A Dream of Age & Beauty

"Love," she said when the traffic had mostly cleared and she put the cruise control on, which not too surprisingly was a rather more sedate driver, "you seem nervous about more than just my trying to kill you..."

"Well, my brother works for Commonwealth Bank and has read about you and he seems to think your judgement might be in question given your dating situation," I said, "but he'll still probably want your autograph. And. My sister and I got our mother's dark hair and skin but my brother..."

"Yes, I'll recognise him, won't I, even though we've never met? I'll try to reassure him my mind hasn't yet gone," she's started in a sombre tone but lightened, "but it's been near to two decades since I had a first meeting with my boyfriend's family so out of practice myself."

My face froze for a moment as I did some arithmetic.

"Yeah," she said soberly, "if I'd met my third husband's family there'd have been no third husband."

I nodded at that, then came back to present worries. "But my mum, um, might ask when she'll be getting her next grandchild. I've never even implied I would have any on the way but won't stop her asking."

"Indeed," Yvonne said after a few moments of shared silence, "she all but asked that when your boss put her on to me. She has her own ideas."

She reached across the console and I met her halfway with my own hand and we passed the rest of the drive in mutual silence, punctuated only by my occasional gasp as death loomed near once the cruise control was turned off.

The mochila Yvonne drew from the bag and presented was one of a few I'd seen that she'd brought home from a trip to Colombia a few years earlier. All were hand-woven and beautiful and my mother was entranced. I was the tallest of my family even counting my brother- and sister-in-law and Yvonne's heels left her all but equal to me and had everyone looking up at us. I'd always been 'baby Costa' but standing with her I noticed slightly different expressions, that I was being more seriously considered than was usual.

That it even put some caution in my mother was the biggest surprise. I hadn't told my mum Yvonne was a decade and a year older than me but wasn't sure if my siblings might've said anything. By sight she was no twenty year old but she could be anywhere from my age on up, especially with her hair loose and in casual clothes.

Introductions made, we were circulating as my mother and sister finished setting up for dinner.

"You're too pretty for my uncle," said my 9 year old niece to Yvonne, my quick eye glance at my brother showed a pained expression that he knew he'd been overheard expressing his opinion and it had somehow been converted to this thought in her young mind.

"It's not just about being pretty," Yvonne responded as she squatted, "it's also about lack of judgement."

Her quick glance at my brother and his pale skin meant he had less camouflage for his blush than I'd had back in the pub that first night.

My mother worked the conversation onto the future she saw for me without quite saying it but complaining about my failure in that department. Yvonne elided out details of her third marriage beyond there had been one and the first one was a 'youthful lark,' but this was the first any of my family heard about Dave and Roberto.

I'd mentioned the endometriosis to my sister mainly to ask for a woman's perspective, she was in hospital administration so knew of plenty of cases. She and I traded glances when my mother asked if Yvonne missed having a child and 'looked forward' to that opportunity again?

"I have a hundred children of all ages," Yvonne responded, "they keep me near to fully occupied."

A moment of silence all around. That was a first at my family's table.

"And what time I have left over I need for this one, my Baby Costa."

She took my hand, lifted it and kissed it. I tried not to gape but could think of no useful addition I could make. So I used my free hand to take a sip of wine.

Dinner, dessert and mingling continued with some additional sparring but it was clear my mum had never met her match like this before. Nothing said was in opposition to what I'd always tried to say but that was just me saying it. Now it was suddenly real. I was quite successful professionally, in a way, but watching Yvonne gently but firmly drive her points home gave me insights into the difference between what I did and what an 'executive' really did, managing a situation where not everyone got what they wanted but still had to feel they got something. What I did manage was to support her points. This is who I'm with.

And that we for now weren't focused on marriage. Our mutual affection was made obvious but my sister's light-hearted but loaded question of 'when is the wedding' was brushed off firmly by both of us.

The last laugh at my expense was with my siblings attesting they needed to get the little ones home and Yvonne agreeing it was indeed time, 'for ALL of the little ones.' Even my mum laughed.

After everyone took turns in the toilets to prepare there was much hugging and waving as everyone deployed to their autos. Winter meant it was already dark as we watched the others leave, then waved to my parents who retreated quickly to the warmth of their house. I saw Yvonne pull off her jumper as she got into the driver's seat on the far side and with a last wave got in.

In the filtered streetlight I looked across and saw the swell of her now unconstrained nipples through her tight shirt, the still-chilled air in the car moderating only slowly.

"How long were you like that," I asked, "hiding those from me when I needed them?"

She slipped the rumbling SLC 43 into gear and pulled onto the street.

"Whatever do you mean?"

I just reached over and rubbed the back on my right hand against the round shape and protruding flesh of her left breast, spreading my middle and index fingers to pull the nipple. She put the car into Automatic which allowed her to place her left hand in my crotch and encourage an erection to build.

"Should I drop you in Newtown," she said sincerely as she gave me the chance to opt out, "my Baby Costa?"

"Only if you're dropping in too," was my answer that I punctuated by squeezing her very erect nipple, "because Baby needs to suckle."

The laugh told me her eyes were twinkling which was the last bit of incentive my cock needed to become quite uncomfortable.

"How about," she said as she rubbed the hidden swelling, "letting it out so I can play with it and I'll obey the laws of physics until we're in my garage. And I'll even obey every traffic law."

So I did the first part. She was good to her word and rubbed and stroked my cock while she obeyed the applicable laws. I worked her shirt just enough out of shape to get both nipples exposed. That we made the hour drive to her place was testament to her powers of concentration.

6 We Need to Talk in Mid June

It was a clear blue winter Saturday morning. I carried two fresh steaming mugs of coffee onto the balcony in fuzzy socks and pyjama top and bottoms, the IR heater the difference in making it comfortable. I sat facing north by west setting one mug on the table as Yvonne emerged, dressed similarly.

Instead of choosing her own chair she sat on my lap and wiggled her sweet arse around until my cock began to get ideas.

"Mind if I put my fat arse here?"

"It's many things not fat," an ongoing discussion repeated verbatim. She sipped her coffee.

"We need to talk," she started then paused as those words of power sank in. A count of three.

"What're you doing first three weeks of August?"

Her wiggling arse was distracting me and all of the caffeine must've gone straight to my prick. It also seemed I was getting off very lightly. I exhaled with relief.

"Before you answer..." she stood up just enough to slip her PJ bottoms down to expose that sweet arse and cunt, then tugged at mine to cause me to follow suit and pop my cock free. She grabbed it with one hand aimed it at her most pussy and slid herself slowly down my shaft.

"That's... cheating," I said as she wiggled and slowly fucked me. I tried to not spill my coffee and reached my free hand to lift her top and expose her breasts then massage them as the top fell to hide them again. Then I reached down to rub the top of her vulva to wet my fingers then found her clit.

"Now, we can talk," she purred, "you need to get the time off work to come to London with me, I have a week of work shit that's going to be all about Brexit and I need you there to keep me sane. Then I reckon a few days convalescence touring England then some time visiting the places our families fled from in Ireland and drinking whisky and Guinness non-stop. And maybe a root or two. A day."

She punctuated that with wiggles and even using her cunt muscles to squeeze my cock. Ireland was a quixotic quest for us, despite our heritages. Her orphaned mum had fled the nuns as an unmarried pregnant teenager, only to miscarry on the transit over. It took her twenty plus years working as a maid and housekeeper before she met Yvonne's dad and their little girl was an unexpected boon for a couple already in their forties who'd never expected such a thing. But that meant her mum had left her few connections other than place names. Ancestry and other work hadn't turned up much in the way of living relatives.

My dad hadn't had quite that trauma but he'd always said his childhood was best forgotten. He too had mostly left whatever past he had behind once he'd disembarked here. Nonetheless, we shared a desire to at least see the place. She also considered it required for professional reasons as post-Brexit Dublin might become the New London for finance. And we'd both heard visiting Paris in August wasn't the best idea.

"I think my boss will be ok," I said while trying to control my breathing, "I'll ask Monday. I haven't taken much time off and we don't have any big projects due around then."

"Well," she moved a bit faster, "I mentioned to him that you'd be asking and I reminded him he told you to kiss my arse as much as necessary. I told him you'll be needed to kiss it lots over there."

"Hmm, it's very cute, maybe I should kiss it now. Maybe some licking too be in order..."

She sped up a bit then stopped.

"Young man, your cock is telling me you're getting ideas in your head about my butt?"

"Yes..." I said almost spelling the word put.

She rose, allowing my cock to pop free, and said, "give me a kiss," so I did on each arse cheek. She held her PJs where they were and reached her other hand to me as she turned to offer the world her cute-to-me but apparently fat-to-some-people arse.

"Let's go," she said as I set my mug down and stood up, one hand in hers the other holding my own PJs. My brain did its own twitch when my cock told it what was happening.

"Just remember," she continued as we went through the door then toward the bedroom, "you'll owe me."

"Just like the Godfather," I said, "you'll ask me for a favour."

She smiled in a way that caused me to waver. But just inside the bedroom she released my hand, dropped her bottoms and pulled off her top. I would pay the price. Any price. I followed suit.

She reached into the side table drawer and handed me a bottle of lube.

"You can go bareback if you dare..." my leer told her all she needed to know on that front. I had no thoughts to hide my nature now we had the freedom.

"Use plenty of that and go slow," she said before wrapping her arms around me and kissing me very hard, "I'm even more out of practice on this than the blowjobs..."

She crawled onto the bed on her hands and knees then adjusted the pillows to lean down. I eagerly climbed on the bed, keeping the lube close.

I positioned myself and leaned over to kiss my way across her arse cheeks and reached between her thighs to insert two fingers into her wet opening. I kissed down the crease between her cheeks and kissed around her arsehole. I used my tongue around it and pushed just the tip into her.

She shivered slightly as I pulled my fingers out of her twat, dripping slightly. I moved enough to allow me to work one of my slick fingers slowly past her outer ring, she shifted slightly and exhaled as it entered her, past one joint then fully in. I continued to kiss and lick around her rose as I worked my finger slowly in and out, before I worked the second one to get her to snort once.

I noticed her hand working at her slit and button as I finger fucked her butthole.

"'s time," she said slightly muffled by the pillow.

I kissed her arse hard one last time and pulled my fingers out. I popped open the lube as I adjusted myself, squeezing out some on to rub on my very stiff and hungry cock. Another squeeze on my fingers to quickly reinsert and rub around her crinkled opening. She was wiggling her hips as I pressed my cock head against her flesh, then she held still as I used my fingers to find tune my aim and push myself slowly into her rectum.

"Ahh," she kept up as I pushed deeper, she adjusted herself as I intruded my full length into her rear entrance.

I pulled out leaving only the head in and added another squeeze of lube then pushed in again a bit faster.

I held her hips as I gained speed pumping her arse, her fingers working her clit as we fucked.

After a minute she'd adjusted and started to pump her hips to meet me on every stroke.

"Oh... fuck... this is... awesome," I panted.

"Sick fuck," I thought I heard, "just remember."

Then she pushed harder.

"Oh... hell... ready..." I said.

"Do it," a demand.

I felt my climax as I blew my load into her bowels on the next pump, pulled back then repeated only less powerfully. One more and I halted, buried fully into her lube and cum filled butt.

I felt her quiver as she finished her own orgasm, how much I'd directly contributed I didn't know but it was all good.

"Pull out slowly," another directive, I did, my cock trailing goo but could be worse.

She laid onto her side then reached up to indicate I should join her, I did, face to face, kissing slowly and open-mouthed.

7 A Proposition in Late June

It was 9:30 Friday and we'd finally escaped the end of tax year reception and were sitting side by side on a bench against a wall in the crowded pub, a table in front of us, our coats across our laps and the sound and size of the crowd giving us anonymity. I had my left hand under the coats on her left leg as it was crossed over her right, her right hand on top of mine. Our other hands held desperately needed beers.

It had been an evening of annoying encounters based on old money's subconscious racial and gender-based prejudices. Yvonne took pride that her firm had aggressively welcomed, both in work force and in clientele, people and money from the new and increasingly wealthy Mid-, Southern and Eastern Asian diaspora attracted to our land. All realities that infringed on the long privilege felt by the self-appointed aristocracy in a country supposedly of equals. Being also a woman in her position was one more reason she sometimes had to bite her tongue when someone deserved a lashing.

Were our genders reversed having a decade-plus-younger companion would likely just add another notch to her esteem. As it was, it was hard to tell what exact effect it had. I tended to be quiet and supportive but on rare occasions someone exceeded my annoyance threshold and got a torrent of arcane computerese gibberish just for the hell of it.

I couldn't speak finance jargon but I could dive deep into the OSI networking model or strange but true C++ operator precedence. Some people just needed an earful and if they needed deep psychological help after such a discussion was it really my fault?

"I have a question," I said turning toward her to cut through the background buzz after we'd both drained our first beers and were on our second and trying to take her mind off of the last few hours.

"No," she said quickly, "we're not having a three way with the barmaid. Get over it."

Said barmaid was about 25, tits almost as large as Yvonne's well displayed in a skin tight t-shirt, a short denim skirt and bare legs apparently kept warm by constant movement. Until that moment the thought of a three way hadn't even occurred to me. But suddenly I felt disappointment.

"Um," I tried to remember what I'd actually meant to ask, "that's disappointing. But I'll get over it. But, anyway."

"The barman you want? Him? Switching sides on me?"

"No! Well, he is good looking. But hey, no three ways."

"You sure about that? None? Good. You should love only me."

"Stop. Wait. I just hosed myself didn't I."

Her grin told me 'you agreed' but she did cock her head and give an opening.

"Back to point, I'm around the CBD every day and you're almost the only woman who always wears hose or stockings. But your legs are better than many if not most of them. Why?"

"Looking closely at women's legs, eh?"

"I wanna know what leavings others have to make do with," I said as I squeezed her thigh, "while I get you."

"Good recovery. Well, I didn't used to, mainly in winter. But couple years ago when I made MD I had trouble believing it."

She gave my hand a squeeze. She had confidence issues? News to me.

"It was cold the first day so I wore them. Then the next day I simply followed the same morning routine. Then, it just became my badge, what caused people to know I was the boss even when they were new. Or more that it allowed me to BE the boss. And now it's just second nature."

I slid my hand up her thigh, she stopped me, switched her legs, and nudged me to continue, my progress hidden by the table and coats.

"Ever consider stockings and suspenders instead? Or what, 'garters' yanks say," I pushed her dress up to bunch in her waist and found her cloth covered crotch.

"Then there's the issue of underwear over, or under, the suspenders," she said reasonably.

"Easy," I said, "no underwear with suspenders. Or with garters if we're in America." Little did I know the multiple levels this statement would take on.

"I'll keep that in mind when I meet with my board of directors, if I sit just so it might ensure my budget goes through." She kissed me quickly as she pressed my hand, my fingers squeezed between her legs against her shielded pussy.

"Should just not wear underwear at all when we go to England and Ireland next month, it'll be summer there," I suggested only semi-seriously.

"Too bad I'm not that way right now, sounds like a plan, both of us," she finished then leaned her head onto my shoulder and closed her eyes, not letting my hand move.

8 Repaying the Favour in Early July

I was sitting on her lounge with my laptop on the coffee table. The telly was on but I wasn't paying attention. We had a month before leaving for London and I was putting together some code that I wanted to discuss with a couple of newer developers before we left. The project wasn't due for a few months but getting this done would let them make good progress while I was gone because for once this wasn't going to be a working holiday for me. Well, not working on this.

Yvonne was in the second bedroom she'd converted into an office since she'd never used it as a bedroom. The door was open and I could hear sounds but not quite words. She wasn't concerned about me listening in because all the talk about exchange rates and market rates and rate rates caused my brain to lock up. I'd just had my aha moment and typed in some comments then hit save. I'd find that in the morning which should allow me to convert it to working code then.

Silence now from the back, then some sort of thud, either her headset going for a ride or maybe her phone being smashed. Ah. One of the better calls then where Brexit was concerned. My work would be cut out for me de-stressing her in London. Then I heard footsteps but they went into the master bedroom as opposed to the lounge. I could hear muttered vocalisations, not sure but I think it was 'fucking motherfucking sons of pig dogs ...' She had a way with words, my posh lady friend.