It Started with a Piss

I'm Ben. For those who don't know me, I'm in my early sixties and have been retired for a few years now. Sadly my wife died shortly after retirement which has left me on my own, rattling round the old family home. It's got too many memories for me to move at the moment, the garden is barely manageable for me, my wife was the gardener, her pride and joy, but I struggle to keep it up to scratch. There have been one or two moments since she died, but I miss her terribly, my rock and anchor has gone.

I play quite a bit of golf, read a lot and potter endlessly to fill my days, but life seems to be what someone once said was "Occupational therapy 'twixt birth and death." My sexual prowess was not what it once was either, a bit of porn occasionally but what I really enjoyed reading was erotic short stories. Indeed I had dabbled in writing a few myself, mostly from my imagination, but usually based on a spark of something in real life.

I had some good mates at the golf club, a whole load of us would play three times a week, Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, have few beers and generally put life right in the bar afterwards. My wife had never been a golfer, "You wouldn't catch me associating with that lot of so-called women," was her oft heard cry, but she knew I enjoyed the game and the company, so was always content for me to have that relaxation and male company.

I had played particularly badly one Monday, and was brooding about it as I came back to the clubhouse. It was mid-summer and the weather was gorgeous, but although we sat on the patio with our drinks I couldn't get those bad shots out of my head. "It's no good," I declared, "I've got to do something about it now, otherwise I'll brood all day tomorrow about it. I'm off for a few holes on my own to see if I can sort it out." There was some good hearted banter about missing good drinking time, but I was resolute and headed off back out onto the course.

To be fair it didn't get a lot better, pulls, pushes, everything seemed to be a bit off. It culminated on the fifth where I pushed a fairway wood wide into some trees, a place I don't think I'd ever visited in twenty odd years of playing the course. Feeling more than a little aggrieved, I set off in search of my nearly new ball, deep in a wood full of oak, ash, and quite a bit of undergrowth, bramble and such like. The floor of the wood was carpeted with soft mulched leaves and whilst the canopy was covered there was still plenty of light to see my little, white, lost ball.

I rounded a corner of undergrowth, eyes firmly on the ground in front of me when I heard a muffled "Oh!" Looking up I was astounded to see one of the lady golfers from the club having a wee. She was squatting down, her shorts and panties down round her knees and from not more than five yards away I could see that last vestiges of a stream of pee emanating from her body. She held a tissue in her hand ready to wipe and dry herself.

I took all of this into my brain in a millisecond, and embarrassed, turned away quickly. Clearly she tried to do the same, as out of the corner of my eye I could see her rising to a standing position trying to pull up her underwear and shorts, they were sticking to her thighs however and I caught a glimpse of light brown pubic hair at the juncture of her thighs.

The next I heard was a crash and a shriek of pain. Caught between wanting to see the problem and to help, and not wanting to be considered a pervert I turned slightly back towards her. In standing quickly and trying to cover her modesty, she had toppled over and fallen into the undergrowth which consisted principally of brambles. Looking more carefully I could see that she had twisted and what was most visible to me was a rather nice looking backside, white between her shirt and half pulled up shorts.

She was wriggling to get free, but the brambles were tenacious and she seemed caught fast. "Look, I'm sorry," I said, "I'm really embarrassed, but it does look as though you need some help to get free of that. Can I be of assistance?"

"I don't think you're as embarrassed as me, but yes, I would appreciate a hand to get these bloody barbs away from me." I moved nearer and trying not to make it obvious that I could see her semi-naked, I started to pull the brambles carefully away from her, one by one. Freeing most of her, I offered a hand which she accepted and pulled her up. She twisted away from me to hide her exposed front and in as gentlemanly a fashion as I could, I averted my gaze.

Once free she managed to cover herself up and turned back to face me. "I do apologise," she said, "I just had to go and didn't think anyone would be this far into this wood."

"Well it was a pretty terrible shot," I admitted, "and I too would like to apologise for embarrassing you." Looking down I noticed that she had some quite bad scratches on her legs and arms, caused by the brambles. "I've got some antiseptic wipes and a tube of Savlon in my bag, you ought to get something on those scratches sooner rather than later, shall I fetch them?"

"That would be kind on you, I never carry anything like that." I returned to my bag, mulling over what her name was. She was a person I recognised from the club house, but I couldn't recollect if I knew her name. She was quite striking in appearance, probably in her mid to late forties, tall and elegant, with a good figure.

I returned with my bag and recovered from the myriad of pockets the wipes and cream which I handed to her to begin cleaning herself up. "You're Ben aren't you?" she asked, "You were Captain a few years back."

"That's me," I replied, "but it was a good few years back now." I'm sorry, I recognise you, but can't recall your name."

"Vicky," she replied and held out her hand. I've always found shaking hands with women difficult. With men it's quite simple, good firm pressure and that's it. With a woman should I grasp her hand, take the fingers gently or what? Vicky solved the problem with a firm but ladylike grip. Someone comfortable with herself.

Finishing the clean-up, she returned the wipes and cream and thanked me for their use. "I think I'll head back to the clubhouse now and let you continue to play on, I think you'll find your ball over there," and she indicated to a small white dot glinting in a patch of sunlight some five yards away.

"I think I've had enough for today as well, it's not going to get any better at this rate. Do you fancy playing our way back in, it's only three or four holes if we cut through here?"

"That would be nice," Vicky responded, "I never really like playing on my own, it seems like a good idea but the interest pales after a while. Playing in company is so much nicer. Loser buys the first round."

I echoed her thoughts and we set off for the nearest tee on the back nine. I teed off first and for the first time that day hit a good, solid drive down the middle. Vicky moved forward to the red tees and took her stance. It was text book perfect, and I couldn't help but admire how pert her bum looked. She gave it three or four little wiggles before commencing her backswing and then turning she stroked the ball with a lovely swing and her ball followed mine down the middle of the fairway ending up just a few yards behind mine. "Lovely shot, Vicky," I complimented her.

"Didn't out drive you though," she grumbled. Clearly a competitive lady. We played the remaining few holes in good spirit, chatting about the Club, courses we'd played and people we knew in common. Golfers do have a common bond, but in my rare experiences of playing with the ladies, I had never actually been so comfortable chatting to them. Vicky was a charming companion and I was not looking forward to the end of our few holes.

For her part, I could sense that she wanted to say something. Guessing what it was, I pre-empted her, "Vicky, you have my word that I will not mention anything about our encounter today to anyone. The last thing I'd want is for you to be further embarrassed."

"Ben, thank you. I appreciate that." A round of golf always ends with a handshake, or with the ladies, a peck on the cheek. I was not certain whether we were at that stage yet, but Vicky took the initiative and putting one arm on my back, pecked me on the cheek. I reciprocated with an air kiss. "Who won?" she asked.

We hadn't really been keeping score, so I offered to buy her a drink before we went home. "I'd really like a shower first and some more of that Savlon if you wouldn't mind Ben," she said, "shall I see you in the bar in half an hour?" I handed over the Savlon and we went to our separate changing rooms. I usually showered after a round and always brought a change of clothing, so when I returned to the bar I was dressed in chinos and a casual shirt.

"On your own Ben?" asked the Bar Steward.

"Actually I'm having a drink with Vicky." I replied.

"Odd for you," he said, "consorting with the Lady Members."

"It's been one of those days," I replied.

I sat down with a pint and waited for Vicky. Surprisingly she appeared after the agreed thirty minutes and I bought her a glass of wine. "Cheers!" we chinked glasses and resumed our earlier casual chatter about people and places.

Vicky offered to buy us another round and although it was getting late I was enjoying myself so much I agreed. Rarely in recent years had I found anyone's company so enjoyable. "I'm getting a bit peckish." she commented, "Is the kitchen still open John?" she asked the Steward.

"No Vicky, it shut half an hour ago."

"Bugger. I'll have to get myself something when I get home then. I suppose you'll have a meal waiting for you when you get home?" she said, pointedly looking at my left hand on which I was still wearing my wedding ring, unable to break that bond and take it off. I explained about losing my wife, my eyes moistening, and she reached across the table and gripped my arm apologising. "Ben, I'm so sorry, I didn't know, now I've upset you."

I gathered my emotions and thanked her, then glancing at her empty left hand said, "Are you not attached then?"

"No, the bastard traded me in for a newer model a couple of years ago. Still I did alright out of the divorce but it still hurts." I commiserated with her, and she explained that her children had long flown the nest and she had bought a nice little flat in town which suited her perfectly.

"Look Ben, we both need to eat and it's as easy to cook for two as one, so why don't you come back to my place and I'll rustle something up. To be honest I'd appreciate the company."

"Vicky, that's very kind of you but I don't want to put you to any trouble."

"Come on Ben, live dangerously, my cooking's not that bad, and I have enjoyed your company so far today, mishap notwithstanding!"

"OK, you're on, shall I follow you?" With that we left and I followed Vicky's little sports car into town to her apartment block and parked in a visitor space. I met her at the front door and we went in, up the stairs to the first floor and then into her flat. It had a most welcoming appearance, modern décor and tastefully furnished with a big screen TV on the wall opposite a sofa. The kitchen opened off the lounge area and was clearly bang up to date with all the latest appliances.

"Chicken OK?" she asked. I nodded agreement and then, "Wine? I prefer red."

"Suits me," I replied, "but I've got to go easy as I'm driving and have had a couple already." She hoisted a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon out of a wine rack and handed it to me to open with a couple of large balloon type glasses. I poured two measures, generous for her and smaller for me and toasted her. "Thanks again for this, much better than eating alone from a tray in front of the TV."

"Tell me about yourself Ben, while I get this on the go." I settled onto a bar stool at the breakfast bar and gave her a potted history of my life, work, my kids and grandkids. As I related the story Vicky would interject with fragments of her own life. She said she now worked part time to allow herself the luxuries in life and a feeling of self-worth, not to be just living off her ex-husband's settlement.

"Tell me Ben, now you're retired how do you motivate yourself each day?" I explained that I tried to achieve one thing every day, it might only be a 10 minute job fixing something, but it had to be measureable.

"Of course I get days where I do nothing worthwhile, but that's just nice. Sitting reading all day is really only pleasurable if there's something else that needs doing instead." I explained. "I also have a "no regrets" policy. I aim to shuffle off this mortal coil with as few "If only's" as possible. If I want to do something I do it. Sometimes I regret doing it, but that's preferable to having missed out on an opportunity and regretting later not having tried it."

"That's not a bad attitude. I can see where you're coming from on that. There's only a few things I'd like to go back and change, but sometimes the ones that got away rankle more."

"Exactly, and the ones that got away are always the biggest ones, aren't they?"

Our chat lightened and we talked about people, golf and families. For someone I'd only really met that day I found her amazingly easy to talk to and to listen to. Vicky went to pour another glass of wine and I suddenly realised I'd had more than I intended to drink and needed to stop. "Ben, get a cab home. Relax and enjoy yourself. As long as you get your one thing done tomorrow does anything else really matter that much?"

"If it's OK leaving my car overnight then fine, I'll do that."

"Great, crack open another bottle and let your hair down." With that the meal was ready and we sat at the breakfast bar to eat it. With the benefit of more wine the conversation flowed effortlessly, and without warning we were back on how we met earlier that morning.

"Just what did you see this morning Ben, how much of my secret place was on display?"

I tried to be gallant but Vicky wouldn't let me off the hook. Finally I had to admit that I'd seen a bit of pee and some light brown pubes but really nothing more until she fell in the bramble when her whole bum was exposed.

"I'm sorry again," said Vicky.

"Please don't be, I must admit that watching women pee is a bit of a fetish of mine." Suddenly I realised what I'd said and flushed bright red. "Please, that came out all wrong. I really don't go around spying, but the thought and sound of a woman peeing is a real turn on for me."

"Did you get turned on seeing me?"

"It all happened so quickly, but I know that it will live with me for a long time, and yes, it was, or at least will be, a turn on for some time. This shouldn't be a one way street though, what turns you on?"

"We're in danger of getting too personal here, but I love morning sex. Waking up slowly with someone next to you, touching, caressing, then making love is an absolute dream. Mind you that's all I can do these days is dream about it." The last words were said with a slightly bitter twist and I knew she was referring to her ex-husband's departure.

"Enough of this, we ought to clear up."

"No leave it," said Vicky, there's not much. "How about a film?"

It wasn't late and I still had to order a cab, however the prospect of another hour or so in such great company was tempting. "OK, you choose, but no soppy RomComs."

"Spoilsport! I could quite fancy something sloppy!"

I sat on the sofa and Vicky rummaged among a pile of DVDs and exclaimed, "Just the thing." She put it in the machine and settled back on the sofa next to me, not quite touching but close enough to feel a little intimate.

The title screen came up. "Basic Instinct!" I spluttered, feeling a little embarrassed.

"I'm in the mood for a little raunch," said Vicky, and she snuggled into my side. I won't say that I was unhappy, but I was a little uncomfortable. We watched in silence as the film progressed, as it got raunchier Vicky snuggled tighter until she was grasping my arm with both of her hands, and I was beginning to feel aroused, even worse my cock was starting to swell. We got to the scene where Sharon Stone was riding Michael Douglas cowgirl style and I felt Vicky's hand reach down and rest on my thigh, not an inch from my now erect manhood. I'm as human as the next man, but something was going to snap soon and it was starting to look as though it was going to be my will power.

In the reflected glow from the TV screen I looked round at her to see she was looking straight back at me. Instinctively we moved closer and our lips met, gently at first then with meaning and finally passion. Our arms encircled each other and we pulled tightly into a warming embrace.

"Ben, stay with me tonight. Blast, I didn't mean it like that, I'm not talking about sleeping together, but I've got a spare room and, I'd like to spend some more time like this with you."

"I understand, I'd love to." With that we continued making out like a couple of teenagers, while the action was continuing on screen. Without warning Vicky swung a leg over mine and she was straddling my lap, my erection pressing hard into her crotch. I knew she could feel it, her trouser covered pussy was rubbing hard against me as her hips moved.

Our kisses grew more passionate and I was starting to wonder where this was leading when she suddenly pulled away from me. "I'm sorry, I can't, please forgive me it's all too raw." Vicky dismounted and with a strangly sorrowful look in her eyes said, "Sorry to have led you down this path Ben, I think we'd better go to our rooms now. Perhaps another day when I've got my head round this..."

"I understand." With that she showed me to the bathroom then after allowing me some time, to the guest room.

At the door she kissed me briefly, "I'm sorry Ben, this has all gone too fast and the wine got to me. Sorry, I hope it doesn't ruin our friendship."

I went into the guest room and closed the door, a little sad and bewildered, but understanding. Undressing down to my boxers I wondered if I could get some relief with my hand, but ultimately decided that it would not be appropriate and settled in to try to calm my hard on, and ultimately sleep. My thoughts ran through the day, quite normal until late afternoon when I came across Vicky having a pee, from there a maelstrom until we came within a whisker of having sex, barely six hours from having met, now I was lying in a strange bed, frustrated as hell and unable to do anything about it.

After a short while I must have dozed off as a noise woke me. I was lying on my side, facing away from the door, when I felt the covers lift and the bed dipped. A warm body snuggled up to my back and an arm encircled my chest, the hand coming to rest on my stomach. I turned onto my back and a leg immediately slid over mine. "Wh..Wh..?" was all I could stammer.

"Shush, it's only me. I hope you don't mind but that film got me going a bit, then we started kissing and I froze, but when I got into bed all those images kept flitting through my mind and I tried to, well you know, but it wouldn't work, then I thought about you in this bed and remembered your maxim of no regrets and here I am." With that Vicky reached down and pulled my semi hard cock out of my boxers and started to stroke it, bringing it to a state of full erection instantly.

"I'm sorry, I need this." With that she swung her leg over my hips and fumbling slightly in the dim light wriggled over my body, then all I could feel was a warm wet tunnel enveloping my cock as she lowered herself onto it. I reached forward and discovered a tee shirt covering her top, but she grabbed my hands and held them tight, placed firmly on her hips.

Her movements started off slowly, but quickly gathered pace, my hands guiding her, her pussy never quite releasing my cock, then burying it deep inside. Before I realised what was happening she tensed and a hoarse "Yesssss!" escaped her lips, as her body collapsed on top of mine, my cock still embedded in her. "Alexa, turn the bedroom lamp on please." The room lit up with a shadowy light and I could see her now, smiling. "I'm sorry again, it's been years since I've had a real one inside me and the thought of you here in this bed was too much. I hope you don't feel too used." She crossed her arms and gripping the hem of her tee shirt pulled it off over her head revealing a pair of sumptuous breasts, full, ripe and tipped with large nipples surrounded by dark areola, two inches across. They sagged only slightly and I stared at them greedily.