Hey There, It's Your Lucky Day

"HEY THERE, IT'S YOUR LUCKY DAY."

I lifted my head up from the bed I was weeding. I had not heard her open the gate to my garden, walk across the lawn and stand right next to me.

I looked up and the first thing a saw was a pair of lime green panties edged in white lace and a pair of shapely young thighs. Indeed, perhaps it was my lucky day. I sat up on my haunches and the sight of the green panties disappeared. Into view came a grinning young face with blue eyes, and a pigtail.

I just could not bring myself to be annoyed even though she had trespassed by coming into my garden without asking my permission first. "And why, young lady, is it my lucky day?"

"Because you have won first prize in our draw. You, really are so, so lucky," she said enthusiastically, performing a little excited jump in her olive green heels. looked down automatically to see if she had done any damage to my lawn. Apparently not.

"I don't remember entering any draws," I told her cautiously. Us O.A.P.s are always out for what we can get. We make a study of it.

"You are Mr. Lewis? Mr. James Lewis?"

"That's my name and the one I have used for the last seventy-two years." I told her with a flourish. That is what us O.A.P's love to do when we are in good health - brag about our age.

She simply dismissed my revelation. She had her own message to deliver. "You have won third prize in our draw. I have just checked my notes." She was holding a clip board in her left hand and so it seemed that my good fortune was an established fact.

"O.K, Miss, what have I won?" I growled.

"Thirty percent off a massage at the Sundowner Parlour. Aren't you lucky?"

Hype-wise the girl was trying hard - I could see that. "The one just off the top of the High Street?" I asked.

"That's the one Mr. Lewis."

She looked too innocent to be taking the piss. "May I ask how old you are Miss?" Her smile was replaced by what I took to be a flash of alarm. "How old you are depends on how I answer your questions," I added hastily.

"I'm twenty-two," She replied, looking around, possibly checking out her escape route.

"Christ," I thought to myself, "like policemen, girls seem to look younger by the day". To her I said, "then you're old enough for me to feel free to tell you that my neighbour, Mr. Chan, uses the Sundowner regularly in order to get, how shall I put it, sexual release."

"Oh no," she smiled, although the innocent little girl look was fading fast. "That's a separate business, the next turning off High Street.

I shrugged. "So Mr. Chan isn't telling me porkies?"

"Porkies?"

"Pork pies. Lies. Cockney slang." I explained.

"Maybe not Mr. Lewis," she said, tucking the clip board under her left arm, preparing to leave. "I can see that the Sundowner has nothing to offer you."

I experienced a flash of annoyance. "What do you mean by that comment, young lady?"

"I made a misjudgement, sir. I don't think you are in the market for the excellent services we have on offer."

"What do you mean by that?" I asked quite forcibly.

"Look," she turned on me. "I am only doing my job. Your neighbour, John Chan, said you would be in the market for a massage and my boss told me to follow that up. So here I am."

My jaw dropped. I had said something along those lines to John, but it was more out of politeness than anything else. I suppose I wanted to show him I wasn't judgemental about his sexual deviances. I was not in any way intending to follow his lead. I didn't need to.

"So here you are," I repeated sort of absent mindedly. "Are you as masseuse?"

I could see the conflict in her eyes before she spoke. If she had answered "no" I would not have believed her.

"Yes," she admitted cautiously. I am a trained masseuse."

"And do you also do the little extras that Mr. Chan enjoys so much?"

Her blue eyes started to blaze. "What if I do? There is nothing illegal about it."

Propositioning me in my own garden might raise some eyebrows in police headquarters. But I let that go. "And I get thirty percent off?"

I could see the confusion in her thinking. Perhaps she could make a sale after all. And go back to her boss or minder and claim victory. "That's the offer." she finally conceded.

"And do I get the works, like Mr. Chan?" I repeated the question.

She looked a little doubtful. "If you're," she hesitated. "If you're fit enough."

"You mean if I can still get an erection?" I suggested a little brutally.

"We do supply the little blue pill you can take an hour before."

I suddenly did a double-take on the scenario we were in - standing in my garden, trowel still in hand, and all manner of traffic passing by just the other side of my privet hedge.

"Now you're here why not give me a massage in my house. Do you do home calls?"

Did I really ask that?

"We do James. But they have to be pre-booked. I'll take a booking for you right now if you like?"

"Do you in person do home calls? What's your name by the way?"

"My professional name is Joy."

"And my other question?"

"I do the occasional home massage, yes," she admitted coyly.

A picture of her lime green panties edged with white lace came into my mind. Be a devil, why not. It could be your last..... "And do I get thirty percent off the pensioner's price?"

"We don't offer a special discount to pensioners, James," she smiled, seeing some humour in my request no doubt. But today's is a special offer and you would receive the discount. The normal price for the full massage is one hundred pounds or one hundred and fifty U.S. dollars. So for you, today, that would be sixty-five pounds or one hundred dollars."

"You could massage me now, here in my home?"

"We have rooms with special massage tables back at the parlour."

"You could improvise. I can pay you cash. Us pensioners like cash." I could see her hesitate. "You could keep all of the money. I won't snitch on you. And I have some little blue pills that take effect almost immediately," I lied.

"I'm not sure." Her hesitation seemed genuine.

I reckoned one more little push was all that was needed and then I would get my fingers inside the pretty green panties with the white lace edgings. "It won't take long. It's ages since I last had an erection," I lied.

"Really?"

I could sense her capitulating. "We could give it a try. I'll still pay you if I can't."

"We always take payment in advance," she said a little tartly.

"O.K., no bother. Sixty-five pounds did you say?"

"One hundred if you want me to be naked?"

"I want you to wear only those pretty green knickers you flashed at me earlier."

She laughed. "It wasn't wasted on you was it James?"

"You devious little cunt," I thought. I said, "I may be old but I still have an eye for a pretty woman and especially one with a figure like yours."

"O.K., James, you've talked me into agreeing. A hundred pounds up front and half an hour max?"

"Sounds like we have a deal," I agreed. I pointed to the kitchen door at the top of the garden and she set of with me walking behind her. She had the most perfectly shaped arse I had seen in a long time and my eyes never roamed from it until we reached the patio.

Bruce had been sunning himself there. He was a big male Boxer with a sleek coat and testicles perfectly round like pingpong balls. He was a constant nuisance because, with every woman of child bearing age, he would make a beeline to smell their cunts. In most company this was highly embarrassing, but I suppressed a little chuckle when, true to form, he made straight for Joy's groin.

She tried swatting him away, urging me to call "the brute" off. She then tripped over the kitchen step and so was not quite in control of the business as she was at the bottom of my garden. I awarded her a re-assuring although salacious hand on her bottom which she interpreted it to be exactly as it was. "Money first."

I pointed the way to my lounge where the bureau was situated. My wallet was in one of the drawers. I counted out a hundred pounds and handed it over. "There you are Joy. Where are you going to put that for safe keeping?" She had, after all, arrived in my garden with just a clip board - no handbag or whatever.

I watched her dilemma. She went to stuff the money down her bra forgetting that I would insist on seeing her titties as part of the massage deal. "I'll clip it to my board," she said, doing just that. Meanwhile I shuffled out of my shoes and slipped off my shirt, and stood bare chested. My body was brown and lean - not bad for my age. I think that her blue eyes registered that alright.

"Undo my belt then," I requested, holding my hands up in the air. This was obviously not part of the routine she was used to at the massage parlour. I could see the uncertainty in her eyes. Then. with a sort of exasperated "very well", she unloosened my belt and my trousers dropped to the floor. My penis was excited and formed an impressive tent in my underpants.

I stepped out of my fallen trousers and started unbuttoning her shirt, top down. I had the urge to kiss her at that point, as I had the habit with lovers before. But Joy did not fall into the category of a lover, sadly, but rather into that of a whore.

As her shirt fell off her shoulder and fell to the floor I had sight of two pert breasts nestles in the half cups of a lacy white brassiere. Before I could reach round her to unfasten the clasp she did it herself, virtually flinging the bra away in a gesture of defiance as if to say, "criticise my tits if you dare."

True, they weren't very big, almost boyish, but her nipples were veritable acorns that would have had me slavering to suck them given half a chance. Involuntarily I let out a little gasp of approval which, I am sure, did not go amiss.

I unzipped the zipper on the side of her skirt causing it to fall to the floor revealing those lovely light green panties I was so fixated upon. Whether she had an intention to drop them or not I whispered, "leave them on Joy."

She looked around for somewhere to perform my massage. "The bedroom is it?" she asked rather too curtly for my liking.

"No." I pointed to my leather swivel chair with its collapsible back. It was what I dubbed my "sleepy chair". It was so comfortable with is separate foot stool, I invariably fell asleep every time I watched television.

"You don't want a proper massage, you just want a wank?" Joy asserted rather brutally.

"That's right," I confirmed stepping out of my underpants. I watched her glance at my penis which was fully hard and still somewhat of the trophy it once was. I would like to think that she was clearly surprised that a man of my years still owned such a tool.

Sitting myself in the chair I pushed back to achieve a comfortable half reclining position. "Come stand beside me and you can do me from there."

"This is all too easy," I read in her face, no doubt with some relief. She took my penis in her right hand and started to masturbate me slowly. I could see that she was prepared to take her time and allow me some value for my money.

I started roaming with my right hand. Up the back of her nearest leg first, then up her thigh to her panties, then the inside of her thighs, right up to green material protecting her vagina. All so slowly, all so gently, all so purposefully.

I was gratified o observe that she started leaking; a patch of the light green turned a slightly darker shade from the moisture staining it. And, sure enough, it spread. Joy, obviously very aware the effect my fingers were having on her libido, speeded up wanking me, trying I guess, to finish me off first and avoid the ignominy of her having an orgasm before I did. It was a race she was never going to win.

Almost involuntarily, I guess, she inched her left leg a little further apart, alerting me that she was then starting to concentrate more on her own needs rather than mine. I ran my knuckle harder against the gusset of her panties, into the trough of her labia, sort of upping the stakes.

I heard Joy gasp. That was all the cue I needed. I brought my hand out and then inserted it inside the green fabric round her arse where it was less tight. Then with it inside her panties I ran my hand back round to the front. I paused to give her clitoris a quick rub and gentle pinch, and then I slid my forefinger right into her vagina. She was leaking deliciously of course. My finger searched for her g-spot and her reaction told me when I had found it. She gasped and her body jerked involuntarily.

"No, no, no, oh, oh, oh," she moaned as I masturbated her mercilessly. There was no way I was going to stop. Joy was totally out of control of herself, her mind totally focused on the waves of pleasure emanating from her vagina and traversing her whole body.

There was no way I could stop them or even slow them down. I knew that from experience, long experience. Like a huge wave crashing on a beautiful sandy, tropical beach, her climax all but racked her beautiful body and she cried out as if to share her pleasure with the world.

I had learned in my long years that pleasing the woman, hopefully getting her to orgasm, was the most delightful and rewarding shared sexual experience. Giving pleasure to a sexual partner is rewarding in itself but, getting a woman to orgasm will almost invariably have her knocking at your door again.

I held Joy tight as she slumped over and onto me. There was no way did I intended to take advantage of the situation with Joy all but naked in my arms, and very vulnerable. I would probably get to fuck her another day, when she would come back for a repeat performance.

The gusset of her panties was lime green no longer. Soaked with her juices it was darkened and smelly. I just loved the smell of sex - all of it. I would have loved to have licked her clean and to have her juices smeared all over my face. "Patience," I reminded myself. The opportunity will almost certainly come another day when she knows exactly what she is coming for.

When Joy was in the last stages of recovery I rather expected she would be shame-faced and eager to put distance between her and me. And I was correct on that score. I had to act as though what had happened on my sleepy chair was the most normal thing in the world between a man and a woman.

I offered her a shower. Was she one of those women needed to cleanse themselves, as though by doing so they could almost get to believe what had happened, hadn't happened? They were rarely so fussy second and third times round.

Joy was much more resilient. She took her soiled panties right off and asked me if I wanted them as a souvenir. I didn't, but I accepted them gracefully. All part of the game. But then, she did work in a massage parlour and was not innocent by any means. And she made sure before she left the room that my money was safely back in the front o her bra.

I asked her to stay in the room whilst I cleared the way for her departure. She looked at me in puzzlement. I slipped into my underpants lest neighbour Chan was looking into my kitchen window. I grabbed Bruce by the collar and he resisted. He had already had a whiff, perhaps more than just a whiff, of the scent of Joy's cunt. After all, it is said that a dog's sense of smell is thousands of times better than mine.

As I hurried Joy through the kitchen Bruce went wild. I made a mental note to have him castrated, although I knew that was never going to happen. Hadn't I earned the soubriquet of "dirty old dog". Bruce and I were one of a kind.

"Perhaps I will see you up at the Sundowner Parlour sometime soon?" were Joy's words at the point of our parting. She didn't mean them of course.

"That's never going to happen, joy," I said with a smile. I was admiring how fresh and relaxed her countenance looked whilst, at he same time, trying to ignore Bruce's howling up at the house. "Next time you come, Joy, would you wear pink panties, please, edged with white lace of course?