tagMatureShe Can't Wait...

She Can't Wait...

byfifty5©

This was written as quickly as possible, in a race with Anne08. It took me just over 2 hours from start to finish. It is short, but I think it stands up (so to speak).

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We met on an internet discussion board. I'd posted some geeky advice and she confirmed that I'd got it right.

It still seems incredible that it's happened; though I can - and do - go back and read those early messages to see if I can work out how I got so lucky.

First there were a few public posts and in one of them she mentioned that she'd like to visit my side of the pond.

That was when I sent her a PM, to offer my services as tour guide and to boast about what my part of the world, Yorkshire, has to offer.

It turned out that her visit was a while away - just a pipe dream at the moment. That didn't stop us chatting about theoretical possibilities and sooner or later the obvious alternative - me visiting Canada - cropped up. Helen, as I'll call her, waxed as lyrical about her homeland as I had about mine.

By the end of that first month, we'd sent well over a hundred messages to and fro and discussed science, religion and politics - as well as flirting a lot too.

At first sight, we were very different - and not just that at nearly 60, I was twice as old as her. The labels we gave to our stances looked like a list of opposites, but when we got down to details we found that real differences were trivial: both of us were open minded and tolerant.

As affection and respect grew, we exchanged more and more personal information too, sharing triumphs and defeats.

And then facts about our family relationships. It seemed we'd both had, well, I'll just say, 'interesting' pasts - with our partners' knowledge and support. For both of us it was years since we'd 'played away', but it had happened, so there was nothing in principle to prevent it happening again.

Suddenly, reality burst in. I'll quote her message: "Let's please do try this."

That was three months ago. Both our partners knew we were corresponding, but up to then it had all been harmless fantasy; we had to go back and say it could be real. My wife just laughed and said, "Of course it's all right!"

Helen's hubby wasn't quite so quick off the mark. It was easy for me, not only had our kids left home a while ago, but I'd be out of sight and out of mind of our acquaintances - and we had had occasional separate holidays before - for instance, after China, I didn't fancy Japan: the climate had really got me down. So she went with a friend who'd had a lifetime ambition to go. Basically, I had no barriers to climb.

That wasn't the case for Helen. Her kids were still at school - old enough to notice, but too young to accept the real explanation. And this would all happen in her home town...

However we did manage to come up with a cover story: mostly the truth with the gory details left out. We'd met 'on the internet' and she'd offered to put me up while I made a tourist visit.

Then there were all the practical details - health cover, when was the best season to visit (late Spring, early Summer), and booking the flight.

And now I'm here.

The plane's just landed and taxied in. I'm leaving the plane and going to the baggage carousel. There's mine!

Through immigration - god this is taking ages! Fucking queue after fucking queue!

But at last I'm through - and there she is! Smiling at me and waving. I run over and hug her, lifting her off her feet (I'm over a foot taller than Helen). And she's kissing me...

I've been confident I would get a kiss sooner or later - whatever else does or doesn't happen - but this is so soon - and such a kiss!

I'm starting to lose my balance, stagger and put her down. I'm following her to her pick-up in a daze, putting my case in the back and she's driving away from the airport. I'm catching my breath again.

The trip isn't long, but we've started talking again: "It's unbelievable to be here," I say, "to see and hear you in the flesh." We both grin like teenagers at the phrase, "in the flesh."

"In fact," I say, "close enough to touch" and I do; I reach across and put my hand on her knee. I'd intended just to prove the reality to myself, but there's a crackle of emotional electricity as skin touches skin and I can smell burning, or blood, or...

"Dick," she says, "keep your hand still. Don't take it away, but don't move it - I'll go off the road! Just hang on for a couple of... There it is!"

And she's pulling off the highway, onto a dirt road. In these woods we're out of sight of the main road in moments and now she's pulling off the dirt road, through gaps in the trees, into a small clearing and she stops the pick-up.

She pops the seat-belt clips and slides across the bench seat towards me, reaches for my head and pulls my lips to hers, then breaks briefly to mutter, "You don't need to keep your hand still any more..."

She's wearing a skirt. It covered her knees when she was standing, back at the airport, but now it's showing them: where I put my hand. Our lips are crushed together and our tongues flick against each other, and drive into each other's mouths.

I move my hand. In this position, I can't reach much further down, so move it up, stroking the smooth warm skin of her thigh. Her legs are apart already, but they spread further, inviting me on. The inside of her thigh, not so smooth, slightly moist and sticky. As I walk my fingers upward, she nods her head and hums encouragement without breaking our kiss.

I touch damp cloth and suddenly she's breaking away. "Fuck!" I start to think, "I've gone too far, too soon..." but she's just lifted her skirt, pulled her knickers off and grappled with me again.

I reach forward again and touch hot wet flesh. She gasps, then grabs my hand and pushes my fingers inside. "Go on! I've been waiting for this for weeks now. I can't wait any longer!"

I push and twist my fingers, exploring the geography. By my age, I know the road plan, but it isn't to scale; every woman is slightly different. Ah, there it is, that slightly rougher area and I turn my attention to my thumb, searching out the nubbin of her clit.

She's slumped down now, hanging from my neck by her arms with her legs spread wide at the edge of the seat. All I can see is the top of her head, her beautiful, slightly reddish brown hair. I think I've found her rhythm now, she's thrusting her hips to the same beat as my hand - and panting in time with both.

She starts to make low noises in the back of her throat as we thrust together - and the movements get harder and faster.

She's speaking now: "Yes ... Do it to me ... Finger me just like that ... Yes ... God I love feeling you inside my cunt ... Ah! ... Aaah! ... AAAH! ... YESSS! ... OOH ... Ooh ... Oh .... hmphh..."

She's looked back up at me with a gorgeous, shit-eating grin on her face and she's kissing me again, but now it is gentle and loving, no longer with desperate urgency.

"Shit, yes, Dick - you're just like I hoped. I do love dirty old men! But what about you? You're very welcome right here right now, but if I know you as well as I think I do, I think you'd prefer to wait another few minutes and take advantage of a big soft bed" and she winked.

She already knows me so well.

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