Unleashed Desires, Ageless Passions

Jane and I had just had another transatlantic argument about money.

Its' what married people fall out about apparently, either money or sex.

Our situation was unusual. We had both lived in the United States for a while but it was much harder for me to get work there so we decided to return to England. I was the advance party. I had rented a small house in rural Cambridgeshire and the expectation was for me to drum up enough work to be able to support us both.

I was good at what I did, but I was no magician. Having been out of the country for years meant rebuilding work relationships and trust. It wasn't happening overnight. And Jane was getting frustrated and angry. I shared her frustration but needed more time.

"How much time, for God's sake?" she had screamed at me.

It was very hard work and I felt like one-dimensional man. All work and absolutely no play. Mine was a joyless existence, a real deadening drudge but I was determined to get there, to put my life back in order. My social life revolved around the local pub that was an exclusively male domain. I felt lonely. I missed the human warmth of intimacy and needless to say, I missed sex too.

After our spat I took deep breaths to try and calm myself. I decided to give the pub a miss that night and take a walk instead. Walking in the countryside was my main exercise, and I loved the countryside too, the wilder the better.

I put on my hiking boots and set off down the lane that led from the village to a track that went through woods and fields, uphill and down dale. It was a beautiful summer's evening in an idyllic country village. Smiling inwardly at my surroundings, I thought I should feel happier than this. But my soul felt tired and leaden. The endless search for work was wearing me down. Doing the work was never a problem, just finding it was more difficult.

The village was silent apart from the sound of families going about their everyday lives. I could listen to those sounds for hours.

"Hello," I heard a voice, a woman's voice and looked around.

"Hi," I replied.

I hadn't noticed the small figure of a woman out watering an unkempt flowerbed. She was small and slim. It was difficult to guess her age, but her slightly hippy garb told me she was probably over fifty. We exchanged polite banter, about the weather and this and that as English people often do.

"I'm staying down at Old Mill Farm," I said, filling in the inevitable curiosity of village people.

"I know," she replied and smiled.

"So you know, do you...and how much more do you know?" I asked teasingly and she laughed.

"Fancy a cup of tea?" she asked.

"That would be really lovely," I replied and I meant it.

It would be good to enjoy some female company and a change from the pub too.

Her small cottage was a long thin bungalow. I followed her through to the sitting room. I was like every consultant I knew. I quickly glanced around the room to find out about the person whom I had known for the past few minutes. My powers of making fast people assessments were acute. They had to be. I specialised in repairing broken businesses, in turn-rounds mainly. People often didn't tell you much in those situations. I had learned how to find out about people very quickly by reading the signs.

This was a treasure trove. So many surprises, but so much that was very familiar. I scanned her books and her music collection. I knew the titles well, mainly because I owned most of them myself.

"Shall we introduce ourselves properly now?" I asked. "I'm John."

"And I'm Rosie," she said.

In a very contrived way we shook hands to celebrate our new acquaintance.

"Rosie, may I ask you a question?

"I noticed that we share a lot of the same tastes in books and music, what sort of work do you do?"

"Oh I hope it doesn't put you off, but I'm a counsellor -- a psychologist," she replied self-consciously.

I chuckled since I am a qualified psychologist too. I explained and we both laughed together.

She offered me whisky or tea. I accepted the whisky and she poured us both very ample measures. We talked and talked and talked. Perhaps we were both lonely, I mused to myself.

In a quiet moment when there was time to draw breath, I glanced at my watch. It was one fifteen in the morning. We had chatted incessantly for the best part of five hours.

"Rosie, do you know what time it is?" I asked.

She played guessing games and lost.

"Past my bedtime at least!" I added.

I wanted to see her again.

"Have you heard about that new Turkish restaurant that's opened in Cambridge? On Sheep Street, I think it is. I'd really love to try it. How about dinner some time?" she asked.

I heaved a sigh of relief as she had saved me the embarrassment of asking to see her again. We agreed to have dinner on Friday. It was Wednesday night, now Thursday morning.

I thanked Rosie profusely for the evening. I felt deep gratitude, gratitude for making me feel human again. I got up to leave.

We said our farewells at the door and I leaned forward to kiss her. I had in mind a polite peck on each cheek. My small peck was intercepted and our lips met. We held each other tight and close. Our tongues danced with passion in each other's mouths. Our arms held each other tightly. This was not the behaviour of two people who were strangers until a few hours ago, but it felt natural, entirely natural.

In the kiss, I had found out all about her body in no time at all. She was lithe and slender. She wasn't wearing a bra and her breasts felt firm, small and firm. She held her body close to mine in a way that said yes. Was this yes tonight or yes on Friday? It was simply yes.

Our one kiss lasted forever. It was hungry, passionate, wanton and desiring, so much in a single kiss. When we stopped, we both gasped for breath loudly then broke out in a fit of the giggles, the way teenagers do.

We had surprised each other. We held each other tight again. She grabbed my arse and pulled me up tight to her. My hardness pressed against her and my stomach struggling in my briefs. I felt her pert rounded bottom. Small but perfectly formed, I thought.

Finally we broke our embrace and a minute or two later I left, left with a beaming smile from ear-to-ear and smiled all the way back to the old farmhouse I called home.

I felt a whole cascade of feelings, a dizzy cocktail of human emotions. I felt enlivened, enervated, aroused and excited. But also I felt profoundly guilty. There was Jane to whom I'd never been unfaithful before. I went over and over this in my head. I had told Rosie about Jane and my situation. She knew. But then under an hour ago I would have committed an act of infidelity without a second thought. I went round and round in circles.

I had suspected Jane of more than the odd affair, but we had held it all together. This was simply self-justification, and I knew it. I tried to put it all out of my head. The next thing I heard was my alarm clock.

On Thursday and Friday, I was out on the road again prospecting for business. There was a lawyer in Bristol, a multi-millionaire in Swindon, a venture capital guy in London. On and on I went, trying to persuade these men in dark suits I could solve their problems for a fee. Time flew by.

It was soon Friday afternoon and I had decided to finish early. I had had enough of work this week and anyway, I wanted not to be too tired for my Friday night date. I enjoyed the leisurely ritual of getting ready although if I'm truthful, the anticipation was killing me! I put on some loud lively music and bounced around the house.

"For God's sake," I thought. "You're 52 years of age, not 18 anymore!"

"Well, fuck it! Who cares!" I said to myself.

I showered, shaved and got dressed. I was ready much too early. My clothes were smart casual. I was generally well dressed except on those occasions when I went rambling across the fields. All in all I was not in bad shape either, not unpleasant to look at, but no Brad Pitt by any means.

I thought that I should try and keep my cool so I poured myself a long gin and tonic with plenty of ice. I did the best I could do to calm my mood with music. It was classical music this time and I had noticed that Rosie had the same recording of this particular piece.

I closed my eyes and for ten seconds or so and managed not to think about making love to Rosie. The phone rang. It was Jane just wanting to say good morning, her time. We chatted amicably for a while with me carefully dodging the subject of money or what I was doing that night. Then I bade her goodbye and said I'd catch up with her at the weekend some time.

It was almost time to leave. I had checked my watch every minute on the minute for the past hour! It was time. I got my keys and locked up the old farmhouse. I decided to drive, to take my car. I was ever conscious of drinking and driving so I resolved to have a single glass of wine and lots of water.

Rosie looked pleased to see me. She was dressed to go, but still looked like an ageing hippy. A very elegant hippy at that; her kaftan style dress was pure silk and doubtless carried the label of a top designer. She smelt good too. My guess was that it was Chanel no. 5. I know that perfume. It was Jane's favourite too.

"Are you wearing what Marilyn Monroe wore in bed?" I joked with her.

"Yes, it's my favourite, Chanel no. 5, and what I wear in bed too!" she replied with a wicked grin that I recognised already.

We set off and in no time we had arrived at the restaurant. It was very Turkish with low seats and large cushions around the tables. Candles provided the only source of illumination. There was a strong smell of incense like burning jasmine. We found a low table tucked away in a corner with very large embroidered cushions. I wasn't sure how easy it would be to eat sat on a cushion. The menu was long and complicated so we chose the mezes and put our faith in the chef to make our decisions. The waiter brought us large glasses of dark red Turkish wine.

I hadn't been out for a civilised meal since I arrived back in England. I lived on snacks, packets and fruit and a fair bit of alcohol too, probably too much alcohol.

There was no uneasiness, no self-consciousness and we soon got back into the swing of being together. We chatted and laughed and ate our Turkish treats from numerous small dishes. The food was delicious.

I studied Rosie. She had an older face and hands, but her neck was youthful and unblemished. There were no wrinkles of age showing and she had very good skin. I guessed we must be about the same age. I had always tended to go for the younger woman. Jane was about ten years younger than me.

Rosie talked in an animated way; she was a bright and independent free spirit. I learned that she had been married to an American too, who was also a management consultant like me. He had left her about eight years ago and run off with another woman, another American. They had had two children who were both long grown-up and working in medicine, a doctor and a nurse. Apparently, the ex-husband's main hobby was internet porn of which he took more notice than he did of her. He also took to hitting his feelings home with his fists from time-to-time. I could not imagine why any man would wish to hit Rosie.

She was a delight in almost every way. She had one annoying habit and that was a tendency to be pedantic in a preaching sort of way. I know that those irritating habits you notice early on were the things that came back to haunt relationships later. With Jane, it was her attitude to money. She had always had an unhealthy preoccupation with money that I knew was potentially corrosive of any relationship.

There was a question I had to ask Rosie, "Rosie, you don't have to answer this if you don't want to, but may I ask how old you are?"

"Of course, you may. I'm sixty one," she replied.

I gulped. Sixty-one, I thought to myself.

"You don't look anything like that age. You look at least ten or fifteen years younger," I wasn't lying and my sincerity showed.

"It must be the HRT," she joked. "My hormone replacement therapy -- I've been on that for a year now."

At that point, my libido fell through a hole in the floor. Maybe I had some very ageist preconceptions about women. But I thought to myself that my sexual interest had been misplaced. After all I was sure that sixty-one year old women had little or no interest in sex.

My feelings about the end of our encounter on Wednesday must have been imagined. Maybe it was something I wanted to feel so that was how I experienced it. Sixty-one was definitely too old for sex. This was a long way past the menopause and there were all those mechanical problems to think about too, like vaginal dryness and lubrication.

I persuaded myself that there must be a whole host of other reasons why a sixty-one year old woman wouldn't have sex and some of them were very unwholesome.

The candle on our table went out. We had long finished eating and drinking and decided to make our way back home.

I took Rosie to her door not knowing what to expect.

"Won't you come in and have a proper drink now?" she asked warmly.

"I'd love to," I responded without even thinking about it.

Rosie had an easy hand in pouring scotch. I added lots of ice for cool dilution. She drank hers straight.

With a glint in her eye, she looked at me directly and asked, "You will be staying tonight, won't you?"

I had a sudden return of misgivings about the much older woman.

"Er staying...what do you mean?" I stuttered.

As if I needed explanation!

"What I mean is that I hope very much that you intend sleeping with me," she said coyly with a sideways look and then blushed.

It was one of those blotchy blushes that women do on their face, neck and arms. Her brazen self-confidence may not be all it seems, I thought.

"Er look Rosie. I'd love to but...," and that was how I started bumbling and stumbling through all my prejudices and anxieties about women of Rosie's age.

I was being a pig, I thought. I'm not really sure why I was so anxious. It may have been that I didn't want anything to spoil what so far had been very special. It may have been also that I feared an encounter of much sexual awkwardness and embarrassment for us both. But I tried to explain my worries to Rosie without being hurtful in any way. She did not deserve that.

She looked on with a wry expression of amusement on her face. She waited patiently until I had finished.

"Okay, John, I understand...so let's try a small experiment. I want you to come here and sit next to me on the couch then I want you to close your eyes and I'll tell you about the rest as we go," she asked beguilingly. How could I refuse?

"Er, what are you going to do?" I asked as if I didn't already half know the answer, straining to keep a straight face.

"Just a little adult education, you might call it an enlightenment," Rosie said through her twinkling smile."

"I can promise you, you will not find it unpleasant in any way," she added.

I agreed and holding my whisky like a comforter I moved to the couch.

"Now close your eyes," she said.

I obeyed.

"Now here's what I want you to do. Keep your eyes closed, move closer to me and kiss me. I'm going to show you something and then tell me what you feel. Put your arms around me," Rosie said in a soothing gentle voice that I imagined she used with her therapy clients.

I did as I was told.

"Keep your eyes closed now."

I did and we kissed, we kissed more passionately than on Wednesday and I felt a real lustful hunger to Rosie's kiss. She had taken my hand and placed it on her breast. I felt her nipple, taut, erect and jutting pushing through the silk as I touched her.

"Mmm I think you're getting the idea now, John. What do you feel? Do you sense my arousal, my excitement?" she asked in a gentler whispering tone.

"Yes I do," I replied clinically feeling awkward about my loss of control.

"It's time to take the experiment to the next level now," she said.

She was obviously enjoying this.

I had felt my cock stiffen in my pants as soon as we touched. It was now straining at my linen trousers like a tent-pole arguing with its canvas.

"Now close your eyes again. This part of the experiment takes a little longer," she said and chuckled.

We kissed again with the same heated desire. Once more she took my hand. I knew the feeling of where I was going. She gently drew my hand up her inner thigh.

She was kissing my ear and whispered, "I'm taking you there. Can you feel how wet my cunt is for you?"

She pushed my fingers against the folds of her soft flesh into the hot dampness of her womanhood. She was wet, very wet. This was a woman with everything working, I thought. I felt mortified with embarrassment at my stupidity.

"Kiss me, John. Kiss me and don't stop," Rosie implored.

We kissed. I felt her hand encircling my cock feeling its rigid throbbing girth. I caressed her soft wet cunt with my fingers.

When the kissing stopped, she whispered again in my ear, "So what do you say now?"

"Er...I'm s-so s-sorry...I d-didn't mean to...," I stuttered.

"No need for apologies," she said in the same soft voice. "Let's take ourselves off to bed."

With that she took me by the hand and led me to the most feminine of rooms. Everything was beautifully coordinated in pastel shades for its restfulness.

No more words, I thought. I lifted her dress above her head. She wore no bra or panties. She stood naked for a moment as I admired her. Her skin was soft and milky white. Her breasts were small and firm. There were no stretch marks, no sagging flesh or pudginess. She was beautiful. Her bottom was small and round. It looked edible. She had just one tiny tuft of blonde pubic hair above that precious place where I could see her pink labia, glistening wet and already swollen from excitement. Looking at her I felt all those male urges, she looked vulnerable and she radiated femininity. I wanted to protect her and yet I wanted to have her, to penetrate her deeply.

"I can tell you like what you see, now get those clothes off and come here," she said smiling.

She always seemed to smile when she spoke. But the smile didn't come from her lips every time. It was her sparkling blue eyes that smiled at me.

I undressed quickly. I didn't undo anything that didn't need to be undone. I pulled my things off and slung them roughly on a soft pink armchair.

I took her in my arms and we kissed again. I ran my arms slowly down her back and then caressed her beautiful small round arse. I grabbed hold of her arse and pulled her tight to me so that my cock was rampant and squeezed tight between us.

I picked her up in my arms and laid her gently on the bed. I had an urge to thrust my cock inside her and fuck her like a demon. But I also wanted to give her pleasure, as much pleasure as she could possibly endure and perhaps more than that. Giving her pleasure would gratify me far more than taking her now and fucking her like an animal. But it was very tempting.

I scooped her up in my arms, held her tight and kissed her again. I kissed her neck, teased her ear with my tongue and nibbled at her earlobe. My hand cupped her pert breast and squeezed her nipple gently. I loved hearing her small moans and gasps of pleasure.

"Turn over, Rosie. I want to kiss your back," I said echoing her gentleness.

She turned without a word and I started kissing her, soft butterfly kisses starting at the nape of her neck. At the same time I caressed her very softly with my fingertips. Moving quickly so that she would not know where the next kiss would land.

The kisses and touches were greeted with soft coos of enjoyment. I had reached the small of her back and my lips and fingers softly explored that beautiful arse. I dragged my tongue slowly and softly over that lovely arse that was so good I could eat it. I could smell the musk of her damp cunt. I was tempted to raise her arse and plunge my tongue inside her cunt. I hesitated knowing that my patience would be rewarded.