Autumn Flowers

But what of the 'old man' bit? He probably has a few limitations - at the age of seventy he's entitled to them. But potential compensations abound. For a start he's not going to want a 'forever' sort of relationship, and that was important, since I had no intention of leaving Jeff, for practical as well as emotional reasons. Then there was the fact that Peter was the sort of man who'd have come to terms with what he could and couldn't do. And, since he had a whole lot more experience than I had, I sensed I might learn a lot more about myself than I'd learnt in a lifetime with Jeff. But most importantly, I wanted more than just a short fuckfest with Peter: the sex was going to be the way to crack the shell, but I also wanted to move outside the cramped world of home, town, and the gardens. The travel would be of the mind and emotions but who knows, maybe one day my body would travel as well. I'd love that, and it had to get beyond girl-friends and one-night stands in Magaluf or Toremolinos.

I'd thought a lot about Jeff in all this as well. I didn't hate, or even dislike him, but it was as if his existence had been lassoed and restrained in a very dull place. All he wanted was a 'quiet life', with his golf and snooker, and his Probus club, and the daily Telegraph and the occasional night out in a decent restaurant. Thousands like him, I know, but does that make it any easier to live with?

I do have female friends that I get on with, but only Joan would I call a bosom buddy; a friend that I wouldn't mind telling anything to, from intimate medical details to issues around children and husbands. I'd known her a long time - probably thirty years - and I'd talked to her about my plans. Joan was lucky: her 'old man', husband Michael, had taken her all over Europe, and to places in South America and Asia. Her children had left home twenty plus years ago, and as well as the foreign trips Joan and Michael had explored the British Isles. They went several times each year to London for the music and the theatre, and belonged to a book club and Art club. It seemed like a fairytale to me. I'd decided that if Jeff suggested a holiday in Mablethorpe one more time, I'd say, or possibly scream, NO! The small hotel we'd stayed at there must have thought about naming a room after us we'd stayed there so often. Mablethorpe was great - for people like Jeff. I no longer felt as if I fitted that category.

I'd talked to Jeff numerous times about being more adventurous with travel, food, sex and new friends, and his reply was always a variation on '...if you want to do it, go ahead.' So I thought that 'doing something' with Peter was merely responding to this permit! On that basis I decided to confess to him that I'd been meeting Peter and that I was hoping, as he was sixteen years older than me, that his wisdom and experience would make me a more rounded person. The permit was granted but had a condition: 'That's O.K., I suppose, although I don't really understand what "a more rounded person" means, but I don't want you being seen together in public in this town or the locality.' Jeff really liked to feel he was in control, and to make sure that his own reputation in 'his community' remained untarnished.

It seemed acceptable to me - some of what I had in mind wouldn't be for public viewing anyway! Nothing about limiting what we could do in private.

The next step was to decide how I was going to bring about my planned break-out. I knew enough about Peter to realise he wasn't going to make the first move. I had to break out as he wasn't going to break in.

I reckoned that next Tuesday, a week from our Bruin's meeting was the favourite time. I just had to hope it wouldn't be tipping down with rain so that Jeff abandoned his golf. I needed to find where Peter lived, so I used the internet to find him at Lock Up Lane, even closer to the centre than my house. I wanted to have a look at it to add a bit more to my knowledge of him, but preferably without being seen.

I remembered that he went to a church in Shifnal on a Sunday, because he liked the music there: 'Not all of it, of course,' he'd said, 'but that doesn't matter. I just love the sound of a half-reasonable choir.' Anyway, it meant he was out of the house for most of Sunday morning, so I wandered round to have a look.

It wasn't difficult to find: the house looked Victorian to me, 'though the builder had made some attempt to respect the rather grander Georgian façade of the adjoining house, also the one on the other side of a passage, which looked just wide enough to take a small car. I was pleased that I could remember a bit of the lecture that the Historical Society had hosted a year or two back. Peter's house was nicely set back a few metres from the road, behind a small brick wall and a neatly trimmed hedge that came up to just above my eye level. If I'd been walking along the road without any information about which one was Peter's I think I might have picked this house because it seemed so well to fit what I knew of his personality and about his life. There was nothing ostentatious about it, just quietly elegant, and I imagined the original nineteenth century resident stepping out of his lovely front door, wearing a bowler or top hat, and carrying a silver-topped walking stick, taking his walk to the Constitutional Club.

I walked home to finish cooking the Sunday lunch, glad to have identified Peter's house, but not really sure what I was going to do about it. What if we were really to fall in love with each other? What the hell would we do then? Was I really being fair on Jeff, who'd probably done his best to do what he thought was expected of him? What sort of land mine was I laying that might sometime be trodden on by me or anyone else, with devastating consequences.

I realised that my education had not really equipped me to think about these sorts of dilemma in a coherent and rational way, and I didn't really know my own mind.

*

The joint wasn't burnt. It was a very small one now that there were only two of us. Luckily I'd put the automatic timer on. Of course Jeff wanted to know where I'd been and I told him 'Just walking round a part of the town that I don't know very well, and looking at some of the buildings in the light of that lecture I went to at the Historical Society. Eye opening.' Jeff didn't seem inclined to enter a discussion about pediments, cornices and the characteristics of Victorian sash windows, so I dished up the dinner. We do talk to each other, but about very mundane things, like Stoke City's latest match, the state of the golf course and the contents of the latest email from one of our children, and I couldn't remember a time before when I had deliberately concealed anything from him, except confidences from girlfriends, so today felt noticeably different.

*

I'd decided eventually that my full-frontal assault on Peter's virtue was going to be on Tuesday as planned, and when the time came I set off to walk to his house in trepidation. He opened the door to me in an open neck shirt and fine cord trousers, and what looked like sheepskin carpet slippers. He didn't look surprised, but then his face, mobile as it was and capable of many guises for comic effect, was never a clear expression of his own emotions.

'Come in. Pleasant surprise. Were you 'just passing? I can't think of why that should be.'

'No, I wanted to see you.' I put my arms round his neck and kissed him - on the cheek.

'That's very nice. Come and sit down in the kitchen while I make us some coffee.'

We walked from the hallway through the elegantly spacious living room into the kitchen. I sat on a stool at the island countertop, which extended as far as the conservatory extension containing the dining table. After a brief discussion of likes and dislikes he made us two cups of espresso with a neat little machine, and we topped them up with milk.

'Understandably you wanted to see where I lived, but I would gladly have issued an invitation if prompted.'

'It might have been better I suppose. But I hadn't made up my mind. I wanted to come to seduce you, but I nearly got cold feet.' I went on to explain my internal debate about being unfaithful to Jeff, and how suddenly it seemed to be unfair because he'd done his best, and I was just being selfish.

There was a long pause. He got up and walked round to the other side of the countertop so he could look straight at me.

'I can hardly believe my ears. You told me that you wanted to break out. You described your life with Jeff and I understood exactly what you meant, and I thought that you'd made a bold and sensible decision. Now you come to me and tell me you wanted me to take you to bed - thank you for that - but that consideration for Jeff was making you waver. This is a man who has, for the last 25 years, done precisely what he wanted to do, when he wanted to do it, courtesy of the comprehensive service you have given him. He could have kept a dog and looked after it better than he's looked after you. Physically, you weren't starved, but in almost every other way he's seriously undernourished you. It's modern-day slavery, for God's sake!' he virtually shouted this at me, then paused long enough to re-assert self-control.

'I'm not just saying this based just on what you've told me, but what I've learnt from your good friend Joan who reluctantly - because she felt disloyal - coughed up further details of your marriage. Get real and live for yourself before it's too late. You're very attractive and I feel a real fondness for you. If it's your wish I will be happy to try to do whatever you think would be helpful, but if I get the feeling that I'm in some sort of competition with your husband then I'm out.'

By the time he'd finished Peter had returned to his calm and gentle usual self, not before, halfway through this unexpected outburst, tears began to roll down my face and I buried my face in my hands. He came and put his hands on my shoulders, and I looked up.

'I'm sorry,' I said, 'I've made a complete balls up of this.'

'Don't apologise. Go away now and think about it, and if you decide to come and see me again how about giving me a call first? You've got my number. If you come with doubts resolved and can be assertive I'm sure you can achieve whatever you want.' He smiled at me, leant over and kissed my forehead, and then gently helped me to stand up.

'Why do you want me to be assertive?' I asked.

'Because the paternalistic role doesn't suit me,' was his reply. 'It needs to be a joining of equals. We've both been dominated by partners in different ways: don't let's repeat that now.'

*

Of course I had a lot to think about on my walk home. I was surprised at his implication that he had been dominated before. I found it difficult to imagine. He seemed so self-assured now; partly this was because he was sixteen years older than me and clearly better educated, but also because he was so obviously his own man, or 'comfortable in his own skin' as the current jargon puts it. What sort of woman could dominate him, and how? I longed to ask him, and hoped that one day he would open up to me as I had to him, and let me into his past life.

Nothing he'd said or done had put me off my desire to get closer to him. The fact that he seemed to have accepted as much drew him closer to me. I really wanted him: to possess and be possessed in every way possible. I just hoped it wasn't too late.

*

I often walk round our town during the week, when I'm not working. We have only one major supermarket, and I do shop there, but we have a butcher and a baker as well. The greengrocer has gone, and we have to buy fruit and veg from the supermarket, although I'm lucky in being able to get a lot of my fruit and veg from the walled garden.

The High Street is a really attractive mixture of dates, styles and uses. Predominantly it's Georgian, but that era spanned more than one hundred and twenty years, and there was plenty of variety during that time. On Tuesday morning the autumn sun was shining and I really enjoyed my walk: in fact I took a short detour to get the maximum amount of enjoyment from this little town. I felt lucky and, in contrast to last week, more relaxed about the whole thing. We both knew in advance what the story board was, but definitely not how the script might develop. It was a sort of experiment - with very little science involved!

*

'Good morning,' as he opened the door. I put an arm round him and kissed him on the cheek. 'The coffee is brewing, and I'm very pleased to see you. Come in and sit down in the living room, and I'll complete the skilled and complex process. Have a read of this month's Wildlife Magazine, and put your feet up on the sofa.'

'I quite like this role reversal: it's usually me serving you. You haven't got a Joan in the kitchen have you by any chance?' I asked.

'Unfortunately not. Be patient - I always am.'

'It's true that you're a perfect gentleman, but I may not be a nice lady. I may be an impatient harridan. Go on, get into your kitchen and be sharp about it; I haven't got all day.'

'Yes ma'am, of course ma'am. Very good.'

He spun round and made off, shuffling his feet and leaning forward in a stoop. He looked about ninety.

When he reappeared I was on the sofa, shoes off, reclining on a couple of elegantly covered cushions with my feet up. He was carrying a silver tray with coffee pot and two cups, milk and sugar. He shuffled in, white napkin draped over his left arm, pulled a small table across to beside me, and put down the tray. I did a stretch and yawn from my recumbent position.

'I rather fancy this sort of life. When can I move in?' I asked.

'There is a waiting list I'm afraid. We've become very popular recently, since I had Petronella on the staff.'

'And who, might I ask, is Petronella?'

'She's technically a tortoiseshell domestic shorthair, but you'd probably know her as a cat.'

'Well thank you, I look forward to meeting her - I think.'

Peter sat himself on the other end of the sofa, having picked up my feet and replaced them on his lap. I'd put on a pair of stockings, supported by a rather glamorous suspender belt. I pulled up my soft blue cord maxi skirt above my knees as he began to stroke and gently massage my feet, one at a time. When he stopped, after a few moments, it was to ask me to pour and pass him a cup of coffee, with a splash of milk. I was just able reach the table and pull it nearer to the sofa, pour coffee and milk and pass the cup and saucer down to my masseur, who downed the coffee in two or three gulps, then put the cup and saucer down on the floor beside him. I poured and drank mine, and lay back to enjoy the attention that my feet were receiving, making appreciative purring noises. I could have behaved in this feline manner for as long as the stroking was offered, but I decided to move things along,

'I'm disappointed that I haven't been offered a tour of your handsome home. I think I need to see upstairs to properly appreciate it.'

'I'm sure you do: the views are lovely from up there. Come on.' He pulled my feet off his lap. 'Do you want to put your shoes on?'

'Not really; I'm sure your floors are spotless.'

He took my hands and lifted me to my feet. I'd noticed that he had on a pair of quite smart leather slippers, not the fluffy jobs he'd had on a week ago. I merited a bit of formality?

He led me to the stairs, which were a nice shallow wide flight. At the top we went through the door into the huge bedroom, the size of the living room below, with a similar splayed bay window. I went over to have a look out and saw a lot of greenery and the roof of a bungalow on the opposite corner, set well back from the road. I turned to look in the doorway facing the window, about seven metres away, then strode across to open it and find a modern bathroom with a walk-in shower. Peter meanwhile had pulled down translucent blinds on the three central windows of the bay.

Over my blue skirt I had put on a simple white cable knit lambswool jacket with long sleeves and a button down front and nothing under it except bra. To avoid hypothermia I'd been wearing an insulated waterproof jacket when I arrived.

This was the moment I'd hoped and waited for: he came and put his arms around me, and as I looked up into his face he kissed me on the lips and quietly slid the tip of his tongue between them. At that moment relief mixed with excitement and my knees started the faintest wobble. His hands moved smoothly up to between my shoulder blades, then in a glissade down to the top of my buttock cleavage, to part and take a hold of a buttock in each hand, squeeze and dig fingers into my firm but comfortable bottom.

I reached up and started to unbutton his shirt, pull it out of his trousers and remove it. He wore a vest, or tee-shirt - very sensible at his age! - and that had to come off, which was not the most elegant of moves, but I tried not to cause too much damage to his prominent ears on the way. I sat him on the bed and took off his slippers and socks. Standing in front of him I removed my cardigan to expose the rather nice uplift bra with discreet lacy trim. Then I pulled him up and guided his hand first to the belt buckle and then the zip on my skirt; after that gravity did the rest, displaying my matching micro-nickers and the tiny suspender belt. It was all white as I didn't want it to look too much like bordello garb.

'Wow!' was the first word to have been uttered for some time. It could have been from either of us, but in fact I think it was him. By that time I had achieved one of my undisclosed ambitions, which was to pull down a trouser zip and reach in and pull out the phallic prize and its faithful attendants. Having got them out I then got the trousers de-hampered and kicked them across the floor. His briefs came next - well they were the only covering left - and then I could treasure my ever-expanding prize and it definitely began to look purposeful.

'Can you please help me with my bra, and then detach the suspenders to allow the panties to get where they want to go, which is definitely not where they are now.'

He responded, as I would expect, with calm efficiency, and soon the unwanted items were cast aside. After he had re-connected the suspenders I hoped that I looked suitably 'ravishable'- the visual evidence seemed to confirm I'd got it right.

'Do you think we could make use of your splendid bed Mr M?' I said, climbing on the bed on all fours and waggling my bum in his direction. I suppose I was only doing what chimpanzees do, except that my display was slightly less colourful. It had the desired effect anyway and he sat on the bed, then swung his legs up and lay down beside me. I reached out and stroked his face, then ran my fingers through his hair and rested my hand on the soft hair on his chest.

His hand was exploring my bust, to softly squeeze its two, still quite firm, components, then manoeuvre nipples between first and second fingers. That meant he could continue the massage as well as play nip-the-nipples. I was beginning to shuffle my bum and raise a thigh, letting it fall across to squeeze my vulva.

My soon-to-be-lover, sensing my rising level of lust, pushed his free hand down between my thighs. I lifted my thigh back and lay on my back and pushed my knees apart. It was a 'take me please' gesture and he responded by running fingers up and down the length of my engorged labia, then gently finding a way into my cunt with his longest finger. Needless to say it slipped in very easily, as HRT had ensured that I could still produce plenty of love juice (one boyfriend, a mechanic, called it gear oil) and I had no doubt that I was by now wetting the bed. Not my problem.

Despite his years dear Peter was still quite agile, and he raised himself up, tucked his legs under him and leant over to nuzzle the scene of his digital exploration. This really excited me. The few times I had been treated to decent cunnilingus I had thought it a blissful experience. This man seemed not to need a co-pilot, having plotted all the significant landmarks and executed a perfect landing all by himself. The effect was as if a benign electric current swept through part of me, and as his tongue reached the tiny erectile tissue at the top of the vulva I felt my first orgasm rising. The tension, muscular and mental, created a sensation of wanting to explode, and just as I think it unbearable the explosion comes, everything is released, body convulses several times, clench and release. Warm glow. Exhaustion. Relax.