Better Late Than Never

I walked into the popular little downtown snackette and ordered my favourite, strange indulgence: a vegetable salad and three scoops of ice cream - chocolate, butterscotch and rum n raisin. I looked around for a vacant table, or one I cold share, preferably with a sweet young thing. At my age, fifty nine, such a privilege was always on the lookout for. My eyes fell on a stately looking elderly woman sitting all alone. I stared at her neatly cut, relaxed, short cropped pixie, grey and brown natural hair, shining under the lights with some kind of oil sheen.

She had a mid-tan complexion, just like mine. Her nose was straight and flared wide over lips that were not too thin, but not thick, on a wide mouth that curved upward in a permanent soft smile. Her eyes round and black, again like mine. And her eyebrows which were neatly trimmed, shot upward and then straight back down and wide, giving her a fierce look that contrasted with her smiling lips, but somehow seemed to mesh in the overall prettiness of her face which was just slightly creased, mostly on the forehead.

I recognized her immediately: Ms. Grant, my old primary school teacher. My heart lurched, it had been so long; I had been thinking, only recently, about her and wondering if I'd ever see her again. The last sighting had been twenty years ago.

I'd joined Ms. Grant's class when I was a shy ten year old and she an equally shy and petite twenty year old, just out of teacher's college. I was one of, if not her favourite pupils, and she soon became my favourite teacher and an object of my boyhood romantic fantasies. I developed a huge crush on her that lasted for years, continuing even after I left for high school two years later. Sometimes, during break periods she would ask me to run across the road to the Chinese grocery to get her a Pepsi and some pastry, or mints and salted nuts, errands I was only too happy to perform.

After I left for high school I still saw her occasionally, as we lived in the same district. Five years later she moved away, to another part of town, but as the years went by I would still see her once in a while around the city going about her business, sometimes a year or two apart. We would always greet each other and on a few occasions chatted briefly. But before the day in question, the last time I bumped into her was about twenty years ago. I looked at her and just knew that if she stood up she would be the same petite and shapely young teacher I'd crushed on. At that time she'd had firm, straight, pointy B-cup breasts, a narrow waist and flared hips on a slim frame, with legs just slightly bowed, so her hips and pert behind swayed when she walked.

"If you're not expecting company, mam and have no other objections, May I share this table with you?" I said, politely.

She spoke without looking up, "No objections ... and I've been out of the dating arena so long I can't even remember what the last gentleman looked like or if he wore cologne ... I got married early ... so you are free to sit young man," she said laughing at her joke. I laughed too.

"It didn't necessarily have to be a man, it could have been a daughter or granddaughter or sister," I said chuckling.

"Isn't it virtually always a man, when a lady sits alone in public and is expecting company? And also, all the persons you mentioned live abroad," she answered, still not looking up.

She continued, "And if you don't mind, could you kindly go find a Chinese shop and get me a Pepsi, a cheese roll and some mints ... I'll watch your food for you."

I burst out laughing, "You recognize me!"

I recognized you the moment you walked through the door ... you haven't changed much since the last time I saw you. You look good old boy."

"And you too young lady, as beautiful as ever ... I bet if you stand up I'd be looking at that same knockout figure." I replied.

"Here comes the flattery," she said, but she was blushing madly.

She stood up, and I looked her over and shook my head approvingly. I put my arms around her, drew her close, leaned over and gave her a kiss, quickly, on the lips. The sweet old thing clutched me briefly and shivered. I felt my cock begin to rise, under that dress was something I should have touched years ago.

"Wow, I feel like the next time I have a similar conversation with a former pupil I can safely say I was on a date just the other day ... because you just make this seem like a date, you wicked man," she said, sounding breathless.

"They say what doesn't happen in a year, happens in a day ... well, I waited forty-nine years for that," I said.

She laughed out loud, and after looking about to see if anyone heard her, and was staring, she looked me in the eye.

"Really, Pat?" she asked, holding my stare.

"You bet your sweet self ... I had a huge crush on you; all the class knew."

"What, so that is why you were always hanging around me and walking me to my street some days?" she asked.

"Yes, I wanted to deter competition."

"And I never suspected a thing, it's amazing," she said, looking at me with surprised eyes.

"You don't know how happy I am to have met you today ... and to get that kiss ... this must count as one of, if not the happiest days of my life ... you'll give me another kiss when we part today, right, Ms. Grant?"

She threw back her head and laughed, not so loud this time.

"Don't push your luck little boy," she said teasingly.

We sat there prattling away like little kids, her cheeks getting redder and redder. I could tell she was warming up, like an old engine just serviced. I was probably making her remember past days of wine and roses. Every opportunity I got, I threw in a little flattery, complimenting her looks and calling her names like sweets, baby, honey. She did look well preserved for someone knocking seventy, so those words weren't so outrageous. And the response in my jeans my jeans confirmed it.

I learned that she had borne only one child, a girl, who now lived in London with her husband and five kids. Her husband had died ten years ago. She now shared an apartment in a family owned house with a younger, forty-five year old niece who was a spinster.

I got her to agree to a little drink in the garden-like bar of a popular hotel. She was telling me something when I just kept staring into her happy eyes without commenting, even after she had finished. She gave me a puzzled look, blushed, looked down, and then looked up back again to find me still staring silently at her.

"What?" she asked, in a tense whisper.

"You were my first love; I'd like you to be my last."

She sat up straight, obviously startled and thrown into a torrent of emotional confusion. She took up her glass, swallowed her cocktail in one gulp and then managed a weak smile.

"You had quite a huge crush ... it obviously hasn't worn off as yet," she said, nervously.

"Never will ... I remember how I used to sit and stare at you, lost in your words and not their meanings ... as young as I was I saw you as a very desirable woman and dreamt of someday being your man. Some of the boys knew and teased me."

She looked at me wide eyed, "All of that was going on and i never suspected."

"You couldn't have, your mind and my age would not have allowed you to think that."

"So, that was why you were always around me ... you saw me as your lady ... I was so blind ... poor you, I'm so sorry," she said, smiling.

I knew what she did there, she was trying to make light of it, kill the obvious flame that was burning. She reached for her glass, but it was empty. I signaled the waiter. While he was coming I put her glass in front of me and placed mine in front of her. She hesitated briefly, before taking the much needed drink.

"You're embarrassed?" I asked.

"Well I guess I am, but not in a really bad way ... more like I'm shocked. I never even once thought your attention was driven by a crush ... oh my ... but I'll admit that in later years when we met up in the streets downtown, I always had the feeling that you were on the verge of making a pass at me. Were my suspicions right?" she asked, looking away.

"Yes, but something always held me back ... I guess I was afraid of hurting the friendship. And what did you think about your suspicions?" I asked.

"I was flattered, but never gave it extended thought, because I still saw you as my pupil, also by then I was happily married and was careful not to act in any way that might coax you into doing what I suspected you wanted to do."

"I'm still carrying that torch, Cecily." I said reaching out and touching her hand, softly.

She allowed her fingers to be intertwined with mine.

"Cecily, whatever happened to Ms. Grant?" she asked.

"Ms. Grant just died, Cecily has just come alive and taken her place ... hasn't she?" i asked.

"I don't know ... I don't think I know anything, where I'm sitting now ... I'm suddenly like a confused little girl."

"Only a week ago I was thinking that having not seen you for so long, you might have gone abroad, or deceased, or bedridden and that I was never going to see you again, and I felt so sad, you can understand how happy I am now. I don't want to lose you again, Cecily."

She sat looking at me silently, steadily, even after I had stopped talking, like I'd done to her earlier. She raised her glass to her mouth without taking her eyes off me.

Finally, she said, "Wht are you doing to me Pat, what are you asking of me?"

"You're no longer married, I'm no longer a boy."

"You are married ... and we're two old people ... well not you so much. You're no spring chicken, but you don't even look like fifty-nine, you look like forty nine. But me ... oh my god I'm almost seventy, for heaven's sake ... What would you do with an old bird like me?" She asked, pleadingly.

"Like me, according to you, you don't look your age. You're a damn sexy and beautiful old bird, I can tell you."

She jumped at the word sexy, visibly flustered and worried, probably wondering what she was getting herself into by allowing this to go on.

"Pat, Pat, you don't know what you're doing to this old lady, honey. My head is spinning and I know it's not the drinks ... you talking about me being sexy ... I can't even remember what sex is like ... I'm so rusty down there, it creaks when I walk," she said, ending with a joyful laugh.

I just had to laugh with her, she was so lively and sexy.

"Let me go to the ladies before I wet myself ... more ... this is too much excitement for an old lady ... listen for the creaks," she said, smiling

I didn't miss the double meaning of 'more' so I said:

"It doesn't creak when wet."

She flashed me a mock-angry glare. I watched admiringly as she walked away and noticed the new energy. When we walked out the snackette earlier, and walked into the bar she hadn't been that sprightly. The old engine was truly warming. Her hips still had some of the old flare, and the pert buttocks a bit of a bounce. I knew from the way my cock stretched out and throbbed, that I had to fuck Cecily's old pussy. It was long overdue. There were no great obstacles. Only once did she acknowledge that I was married and only as a response. So I didn't think that would deter her, If she felt she wanted to fuck with me.

When she returned she was looking more composed and more at ease with the matter at hand.

"Didn't you hear the creaking?"

"No, but if you think it's still a bit rusty after getting wet a few minutes ago, I could grease it up a bit for you," I said.

"I'm sure you could, but I'm not in condition for the type of grease you have to offer. I'm not sure I could take it, it might be the end of me," she said and burst out laughing.

"Are you saying it's too late for us ... we're too old to fuck?

"Oh my God Pat, you have a dirty mouth." She said.

"Sorry, Ms. Grant, I won't do it again."

"Well to answer your question, there's the saying 'it's never too late', and another one, 'better late than never'. But having looked at that, let's look at age ... you're fine, but me, I'm too old for ... you know what, I don't even want to name it ... for what you call it? ... fuck, ugh! I don't think I could manage it, honestly, especially after having dropped it for so long. My husband was sick for many years before he died, so it's been more than fifteen years for me," she explained.

"There's only one way to know for sure, baby girl," I pleaded.

"I don't know Pat, I'm all confused now. I don't even know why I am telling you I don't know. I should know ... but I'm in a new strange world where everything's kinda blurry ... except you ... I can see you clearly, and you look so damn good, it hurts."

She looked at me with sad eyes and once again did not pull away when I intertwined her fingers with mine.

"I need time to think about it, to think about you. What am I saying, what is there to think about ... whew! ... Let me gather myself together ... ok, I was glad to see you, and I'm happy sitting here with you ... happier than I've been in decades. I know I would enjoy your company going forward. But let's go slow for now, eh. And we'll see how it plays out, ok honey? We could talk on the phone, for a couple of weeks, maybe meet in between that for a drink or lunch ... give us both time to look at this thing from all the angles," she said, ending with a long sigh.

"Sounds fine with me."

I looked at my phone on the table.

"Okay, give me your number ... we'll talk and see what talk will bring," I said.

She gave me her number and I pressed send and heard hers ring in her purse.

"You'll give me a lift home? Or shall I call a taxi." She said.

"I'll take you home."

When we reached her apartment, I helped her with the shopping bags she'd had when we met in the snackette. He niece was not at home. Cecily went to the bathroom after offering me a cold beer. When she returned she picked up a note that she noticed on the coffee table.

"Just like her ... she's gone out and might not be back until maybe midnight."

I liked the sound of that. Cicely sat on a sofa opposite me and took a sip of the Pepsi in her glass.

"I still like it. You want another beer?" she asked, smiling.

She had changed into a caftan type purple dress and it was obvious from smell and looks that she'd taken a quick shower in the bathroom. And from the feeling in my pants that I was aroused.

"No, I want something else," I said, getting up.

I walked over to her and took her hands, pulling her up. I leaned over and tilted her chin up. I kissed her with a probing tongue and she responded likewise. Our tongues battled and probed for a long time. I covered one soft breast and gently squeezed it. There was no bra between my hands and the breast, only the soft cotton of her dress. It was then she broke the kiss.

"Don't do that Pat ... we agreed to take it slow for a while, two weeks," she cried out.

"That agreement seems like it was made two years ago, to me ... Cecily, we're alone in the house, and we will be for hours ... I want you and you want me, don't let's waste it, we're not getting any younger, baby."

I bent over and scooped the lithe body up in my arms. And began walking in the direction she'd come from.

"Pat, what are you doing," she asked.

"I'm taking you to your room to fuck you."

"What? I ... I ... don't think I'm ready," she pleaded.

"I can get you ready, Cecily," I said, sternly.

"My room is ... dirty, I'll have to clean it up."

"No problem dear, we'll be getting dirty too. Which is your room?"

"The next one ... my god ... I should have taken a taxi," she said, softly

I pushed in the partly open door of a very neat cream and green room. I threw her onto the lime green sheet. She lay on her back looking at me with frightened eyes as I stripped. When she saw my hard cock, she jumped up and sputtered.

"Oh shit ... you gonna fuck me with that ... that thing, she said, pointing at the big hard, throbbing cock.

I shook my head and advanced to the bed.

"Don't worry, I'll loosen you up first," I assured her.

"I have some Vaseline," she said, breathing heavily.

"We'll get to that."

I took hold of her ankles and slowly dragged her to the edge of the bed. I pushed the caftan to her waist. She wasn't wearing panties. She had a huge grey bush, but it was neatly trimmed and obviously shaven to not overlap her panty legs. I got on my knees and dragged the bush to my face. I twirled my fingers in it for a while and stroked the hidden mound. I used my thumbs to part the lips and sent my tongue out to lick the walls of the freshly bathed old pussy that I could see was already springing fluid. I probed the insides and chewed on the bushy lips, getting some loose hairs on my tongue. My hands had meanwhile snaked under the purple caftan and were busy massaging the soft but surprisingly solid cone shaped bubbies. I could tell they were cone shaped from feel and memory of how they stood straight out, tenting her blouse when she stood in front of the class years ago.

I moved my hands from the breasts and brought them down to gather up the plump buttocks and knead them vigorously from beneath, while still working on her pussy with my mouth. The old bird was mewing and hissing incessantly. I took the little clit into my mouth and nibbled on them with my teeth before gently sucking and pulling on it and probing the tip with my tongue. She bucked and screeched as her clit got worked over. I decided to open up the pussy a little so I inserted one then two fingers and hand fucked her while sucking on the clit. I could feel the pussy walls clamping and releasing the probing fingers. So she still has control in there, I thought. I concentrated strictly on flicking the tip of the clit with my tongue until she let out a loud, shrill shriek, followed by a drawn out moan.

"Unnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn! Aaaah, aaaah, aaaah."

She rode the lashing waves of her orgasm with good control, simply locking her hands between her legs and quivering then gave three little jerks.

"Huunh, huunh, huunh."

I brought her into a sitting position on the bed, with her legs hanging over the edge onto the floor. I lifted the caftan and pulled it over ger head, and tossing it on to the bed. I stroked my cock which had shrunk a bit while I was eating her pussy. She looked on with amazed eyes. I replaced my hands with hers and she pumped the now hard tool, suddenly brought back to full life because of the surprisingly firm light-tan cones, a lighter colour than the rest of her body. Her belly was slightly soft with some folds, with not much of a side handle, and her hips and thighs also surprisingly smooth. She pumped the cock furiously for a while then looked up at me and smiled. I nodded, and she leaned over and forced my big dick into her mouth. Soon her head was bobbing up and own. She gagged a couple of times.

I felt her tiny hands rubbing and squeezing my balls.

"Where's the Vaseline?" I asked. She pointed to a vanity and I went and got it. I opened the jar and gave it to her. She scooped out some and reached between her legs. Then she took some more and placed it in one palm. She tossed the bottle on the bed and rubbed her palms together, then let them grip the huge shaft and rubbed them up and down its length. She looked at me as if for instructions. I told her to lay back, bend her knees and spread her legs. I pushed my cock between her thighs and against her bushy pussy. I started to push forward. One of her hands flashed out and grabbed the meaty tool, while the other hand reached down and presumably spread the lips.

"Push it in," I barely heard her squeak.

I pushed forward, and after an initial resistance I felt the lips part and the walls expand and my cock begin to ease in, her hand still on it, gripping hard, allowing only a little at a time to ease in, her body trembling continuously.