Helen's Story

I slid another finger in and masturbated her slowly and gently, curling my fingers inside her to stimulate her G spot, savouring the sticky fluids she was secreting, feeling her gasp as I touched her clitoris with a fingertip, moving my head down and sucking her nipples as I rubbed the little pleasure bud and she squirmed and groaned and shook her head from side to side in abandonment and I wondered if she had ever given herself to another person the way she was giving herself to me. 'Oh God, I'm coming,' she said, almost reluctantly. I kept rubbing her clit and she arched her back again and thrust her hips at my hand and gave a long sort of growling mewing moan and she shuddered and dug her nails into my neck which hurt in a nice way. Her orgasm seemed to go on a long time and I wondered when she'd last had one. But eventually the waves of pleasure subsided and she went limp and I kissed her and she smiled weakly at me.

'Good?' I asked, and she nodded. 'Yes, good. Wonderful.'

I rolled onto my back and took my knickers off, sliding them down my long legs, over my black stockings with a hiss of nylon. I dipped a finger into my sodden puss and held it out to Grace and she sucked my finger into her mouth and licked all my juices up. 'You even taste lovely,' she said and I took her hand and guided it to my pussy and let her explore another woman's cunt for the first time in her life. She was nervous, to begin with, but I guided her, telling her what I liked, moaning as I felt her tentative finger penetrate me for the first time, bending my legs and opening them wide to give her better access. She kissed me as she stroked me. She also ran her hands over my stockings and stroked the soft skin of my inner thighs and I felt a fire in my loins as she took me close to orgasm without even touching my clitoris.

'Am I doing it right?' she asked, anxiously.

'I'm in heaven,' I said, truthfully, and she smiled and I felt her put two fingers inside me and I lay back in bliss as my mature lover took me to the brink of a climax with her long, manicured fingers with their painted nails.

After a time I reached down and stayed her hand. 'Is it alright?' she asked.

'Use your mouth,' I replied, hoping that she would be ok with cunnilingus. I needn't have worried. She got down between my legs without a word and bent over my fanny, taking a few tentative licks. I raised my legs and, reaching down, used my fingers to part my labia to give her the idea and she went down on me and started licking my clit and my cunt hole. It was obvious she'd never done it before; there was something delightfully untutored in the way she went at it. But Grace was a quick learner. She heard and felt my reactions and she tailored her tongue motions accordingly and I felt the heat rise in my guts and the glorious feeling of another woman's tongue in my vagina. I wanted it to last much longer but my orgasm was unstoppable. I screamed as I came and clamped my thighs around Grace's head and the poor lady struggled for breath as I thrashed about on the bed, grabbing handfuls of the quilt and feeling the intense fire of a really serious climax rage through me.

I came so strongly that I felt dizzy afterwards and closed my eyes to stop the room spinning. Grace lay down beside me and I took her in my arms and held her and kissed her and stroked her and I felt all emotional and a few tears collected in my eyes and rolled down my cheeks.

'Was that good?' she asked.

'Oh, Grace. You have no idea.'

Eventually my equilibrium returned and the room came back into focus and I kissed Grace again. 'Would you like me to use my mouth on you?' I asked.

'Ooh, yes please,' she said, surprising me somewhat. I had half expected some reluctance.

Cunnilingus is my favourite thing, with a woman. Giving and receiving. I love the smell and taste of another woman's juices and I love the intimacy of exploring with my tongue and fingers. Grace opened her legs wide and I got down and breathed in her scent and smelled her musky secretions, a heavier, stronger scent than mine but utterly entrancing. I parted her lips with my thumbs and flicked my tongue up the wet, pink flesh of her slit and I heard her breathing, fast and shallow, and I thrust my tongue into her cunt hole and lapped up her juices and sucked her labia and flicked my tongue over her little rosy clitoris and she grabbed my hair and pushed my face into her pussy and I sucked her clit into my mouth, her juices running down my chin, and then she was coming again and I was wetting a finger and touching her anus which was very naughty of me but I was caught up in the moment. I don't know whether she liked it or not, she was already shaking and trembling and giving this big, deep groan as her climax washed over her.

Afterwards she just wanted to be in my arms. It was very touching and easy for me to forget that I was the younger, by more than twenty years. But I suppose, sexually, I was by far the most experienced. And this evening I had introduced her to lesbian sex, something she had only ever dreamed about, so if she was a bit confused and clingy that was only to be expected.

By the time she'd recovered, the champagne was flat, but we drank it anyway. 'You will stay with me tonight, Helen, won't you?'

'Of course,' I reassured her.

It was a lovely night. We talked for about an hour and then we slept and when we woke in the morning we made love again and it was very slow and gentle and tender and Grace cried afterwards and I was close to tears myself. We went out to a bistro for breakfast and I broached the tricky subject of seeing each other again. Slightly to my surprise she was all for staying in touch, even seeing each other again, so we swapped email addresses and mobile numbers and then I said my goodbyes and I found a taxi and went home.

I couldn't stop thinking about Grace. I called her a couple of days later and we had a lovely chat and I invited her down to my cottage for the weekend and she said yes and I was silly and giddy and light-hearted and I went out and bought a load of exotic food and planned the weekend like a military operation.

And it was a huge success. She arrived on Friday evening, a bit shy, but after a glass of wine she relaxed and we went to bed before dinner and it was the most satisfying lesbian sex I had ever had, Natalia included. There was something about Grace. Her elegance, her gorgeous, mature body, her willingness to learn and to please. And she gave me the most wracking orgasms! After sex we ate and then we went to bed again and made love again and talked half the night away and on Saturday we drove over to the Yorkshire Dales and walked around in the hills and dales around Grassington and had lunch in the Devonshire Hotel and went home and made love again and life was very good and I wondered if I was falling in love with Grace and if that would be the right thing to do.

She dropped the bombshell on the Sunday. She was emigrating to Canada in a month's time to live with her daughter. 'I didn't want to go home this evening without telling you,' she said, tears in both our eyes. 'I know it's probably not what you wanted to hear. But I will come back every year or so and we can meet up. And we'll keep in touch won't we? By email and phone.'

I felt a familiar lassitude as we kissed goodbye for the last time on that Sunday evening; I'd told her that it probably wasn't a good idea to meet up again before she left and she agreed, although she cried quite a lot. I watched her drive away and then I went back in the house and sat in my little parlour and stared at the wall. Fucking typical, I thought. Just when someone comes into your life, bang, she's gone again. Tom flitted briefly into my mind and I rejected him, angrily. What good was the perfect man if he didn't really exist. And, as far as I was concerned, he didn't exist.

Chapter Four - Tom

If I mooned over Natalie, it was ten times as bad with Grace. Part of me said the age gap was too great anyway; she'd be nearly eighty when I was still in my mid-fifties. But part of me said it would be worth it to share those years in between with her. I stopped going out, except to go running; I got irritable at work and impatient with the junior staff which was totally out of character for me. I used to love a good rom com but now I couldn't watch one.

Gemma tried to cheer me up, as always. She organised outings and trips to the theatre and even went walking with me in the Dales, though she hates walking. But my heart wasn't in it and eventually she stopped trying.

One afternoon, about five weeks after Grace had flown out to Toronto, I was doing some desultory weeding in my back garden. I love my garden, I planned it all when I bought the house, years ago, and it's all coming to fruition now: the flowering shrubs, the herbaceous borders, the apple tree at the bottom, hanging over the stile. But today I was struggling to get going. From the kitchen I heard my mobile phone. In a dark mood, a few weeks ago, I'd changed the ringtone to the Rolling Stones' Paint it Black. I nearly didn't answer it but there was a lot going on at work and my boss had taken to calling me at weekends to discuss difficult issues.

I went in and picked it up. It wasn't a number the phone recognised. 'Hello?'

'Hello, Helen?' said a voice I couldn't place. Or rather it did ring a bell.

'Yes,' I said.

'It's Tom.'

'Tom?' I repeated, stupidly.

'Yes, we met at Robin's party, at Crummock Water? We had a chat by the lake, in the dark. You probably don't remember, he said, sounding deflated. My stomach gave a little flip as he went on. 'Look I know this is a bit out of the blue but I finally managed to get Robin to call Marcus and get your number.' My legs felt wobbly and I sat down at the kitchen table. 'The thing is, Helen, and please don't hang up until I've finished, I really enjoyed talking to you that evening and I heard a few weeks ago that you and Marcus had split up and I wondered if you'd like to go out for dinner or just a drink...' He tailed off into silence.

'What about Fiona?' I asked.

'Turned out she was still fucking an old boyfriend. Excuse my language. I caught them at it. In our bloody bed!'

'I see.'

'I just thought we got on so well that evening that it might be worth meeting up and seeing if there's anything there.' There was a pause as I mustered my thoughts. 'Oh God,' he said. 'You're seeing someone else. I am sorry.'

'No,' I said, slowly, 'there's no one else.'

He asked me where I lived and I told him and we arranged to meet the following Friday in the town square. 'What will you be wearing?' I asked him. 'I don't even know what you look like in daylight.'

'I'll be wearing a hopeful expression,' he said, and I laughed, for the first time in a couple of months.

I sat at the kitchen table for about twenty minutes, in a bit of a daze, just staring out into the garden. Then I got up and went outside and picked up my trowel and started on the worst of the flower beds with a will. As I worked the sun came out and I suddenly felt hopeful. Meeting Tom might turn out to be a complete disaster but at least I'd got something to look forward to.

I was increasingly nervous as Friday approached. What would he be like? Would we get on? Would he be my type? Would I fancy him? I seemed to have developed this mild fixation for Tom over the past few months but what was it based on? A fifteen-minute chat in the dark by the side of Crummock Water. And then his fiancé had reigned him in. Was he a wimp? If he was, he wasn't for me. But somehow I didn't think he was.

I spent a ridiculously long time on Friday deciding what to wear and doing my makeup. Yes, that old cliché. In the end I settled for a summer dress because that showed off my legs and my arms are nice too. And besides, Friday had turned into a swelteringly hot day.

Seven o'clock found me sitting at a café table in the town square, overlooked by the big, sombre, Victorian town hall, sipping a gin and tonic. The meeting wasn't scheduled until seven-thirty but I wanted to take the edge off my nerves with a drink. It was stiflingly hot in the town centre; the day's heat had been stored up by the concrete and stone and tarmac and was now being radiated back into the soupy evening air; I could feel a trickle of sweat running down my back and I wondered what I'd smell like when Tom turned up.

Five minutes later a voice at my side startled me out of my reverie. 'Helen?'

I turned to see a man at my side, dressed in black jeans and a short-sleeved cotton shirt. And my stomach flipped over as I looked at him because he was exactly my type. Wonderfully my type! Tall, lean and muscular with strong features and a shock of black hair. He looked like Rufus Sewell in A Knight's Tale and I felt a sudden hot flush and felt the blood rise to my cheeks.

'You are Helen, aren't you?' he said, reminding me that I'd been too busy gawping at him to reply.

'You're early.' I said, which was a pretty dumb thing to say, but I'd come over all shy and nervous, which is totally unlike me.

'I wasn't sure how long it would take me to get here from Bradford,' he said. 'Or how long it would take to find this place. I was going to get here early and have a quick shot of Dutch courage,' he admitted, and my heart warmed to him; gorgeous and sensitive.

By the time he'd said this my heart rate had slowed to something near normal and I stood up and held out my hand and he took it with a smile and, as before, his grip was firm and dry and somehow comforting.

'Let's get out of here,' I said, picking up my handbag. 'It's an oven in this square.' I led him a few streets away to a little bistro-cum-wine-bar where they do amazing food and it's on a shady street and it's cool and dim inside. On the way I asked him about his journey and he said the air-con in his car wasn't working and we laughed as we strolled. We sat at a table at the back, overlooking a courtyard and we ordered a bottle of red wine and we talked long into the evening.

I'm sure there's no such thing as the perfect man, just as I'm sure there's no perfect woman. But for me, Tom was pretty near the mark. It wasn't just that I found him sexually attractive, which I did, very much, I found him intellectually and emotionally attractive, too. He was about as far from Marcus as it's possible to get. For one thing he didn't just talk about himself; he asked me about myself and my job and my house and my friends and the conversation was both light and serious. We laughed a great deal, mainly at the same time, I hasten to add, and we ate food, although for the life of me I can't remember what it was. About eleven o'clock a little silence developed between us and I knew we were both wondering how the evening was going to progress.

'I presume you're not driving home,' I said, looking at the nearly empty bottle of Cabernet.

'Oh God no. I've booked a hotel somewhere in town.' He looked at his watch. 'I suppose I'd better find the place before they give my room away.'

Outside in the darkened street we stood together. 'Thank you,' I smiled at him. 'I've had a wonderful evening.'

'Me too,' he said and he took me in his arms and I melted into him and he kissed me and I felt his strong, firm lips on mine and the faint stubble on his chin and I smelled his subtle cologne. He didn't try to French kiss me but my legs felt a bit wobbly, nonetheless. Then he broke the kiss and looked at me with his dark eyes and I felt like I was being carried down a big river to a waterfall.

'I don't want the evening to end,' I said, breathlessly. He kissed me again, then and I felt his tongue slip between my lips and I tasted the essence of him and it was fresh and exciting and right.

'What would you like to do?' he asked. 'I don't know this town. You could show me the sights.'

'At eleven o'clock at night?' I teased him. 'I could probably show you where your hotel is.'

His hotel was just off the town square, five minutes from where we'd met. He checked in, with me standing beside him, then, without a word being spoken, we took the lift to the fifth floor. He clicked the door lock with the key card and then we were inside and the door was shut and I held my arms out to him and he took me in his arms and we fastened our mouths together and his tongue penetrated me and I sucked on it, my arms around his back, my back against the wall by the bathroom door. Tom reached around to my buttocks and lifted me up and I wrapped my legs around his waist and felt the bulge of his erection pressing into my crotch and I thought I would faint with desire.

In films, the hero would now undo his trousers with one hand and penetrate the heroine. In real life the heroine is wearing knickers and the hero doesn't want to feel a Charlie by fucking the girl of his dreams for the first time with his jeans around his ankles. So Tom released me and we tore our clothes off in an abandoned frenzy and then we were rolling on the bed and kissing and Tom was fastening his mouth on my nipples and sucking and biting them and I was squealing and writhing with pleasure and reaching for his cock, which was long and thick and dribbling fluid.

I pushed Tom away, then, onto his back, and ran my hands over his chest, feeling the soft hair under my fingers, feeling the outline of his stomach muscles as I slid my hands down to his groin and circled his penis with finger and thumb. He gave a little gasp as I started masturbating him. Slowly and lazily, drawing his foreskin up and down over his purple glans, watching his face as my fingers slid up and down his shaft, coated in his juices. Then I knelt over him, supporting myself with my arm, and lowered my face to his cock, taking the big, swollen head into my mouth, savouring the heat and the salty taste of his discharge, the texture of his glans and tracing the thick veins with my tongue, squeezing the base of his shaft with my fingers, cupping his testicles and drawing my fingernails over the crinkly skin.

Tom was starting to breath heavily and eventually he choked out: 'Stop, or I'll come.' I straightened up and swung one leg over his torso, straddling him. He looked at me with something approaching disbelief as I grasped his cock again and lowered myself onto him, rubbing him against my sopping slit before taking him into my cunt, sinking down until his whole length was inside me, revelling in the sensation of a big, hard, thick cock in me.

I leaned over and put my hands on his shoulders and he grasped my hips and I started rocking backwards and forwards, feeling Tom inside me, the perfect angle to press my clit against his pubic bone.

'You're extraordinary,' he said and I felt a glow of wellbeing that wasn't all because of the sex.

'Thank you,' I whispered, rocking backwards and forwards, taking longer strokes now, grinding my clit against my lover, feeling that fire in my loins and the ballooning pleasure of an approaching climax. Right at the end I dug my nails into Tom's shoulders and bucked my hips hard and my orgasm exploded through me like a sheet of summer lightning. I closed my eyes and groaned and gasped as the sensations rocked through my viscera and up to my cortex, sweet and utter pleasure.

When I opened my eyes Tom was looking at me and smiling. 'Good?' he said.

'Good,' I replied, rolling off him onto my back. 'Now take me.'

He didn't need any encouragement. With an athletic twist he was up on his knees and between my legs and guiding his rigid member into my sopping pussy. He thrust right in and I felt our pelvises slam together. He supported himself on his elbows and kissed me as we fucked and I felt a closeness, and intimacy that I'd rarely felt before with a man. I wanted it to go on all night!