Car Show Slut Ch. 10

In the tight confines, no one really see what was going on, that her hand was on mine. But what was really going on? All this was really steaming me up, but what was going on in her mind? Was this a sexual embrace on her part, like it was so increasingly for me? I dared not move my hand any more, lest I reveal to her my own rapidly gathering lust. And I didn't want to offend her, nor let it be revealed what I was really feeling – God, how embarrassing that would be in such a public place! But I was just so enjoying our camaraderie in this difficult situation, or whatever it was. The train jolted again. I shifted my leg to retain my balance. As I did, it must have slipped between her legs, for suddenly I could feel her inner thigh against mine. It felt so warm, so soft, so... My journey was almost over. It almost felt like some kind of dream, locked together as we were in a sense. My leg was touching hers now, my body pressed firmly into her back, my hand on her hip, her hand around mine. My heart was beating rapidly. I wondered whether she could feel it. I shifted my leg, rubbing my bare leg against her silky smooth skin. She didn't move, but I could feel that she was pressing her leg back against mine, oh yes, she was, she was letting me rub my leg against hers! I started gently, secretly rubbing my leg slowly up and down, against her skin. Oh God, it felt wonderful. I gripped her hip tighter. Her hand gripped mine, harder now. It was all I could do to stop myself from thrusting my hips against her ass.

The train began to slow. It was my stop. People were shifting around, trying to make space for those who were getting off. Our strange little experience, sadly, had reached its end.

I didn't want to go, didn't want to let her go, who ever she was. For a moment I thought about staying there, with her, to see where this journey might take me, but something, something inside, was stopping me. I had to get off.

I had to say something to her; couldn't leave without doing so. I reached up to whisper into her ear.

"I've got to get off now," I said, releasing my grasp around her hip. "It's my stop."

She turned her head and smiled. "OK," she whispered back. I smiled back at her as I turned to push my way through the throng. I stood on the platform and watched the train leave. But I couldn't see her in the crowded carriage. The train rolled out of the station, and with that she was gone.

I felt almost groggy, as if it had been a dream from which I had just woken. But the cool night air soon had me back into some semblance of reality as I made my way back home, the memory of a very pleasant train experience running through my mind, her physical memory still pervading my senses. I walked on home. Tired, exhausted, but feeling very very sexy.

It was good to finally get home. The walk hadn't done much to quell the fire in my loins; I was still feeling powerfully horny. I wasn't hungry, but I was in need of a drink. I poured myself a glass of wine and went out onto the balcony. I noticed something in the corner. It was a small jar with a red rose, and a small box of chocolates beside it. I picked up the jar. There was a note inside. It read: 'Beauty behind compare, my dear, beauty beyond mere words'. It was from Mr Darcy – he must have been out there this morning! How sweet, what a lovely old man! But there was another note in the bottom of the jar.

'Dear lady, it just so happens that it is my birthday today. I must say that you have already given me a wonderful birthday present this morning with your exercise routine, but I am wondering whether you might like to join me briefly for a celebration drink. I know you are a busy girl and I promise not to detain you long, but it would make an old man like me so happy.'

I smiled. Yes, of course I would have a drink with Mr Darcy on his birthday! I downed my glass and headed for next door. I rang the bell.

"Good evening my dear, thank you so much for coming," he said.

"Don't mention it," I smiled. "And thank you for the chocolates. And happy birthday! But I'm sorry, I didn't know it was your birthday – I haven't got you anything."

"My dear, to have such a beautiful young lady in my presence, that is more than enough gifts for an old man like me."

"Oh, you're not that old," I joked. "Mr Darcy, you can't be a day over sixty, surely."

"Oh ho ho," he laughed. "You're too kind. But I'm afraid it was a long time since I was that age."

He was certainly older than sixty, I knew that. But I really liked the old guy. So sweet, so... so English. A very different type of character to most of the people around here. So old fashioned in everything he did. Even his apartment, a mirror image layout of mine, but it couldn't have been more different – full of old furniture. Compared to my place it was more like a museum. I took a seat on his expansive leather sofa as he went into the kitchen.

"Wine?"

"That would be lovely," I said.

"Excellent. I've been keeping this bottle of red for a celebratory occasion such as this, but you don't have too many of those at my age! Alas, my Gladys passed on many years ago, and I'm afraid the same is true of most our close acquaintances."

"Mr Darcy I'm sorry to hear that."

"Oh, don't be sorry. It's just life. I've had a good innings, as they say. I've lived a very full life, and now am old. It happens to everybody, although I must say young lady looking at you there, it's hard to imagine such a stunningly beautiful young girl like you ever getting old."

"Oh, you shouldn't say things like that," I said. I was actually blushing a bit. I took a sip of the wine. It was very good. Very good indeed.

"Mr Darcy, this wine is superb!"

"Yes, it is. I thought you would like it. It's a 1968 vintage, so one would hope it's a good drop."

"God, this must be worth a fortune!" I said. It probably was. A vintage of nearly 40 years!

"Yes, I believe it may well be worth a pretty penny these days, but it's of no use to me sitting up there on the shelf. I'm just so glad to be able to appreciate it with someone, especially such an attractive young lady."

He really was a lovely old man, a remarkable man for his age. His mind was sharp, and his body looked amazingly good. I was joking when I said he didn't look a day over 60, but he could easily have passed for late 60s. And he was a lot older than that. After a couple of glasses of this excellent wine we got to chatting. He had indeed led a full and interesting life. He had served in the Second World War, and had been a radio correspondent for most of his career after that. His work had taken him all over the world, and he and his wife eventually decided to retire in the States.

"I love America," he said. "Of course, there is a lot wrong with this country, but the notion of America being the 'new world' and Europe representing the stuffy old way of doing things, I'm afraid there is a lot of truth in that. That buffoon, Donald Rumsfeld, I think it was, or maybe it was that interminable idiot, Cheney, I can't remember, but either way they're birds of a feather, those two; anyway, which ever one of them it was, when they criticized the European countries over the Iraq weapons issue before they went to war with Saddam, and they derided Europe as the 'decaying old world', as ham fisted and as incorrect as they were, they actually had a point. Notwithstanding, I think today's administration has got it totally wrong over Iraq; it's morally reprehensible, what they have done over there. But what they said about Europe, it's true. Europe is in a kind of decay, but there is something fresh and vibrant about America, even today...

"I'm, sorry dear, I'm rambling. Please forgive me, it's just that I don't get to talk to many people these days, and certainly few so vivacious, and as young, as yourself."

"Oh Mr Darcy, quit with the compliments – you're embarrassing me!" I laughed. "And I don't mind you 'rambling on' – I love a good chat. But hey, tell me about the war. I mean, if it's not too personal or painful. I studied World War Two at college, but I've never spoken about it to any actual veterans."

"Well, the war was awful, terrible, as all wars are. I don't think I need to dwell on the horrors; if you're any kind of student of history, you'll already know all about that. In all, however, it wasn't that bad – I didn't actually see a lot of action in the Pacific. But ah, what a paradoxical thing war can be! You know, for a young, single man as I was then, notwithstanding the dangers and the horror, going to war, at the least the one I went to, was actually a wonderfully exciting experience."

"What do you mean 'wonderful'? How can war be wonderful?"

"My dear, war has a strange effect on people. The constant danger, the fear, the real fear that you may not live to see the next sunrise, I can say from personal experience that it does strange things to the human libido – male and female."

"Oh yes?" I said, intrigued now. "What do you mean by 'strange things'? Do tell!"

"Well, oh, I'm not sure if I should. I mean, it wouldn't be proper..."

"Oh Mr Darcy, I'm a big girl now. Please, please tell me about your wartime romances!"

"Well, I guess you are quite a liberated young thing – and I don't suppose anything an old man could say would shock any young girl today! But as for romances, well, it wasn't so much romance as merely good old fashioned fun!"

"Ooh really? Tell me more! Mr Darcy, it sounds like you must have seen quite a bit of 'action' during the war!" It sounded very exciting – I never dreamed that people would be having sex while serving their country in a war. You just never hear about these things. I was almost on the edge of my seat waiting for him to tell me about it!

"Quite, my dear. As I said, war can do strange things to people, and for a very young man of limited worldly experience to be thrust into such an environment, amongst the nurses and other females, well, I think I had a jolly good time of it all things considered!"

"I bet you cut quite a figure back then, Mr Darcy," I teased. This was fun! "I bet those nurses were throwing themselves at you!"

"Let's just say that one didn't get much sleep. Every night, every night was just one big rollicking party! My dear, when I look back, the war was one of the best times of my life. I enjoyed things there, with women, sometimes more than one at a time even, that I never would have thought possible. Really, and you'll never read this in the history books, it was just one big orgy."

"Wow," I said. "I'd never have thought that. God, it must have been an amazing experience, living on the edge like that."

"Indeed it was. But modesty forbids me from getting into the details, I'm sure you understand, young lady."

"Yeah, I understand," I laughed. I took another sip of his excellent wine – my God, I had tasted some top shelf wines before, but nothing in this league – as we chatted some more about the war. I was feeling very relaxed, peaceful. It was just so nice to sit there with this kindly and really quite interesting old man after such a hectic day. It reminded me of visiting my grandparents as a kid. And his accent was just so wonderful, so different, almost soothing in a funny kind of way. He had one of those voices, with such elegant diction, that gives you a little shiver. A nice shiver, a strangely relaxing, an oddly comforting feeling.

I wished I had eaten beforehand, though: this wine was too good not to drink, but I was drinking on an empty stomach. I began to settle back, tired, a little drunk, but under no stress.

I must have fallen asleep. Next thing I knew Mr Darcy was helping me to my feet. I felt groggy, my legs almost giving way. God, I was so drunk! My head hurt, too; the beginnings of what I knew was going to be a killer hangover, damn it. I felt my legs turn to jelly again as Mr Darcy tried to prop me up.

"My dear, I believe you may have indulged just a little too much," I heard him say. He was right. I felt all foggy.

"Oh dear. Anne, you can't go home like this. Here, come this way; you can rest up on my bed. I'll take the sofa.

"No," I heard myself slur, "I'll be fine." But even as I said it I was stumbling. I wasn't fine. Just need to sit down and rest. But Mr Darcy wasn't having any of that. He fairly picked me up and helped me into the other room, his bedroom, and laid me down so that I was sitting on the bed.

"Just relax, my dear. You've had a hard day and need to rest."

He was bent down low, as I felt his fingers fumbling for the straps on my shoes. Soon he had removed them from my feet. Then he was unbuttoning my blouse. Then he was sliding it off my shoulders. I was too wasted to protest, but really, I just needed to lie down. Then he unzipped my skirt. I wasn't worried; and I didn't feel exposed. Well, I was kind of barely conscious. He pulled back the covers of the bed and I snuggled up under the blankets, wearing only my bra and panties. I noticed he had left the room, but soon he was back, with a glass of water.

"Here," he said, placing the glass in the bedside table. "Drink this, Anne. Your system needs to rehydrate."

Then he was gone again, flicking the lights off as he left the room, closing the door behind him. In the darkness I felt the room spinning violently as I shut my eyes, so instead I had to keep them open, otherwise I was likely to be sick. It wasn't easy – I was so tired – but eventually I must have just drifted off, or perhaps simply passed out.

Sleeping in Mr Darcy's bed, I had some strange dreams. I dreamed I was in the war, a nurse in the army field hospital tending to the injured men. They were all young guys, brave young men, fit, very masculine. My heart went out to them; it was my job to care for them, restore their strength. They would smile sweetly up at me as I passed along their beds doing my rounds. They mostly seemed to have broken arms and legs, and some of them were tied down onto their beds with ropes to help keep their limbs still while they healed. We were in some kind of jungle area in the Pacific, and it was very hot, humid. The patients were close to naked, some of them covered by nothing more than a flimsy sheet, sweat glistening off their muscle-bound bodies. It was impossible not to notice that some of them had erections. I passed one young man who was laid up with two broken arms in plaster. He was looking up at me, then glancing down at his stiffening member, gesturing, pleading. It was my job to care for them, my duty, and I knew what this man wanted, what he needed. I carefully lifted the sheet away from his muscular young frame to reveal his hard shaft. I bent down and took it into my hand. He smiled as I brought my lips to head of his cock. I took it into my mouth, sucking gently, as the other men watched my ministrations from their beds on either side. Up and down, gentle, yet sucking hard, doing all the work, so that he could remain still and not need to move a muscle of his poor, injured body. Very soon I saw his expression, a grimace, and I knew he was cumming.

Yes. He shot his load into my mouth and I sucked it in, taking it all, swallowing the brave soldier's hot seed, spurt after spurt down my throat. When his convulsions finished I released him from my mouth, licked my lips clean and covered him up again, leaning up to kiss him on the forehead. An air of peace seemed to descend over him, and I felt very proud that I had done my duty for my country.

The dream meandered along, as soon I realized that he wasn't the only unfortunate young man there who needed care. I was curling up in bed with one of them, one of the less-injured, after I had also taken his cock in my mouth, and laid down beside him as he spooned his young body around mine, kissing my neck, his hands running all along my body, exploring me with an apparent yearning that was discernible through the tips of his fingers, almost as though I was the first woman he had ever touched.

The lips on my neck, the hands on my body, it felt so real. But then my consciousness began to drift elsewhere and I became aware of unfamiliar surroundings. I was not in an army hospital bed any longer. But nor was I in my own bed. The furniture I could see in the gloom of night was not recognizable. But what was unmistakable was the hand on my body, the male body that was wrapped around me as I lay there on my side. The hands exploring me, running slowly down over my hips, my thighs, and then back up again, around my breasts... and the lips that gently kissed the back of my neck, the warm breath against my neck, the soft gentle moans from the man's mouth...

I was in that indefinable zone between sleep and consciousness, but I was aware that I was in the arms of a man. And it felt wonderful.

Slowly my mind began to sharpen. Sharpen to the point where I had to ask myself: was I dreaming? No, I was no longer dreaming. I was awake. There was a man with me, touching me. Oh no – no, it couldn't be. But it was. Mr Darcy!

Oh yes, it was true – Mr Darcy was the man, in bed, his body spooning mine, cuddling me, his hands exploring me, ever so gently, so slowly, his lips gently kissing my neck. I froze in near shock. Mr Darcy! He must have slid in here while I was dreaming! Oh my God, I'm nearly naked in bed with an old man, what, an 80-year-old?

My mind panicked. My first instinct was to flee the scene. But I couldn't. I couldn't do that. Hurt his feelings like that. And what an embarrassing scene it would make! Maybe he just couldn't sleep comfortably on the sofa and so he quietly crept in here. But look what he's doing now, I thought to myself as I felt his hand sliding down off my breasts, down my stomach, down... Maybe he's asleep and doesn't realize what he's doing?

Oh Anne, I thought to myself, how naïve can you get? Can't you see - he's feeling you up! It's that simple. Yes, I was outraged, but still I couldn't bring myself to make a scene. But still here I am tolerating it, just lying here, letting him. I felt trapped. I didn't know how to act, what to do, to stop him without it ending up in a major drama that would embarrass me as well as him. But then I thought, maybe I could just pretend I was asleep? Let him have a little fun, thinking that I am totally unaware, and before long surely he will just drift off to sleep. He's about 80 for God's sake – he's hardly likely to rape you in the middle of the night! He's just enjoying this rare opportunity – a pretty outrageous thing to be doing, sure, but what the heck, he is very old. How could I live with myself if I kicked him out and humiliated him, and then he went and died of old age next week? No let him go, don't deny a very old man a rare pleasure as this. And pleasure what surely what he was experiencing. God, you could literally feel the pleasure, the gratitude, the rapture he was feeling through the very touch of his hands on my body. It was tangible, so real, just like it had felt in the dream... I felt like a Goddess, worshipped as a princess of such impossible beauty. Yes, just let him, let him, and soon he will be asleep.

But soon it was I that was sleeping. I knew that I must have drifted off, because the next thing I knew, I felt, was his hand, wrapped around my hip and plunged inside my panties! I could feel his fingers gently caressing my lips, and I knew without even feeling myself that I was wet, that he was making me wet. God, I thought he would have just fallen asleep by now!

Things were getting out of control. Yes, I was wet. But not so turned on as to submit to anything. But how could I get myself out of this? I felt his body push gently against mine. Every movement was gentle, as he snuggled up against me. It occurred to me that, strangely, as I could not see his body, but only feel it, that he didn't feel like an old man. But then it wasn't every day that I was involved in a sexual embrace with an eighty year old...