Jan – ‘Tart of Gold’

This story has been previously published (May 7^th 2021 as ‘Tart of Gold’) in the category ‘Romance’.

 

 

All the participants in sexual activity described in this story are consenting adults over 18.

 

I heard footsteps behind me, running. I turned to look and was grabbed. A hand came round and clamped over my mouth, the other one circled my waist. He must have been hiding behind a bush in one of the front gardens.

I wriggled and struggled, but the arm round my waist was just too tight, still I had one arm almost free. I remembered a few self-defence lessons I’d learned and I knew I should use my free arm to try to startle and wind him. I dug the heel of my hand into his ribs with all my strength, then followed it with fingers into the soft bit just below the ribs. There was a grunt and he momentarily took his hand away from my mouth. I didn’t worry about trying to shout ‘help’: I just opened my mouth and let out as loud and bloodcurdling a scream as I could manage.

Almost at the same moment a man appeared from the front garden of a house on the other side of the road. He was running towards us and he was also shouting — bellowing in fact — as he ran. I felt the grip on me relax for a moment and I had a go with my sharp little teeth on the hand over my mouth. He let go.

“You fucking bastard! You miserable little whore! I’ll get you,” he shouted as he ran off.

Other people had appeared. This was a very respectable street, and a commotion like this was a major event. I saw one man, obviously youngish from the way he was running, gaining rapidly on my attacker; in moments he was close enough to launch a spectacular rugby tackle, brought his target crashing to the ground, and finished sitting on his back.

Someone else ran towards them, and was clearly in the process of ‘phoning, I hoped, the police, but someone must have got there before him, calling from one of the houses, because my mates in the police force were there in what seemed like only a few minutes.

*****

“I’m Colin. You know where I live; I was drawing the curtains in an upstairs window when I saw what was going on. I’m not very brave, but I lost any fear. I just felt such rage that I ran down the stairs and out of the front door like a maniac. I was shouting so loudly that I think I might soon lose my voice!” The man who probably saved me a rape — or worse — was standing by me as the police carted off my attacker. He held out his hand, which I grabbed and pulled him towards me to give him a grateful hug.

He walked me back home, which wasn’t far. My house was in a cul-de-sac off the road where I was attacked. The police were going to take me home, but I said I was o.k. to walk with this gentleman. They seemed to know Colin anyway.

I don’t drink much, but I poured us each a stiff whisky. He was brave, doing what he did, because I should think he was a good twenty years older than I was, and I was pushing on a bit. Well in my line of business 50+ is unusual for a ‘working girl’.

He stayed with me long enough for us to drink the whisky, and for me to show signs of being back to my normal chirpy self. But he seemed anxious to get back home. He’d gone back to lock the door and put on a coat before walking me home, but I think he felt a bit awkward alone in my house with me. Funny really, when you think what I do for part of my living! Anyway he asked me if I would visit him at his place. He said that he’d seen me around and would like to know more about me. Now with some guys that would have rung a few warning bells, but with Colin it just sounded like a kind invitation. We arranged a date and he said he’d make a bit of supper.

*****

A few days later I was sitting in his rather nice sitting room. The house was old, but the room wasn’t, if you see what I mean. It had modern colours, and up-to-date furniture. There were pictures on the wall, and the mantelpiece had an old fashioned clock and some china ornaments. But what was most important in that room were the bookcases. There was one either side of the fireplace, and another on the wall facing the bay window, and they were all loaded with books of all shapes, sizes and colours.

We had already eaten a lovely steak and chips which he cooked while I stood and watched. He said it was like walking together: it was a good way of breaking the ice and making sure it didn’t get too formal. He even had on a butcher’s apron which he was wearing when he opened the door to me.

We’d talked about the way I’d been assaulted and how the police had turned up so quickly. I said I’d tell him later how that might have happened. He had noticed that the cops seemed to know me, although nothing like it had ever happened to me before. Apparently my attacker was known to me: he was at school with my son. Useless mother — not surprising he was such a pain in the arse. I told the police I didn’t want to take the thing any further

“I’ve told you my name, but not much else, and I don’t even know your name.” was how he started our first conversation.

“My name is Janet, usually known as Jan, and I’m a tart: a.k.a. hooker, whore, sex worker, prostitute, call girl, escort etc. etc. I work from home, part-time, for two days a week, and three days at the supermarket,” I replied.

“I thought that might be the case. I didn’t know but a few small things that pointed in that direction, and people gossip and speculate,” he said.

“Do you mind?”

“Why should I? I was in business to satisfy a demand for what we had on offer. You’re doing the same.”

He finished cooking, took his apron off, and we sat down at his kitchen table to eat. We spent the time eating, when we hadn’t got a mouthful, talking about the area where we had both lived for quite a long time, and some of the people we both knew.

He’d made a lemon meringue pie — one of my all-time favourites — for afters. Then we moved to the sitting room.

“Right,” he said, “Now, if you’re happy to do it, I’d like to hear your life history.”

“Well I’m not saying how old I am, but I am post-menopausal! I wear HRT patches which makes sure I don’t forget what my cunt’s for and keeps me from drying out like a rosy prune. Oops, I hope you don’t mind a bit of fruity language?”

“Not at all. You carry on,” he said, smiling.

“I have a son, Tyler, who’s in his thirties. He lives about 20 miles away and works ‘in IT’ like a lot of his generation I suppose. I think he designs and looks after websites and things. He’s not married yet, but I think he might be soon.”

“Were you ever married?” Colin asked.

“No, I didn’t want to sacrifice my life for the service of an ungrateful man! I wouldn’t have expected him to put up with me anyway. I’m very independent. Always have been. Dad walked out when I’d just started school, and Mum and I managed on our own. What a great Mum! Worked her socks off as a care worker; learnt to cook great meals with hardly any money, and wouldn’t stand any nonsense from yours truly. She didn’t mind giving me a good slap on the bum when I was trying her patience too much, but she was always loving and always fair.”

“Is she still around? Did she marry again, or hook up with anyone else?”

“Oh yes — very much still around. When I was a bit older she had an occasional fellow to go to gigs with and have a bit of fucking time as well. Once bitten, though, and she was cagey about letting any of them get the idea that they were part of the furniture. When I understood what it was all about she asked me if minded her bringing a bloke home. I told her that was o.k. with me, and I didn’t mind them fucking either, as long as they kept it to the bedroom!”

“Your turn to make the rules then?” he laughed.

“Why not? Like mother like daughter! I left school at just seventeen and went to earn some money in the supermarket. Mum was disappointed — she’d hoped I would go on and get some sort of qualification. I could’ve done that because I managed 6 GCSE passes. Anyway, the supermarket decided I could do something more useful to them than checkout or shelf-stacking, and put me on a training course to become a ‘team leader’. Quite soon I’d got myself a reasonably well-paid job, and was able to start supporting Mum.

That’s when I thought I’d really like a place of my own. I didn’t want to rent like Mum. She was lucky that she had a Housing Association as landlord, but renting always seemed to me a bit precarious: some bastard landlord could easily decide he didn’t like you and you’d be out on the street, and I’d never get on the list for social housing.”

“Goodness, that was ambitious. Deposit and mortgage payments and all that stuff.” Colin sounded quite surprised.

“Of course getting together the dosh for a house was big stuff. It was mid-eighties, and I thought I might still get something decent for around £30k. Raising the deposit was the problem: I’d need at least 10%, preferably 20%.”

“So that was when you started thinking about a second job?”

“Yes. One night I was in a club having a drink with some mates, and I got chatted up by a guy who looked about twice my age. Nice man, clean shaven, well-dressed, not rough in his manner or speech. He bought me a drink or two, then asked me if I’d go back to his hotel room. He was a rep for cosmetics, and toured part of the country flogging smellies to small shops.

‘O.k.’ I said, ‘but it’ll cost you thirty quid, and you’ll have to wear a condom.’ I’ve no idea why I said that. I’d never seriously considered going on the game, although it had crossed my mind that it might be a way to get to my house-buying a bit quicker. ‘I’ll stay an hour — not staying the night. And no funny stuff, right?’ I added.

‘Fair enough,’ he said, ‘Just straight sex, and you can leave when you want to.’

Well, it seemed almost too good to be true, and it turned out to be a bit of a laugh. He had a good sense of humour and had a few funny stories to tell of his life ‘on the road’. We had a nice fuck too — I wasn’t a virgin as you may have guessed — and he’d been around a bit, so he knew what he was doing with a woman’s body. At that time I liked to cum myself, and he certainly had ‘the knowledge’ to get me there three times. (‘The Knowledge’ is the name they give to what London cabbies need to learn to find their way round London.) Well he knew his way round girls’ bits, and found a few corners I hadn’t properly sussed myself.

After about an hour I got up, went to his bathroom for a bit of a clean-up, and dressed to go.

‘I’m round this way once a fortnight,’ he said. ‘If you’re willing, we can make a regular date,’ then he handed me £50 in notes.

‘Thanks very much,’ I said. ‘We can try a regular date a few times if you like. Do you always stay here?’

‘Yes I do; and they don’t seem to mind me ‘entertaining’. Some places are a bit snotty about it. I have a few mates who come this way too, who’d be glad of a bit of company. Finding someone like you to have a bit of fun with is a godsend. It can get quite lonely.’

‘One thing at a time,’ I said. ‘I’m not on the game really, but I’m saving for a deposit on a house, and every little helps. With you it’s been a pleasure. If we see each other again I’ll tell you what I’ve decided.’

‘Thanks again. It was great.’ He kissed me on the cheek.

That’s how it started. I think that I might have been earning about £5k a year at that time. I worked out that by doing £50 worth of fucking twice a day for five days a week I’d earn 5 times what I got now. In a year I’d have the deposit for my little house! But that meant giving up the job at the supermarket, and I didn’t think I’d do that because I quite enjoyed the time with the other staff, and money-wise it was a sort of safety net.”

“Wise decision, I think. Also takes you out of the situation where you feel you’ll have to do anything with anybody to earn a bit of money. Makes you feel you’re in control.” I was beginning to see that Colin was on the ball.

“Ian, the guy I just told you about, was a lovely man, and I looked forward to his visits. He fucked like an angel, if angels are allowed to fuck, working me up slowly and touching all the right buttons before going for broke. When he got to the point of breaking loose he’d ask me how I wanted it. Sometimes I wanted it slow and leisurely; sometimes I wanted to be teased a bit, sometimes I just needed a bit of rough and a gallop to the finish. We tried all positions as well. He liked to do it doggy style, particularly when I’d asked to be rammed. That was great, in fact it was all amazing, but my favourite was sitting astride him, with his feet in my hands, his nice cock sticking up where it counted, and a finger up my arse. Whoops again: perhaps I’m telling you more than you’re wanting?”

“Just keep going, I’m enjoying it,” said my new friend Colin.

“Well Ian talked to me as well. ‘Fucking you is a lovely thing to do,’ he said to me one day, ‘and it’s the high spot of my fortnight. But if you’re going to do this as a job I think you’ll have to detach yourself a bit from what you’re doing or you’ll wear yourself out, mentally and physically. On occasions we fuck for an hour or more, and sometimes you manage multiple orgasms.’

‘That’s ‘cos I like you, and I love you fucking me.’ I said.

‘But you can’t keep that up if you’re going to do it as a job, and often you won’t want to anyway.’

I’d started seeing some of his friends as well, all of them reps in different lines. But I could see what Ian was getting at, because some of them took advantage of my apparent enjoyment and spun the whole thing out. I’d noticed that fucking was already losing some of the excitement it had when I first started. And sometimes I did get a bit tired doing two jobs, and the one that people say is done on your back was as knackering as the one in the supermarket.

‘What do you suggest I do about it? I asked him.

‘For a start you could limit sessions to half-an-hour. Then I suggest you start thinking about it as a job: the man is paying you money for a service. You don’t have to enjoy what you do every time, so long as you do your best to please him.’

‘I think I do that now,’ I said.

‘If you think all the time about what you fancy doing next, and whether or not you like this guy with the bent cock and warped mind, and bad breath, you won’t do a decent job. Be a bit detached and just find out the best way to make him pleased he came to you and shelled out his cash.’

Good advice. I found it was true that when I wasn’t too hung up on my own likes and dislikes, I could concentrate on doing a good job. I didn’t mind no longer getting the same thrill — except with Ian: he was a good friend — and he was such a lovely fucker.

“You were very lucky to meet him when you did,” Colin commented, “Did you know what you were doing? Had you got ‘the knowledge’ yourself?”

“My Mum had told me what to expect before I started menstruating, and said that when I was a bit older she’d share with me a few things that she had learnt over the years. I’m not going into details, but when she thought that I was ready she gave me what you might call a full briefing about my own body, and male bodies, and what they could do with each other. She also stressed the importance of condoms, even if you were on the pill.

So when it came to the point of someone deciding they wanted to fuck me I knew what it was all about, and I could make up my own mind whether to answer ‘yes’ or ‘no’.

“I completely agree with your assessment of your mum. She’s obviously one in a thousand. I’m loving it, and I want to hear more, but I think we should stop there for tonight. Perhaps we can have another instalment next week?”

“O.k. Will you come to my place?”

“I’d love to, if that’s good for you.”

*****

So the next time we met was at my house. I’d arranged it so that my business was carried out in the back room on the ground floor (street level). The front part was a kitchen and dining area. The old ‘front’ door had an internal draught lobby, which opened into the kitchen. The stairs were straight ahead, rising out of the kitchen, and you had to pass through the kitchen to get to the back of the house. The old kitchen was now where I kept the washing machine and freezer, and there was a loo (a ‘lavvie’, as Mum used to call it) as well, with a wash basin.

The effect of all this was to make a separation between my work place and my private part. There was a back door which was kept locked when I was ‘entertaining’ — didn’t want them doing a runner without paying.

Since Tyler had left I’d used the front room upstairs as a sitting room. It was the largest room in the house and made a fabulous lounging area. It had a desk where I’m writing this now, and some bookshelves, t.v. and sound system, two sofas and another couple of chairs that I’d got from the second-hand shop. They were something called ‘Ercol’, which I hadn’t heard of but are now quite fashionable, so they say, and there was a table to match the chairs.

“Come in Colin. I’m going to take you straight upstairs, but don’t get any funny ideas: this is where my sitting room is.”

“Whow! It’s beautiful,” he said as I showed him into the sitting room. “Great idea to put the living room up here. I’ve often thought that these front bedrooms are a bit of wasted space.”

I’d made an egg, bacon, onion and cheese tart, and a decent bit of salad, which was set out on the table with a bottle of wine and all the bits and pieces. It was really nice to be entertaining with something other than my naked body! I hadn’t managed it many times, although Maisie with her partner and my Mum came occasionally for a ‘girls’ night.

“I really enjoyed that,” Colin said as we finished our afters of stewed pears and chocolate sauce. “It does get boring doing food just for yourself.”

We settled ourselves on the chairs. “We’d got to the point when your Mum had shared her experience with you. Do you want to go on from there? I’d like to know how long it took to save enough for the deposit on your house,” Colin prompted.

“I’d put aside enough money after nearly 3 years doing two jobs. I was knackered. I was helped by the fact that Mum only charged me for minimal rent and a bit for food, but even so I was still working five days at the supermarket, and 4 or 5 hours a week on the game. Probably doesn’t sound much, but it means at least double that number of clients + all the work that goes into setting it up.

I didn’t go street walking, and I went to hotels because I wouldn’t use my Mum’s place. Mostly the clients paid the hotel bill, but sometimes I was left to settle it. Occasionally I visited clients in their own homes, but never the first time, and only after I’d sussed out the place from the outside.

Time came when I decided that I wanted a child. I couldn’t explain it, but I thought it was a natural thing for a woman to want to do. Of course I talked it over with my Mum. ‘Don’t do it unless you feel you can do it properly. Don’t expect others to do it all for you, and in particular, when he goes to school, you should be helping the school, not expecting the school to do all the things you can’t be fagged to do yourself.’

‘Such as?’ I asked.

‘Most children don’t learn by magic: they need help. That help has to come from the parents as much as the school. The school only has the child for 6 or 7 hours a day; you have the other 18 hours. Do you remember learning to read?’

‘Yes, snuggled up on the sofa with you or Gran or Grandpa. I loved it. And there were always some books around that I could pick up and go into a corner and try to make out what was happening in a story.’ I had been so happy as a child, even after Dad did a bunk.

I think I managed to convince her that I would be a decent mum, and she promised to help. She loved children, and I think she was quite excited that there might be another little one in the house soon.”

“Did your mum know what you were doing to boost your income?” Colin asked.

“Yes, she knew how I was making my extra money. I won’t say she approved, because she would never feel it was an ‘honest way’ to earn money. But she knew that I had set my heart on a place of my own, and that I was careful and didn’t spend money on drugs or loads of booze. I had mates that I went clubbing with, but I didn’t get involved with fucking blokes my own age.

The school where I’d made my friends and the clubs were a few miles from where we lived, which was just outside the main part of the town. I didn’t advertise and the hotel I mainly got called to was near the supermarket where I worked, so they expected to see me round that area.

In fact I did tell one of my friends — Maisie was the only one that I could trust to keep a secret. She was lovely about it, saying that she wasn’t brave enough herself, but she could see why I was doing it. A while later I was able to help her out of a bit of a financial mess she’d got herself into — only a few hundred, but she’d got herself in a right old stew about it. I paid off her back rent and put down a few weeks in advance. I also gave the sodding landlord the benefit of my professional skills — or a few of them — to keep him quiet for a bit. He hadn’t got very much, and what he had got he didn’t know how to use – still he seemed pleased with himself, and for some blokes that’s half the battle.

A couple of years down the line Maisie began to think that she was more inclined towards girls than boys. She and I had some quietly sexy times together in her little flat, to help sort out which way she was going. She has a steady girlfriend now, and she’s much happier.

I’ve had a few other lesbians ask me for sex, some of them as work, some of them for mutual enjoyment. I liked the gentleness and the way I was pleasured by some of these girls, but it never got me really excited.

I think Maisie and Mum were the only people I could say I really loved. I suppose I’m saying I would be heart-broken to lose either of them.”

I stopped my story at this point. I got up and went to get the whisky bottle and the water jug to top us up. We were sitting in separate armchairs, not next to each other. I had my legs (shoes off of course) tucked up under me. It felt real cosy, and I was quite relaxed.

“You’ve done very well telling me all that in a coherent way, but you might like to leave it there and come back another time to my place to bring me up to date”. It didn’t sound patronising, coming from Colin.

“O.k. let’s do that,” I said. “I’ve really like coming to visit you: almost worth getting pounced on to meet you and enjoy your lovely house!”

I was wondering if he had any designs on my professional services. I sort of hoped not. I had too few men friends who didn’t expect favours, and it was a pleasant change.

“I’ll be going now. I need to get back and catch up with my niece in Australia.” Colin was a perfect gentleman. So we could continue chatting for a while without me having to worry about ‘what if…?’

*****

We met again about a week later. This time he cooked me a lasagne, which I’d only eaten a couple of times before. I thought it was fantastic.

“Before I start telling you more of ‘history according to Jan the Tart’ I’d like to ask you a question,” I said.

“Go ahead.”

“With all this talk of fucking and sex generally, are you thinking of fucking me?”

Pause. He obviously needed a moment to think of a suitable answer.

“I’m sure that it would be lovely, but…no, I am not. At my age you can be interested in sex without needing to practice it. Anyway, it isn’t always possible, and I wouldn’t want you to be insulted by the sight of a limp dick in response to your generously offered and beautiful body.” I thought he’d done really well to find the right words! I was relieved rather than insulted. I wanted to keep him as a lovely friend.

“Thank you, that’s good news for me. I want you to be special,” was my considered reply.

“Great. Let’s get on with the story. Please.”

“Well Mum and I worked things out with Tyler. For the first two years after he was born I gave up all work. I breast-fed him, which I loved, and played with him and talked to him so that by the time he was two we could have quite interesting conversations. I loved the way he tried using new words, sometimes in completely the wrong place, with really cute and funny results. I sat with him and looked at picture books with words in big letters, and I took him regularly to the park to feed ducks and talk to other peoples’ dogs, and kick up leaves in autumn, and go on the slide and the swings. I’ve got a bit of a lump in my throat as I remember those times.”

“Such lovely times, and so quickly passed,” Colin said.

“When Tyler went to school I was still with Mum. The house of my own came about when he was 6. The house was not far from Mum’s, or from the school. I made sure that I only had early shifts so that I could pick him up from his gran’s and take him back to give him tea. One day a week I did my home-working, trying to build up a bit of business from home. I only had a couple of clients during that day: by the time I’d taken Tyler to school and come back and cleaned up myself and the house it was usually 11 o’clock, and I needed to be finished by about 2 o’clock to get ready for collecting him and bringing him home. Still, I was charging £75 for a full hour, so that day added £150 to our weekly budget, which made a huge difference.”

“I imagine that you were paying a lot for your mortgage at that time?” Colin intervened.

“Yeah. I seem to remember it was over £400 a month. Wouldn’t have afforded it and kept us fed and warm without the extra cash. . I seem to remember I was earning around £700 a month at the supermarket for a 25 hour week.

When he was seven I decided that he could get to school and back by himself. The route was safe, and there were no busy roads to cross. There were also other kids heading in the same direction. That gave me a bit of extra time.

When he left school I was only in my early 40s. I decided to drop all but three mornings a week at the supermarket. The rest of my time was available for servicing my personal clients. Sounds sort of respectable when put like that. Better than saying I was going back to being a fucking tart?

I had mostly repeat customers. The frequency was different for each bloke (and occasionally woman). Some could afford twice a week: not many. Some only came once a month. I had always kept a notebook where I wrote significant things about each client. Sometimes it was just their personal preferences; any equipment I needed; how long they stayed; if they were difficult to get rid of and so on. I also wrote in red biro if I really didn’t want to see them again. Some were smelly, some reeked of alcohol, some were aggressive, and some were just really rude. By eliminating these people I had built up a bit of a following of decent people. Just because I was a tart I didn’t see why I should put up with just anybody that wanted to book me. And just because people come to a tart for a bit of sex and maybe a cuddle, it doesn’t mean that they are either evil or perverted. Lots of them are really nice people. We’re not like lawyers or cabbies who always have to take the first one in the queue.”

“So how many clients did you see in a day?” Colin seemed quite interested in the details, but I suppose that was because of his business training. I felt he was making sure that I had what they call ‘a viable business’.

“Only two or sometimes three. Obviously there’s a certain amount of risk involved in my trade — as you’ve seen for yourself. I’ve been careful to declare my income and pay tax on it, partly because I thought if I wanted my rubbish collected, police to protect us, sewers to take the shit away, the street lights maintained, the children educated, the NHS supported, and the people who we now call ‘vulnerable’ looked after, I had to make my contribution. But also it removed one possible line of blackmail.

I decided to go to the police and ask to see the local superintendent. Bit cheeky, I know, but it’s best to have the boss knowing what’s going on. I came clean on what I did and where I did it, and said I did my best not to break the law. I wasn’t going to bribe any policemen, but I’d like to make a regular donation to their Benevolent Fund. I asked if they might agree to help if I got any trouble from criminals or anti-social behaviour.

‘Thank you, Jan, for coming to see me. I appreciate your openness. We certainly won’t give you any trouble if you stay inside the law, and I’ll brief the chaps on the front line. If there are any complaints from neighbours for example, we’ll do our best to calm them down and we’ll let you know if there’s anything you should be doing… or not doing,’ said Superintendent Brownsword.

‘I occasionally pick up bits of information that might be helpful to you. If you give me a number to call I can pass it on. I won’t identify myself, for obvious reasons,’ I volunteered.

‘Well, if you don’t mind, that would be good. Be sure that you aren’t putting yourself at risk, won’t you?’ the superintendent said.

‘I’ll call from a public ‘phone — if there are any left.’

I’d never been on the game hoping to be stinking rich. My lifestyle is pretty simple. I like living where I do, and it suits what I do. End of terrace, with the side facing a residents’ car park. I had it re-arranged so that the ‘front’ door was at the side, so clients parked in the carpark and came into the house without disturbing the neighbours. It’s a cul-de sac built as council houses. I bought the house in ’97 after a lot of the houses had been sold off. There are sixteen houses all told: two blocks of 4 on either side of the road.

I got to know most of the people in the road, some of whom had lived there for 30 or more years, and were ‘retired’, though most of them found plenty to do. I did little things for the elderly when they had difficulties, not to creep, but because I like helping people.

I didn’t have a car myself. What would I use it for? I could go anywhere I wanted by bus, train and taxi. If I had one it would take up the parking space that I’d reserved for my clients.

I think that’s nearly where you came in.”

“I’ve found it a fascinating story because it’s so far from anything I’ve ever had direct experience with. I think you’ve worked out how you want to live and found a way of doing it. It may be unconventional, but you haven’t had to rely on anyone except your mum; you’ve been a decent parent, paid your taxes, tried not to break the law. Well done, I say.”

I got up and went over to him. I straddled his lap, with my knees resting on the sofa he had decided to sit on today. I rested my head on his shoulder, with my hands behind his head. I hadn’t felt like this before. I wonder if this is what it feels like to have a proper dad? He put his arms round me in a very matter-of-fact way, not attempting to grab my bum or do anything else that might suggest a sexual interest. That made it even more special.

We stayed like this for a few minutes. Then I leaned back and looked into his eyes. I suppose they were probably conker brown once, but now they were a soft grey with a slight green tinge. I liked them. We smiled at each other. His wrinkles folded into deep creases.

“Being pounced on outside your house was real lucky,” I chuckled, as I slipped off his lap. He walked me home, but wouldn’t come in.

*****

It was my turn again the next week. I’d done a stir-fry with courgettes, carrot, bean sprouts and onion, with a few bits of bacon. I’d found out that he liked beer, or rather ale, which I had a taste for too, so we had a glass with our meal. For desert I had made fruit salad with fresh fruit.

We settled ourselves on one of my sofas. He sat himself at one end, so I sat at the other end and put my feet up on his lap. I was looking forward to hearing about his life.

“My first eighteen years were pretty humdrum. My father was a solicitor, and my mother had been a teacher. It would have been more interesting if Dad had been a nurse and Mum an astronaut, but unfortunately that was not the case. I did ‘A levels’ and got good enough grades to go to Leicester University which was just expanding its engineering faculty, and then I went on to do a post-graduate diploma.

That’s when I made up my mind to concentrate on manufacturing technology: it might have been aeronautics, or space, or defence, but I was fascinated by the idea and process of making things.

The UK was lagging behind other countries when it came to the science and practice of manufacturing. I worked for a time with a car manufacturer. It was quite fun, but infuriatingly badly organised and managed and while I was there I enrolled on a course to learn German. After about 18 months I felt reasonably confident that I could manage working in Germany.”

“So what was happening in your life outside work?” I asked. “Not that it seems you had much spare time.”

“I never really had a relationship that was compatible with what I wanted to do. There were women who seemed keen to get me to commit to something serious or permanent; and there were women that I might have liked to take that step with who didn’t really rate me. I suppose the problem was finding a match.”

“I’m guessing that you were getting a bit of fucking though?” I asked.

“Yes. Once I’d got the hang of it — which took a little while — I didn’t have a problem finding partners.”

“What do you mean ‘got the hang of it’? I reckon that fucking is one of the easiest things we have to do.”

“I didn’t have the benefit of your Mum’s guidance. I had to learn what women liked, not to mention the details of the female layout. Labia, clitoris, G-spot, cervix were just words to me until a lovely older lady took the time to teach me. Not much to learn about men’s anatomy is there?”

“O.k. fair comment. Go on please.”

“Well I found a job in Germany and spent three years there, and three more in Italy. The contrast between them was fascinating. In Italy flair and creativity were highly valued, and they produced some fabulous stuff, but the attitude was ‘well, it’ll take as long as it takes’. This made it extremely difficult to plan complex projects.”

“Sounds exciting though,” I could sort of imagine a jolly atmosphere, a bit like art lessons at school, when lots of us took the opportunity to let off steam and make a right old mess. “What about the Germans?”

“Fantastic organisation, detailed planning and record keeping, but always happier doing something the way they’d always done it than thinking of new and better ways. Much easier for a young designer to get bored!”

“So lots of energy for doing other things!” I got quite excited thinking about what he might have got up to.

“Yes, and Germany has some of the most permissive sex laws in the world, so sex work of all sorts is widespread and, of course being Germany, highly regulated.”

“…and you took advantage?”

He looked a bit sheepish. “Well actually no, I didn’t need to.”

I clapped my hands and said “Bravo!”

“Both countries were interesting and enjoyable places to be. Beautiful landscapes, of all sorts from mountain to marsh; interesting people and enjoyable way of life. But Italy had the trump card with its magnificent buildings. I could admire their looks and marvel at the technical achievements. So it was all very satisfying.”

“But no permanent relationship?” I asked.

“No. I came very near it in Italy. I had a lovely girlfriend, but Italian families cling together so tenaciously that she wouldn’t leave them; and I really wanted to get back home after 6 years away. Mainly because I was convinced I needed to start my own business. We parted with tears.”

I’ve told you that my feet were in his lap, and at this point he took one in each hand and started softly rubbing them. I noticed of course, but I didn’t say anything.

“That was sad, but I suppose you had got the itch to be home and start on your great project; and perhaps you were a bit like me and had grown to value your independence too much to give it up.” I thought I could understand him deciding to move back and move on.

“Yes, both those things are true; but many times since I have wondered if I was right. Anyway, I came home, and I had saved quite a lot while I was away. It was enough to be able to rent a small workshop and equip it with some of the tools I needed.

To start with I worked for other engineers as a kind of overflow, but gradually they began to allocate whole components of a project to me. I started to have the confidence to suggest some design improvements, and word got around so that I began to get orders from source, so to speak. I did quite a bit of advertising in trade magazines with the help of a friend who was in advertising as a graphic designer.

I very soon had to take on another engineer, and another machine operator. Then we needed bigger workshops. There were recessions to contend with, and employees to deal with, and I soon found that the management took up too much time and stopped me doing what I loved, which was designing and making things with my own brain and hands.

I learnt to delegate much of the management, and I found that being able to spend more time with the guys who were making stuff in the workshop did wonders for employee contentment.”

“It sounds like a big success.” I said, genuinely impressed that this ordinary, gentle man had achieved so much.

“In its way it was. I never wanted the company to grow into a mammoth, trying to do too many different things. We got to the point of employing about 60 people, and that was quite enough. I knew them all: knew their strengths and weaknesses, as well as some of their personal problems. I had a proper profit-sharing policy that paid bonuses every year, and I didn’t take a huge share myself, although I paid a substantial amount into a pension.

When the time came to retire I decided to offer them employee ownership. It took some time to set up with lawyers and accountants, but we managed it in the end. I sold it to them for half the valuation, and I lent the Employee Ownership Trust a substantial sum, which encouraged the bank to lend to them as well. They committed to pay the loan off over 15 years, and any balance left when I died to be paid to my nephew and niece.”

“And what of your sex life through all this? You surely didn’t stay celibate for thirty years?”

“I was wary. I had been hurt by the Italian experience. I didn’t blame Emilia at all: it was simply a matter of circumstance. But I wasn’t looking around for commitment. I took on a housekeeper, who became a friend, then a lover. She had a life of her own in another part of the country, where work was scarce. She stayed with me for four nights, then went home for three. We were fond of each other, but never needed to be shy about the fact that our relationship was one of convenience for both of us.”

“Strikes me as an odd sort of caper. How did it work exactly?” I was frantically trying to picture this set-up, but having difficulty.

“She was younger than me — I was in my early forties when she came to work for me, and she was about eight years younger. I didn’t know if she had been disappointed, or disillusioned, because she had no sexual attachments at home. I gave her a room of her own and put her on the payroll, so she paid tax and was insured.

She came down from her home on Monday morning and went back on Friday afternoon and basically did all the things that housekeepers usually do plus slept with me when we both felt like it. She was a good lover, and I became a lot more considerate in bed as a result of her tender, laid-back attitude.”

“How long was she with you? And how did it end?” I wanted to know.

“She was with me for a little over ten years, then her Mum got ill and she stayed at home to look after her. We kept in touch, and when her Mum died about five years later I offered to re-employ her. By then she thought that the travelling to and from home would become hard to justify, as there were now a lot more jobs near home. She is now the manager of a care home, and I should think a very good one, like your Mum was.”

“Did you replace her?”

“Not exactly. I found a lady of my own age locally to do the housekeeping. As the business got more stable, and I got good people to delegate to, I wanted to do more for myself at home, so I didn’t need so much doing for me. I hadn’t thought of her in terms of sex being included in the deal, but one day she came to me and announced ‘I really feel as if I could do with a good fucking Mr Harwood. I wondered if you’d be interested in helping me out?’ I was startled but she was not unattractive so I did my best! She wasn’t after any ‘lovey-dovey’ stuff as she put it, and we kept it as raunchy and light-hearted as possible. She’d come up to me after she’d done the housework and stand in front of me and give me a certain look. ‘Can I help you Mrs. Sharp?’ ‘Ooh, yes please Mr Harwood, if you’ve the strength I’d like to have use of your special tool.’ It amused her that my business was all about tools. At this point I’d get up and clear my desk, she’d lean over and support herself on it and ask me if I could have a look and see if everything was in order round the back. This meant I was supposed to lift her dress and examine the fairly large-but-firm white bottom — she’d discarded her knickers somewhere along the way — and proceed with hands and cock to try to satisfy her needs. Sometimes when I’d got her to the winning post she’d say ‘I’ve really been quite naughty this week Mr. Harwood, I think you ought to give me a proper punishment?’ You can probably imagine the resulting quivering mass of pink flesh on which my hand had inflicted ‘the proper punishment’. I’m ashamed to say that I relished this at least as much as the fucking, and I soon got to asking her if she’d been naughty before we got to the fucking, and this suited us both. ”

“Whow! sounds like a lady after my own heart. Did you enjoy it?” I was trying to be cool and calm, but I had noticed a dampening of knickers which indicated that care was needed.

“Mostly, yes. Sometimes it was a bit of a nuisance, because I was still doing some work from home and then I had to tell her that I was afraid that the ‘special tool’ was not functioning that day. But usually it was a turn-on just because it was so artless: she wanted a cock in her cunt, and being fucked and massaged to orgasm, and that was it. It’s probably every man’s dream, and it certainly provided a far better way of getting off than porn and a solitary wank.”

His massage of my feet had become rather more intense while he was recounting this bit of his saga. I was surprised and delighted that my ‘dear old man’ was not the decrepit wrinkly that he might have been.

I moved myself to sit on his lap again, straddling his thighs and hitching up my skirt.

“Do you want to know how turned on I’ve been by your story this evening?” I asked rather wickedly.

“I suppose I’d better say ‘yes’. I guess I’m going to find out anyway.”

“You probably didn’t notice that your little game with my feet got quite saucy at points in the tale.” I took his right hand and introduced it to my pussy, or rather its cotton covering, which was somewhere between damp and sopping wet.

“You’re a very naughty girl, and probably deserve a good spanking…” I got myself up and lay face down across his lap, bottom positioned conveniently for his right hand, skirt hitched further up…”which you aren’t going to get.”

“Ohh, why not?”

“Because I’m not that easily tricked! However, I will make you an offer: if you come to my place next week I’ll give you a massage. I haven’t come to that bit of my story yet, but you’ll begin to see how much we have in common.”

“How lovely. Will I be able to take all my clothes off?”

“That will be essential. Under strict control of course.”

*****

I got really excited over the next week. I can’t explain why I wanted to do it: sex to me was almost an everyday thing, and anyway he wasn’t even suggesting that he wanted to fuck me. Perhaps it was the novelty of not being responsible for ensuring someone else’s pleasure: I’d just have to lie there and enjoy it, and I had a suspicion that he would be really good at it.

The day came. He was very relaxed, wearing navy trainer pants and a grey sweatshirt with the slogan MASSEURS do it BY HAND in orange. I’d worked out his age from various things he’d said, and he must be 80. God willing that I’m in as good shape at 80! I had a bit of a chuckle and dug him gently in the ribs.

“Come on, we’ve got a busy evening: eat first then some more of my life history, then a bit of massage,” Colin said.

We had another lovely meal and a glass of wine. I can’t remember what we had because I’d got all excited again, and I was relieved when we settled down on the sofa with me one end, feet up on his lap at the other end.

“We left it at the point when you retired, having had your wicked way with various housekeepers. To think that I was around at the time and it could have been me looking after your home and your lovely cock. I’d have been extra good at both.”

“I’ve no doubt about that, but I didn’t live around here then, and you obviously weren’t looking in the small adds for people wanting housekeepers. Anyway I found what I wanted, and you continued building your evil empire.”

I dug my heels into his groin. He grabbed a cushion for his lap and put my feet on it.

“After I retired I did a lot of travelling. The furthest I went was Japan and South Korea, both countries with highly developed science and engineering. I found them both fascinating.”

“What were you doing there?” I was puzzled.

“Because of my background I was allowed to talk to leading engineers in the universities, and in private companies, arranged by the British Embassies, and I wrote a paper when I came back, which was published in Engineering Magazine and discussed different approaches to engineering education and the promotion of innovation.”

“I don’t have you down as an academic type: more hands on, but I suppose you’d done a lot of that and it was interesting to look at it from a more theoretical point of view?”

“Yes, I’ve always had a passionate interest in the subject and how to improve it in this country. But I mustn’t get on my hobby-horse or you’ll drop off to sleep.”

“No way. I’m all ears. I’m lucky to be able to listen to such an interesting, talented, successful guy.”

“Come on now, you don’t have to butter me up.”

“I’m not. I’m just trying to protect my chances of getting a decent massage.”

“Anyway, I’m telling you about my ‘retirement’. Aged 65 I still had quite a lot of energy left. I helped organise a jazz festival, particularly fund raising and concert management. But my main interest was in creating the garden round this house, which had never been properly designed and planted, and had been neglected for ten years. That took me about four years to get close to where I wanted it, and then continuing to care for it was really time consuming.”

“So how does this massage come into it?”

“Well I had plenty to do because I spent time walking and reading too. But I needed a bit more human interaction. I’d always felt more comfortable with women than men. Never been a man’s man except in the workplace, and even then I did my best to encourage women into significant engineering jobs. I had also been led to believe that I was potentially quite good at massage.”

“By who?” I asked.

“People.”

“Hmmm! One of your string of mistresses, I suppose.”

“Maybe. Anyway I decided to enrol for an online course, which I completed and learnt basic anatomy and physiology, and various forms of massage techniques for different area of the body. I found it more interesting than I had expected. I used my housekeeper of the time as a willing guinea pig, and I talked to her about how I was going to get my clients.”

“Just how much of this was a real need to make people feel better, and how much was you just being a dirty old man?” It seemed a good time to have a little poke at him.

“I would need psychoanalysis to answer that one. It was never my intention to fuck them: in fact I asked them to sign a form of agreement which specifically excluded intercourse from ‘services offered’. But this agreement also gave me permission to touch any part of the body unless the client excluded it. But I must admit that women’s bodies have always fascinated and often delighted me. I didn’t need the money, and I really wanted to make people feel better about themselves. Does that answer your question?”

“No, but I’ll accept that you probably don’t know the answer. So how did the business go?”

“I asked my housekeeper if she knew anyone who might be interested in my ‘service’. I was lucky enough to have a spare downstairs room for my new practice, and I set it up as a comfortable lounge with massage table and there was a small en-suite shower room. I got a couple of clients through the housekeeper, and then I remembered the wife of one of my jazz friends who had once said that what she needed was a good massage. I told my friend that I was starting to give therapeutic massage and perhaps his wife might like to try it. He seemed a bit suspicious to start with but I reassured him that I had already started and the ladies seemed happy with the service. He said he’d ask her.”

“He must have trusted you!”

“The lady came, and liked it. After that I never had to look for clients. Word of mouth was enough to get me as many clients as I wanted. In fact I started a waiting list as a way of slowing things down.”

“I think this is the point where I should try your service, don’t you?” I won’t lie – various parts of me were craving his attention.

“If that’s what you want you’d better come this way.”

He showed me into the room next to the one we were in. I should think it was once a dining room. It was as he had described it. The lighting made it feel comfortable, even cosy.

“I’ll leave you to undress and put on the gown that’s hanging over there. I’ll be back shortly.” He went out and closed the door behind him.

When he came back I had done as he asked, but I said to him “I’m not going to pussyfoot about with this thing if you don’t mind,” and shed the gown.

I saw him swallow hard, and then it seemed as if he was having difficulty holding back tears. I went up to him and put my arms round his neck. “Are you o.k.?” I asked.

He didn’t answer but turned away and said I should get up on the massage table. “There are towels there in the unlikely event that you want to cover any bits up. Can you start by lying on your side facing away from the wall, with your knees bent?” I did as told. He put a thin pad between my knees.

He now stood beside the table on the side I was facing. He must have warmed his hands some way, as they didn’t feel at all cold. He was massaging the lower part of my back, pulling towards him and releasing, his fingers all the while applying a rhythmic pressure, feeling the muscle and sorting out the knots and tangles. After several minutes he asked me to roll over and face the other way and he repeated the exercise on the other half of my back.

“Now lie on your back please. Rest your hands down beside you, legs out straight.”

Now he stood behind me and started, with the gentlest of pressure, to massage my neck, stretching the muscles. His gentle touch moved to the scalp and he seemed to be using the same sort of motion that hairdressers use when shampooing your hair, but nothing like so vigorous. When he moved to the face it was to caress it and stroke it, moving tiny bits of muscle by millimetres. I desperately wanted to kiss him, but I was uncharacteristically restrained.

His next move was to stand at my feet. When he’d asked me to lie with my legs out straight he hadn’t said anything about them being tight together, so I had my feet about 40 cm apart, giving him an excellent view… well use your imagination. His first act was to pick up my feet and move them together!

I have a thing about foot massage — a positive thing that is. This was one of the best; even better than the podiatrist I sometimes visited. I had each foot massaged individually, and then in unison, and this is the point when I almost fell asleep. Probably to wake me up he began to work on the thighs. Just as I had wanted to kiss him when he was touching my face, I was now almost desperate for him to advance to my vulva, but I suspected, rightly, that he wouldn’t.

Then he turned me over and, hands under chin, I waited for further delights. They were not long coming. He started at the top, and working on the shoulders and neck from behind, his touch became a bit firmer. I knew he was working on those muscles that we all recognise as signals of how tense we are. So he was telling them to relax and not be silly. They seemed to understand, I let out a long sigh.

I was longing for him to get lower, which he did, but only after stretching and coaxing the long back muscles. He’d now got to the lowest part of the back, which had been the first part he’d worked on. I find that bit, just above the point where the buttock cleavage begins, to be particularly sensitive. He somehow knew it, and the mode changed from massaging to stroking. I wasn’t going to sleep now! I raised my butt a few centimetres: no good: he quickly pushed it down again, quite firmly.

However, he obviously felt it was time for a little more vigour: standing at one side of the table it must be doing his back in, but I realised that having me adopt any position from which he could massage both buttocks at once would have been well…compromising. I decided to make the decision for him, and shuffled back until my knees were at the end of the table, with my feet and calves overhanging. Then I opened up my legs so that he could stand between them. Needless to say those bits coyly referred to as ‘private parts’ were on fine display. No shame! Still, hopefully it saved his back. Anyway, he grabbed a small pillow and placed it strategically between my thighs. Pity.

“Too distracting,” he said, “But thank you anyway.” He proceeded, much more comfortably for both of us, and I gained because he could work on my bottom well – I suppose I have to admit it — until I was dripping. Good job he’d put a nice soft towel under me. Once again I’d have loved him to go further and explore that valley between the buttocks, but I had to be content with the sexiest massage my little bottom had ever experienced. Whether it was because of his excellent technique, or whether it was because I loved the masseur, I didn’t much care.

Goodness, did I say ‘loved’? I told you earlier that the only people I really loved were Mum and Maisie — M & M, as I liked to call them — and Tyler. It seems that Colin had slipped into that very select category.

All told I suppose I had been on the table for about 40 minutes. “You’ve definitely earned a rest.” I told him. “Go and sit down. I’ll put some clothes on and then I’ll come and pour you a drink.” I hopped down from the table and out of the corner of my eye I saw he was watching me. I went to him and put my arms round him and rested my head on his chest. To my surprise and pleasure he responded by putting his hands round to lay them on my bottom and oh-so-gently squeeze.

“You have a beautiful body,” he murmured in my ear as he let go of me, unwrapped my arms and left the room.

When I came to him in the other room I thought for a moment he was praying: his hands were together and his head bowed to touch them. I poured us drinks.

“Thank you with all my heart for that,” I said. “It was not like anything I’ve experienced before. Do you ever go further than that with your clients?”

“You mean stimulated them sexually?” I nodded. “A few of them have asked, and there are two women that I have tried it on. I knew both of them fairly well before it happened.”

“Was it successful?” I asked.

“I think so. Both women were very matter-of-fact about it. They said it was much better than the alternative, which was DIY. From my point of view there is a satisfaction in bringing a woman to orgasm in a sensual and respectful way, and sometimes introducing them to new sensations.”

“Such as?”

“For example women of my age were brought up to believe that the anus had no part to play in sexual relations between a man and a woman. That fed into and out of abhorrence of homosexuality. I was able to use a little subtle manipulation to convince them that bottoms had a worthwhile part to play!”

“Do you find it interesting that neither of us have had a lifelong sexual partnership, nor been monogamous for long, and yet we are still able to help people to get more enjoyment from their sex lives?” I was curious to know.

“I don’t know if you feel as I do, but it seems like a great privilege.” He smiled at me.

“I’m greedy: I want more from you, and I want to give as well as receive. Will we be able to do something about that?”

“Maybe. Now I must walk you home before I fall asleep.”

*****

We walked home, arm in arm, and when we got there I asked him in. “Come in; come and spend the night with me,” I almost pleaded.

“I promise it will happen one day, but not yet.” He kissed me on the cheek and walked away.

Thinking about it later I wondered if he was just teasing me. But he didn’t really seem the kind of person who would play games like that. He certainly wasn’t shy, but then I realised that in recent times, with the housekeepers and his massage clients, he had kept things entirely under his own control. I was clearly different. He knew that I wanted control as much as him, so perhaps he was just sending a message that we both had to give up some of this need to be in charge — a message as much to himself as to me.

I had to recognise that my own feelings had changed. I started by enjoying the privilege of having a male friend who was just that — a friend, and not a potential seducer. I still wanted this to be a special and different kind of relationship, but I’d like to be able to show him in a physical way how much he meant to me. Although he was still a physically attractive man he was eighty, and I would be lying if I said I lusted for him. So what I was feeling was new for me: a complicated mix of body and heart.

*****

I felt quite pleased with the explanation of his behaviour I’d come up with, and next time we met up I was determined to talk about it. We were at my place, and I had just cooked a risotto, which I had taught myself to do after I’d eaten it at a local Italian restaurant with M & M+. We had no more life history to cover, so we were at leisure to talk about us.

“I’m sure you realise that I’m wanting to make love to you in one way or another. I want to try to explain why,” I started a bit tentatively. “This is a new thing for me. You may find it difficult to believe after all the sex I’ve had in my life. There have been blokes that I’ve lusted for; some I’ve felt sorry for; some I’ve really liked without wanting sex with them. With you some of the feelings I have for M and M are involved. It’s a warm, comforting feeling, and knowing that they are there is reassuring. I don’t mean that I need them in a practical sense, but I feel they are part of what makes me who I am. It’s the same with you, and there is the added thing that I want to show my feelings in the way I know best, with my body. I want to give that to you, and I want you to have the chance to give it back. Of course I don’t know whether you feel anything like this, but I trust you enough to ask.”

When I looked up I saw that he had tears rolling down his face. He pulled a large white handkerchief from his pocket and mopped up. I had the urge to go and comfort him, but I resisted, because I hadn’t finished.

“That is the most beautiful thing that I’ve ever had said to me. Thank you,” was his reply.

I started again before he could say any more: “I thought a lot about you’re reluctance, and I think I may have an answer, which you might not have admitted to yourself. I think that in your relationships with women for many years you have been in control. Whether it’s housekeepers or clients, you have called the shots. I’ve been the same. I haven’t for a moment allowed myself or my sex partners to get out of control. You had a business that you controlled even to the extent of deciding who you would employ and delegate to. I haven’t had quite that control, but in the supermarket I was a team leader, and as a tart I always chose who I allowed to fuck me. I think what you are doing by keeping me at arms-length — literally — is telling us both that we may have to lose a bit of that control.”

I was taking a gamble here. Perhaps he really would rather I faded out of the picture; but I somehow didn’t think so.

“That’s brilliant,” he said after thinking for a moment, “I’m tempted to say you’ve been wasted, but who am I to judge that? I don’t want to lose my independence, and I’m sure you feel the same. But you have become an irreplaceable part of my life, and I couldn’t bear to lose you. So we must find a way of staying as we are and adding to it. I need a bit of courage to let go some of a shield that has become like another skin. But I’m happy to try.”

*****

That’s how we came to move on. His suggestion was that we tried another massage session, and this time he was prepared to do anything I asked. I thought that was a good compromise, as we both had an element of control.

So next week I was even more excited. I was impatient to get beyond the eating, but he always produced such lovely food that I was seduced into eating slowly enough to relish it properly.

When we got to the massage I let him follow the same pattern as last time. I was allowing myself to be relaxed in a delicious way. Besides his fingers were sexier than most of the cocks I’ve met in my busy life!

While I was on my back I asked him to include my boobs this time. I was a bit sad that they were not the lovely perky little creatures that they were 35 years earlier. No matter, he made the most of what was there, and being an engineer he understood the structural limitations of my twin peaks.

By the time he’d finished with the second breast I had to ask him for a towel under my vulva, which had started to shed tears of joy.

“Please can you let your lovely hands whisper to my cunt’s ladies-in-waiting?”

I was trying to be a bit poetic so he wasn’t put off by unnecessary crudeness, or too much medical jargon. Anyway, he understood perfectly. He reached for a little oil to add to the party down there, and began to stroke my pussy lips, oh so tenderly. I was beyond enjoyment: I think I was moving to another life and I asked God could it please be like this if I got to heaven?

The time came to turn me over. Again he repeated what he had done the last time. When it got to the point where I had ‘opened up’ and he had shoved a pillow up my crotch, he let me expose all that I had there.

After he’d finished massaging the buttocks I asked him to explore the valley between them and show me how the anus could be brought into play. Soon he had found the target and, with a little bit of oil to lubricate, he began to circle the wrinkled ring as softly as a goose feather. It made me tingle. Gradually he increased the pressure until his finger entered and slid in to the first joint.

I rolled half over to face him as he stood at the side of the table. “I’m open to you now. Go where you will: just bring me to a climax. Make me cum for you. Please.”

When I had rolled over to face him it had occurred to me that in this position all bases could be covered, except of course the breasts — he only had two arms unfortunately. He was obviously aware of the same possibilities, so I finished up with a finger in my arse (left hand) two fingers in my cunt (right hand), and the right thumb rolling round my clit. Now, I ask you, can a girl ask for more? All these digits were not idle: each one moved in an appropriate manner, in and out, up and down, round and round, all with the appropriate vigour or gentleness.

You don’t need to be a genius to work out the result. What you don’t know is how long it took, or how long it lasted. Neither do I: I had long since lost any track of time. This man was a master of his craft, and the fact that I had decided I loved him made it a moment for mind, body and heart to come together joyfully. It wasn’t as complicated as I’d thought.

Colin left me lying on my back, after he’d gently rolled me over. Then he found a blanket, so soft that it must have been cashmere, and covered me over before quietly leaving. I don’t know how long my little cat-nap lasted, but when I came back to full consciousness I got off the table and put on the gown. I really wasn’t ready to get dressed, so I wandered next door in the gown, to find Colin sitting reading.

“Hello,” he said. “You were my best ‘subject’ so far. I’d like to lend you to some of my other ladies to teach them relaxation and how it isn’t necessary to be entirely passive during this sort of sensual massage. I loved the way you moved your legs and bottom subtly and minimally to join in without spoiling my rhythms. I was hoping you wouldn’t try to put your arms round me, which would have been awkward.”

“Oh how I wanted to! And how I wanted to kiss you when you were touching my face!”

“Do you want to adopt your usual position on my lap?” Silly question, as I demonstrated. He looked at me in a way that I was sure meant ‘kiss me now’. I put my lips to his, my tongue to his. We were properly joined for the first time, and I made the most of it. I don’t want you to think that I raped his mouth, because what I did was matched by his response. It was entirely consensual, and very erotic. Bear in mind that in this position my vulva was resting — or wriggling around — on his groin. If he became erect I would certainly feel it — but I didn’t.

“Please may I stay the night?” Long pause.

“I’m anxious not to disappoint you. I’ll be honest; I don’t know whether I’ll be able to fuck you or not. My penis, who you should know was once named Benjy, appears to be an anarchist. He accepts no rules and decides for himself what he’s going to do, and when he’ll do it.” He looked me in the eye when he said this, and I thought I saw just a tiny bit of a smile.

“Listen to me now,” I said in my best schoolmistressy voice, “I’ve been fucking regularly 7 or 8 times a week for 30 of the last 40 years. By advanced mathematics that works out at about 12,000 fucks. On the other hand, apart from Tyler and Maisie on the odd occasion, I have never spent a night in bed with anyone. So which do you think is going to be more important to me: my 12,001^st fuck, or my first night sharing a bed with a bloke of my special choice?”

“You’re very clever. If you’d decided to extend your evil empire it would by now stretch from Land’s End to John O’Groats and you’d be a multi-millionaire. Speaking entirely selfishly, I’m so glad you didn’t.”

“So what’s the answer?”

“Of course you can stay the night, and welcome.”

“It just so happens that I slipped a few things into my shoulder bag, but I didn’t bring a nightie.”

“Do you need one?”

“I don’t, but you may.”

“I haven’t worn one for years.”

*****

Reading this you probably think ‘o.k. so they’re going to bed together; what’s the big deal?’ Well it was. I hadn’t done this before, and he had doubts about how his elderly body was going to perform. No pressure then? Strangely not, but that didn’t mean that what was to follow was anything but extraordinarily special.

The first thing to do was show me his bedroom, which was spacious like the rest of the house, and without much ornament, except for two enormous paintings of jazz scenes by a friend of his. They were full of bright colour and lots of movement and I loved them, they were so full of life.

Colin said he didn’t really like so-called en-suite bathrooms, but he showed me into one of the two bathrooms near the bedroom. Remember I’m still in the gown, with nothing on underneath. He went into the other bathroom to undress, and I brushed my teeth and combed my hair and had a pee. I also thought I’d better wash my nether regions, which had been active participants in the massage. Then I went back into the bedroom and sat on the bed. It felt very odd. I usually undressed my clients. Most of them wanted sucking off, which I could do while they were still partly dressed. In fact some of them remained that way for the full session, but others liked to show off what they thought was a magnificent body!

When Colin came back into the bedroom he too was wearing a gown, so our first act was to remove each other’s gowns. For an eighty-year-old he had a loveable body. It didn’t have the attributes of someone younger: there were no well-formed muscles showing, and the skin had lost some elasticity. To my mind this was compensated for by the fact that he was so comfortable in his body. Although he had a lovely bush, still golden brown, around Benjy, the rest of his body was almost without hair, and what there was seemed more like down. He still had a discernible waist, without a belly sticking out. I looked him up and down and then into his eyes.

“I love what I see,” I said, and put my arms round him and gave him a big hug. I think it was the first time I’d been able to do that to a naked male without a rampant cock digging into me. I had to get used to the idea that if Benjy stubbornly refused to join in, it wasn’t my fault. You can’t tell anarchists what to do.

We got into bed. It was still warm enough not to need the bedclothes over us immediately, so we could enjoy each other’s bodies freely. I liked Benjy. He was a good practical size (as far as I could tell), easily accommodated but not insignificant. Sounds quite posh that — like a very up-market furniture salesman. I thought Benjy would expect that sort of recognition.

“Would you rather I didn’t do this,” I asked as I fondled his rather lovely cock.

“I don’t mind at all. I’ll tell you if it changes. Will you come and lie across me?”

I shuffled over and lay diagonally across him. Access to Benjy denied. He put his arms round me, and kissed my hair, then found an ear, clearing a way with his tongue until he could push it into the cup of my ear, then nibble with lips at the outer edge. I was at first startled. I remembered that Mum had told me how some people loved their ears to be gently played with, but this was the first time I’d discovered that I was one of them. His free arm now began to stroke my bottom; he sought the wrinkled ring and played with it; slid his hand between my legs and found the slot between the lips but didn’t attempt to enter. He withdrew and started to stroke my back from neck to buttocks.

If I try to describe what I was feeling at this time I would fail. The stroking had the same slightly hypnotic effect that I had felt on the massage table: the difference here was that we had full body contact, and what a difference!

Now his arms were wrapping round me again, hands quietly moving up and down my spine. I was drowsy and fast falling asleep.

I’ve no idea how long I slept. I apologised for dropping off.

“Why apologise? I may have intended for you to do what you did. I’m really happy that you felt so relaxed. I should apologise for myself and Benjy.”

“Please don’t do that. You know what I said about what was most important. Turned out to be absolutely true. I couldn’t be happier.”

I lifted myself off his poor squashed body and started to caress the skin as lightly as I could. On his back he was open to me, and I took advantage, but leaving Benjy to make his own mind up. I worked on all the other bits though. The softer sides of his arms and thighs seemed particularly happy to get attention. When he began to look as sleepy as I had felt earlier. I got over him and sat down over his cock, trying to ignore it. I took hold of his feet and massaged them. Then I lifted my bottom and shuffled back so that my bum was only a foot away from his face. I lifted his sleeping cock with fairy hands. “Can you give my bottom some loving please?” I asked. I felt hands and fingers soon doing all the right things. I cradled the reluctant cock in one hand and stroked with the other hand, treating the object of desire like a softly purring cat. I detected movement. I continued for a few moments, then, when I was sure that interest was aroused, I took it in my mouth. I suppose what I did with my mouth, teeth and tongue was like we’ve all done many times with a particularly delicious ice cream cornet. As Mum wasn’t watching I could slobber away as much as I liked, swirling my tongue round the gradually hardening lollipop: the opposite of ice cream, which always gets softer — didn’t want that.

I was getting excited. Yes, I was aroused, but more excited by the fact that the reluctant Benjy had decided to join the party. I kept telling myself ‘it doesn’t matter if he collapses’. In fact I became convinced that I had already achieved what I wanted.

Nevertheless! “Please keep working your end. I’d really like a well-lubed finger shoved up my arse please,” I called to the rear guard.

That took a few moments and while it was happening I was finding the space in my mouth around the stiffening cock was shrinking. Now or never, I thought, like a battle commander I summoned resources. The fingers on my right hand encircled the base of the now-impressive weapon and squeezed firmly. Keeping a hold on ‘things’ I took my mouth away, sat up, lifted off a bit, shuffled into strategic position and lowered myself and the target area which reconnaissance by the left hand had located and prepared for entry. Only when dear Benjy had found a new home did I release the right hand hold.

The sense of achievement was immense! Battle honours were awarded.

“How are things back there?”

“Brilliant, delicious, fantastic.” With the aid of some nifty wrist-work he’d managed to keep my bottom-hole part of the action. ‘Command and control’ was suitably appreciative. Mention in dispatches.

“The next bit may result in premature withdrawal,” I warned, “But it’s really worth a try. I want you to prepare to roll onto your right side, keeping Benjy right where he is. You might want grab hold of me, and I shouldn’t try to leave your finger where it is. We can always replace it.”

So we rolled. “Bring your knees up and give a good thrust to make sure the lad is well and truly home and not dry.”

After that instructions were unnecessary. We were fucking!

Best ever. Truly, I’ve never felt such electric energy. If we’d been made of metal there would have been a storm of sparks. This position is great for people losing mobility because the body is supported along its full length and the hips and pelvis are free to rotate with the thrusting movement.

Colin started very respectfully: the tempo was leisurely.

“It’s really delicious, lover. Don’t think you have to but if you’d like to go at it a bit more vigorously feel free.”

He began stroking my back; his finger found its way into my bottom again, and a hand reached round to search for the clit. With all that arranged he began to increase the speed and vigour of attack until there was a loud slapping sound as belly and buttock collided. Still he pounded on. I was amazed at his stamina. I could cum any time now. From the feel of his cock it seemed like he too would cum quite soon. A final quickening, and accompanying sighs and cries from us both, finished with a shout — no, two shouts! — as we came almost simultaneously.

I wanted to cry with joy. It seemed that the twelve-thousand-and-first fuck had turned out better than expected, in fact better than all the other 12,000.

I turned to him and tried to say how wonderful it had been: that I’d never understood how sex could be other than a means of selfish pleasure, but now I did: that I felt joined to him as to no-one else apart from Mum and Tyler.

“You were brilliant. Had you worked out how you were going to do it in advance?” — he asked, obviously curious.

“Dropping off to sleep helped! It made us so much more relaxed. I didn’t plan that,” I confessed.

“I thought you were just tired or bored. Then I realised that you had simply done what I had hoped you would and relaxed. Hadn’t quite expected you to lose consciousness mind you.”

“So we both had a strategy to try to get the other one to relax. What a great masterplan! We might have been so successful that we didn’t wake up ’til dawn.”

“I think it would be an excellent plan to sleep now don’t you?” he asked.

“Ah dear, no stamina these 80-year-olds.”

We arranged ourselves as spoons and fell asleep almost immediately, waking up about 6 hours later. We immediately started stroking each other in the places we were learning were most liked. Strangely for me I wasn’t itching to get fucking again: but then I’d never woken up beside a bloke that I’d been with for the last 12 hours, and who’d already massaged and fucked me. The sensual pleasure of simple touch, skin to skin, was a novelty for me. I thought, but didn’t say, that I wasn’t sure I minded if we never fucked again, so long as we could lie together like this.

*****

This began a period which I look back on as amongst the happiest of my life.

I would never have been able to write this but for him because he got me reading again. He first handed me a book by an author called Sarah Dunant called ‘In the Company of the Cortesan’.

“I don’t want to turn you into an academic, or even a bookworm, but you haven’t had time to read much,” Colin explained, “and now you’ve got a little more leisure I think you’d find it stimulates your imagination to take you to new places and new experiences. The book I’m giving you now seems like a good starting point because it’s about a tart; a very up-market one, but nevertheless that’s what she was!”

I read the book, and I confess I was tempted to give up a couple of times, but having got into it I found it exciting and the characters weirdly attractive.

Colin had introduced me to the guy who ran the bookshop in town, and suggested I went to see him when I’d finished reading the book he gave me. I could talk about it to him, tell him what I thought of it, and get some suggestions about what to read next. I did that, and chatted to Will, the tousle-headed thirty-something who ran the shop. I liked him — and he seemed to like me, because he spent ages suggesting books based on my comments about ‘In the Company of the Courtesan’, and my long neglect of reading proper books.

I started to read quite a lot, and as I read I looked up the ‘Good Reads’ website and compared my reactions to those of other reviewers. Sitting down to read was quite different from watching telly. Reading appealed to my need to control: you can stop and start when you want and you can partly create the characters for yourself. Watching telly you can feel as if you’re being led by the nose — which you’ve probably gathered I don’t much like.

Colin took me walking, too. He introduced me to The Ramblers Association, a group of walkers that had started officially in 1935, the year that Colin was born. Their local branch was a very mixed bunch by age, sex and occupation, but they all loved to walk, and I joined them. I had always walked a lot; remember, I never had a car. I walked the parks because I loved the greenery and the changes with the seasons, but I’d never walked in open country.