Janet’s tale of her afternoon with Tim gave me much food for thought – and fantasy – in the ensuing days, and weeks. Despite my excitement at recalling what had happened between them in the bedroom, my mind kept returning to the scene, afterwards, in the kitchen, when Tim had slid Janet’s dressing-gown off and felt her tits in front of the uncurtained window. I imagined her hands clasped round his erection while he tried to talk her into removing her panties.
It was a recurring theme in our pillow talk from then on – not surprisingly – and it was obvious to me that she had been on the point of taking them off when Tim blew it by bringing up the possibility – in Janet’s eyes, anyway, of wife-swapping. When we relived the scene in bed, Janet admitted that she had been on fire, again, and fully prepared to let Tim pull her panties off, until he had mentioned me getting a feel of his wife’s tits, in exchange.
Sometimes, we even pretended she had gone through with it, and that she had ended up with her back to the kitchen sink, legs spread, with Tim on his knees, tonguing her to orgasm as his hands reached up and squeezed her breasts …..
What I never mentioned to Janet was the very deep recess in my mind which harboured the image of Tim rising from his knees and sliding the head of his cock, and not just his tongue, into her. When I thought of this, she was always taken by surprise by his action, and gasped – “No, Tim – you mustn’t – please – ” but, by then, it was too late and, holding her thighs apart with his knees, he would thrust his hot cock deep into her and, after two or three strokes, with Janet still protesting, would climax with a shuddering moan, shooting his come up her hot quivering passage.
It was only at moments of high passion in our own lovemaking that I allowed this thought to take over. I knew, in reality, I would be devastated if she had let any cock other than my own invade her most secret places.
Of course, I knew she had not been a virgin when we met and, although she was gradually revealing some of the more intimate details of her pre-marital experiences, I still shrank from asking her to describe occasions when she and a previous boyfriend had ‘gone all the way’. I was never quite sure why, although, if the truth be told, I was probably, like most men, a bit reluctant to hear how good another man was in that department – especially if there was a suggestion that he might be better endowed than me! Be that as it may, while I enjoyed descriptions of early breast-fondling in the back row of the cinema, and even hands slipping up her skirt and inside her panties, I always fought shy of details of the final act.
In any case, there was no doubt that it was what had happened after our marriage, with its added ingredient of the ‘forbidden’, that turned me on the most.
In the November following the New Year which changed our lives, I was filling up the car with petrol and, for an extra pound, bought a ‘Poppy’ window-sticker, for the Armistice Day commemoration. I stuck on my front window, and thought no more about it, but, when I picked Janet up from her office, she noticed it immediately.
“Oh,” she said. “Are they doing these instead of buttonholes, now?”
“No,” I said. “They’re still selling the flowers, as well.”
“Oh, good,” she replied. “I’d hate to see them die out!”
I looked at her, in some surprise. I never thought she cared much, one way or the other, about Armistice Day. We never went to any of the church services, or anything.
“I didn’t think you paid much attention to it,” I commented.
“Ah, well,” she replied, mysteriously. “You don’t know everything about me, yet.”
I looked at her, sharply. I could have sworn there was a sexual undertone to this conversation, but I couldn’t imagine what it could be.
“So, tell me,” I demanded, feeling the first stirrings of excitement. “What is it – about you and poppies?”
But she shook her head.
“Maybe later,” was all she would say, and I had to be content with that.
I was busy that evening, writing up the minutes of a meeting of the football club committee. Janet watched a bit of television and then had a bath. When I heard the bathwater running, I pricked up my ears. Janet is often very relaxed – and receptive – after a long soak, and my mind returned to our earlier conversation. There was definitely an undercurrent there – I was sure I had spotted a trace of the “Birmingham” look in her expression when she was talking about poppies.
I got up and went to the wardrobe in our bedroom. Sure enough, there was a poppy from a previous year still lodged, a little sad and dog-eared, in the lapel of one of my jackets. I straightened it out as best I could, and laid it on Janet’s pillow …..
Janet emerged from the bathroom, glowing and flushed, already dressed for bed, about an hour later. As we had a bedtime drink, I enjoyed the occasional glimpse of her long, bare thigh, as her dressing-gown slipped away, from time to time, from her lap. I amused – and aroused – myself by trying to work out whether she was wearing panties under her short nightdress. Janet knew what I was up to. She enjoyed teasing me in this way, and was pretty good at it. It was a silent game, in the sense that we spoke about other things, while both our minds were concentrated on the ‘one thing’!
We cleared up for the night, and went through to the bedroom. I was getting undressed, and Janet had just slipped off her dressing-gown, when she noticed my little ‘offering’ on the pillow. She gave a low laugh and, picking it up, held it between her teeth like a flamenco dancer. She raised her arms above her head and, clicking her fingers, executed a Latin dance round the bed. It wasn’t the greatest dance I’d ever seen, but it did reveal that the only covering beneath her nightdress was the gorgeous dark V at the base of her stomach, and I turned away to conceal my growing erection …..
But you can’t hide these things from Janet and, the minute I slipped in under the duvet, beside her, her fingers snaked out and closed round my cock.
“Mmmmm,” she said, the poppy still clasped between her teeth. I put my hand on her stomach and slid it down into the damp undergrowth. She murmured contentedly and I leaned over and, with my teeth, removed the poppy from between her lips. Disposing of it, I kissed her. Her response was fierce, her lips mashing against mine, her tongue darting into my mouth.
“Put the light out, Pete,” she murmured as she broke off the kiss. My balls tightened. She always had to have the lights off when we talked about her ‘exploits’. I reached up and flicked the switch. The moon shining through the curtains showed her face, in shadow, and I kissed her mouth again, gently, as my fingers trailed through her pubic bush. I felt her clitoris – it was prominent, but not erect – yet.
“So,” I breathed. “Poppies!”
“Yes,” she whispered, suddenly a little shy. “Pete – you’re sure about this, aren’t you? I know we’ve talked about – a few things – but this is, well, something new.”
“New?” I said. “You mean – recently?”
“No,” she answered. “No – something I haven’t told you about before. No, it was quite a long time ago – not long after …. the Spanish time.”
My mouth was dry, as usual. I felt between her legs. She was very wet.
“Of course it’s OK, Jan,” I said, reassuringly. “You should know that, by now.”
I kissed her again.
“Well,” Janet started, hesitantly, “until that Spanish holiday, there hadn’t been anything, at all. In fact, until then, I really thought that sex, from now on, would only be with you and I was quite smug about it. I told myself I was glad I had sown my wild oats before I settled down and that I wouldn’t need any extra-marital stimulation, but the thrill of that twenty minutes with Jaime was so.. different. With the best will in the world, our married sex life couldn’t provide that kind of novelty and excitement! I realised I still wanted that kind of stimulation, but I vowed, after Jaime, not to let it happen again. And I kept that up for exactly three months.”
“And then what happened,” I asked, breathlessly, wondering which of my old friends of those days had been the beneficiary of Janet’s fall from grace.
“Armistice Day!” came the – not unexpected – reply, accompanied by a little laugh.
“Well, I thought it might have something to do with that – but I really can’t see the connection. Why Armistice Day?
“Well, it was actually just before,” replied Janet. “It was the Saturday afternoon before Remembrance Sunday. You were out playing football and I had just come back from the supermarket. I was unloading the boot and carrying the shopping into the house and a man came round, selling Armistice Day poppies, and he offered to help me carry the boxes into the house.”
“He was probably over sixty, but he looked like an ex-soldier, or something. He wasn’t very tall, but he walked very straight – you know, shoulders back – and he was wearing a blazer with silver buttons and regimental badge and tie. His trousers had knife-edge creases and his shoes were very shiny – oh, and he had one of these little pencil moustaches – and Brylcreem on his hair!”
“Anyway, I thanked him for offering to, and said I would be grateful for some help. He was standing at the side of the car as I was leaning into the boot to lift up a box, and, I could sense he was taking advantage of me leaning forward to look down my blouse! And, when I looked up at him, he didn’t bat an eyelid. He didn’t actually say anything, but he didn’t try to pretend he wasn’t looking, either. And he somehow managed to convey that he was enjoying the view!”
“Anyway, he lifted up another box and said he would carry it in for me. We walked side by side to the door of the entry, but he stood back to let go ahead of him up the stairs to the flat. And, all the way up, I knew his eyes were fixed on my legs, and my bottom! He followed me into the kitchen, then we went back down to the car for the last two boxes. He lifted my one out for me, so I didn’t have to bend over in front of him again, but he made sure I went up the stairs in front of him again.”
“I could feel his eyes on my bottom – and I could feel myself enjoying it! When we reached the kitchen, he was smiling, but I pretended not to notice. He put down his box and said he would go back down again for his tin and his poppies. I thanked him for his help and asked him if he would like a cup of coffee and he said yes.”
“It was while he was fetching his tin that I realised that I’d never been aware of being ‘looked over’ by a man of his sort of age before. I mean really looked over – as in ‘mentally stripped’.”
I had to interrupt her, there. “You mean the way guys like Hugh McArthur look at you?”
“Yes,” Janet replied, slowly, reflectively. “Like Hugh – and David Richards – and Mike Snowball – but they’re all young, and randy. This was the first time I’d been conscious of a really old guy thinking about what I’d be like – naked – and it was, well, different – and a bit exciting.”
I slid a hand up her nightdress and cupped her breast. Her nipple was hard, in my palm. I hadn’t ever quizzed Janet about the New Year episode, with Hugh, and she had never come out with anything, herself. I resolved to raise the subject, soon, but, meanwhile, I thought about this old guy, looking Janet over, and I began to feel excitement rising in me, as well
Janet resumed.
“When he came back, I bought two poppies and we sat in the kitchen, drinking our coffee. He obviously thought of himself as bit of a ‘ladies’ man’ – he was full of old-fashioned chat-up lines, but – I don’t know – he delivered them almost automatically, as though he knew the difference in age between us was an insurmountable barrier. It was just a habit, really – it was obviously the way he always spoke to women.”
“He told me he had had a married daughter about my age, and a son a bit older, but that he had been divorced from his wife for nearly twelve years, and that he was moving, soon, to live with his daughter, and her family – somewhere in Yorkshire.”
“He did most of the talking. He was sitting at the kitchen table, and I was on one of those high stools we had. I was wearing a fairly short skirt and I knew he was looking at my legs, and trying to see up my skirt. And, while he was talking, I was wondering what he would do if I – well, did something!”
“Actually, I wasn’t actually thinking of anything in particular, but I was more and more tempted to do something – partially to call his bluff, but also, well, I felt as if I wanted to ‘give him a treat’. He was really quite a nice man, and I could see he was quite lonely.”
“It was when the idea that he was lonely dawned on me – quite suddenly – that I started to flirt with him – to respond to his chat-up lines. He said that, if he had someone at home like me, he wouldn’t be wasting his time playing football on a Saturday afternoon, so I said – looking innocent, but not too innocent! – ‘Why? What would you be doing?'”
“To be honest, I thought the question would throw him, but he wasn’t a bit fazed. He nodded at the bedroom door and said – ‘I’d be looking after you – in there!’ I gave him another big-eyed innocent look and said – ‘Oh, would you? And what would you be doing?'”
“He opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out and I could see, immediately, that he wasn’t sure what words to use. How to say that he’d have me stripped naked and give me a good fucking all afternoon. I think he suddenly realised he was talking to someone like his daughter, and he just couldn’t say these things to her.”
“It made me feel a bit guilty – I felt like a prick-teaser, and it wasn’t fair. I really quite liked him and I shouldn’t have been doing that to him. And, also, I was beginning to feel turned on. I was curious about what it would be like with a man of that age – would he be able to get a hard-on, still? Did his generation know anything about oral sex? – I realised I assumed that, with them, it was always in bed, in the missionary position, with the lights turned off!”
“Then, before I had a chance to think about it, and have second thoughts, I said – ‘Would you start off by feeling my tits?’ I meant to say ‘breasts’ but, at the last moment, it came out as ‘tits’. And, when I heard myself saying it, I suddenly got really aroused.”
“He just looked at me, his mouth open. He obviously thought he had misheard me, or I was just playing a cruel joke on him. His face went red, and he frowned, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. That – well – it made me feel even more guilty, but it also gave me confidence. I felt in control, if you can understand that. As long as I made the running, I could stop it when I wanted to.”
“So I said – ‘Would you like to have a look?’ He stared at me, and I slid down off the stool. I was trembling with excitement. ‘I mean it,’ I said. ‘Do you want to see my tits?'”
“He pushed his chair back, and stood up. ‘I … yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, I would like to …..’ I started to raise my hands to unbutton my blouse, then I said – ‘Would you like to do it?” and he said – ‘Yes,” and he came round the table. I stood where I was, my back to the table, and he stood in front of me and started to unbutton the front of my blouse.”
“His fingers were shaky and he kept his eyes on what he was doing. He didn’t try to touch me, at all, and, when he had unbuttoned my front, he gently pulled my blouse out of my skirt, while I undid the buttons at my cuffs. When my blouse was free of my skirt, I pulled it open and pushed it back over my shoulders. He took the hint and gently lifted it away from me and laid it on the kitchen table.”
“By now, I was really shaking with excitement and I could feel my heart fluttering. When he had put my blouse on the table, he went round behind me and undid my bra clips. As soon as they were undone, he let them go and came round to face me. My breasts were still covered and he was obviously going to let me make the decision to reveal them.”
“I looked at him until his eyes met mine, then I crossed my arms over my chest and pulled my bra away in a single, slow movement and dropped it on the floor. Then I put my hands on the stool, behind me, and watched his face as he looked at my breasts. His expression was lovely – I think it was probably the first time he had seen a young woman’s breasts, in the flesh, for a long time. No doubt, he had a stock of magazines and videos at home, for masturbation purposes, but they weren’t the real thing. And that was what made me say – ‘You can touch them, if you like.’ He didn’t say anything, but he took a step forward and gently took one in each hand. As he did so, he let out a sigh, and his thumbs rolled over my nipples. Then he bent his head and his lips brushed the skin – he didn’t really kiss them, just brushed his lips against the surface, but it was very sexy and I felt myself becoming very aroused.”
“If he had put his hand up my skirt then, I’d have let him feel inside my panties, but he didn’t and, after a little while, I lifted his head away and he stood back, letting go of me. Then he said ‘I don’t suppose you’d like to . . . ‘ and his voice tailed off and he looked down. There was a bulge on one side of his trousers. Well, that answered my question about whether he could still get hard, and, suddenly, the thought of seeing his cock was much more exciting than anything.”
“But I wasn’t sure what he wanted – I mean, I wasn’t going to let him – go all the way with me – so I said ‘You mean – with my hand?’ and he nodded, and so I said ‘All right.’ And we stood and looked at each other for a minute, then he undid his zip and took his penis out. It was long and thin – and it wasn’t circumcised, like yours. But it was straight, and hard, and I wanted to touch it, so I stepped over and put my fingers round it. He said – ‘That’s nice. That’s very nice.’ I started to move my hand up and down and he felt my breast again.”
“Then he touched my leg, just above my knee, and stroked my skin and, when I didn’t object, he slid his hand up my leg, under my skirt. He touched my panties and I started to masturbate him, properly. His breathing got harder and he pushed a finger inside the leg of my panties and felt the entrance to my vagina. Then he slid it in. His whole finger went in. It went in very easily, because I was very wet. Then I felt his thumb pressing on my clitoris. I was really surprised that he found it so quickly.”
“Then he started to come. Suddenly, all this stuff started shooting out of the end of his cock, all over the kitchen floor, but, even when he had finished, he kept on teasing my clitoris and then I came, as well. I hung on to him, gasping and sobbing and feeling his finger right up inside me. I hadn’t meant to go that far, honestly – just a quick look at my tits – and here I was with this old man’s hand in my panties!”
“What happened then?” I asked.
“Well, I think I was in a state of shock, and he took over, completely. He took me into our bedroom and slowly took off all my clothes and laid me down on the bed. He stood, for ages, looking at my naked body, then he took off all his clothes and we lay on the bed together and he felt me and kissed me all over. I wouldn’t let him put his cock inside me – or in my mouth – but I made him come once more with my hand, and once by squeezing his cock between my breasts.”
“And what did he do to you?” I asked, imagining how he had felt with his cock trapped between Janet’s large firm breasts. By that time, there must have been a lot of lubrication, though, and I thought about how it would have slid easily between her twin mounds, becoming more and more sensitive, until ……
“Well, he kept playing with my tits – with his hands and his mouth. He tickled my nipples with his moustache, then tongued them, then he lay between my legs and did things to my clit that drove me wild! I came much more often than him – at one time, I must have come five or six times in ten minutes …”