Giving 'n Getting

"And you felt humiliated?'.

"Yes: it seemed almost like being outed as a potential rapist."

She returned to the 'hands on my shoulder' position. "I don't know whether we are going to have sex. We are going to bed together, and that may happen. Let's wait and see. But I can promise you that you won't be humiliated, whatever does or doesn't happen. Do you trust me?"

I didn't answer. I just threw my arms around her in a big hug and buried my face in her shoulder.

"Come on Tigger. I'm going to use the bathroom, and you can sit here and read some more of the Decameron, and then use the bathroom while I read in bed, shawl around me, and wait for you. Just like an old married couple!" she said laughingly.

I did. We did. After I'd washed and given my teeth a good scrub with utensils provided, I put on a dressing gown which may have belonged to her ex-husband. I had nothing on under it, and when I entered the bedroom I saw that, as she had predicted, she was sitting up in bed reading with the bedclothes pulled up round her. I stood for a moment looking at her. She had put the book down and was watching me.

"This isn't fair" I said, "I've now got to expose all my not-very-beautiful body to your critical assessment while you sit there revealing nothing."

"O.K, you're right" she said laughing, and dropped the bedclothes to reveal her breasts. It may come as a surprise to my readers that at 22 years old I had never properly examined what Peter Cook described as 'busty substances'. I had felt them, and caught glimpses of nipples, and seen countless pictures of them, but never had a confirmed siting of a complete set in their natural environment.

Martha's breasts therefore had no competition to be assessed against. They would probably have won anyway because they were stunning. O.k. they were nearly 40 years old, which meant that they were not sticking out like sharpened pencil ends. But the nipples were looking up and smiling, not sulkily staring at the floor. They were light brown and large, but not large enough to look as if they had been grabbing territory from the creamy lands around them.

I had a few moments to gaze before I was invited to remove my own covering. I took the dressing gown off and turned and hung it on the hook on the door. I was not fully erect but showing signs of interest.

"At the risk of embarrassing you I have to say that you have a divine little bottom, which I would like here beside me."

I got into the bed and lay down. Martha leaned over and kissed me. We snuggled up together: I had one leg between hers, she had one of hers between mine. She felt my erection and liberated it to lie upright between us. She smoothed her hands over my buttocks, such an exciting sensation. We kissed again; a long saliva filled occupation of each other's mouths. We lay like this for many minutes -- if it could have been eternity and I would have been happy.

"Do you want to try coming inside me?" she said.

"Oh yes please Miss!" She pinched my bum.

"First of all you should explore where you're heading. Give me your hand."

She rolled over onto her back and took my hand. My hand was guided between her legs.

"What can you feel? Separate your longest finger from the others and push it gently down. It feels as if the soft tissue is opening? That's the lips of the vulva separating to allow penetration. I suppose it's a bit like opening your mouth to suck a lollipop. If you carefully move your finger backwards and forwards, it will become coated with a silky moistness, and if you push a bit further down you should find the vaginal opening. That's where you are heading."

I tried to think of something to say, but I couldn't. I just needed to swallow hard.

"Roll over on top of me now. I'll guide you in, but this is your first time, and you will probably go off pop as soon as you get in. You mustn't worry about that. I expect we'll try again later, and it'll get better."

Everything happened as she said it would. She guided me into her slippery cunt and it was so delicious, both physically and emotionally, that I fired a round of semen within about 15 seconds. I wanted to cry, partly because it was so beautiful, but also because my raw inexperience was so painfully evident. But she hugged me protectively, trying to save me from my own emotions I guess. I just felt overwhelmingly grateful.

We lay back in silence. Her hand found mine and squeezed it. Mother and child? I did feel rather a filial sense of dependence.

"Why me? Why anyone in fact since you said that you 'gave up'?" I asked.

"Fair question. You are justified in feeling that you have been seduced, even if you were not unwilling. I really want to try to find out if there is a way of enjoying a physical relationship without being controlled and feeling used. Let's face it the relationship between men and women is still nowhere near an equal one. Men expect themselves to be in control: they feel it's part of their masculinity.

I have the feeling that your generation is starting to be different, and men of your age, at least reasonably educated ones, don't seem so hung-up on templates for masculinity. Why you? Because I could see that you were a bit shy, but with a spark that didn't mind challenging the accepted norm. I suppose I thought -- I am hoping -- that we had something to offer each other."

"Do you have maternal feelings for me?" I asked. There was a pause.

"I would be a liar if I gave a categorical negative. But I'm not really a very maternal person. I didn't have a role model. My mother was efficient but not very warm. And I spent much of my young life in a girls' boarding school. I've never had a great desire to be a mother."

"Quite a complicated way of saying that you don't know? I'm not sure that I'm particularly bothered one way or the other, but I'm not comfortable with smothering."

"I promise: no smothering."

"Do you feel entirely at ease with the whole sex thing? I mean you seem to know what you do and don't want."

She laughed. "No. I have my inhibitions. I'm not comfortable with talking dirty or being talked to in that way. I think that may mean I'm missing out on a bit of raunchiness. I feel a bit constrained. Otherwise I'm quite relaxed about it. My mother was a nurse and was very matter of fact about health and sex."

"I have done a bit of acting in the last few years and did some bits of training," I said. "It's recognised that actors can have hang-ups about certain words. We were taught a little game that can help. You think of a few words that fit the category that you baulk at. Then you get someone else to start saying one of them, and you reply using another. You're not allowed to repeat the word that's just gone. You start with just a whisper and gradually get louder and louder until you are both shouting the words at each other. Want to try it?"

"The walls are quite thin. I wouldn't want to upset the neighbours by shouting obscenities."

"We'll need to pull the bedclothes over us then."

So we ducked under the sheet and blanket; whispering 'cock-tit-fucking-balls-cunt-arse-shit, then increasing the volume until we were trying to shout under the bedclothes and were overcome with giggling.

"Better?" I asked. "Now try to incorporate as many of those words as you can in a proper sentence."

Pause...

"Come and get your arse over here and shove your cock in my cunt up to your balls and give me a good fucking. (pause) How's that?"

"Brilliant. I shall comply immediately Miss".

So I did, and we did, and that's how I became a proper lover, sustaining my vigorous 'sink and draw' long enough for us to manage a more-or-less simultaneous, and quite noisy, climax. It was a relief for me, and probably for her. Maybe I wasn't going to be too much like hard work for her.

There was quite a lot of 'discharge' around before we mopped up, which prompted me to ask about contraception. The pill had been around since 1965, and I supposed I had assumed she would be taking it.

"I started taking the pill almost as soon as it became available and I found that it made my periods more regular and less painful. So I have stuck with it."

"Was our fucking good for you?" I asked, expressing my feeble need for reassurance.

"You are not yet World's Greatest Lover, but you show promise and if we work on it we might at least get you into the first division", she said with a broad grin.

"I guess I'm not really big enough to be WGL. I realise I'm not specially well endowed."

She threw back the bedclothes and we were lying there on our backs naked. Good job it was mid-summer. She picked up my cock and stretched it upwards.

"There we are, it's probably about 6" extended which I believe is about average. Don't worry Tigger, it's enough for most of us. Anyway, just as penises vary in sizes, so do vaginas, and a large cock in a small vagina can be jolly uncomfortable. I know, because the last guy I lent my cunt to was enormous: so much so that when I first saw his cock I almost called a truce. I didn't, and I regretted it."

I noted the casual use of 'cunt' and 'cock' and I thought that maybe the training was not going to be all one way.

Still with my manhood in hand she said "I think he needs a name. I shall call him 'the Prince', and I shall help to look after him and spoil him as befits a lady-in-waiting".

"Why the Prince?"

"Because he's clearly an aristocrat, is really quite handsome, and has a touch of arrogance."

"In that case I shall call his counterpart 'Cinderella'. Why? Because it took a Prince to celebrate her beauty.......and he found the right size for her!"

She roared with laughter. "Time to sleep I think" she said. We lay like spoons, me behind of course. I was tempted to grab hold of her lovely buttocks, but instead I wrapped an arm over her and snuggled up. She wriggled a bit in response and then we both drifted quietly off to sleep.

The morning was predictable: my erect cock was already investigating the valley of anus when I woke. She turned enough to look at me and say "it seems that the Prince is already in control?" I had to admit that I didn't seem to have much influence on his behaviour. "Well let's see what he and you are made of. Your task is to get into a position where you can rescue Cinders from another lonely morning."

This was the green light for me to start a light massage of her shoulders, and then a tender stroke down her spine. My kneading of the flesh below was respectful but inquisitive. As I eased the two cheeks apart my finger explored the valley and softly rubbed it. I repeated this sequence several times, allowing my free hand to reach round and take hold of a breast. I gently squeezed and took the nipple between two fingers. I felt the nipple respond by stiffening. After a bit I let this hand slip under her upper thigh and brought it back to rest on mine. There was space now to explore the forest that sheltered Cinders, and I rubbed the heel of my hand up and down the folds of the cunt lips, particularly the upper part where I sort of knew the clit was.

There was little response from MJ beyond a quiet moaning sigh. I thought it sounded promising. It seemed like the moment to find out if I could gain entry without making it seem like clumsy burglary, so I used the spread of my fingers to gently open up the vaginal canal. Now I needed to get a rampant Prince into position to make his dramatic entry, which I did with an elegant dance movement of twist and lift. Then he was in. Oh my, what delight!

I thought it would be good to try to stay still for a while, and just enjoy the wonder of being joined together.

Still no word from Miss. Perhaps I was doing all right? Teachers weren't usually backward in pointing out mistakes.

Then, surprisingly, she started to move, pressing herself back onto me, then easing forward until I was almost ejected, back again and forward. A rhythm was building up and getting more and more animated as I began to thrust and withdraw in time with her movements, until my stomach was smacking her arse with a slapping sound that was highly erotic in itself. The movement had almost reached terminal velocity when she stopped. After a few seconds she gasped, "push up inside me as hard as you can and hold it." I did. I felt the cunt walls gripping me, then about 10 seconds later she let out a muted shriek and I immediately climaxed with pulse after pulse.

Silence. She turned and threw her arms round me. "I'm overcome. That was quite wonderful. I don't doubt my hopes are going to be fulfilled."

More silence.

"Is this a way of telling me what a brilliant instructress you are?" I couldn't resist asking.

"You're largely self-taught I think, but you've still got a lot to learn, young'un."

***

We ate a breakfast together of warm rolls, strawberry jam and coffee, and talked about bits of our lives that we were curious about: parents, schools, siblings and how we spent spare time. There was a lot we had in common, and a lot more still to discover.

"I'd like you to come next week: not to work, but I'm sure we'll find things to do together. I've already committed to cooking you a decent meal, and you may like to walk up to the Heath. And there's obviously still work to be done at Aunt Martha's Sex School for Eager Learners... if you're interested."

My heart just leapt at that. I felt embraced by her warmth, just as I'd been held in her arms.

Much of the time her face was animated, but in repose it was quietly beautiful; no dramatic sculpting, but even and balanced features which shone with a soft openness and good humour. Her dark hair was loose at the back, to shoulder length, but in the front the strands that would otherwise have fallen irritatingly across her face were gathered back in a little pigtail. It was just charming. She was sitting upright, turned to face me with her hands resting loosely in her lap, looking straight in my eyes.

I looked straight back, resisting a powerful need to lean over and kiss her. "I think I might just have a space in my diary. But you'll have to let me do something for you."

"Oh I will!"

I think that I avoided blushing, but she lifted a hand from her lap and placed it on mine.

"I'll certainly come better prepared next time: pyjamas, slippers, face flannel and toothbrush for a start." I told her.

"Excellent. I'm sure you'll be the perfect gentleman guest. And you can come on Friday evening this time. Now you must go and do whatever you need to do, and I'm going to finish sorting the books."

I collected what little I had brought with me and made for the front door. We stood for a moment together, then she gently put her arms round me, gave me a chaste kiss on the lips and I was away.

***

On the way back to the flat I fell to thinking about the last 24 hours and how they might have changed me; but I was also curious about how we both felt for each other. I had never had lascivious thoughts about Martha, and because she was a bit distant for the reasons I've explained, I'd never thought of her as a friend.

But suddenly that had changed. I was already having stirring recollections of her body -- and remember this was a result of a totally new experience. Her sudden accessibility had me longing to take advantage of the opportunity she was giving me to understand my own sexuality. Not to mention get a lot better at it!

I felt gratitude, and warmth towards her. I felt desire, but I wasn't sure if it amounted to lust. As for her, well was she doing any more than play a game with me? Time would no doubt tell. There was a chance that she would cast me aside when the new toy lost its novelty, but I felt that she was thoughtful and generous enough to be aware of the damage that might do to my psyche.

***

As there was no email and no texting then, it was by telephone that she contacted me during the week to confirm that I could still come at the weekend. I was instructed to arrive about 7.30pm, which is what I did.

I knocked on the door. "Door's open, come in," from within.

Martha was by the stove, and about to put something in the oven.

"Really good to see you," she said as she walked over, put her arms round my neck and kissed me. "I've had a lovely week thinking about this weekend, and what we can do together. I have got some tickets for the Prom tomorrow night. I hope you'll enjoy it: I shan't tell you what's playing, but it's Adrian Boult conducting the LPO, and the BBC Chorus and Singers will be there too."

We had talked about music the previous weekend and found another connecting thread in our interest in all kinds of music, so I was really delighted with this opportunity. I had never been to a Prom before, although I had been to the venue, the Royal Albert Hall.

"That sounds really great. How will we get there?" The Albert Hall is in west London and we were in the north, slightly east of the centre.

"Tube to Euston; Victoria Line to Victoria; District line to South Ken. Then it's a 10 minute walk. Coming back we might get a cab. It would probably take as long but be a lot more comfortable."

"And expensive," I added.

"Well, we might push the boat out once. Now, I put the lasagne in the oven when you knocked. Give it another ten minutes and we can eat. Meanwhile a drink is called for. I like to drink red wine with most Italian food: is that all right for you?"

"Wonderful."

"You're very amenable."

"No, I just happen to agree with you most of the time. I'll let you know when that stops."

She poured us each a drink -- I think it was a Valpolicella -- and we sat down on the sofa. She was close enough to put her hand on my knee. I looked into her eyes, and thought I detected a slight tearfulness.

"Are you weeping, and if so why?" I asked.

"Maybe. If so they are tears of happiness. I have so much looked forward to being with you again. It is difficult to explain, but I am realising that I have reached 40+ and that something has been missing from my life all this time. I told you that my mother was efficient, but not warm. Richard was kind, but only a buddy, never really a lover. So warmth, tenderness and reciprocated affection have been absent. Do you understand?"

"I think I do, but as I have been lucky to have a gentle and loving mother, and I've not really developed other sorts of emotional relationships, it doesn't weigh on me as something missing. It is frustrating not to have managed to find what I'm looking for, but that isn't a match for your deprivation."

She reached over and moved to lay across me, head resting on my chest. I was sad for her, but I was so happy to feel I might have the potential to give something that she craved. I put my arms round her.

Quietly she said "I don't want to put any sort of pressure on you. You aren't obliged to fulfil my needs, and anyway I want to give you something that will help you lose some of your frustration, not just now, but in the future."

She picked herself up and planted a kiss on my lips, then stood up and went to finish serving the supper.

"I suddenly feel very grown up," I said, "and I'm really only a child. I hope to remain a child forever, so I need to watch this transition very carefully. Incidentally, when you call me Tigger, I hope that you'll remember why he had his head down the w.c."

"O.K. Why?"

"He was looking for Pooh of course."

"We have no further comment." Pause. "You are an idiot." Giggles.

We sat down and ate a delicious meal, washed down with a lovely wine. She was a good cook. She admitted to being the sort that follows recipes very carefully, rather than the sort who has 'experiments' with variable success. I confessed to being in the latter category.

"Oh good. So what do you cook?" she asked.

"Well everyday it's casseroles and stews, chops, fish, fry-ups, lots of salads in the summer. Special occasions it might be barbecued spare ribs or prawns in whisky. The last two are based on Robert Carrier recipes."