowly at first, as if relishing every millimetre of her warm wet vaginal tunnel. He began to move more rapidly and it as then she felt it. Before it had always been self-induced, but now it came with a force she had never known before. It seemed to begin deep inside her and she feared it. She tore her lips away from his and began to plead, "Don't darling...please don't...I'm frightened...it's coming and I'm afraid..."

But he did not stop, instead he relentlessly moved in her even more rapidly and with greater intensity. It swept over her like a storm dragging a scream from her that seemed to come from her deepest self. It was torment, yet she wanted it...wanted the great creative moment...the moment of the deepest physical and spiritual fulfilment possible between man and woman.

In the midst of the storm of passion that raged within her she heard Peter give a loud groan and felt the first discharge of his sperm enter her.

She clung to him crying out, "Oh yes...oh yes...darling...deep...deeper..."

He had finished but still she clung to him unrestrainedly crying out, "I love you...I want you...I need you..."

The years of denial were over; her pride her dignity gone as she continued to agonise her way through the torment of her orgasm. The business woman, the restaurant owner, the woman who had fended off so many would be lovers, had finally succumbed to a young man nearly half her age.

She was aware of Peter's eyes on her, watching her writhe in her orgasmic aftershocks. He still moved within her, but with a penis no longer hard and rigid, but soft and pliable.

When the last tremor had gone Sally lay with Peter still in her, unable to look at him. She turned her head away but even in this movement that seemed like rejection she said, "Don't leave me, stay with me tonight."

"Of course," he said, stroking her hair and kissing her forehead, "I'll stay with you as long as you want me."

All reticence gone, Sally whispered, "Stay with me always."

Peter did not reply, but lifting her up in his arms asked, "Which way to the shower?"

She let him carry her to the shower, and there, under the cascading water he washed her, cleaning out his sperm from her vagina and in the process arousing her again. She stroked his penis and it rose in her hand. She felt a strange wonderment; had that really been inside her only few minutes ago, and would it presently be moving in her again?

She soon found the answer. Back on the divan Peter explored her body unhurriedly. He fondled and kissed her breasts, sucking on her nipples for a long time as if he were a child drawing nourishment.

Finally he once more opened her legs and raised them so that he could clearly see her sex organ. There was no hurried kiss now. She felt his fingers exploring her, parting the lips of her vulva to expose her inner lips.