Jayne's World Pt. 05

Once off the train, I paused and dropped my overnight bag at my feet. Steady on! Don't get there flustered! You'd be waiting near the exit barrier and I wanted, needed, to look cool and in control. Pulling my light grey jacket tighter around my shoulders and straightening the open collar of my casual shirt, I double checked the zip of my black jeans and picked up my bag. Time!

The sexy vision that had remained in my mind all these weeks had grown sexier with each passing day. But not quite like what was waiting for me. Those denim hot pants!! And your legs! I'd always had a fantasy of fucking a young bird wearing thigh high, thick stockings, though the lack of any naked skin suggested they were tights.

That did nothing to destroy the fantasy!

The few men who weren't staring at your pert ass in those hot pants had their eyes glued to your tits. The cleavage on show above the low-cut tee shirt and denim waistcoat was almost as mouth-watering. As for silver, high heeled, strappy pumps, simply sex on legs. But not just sex on legs, young sex, very young sex making me wonder if you really were twenty-three. But did I care? Naturally I would if I had any thought that you were under age, but I wasn't thinking that and you didn't look that young. Just fucking young.

But it wasn't just the way you were dressed. Nor was it the way you threw your arms around me, pulling me into a hug that seemed to last forever. And that perfume it danced around us like some sort of expensive aphrodisiac. But even that wasn't just it either. The real drug was your eyes. The way they twinkled mischievously, that undeniable 'Jayne-look' that promised so much. A few weeks ago, that look had suggested nothing was impossible. Now it implied that everything was probable. Though, after the way we'd parted last time, I still had my reservations.

Jayne the temptress or Jayne the cocktease? The jury was still out.

"Okay," you grinned at me, taking my arm. "First things first, we can catch up over lunch."

I smiled warmly, though couldn't help glancing around. It seemed everybody's eyes were on us. Or was that, every man's eyes were on you. They were thinking one of two things. You were a young daughter meeting her dad; I refused to contemplate the grandad possibility! Or we were a rich, older man, with his bit of young stuff.

It made no difference to me. Eat your hearts out, boys.

"Where are we going?" I asked, as we walked outside the station into blazing sunlight.

"You're the man, you decide."

I laughed. It was a typical Jayne response. "There's only one place around here," I responded remembering that the immediate vicinity of Kings Cross was always depressing. "Konstam at the King Albert."

Your eyes flashed that cheeky smile. "Fancy you knowing about that. It's an old pub they've tarted up. Very nice."

Thank goodness for Google!

"You hungry?" I asked, heading for a taxi. It wasn't far, but I had no idea in which direction.

"Oh, yes. Starving," you smiled. "I never like to fuck on an empty stomach. What about you, gramps? Need to build up your strength?"

Her.

It was a funny old tube journey up to town to meet you. Luckily, the hated Central Line was behaving itself so we whizzed from Loughton to Liverpool Street where I changed onto the Circle Line, having to remember that's the yellow one on the underground map.

It was after the rush hour, which is the time I usually travel, so I had a seat all the way although as usual they were a few guys standing eyeing up the crumpet. I felt relieved I was wearing the thickish tights, seats on the tube and upper leg and panty decorum are not natural bedfellows, as I have learned over the years. Still, it was preferable to standing pressed up against the sweaty hordes with all the crotch and bum squashing that entails. I am sure that every morning during the rush hour there must be hundreds of minor sexual assaults.

I was struck by the profiles of my fellow travellers and how different they were to the earlier crowd. The main difference being age, for most on the train seemed to be retirees; in my mind, with a little smile, I saw numerous James's taking their, grey permed haired wives shopping!

I still wasn't quite sure why I was doing this. I still wasn't sure why I had invited you to my home and I still wasn't sure whether I would fuck you or not. More to the point, for your generation still cling to the clear differentiation between the genders than mine, whether I would let you fuck me. On balance, as I walked from the Central to the Circle at Liverpool Street, I thought I probably would, after all I am not a PT as the boys call it, am I? But why the fuck was I even contemplating sex with an OAP, or nearly? That I couldn't answer now, but I did wonder if I would find out over the next day or so.

At Kings Cross I felt better. There were more young people, more of a buzz and hussle, it always seems to be like that in town, I like it. That's why, when I can afford it, I'll rent a flat there and not live in the dull, no that's not quite fair, Essex suburbs where I have grown up.

Mum was away. She had gone to visit dad in Spain for a few days. Ostensibly to talk about finance, maybe work out a divorce settlement and see how he was coping with his business falling apart, I suspected that she also wanted to get laid. By dad for sure and by the tennis coach at the nearby country club and the physical trainer at the gym and any other youngish guy she could attract, I suspected. Last time I was there with her, both coaches had been all over both us, putting my nose out of joint a bit by seeming to fancy her more, but then she has got better tits than me.

"Now, now Jayne, no ageist stuff so soon," you said as we looked crestfallen at the massive queue.

"Sod it let's walk," I said unthinkingly grabbing your hand.

"Where? To the restaurant?"

"It's not far, come on I'm sure you can manage it," I laughed thinking about the way I had, without thinking, welcomed you. I had flung my arms round your neck, and that wasn't posed. When a woman opens her arms like that to a man, or another girl come to that, she is exposing the fullness of her breasts to the other party and inviting them to squash their chest against them: I am sure there is some subliminal, Freudian message in that gesture. What may be even more Freudian was that I had made the gesture to you at platform twelve, with loads of onlookers, and possibly what's more so, was that I liked my breasts being squashed against you.

"I'll get there, I'll make it," you muttered, putting your right arm round my shoulders and adding, "But I may need some help," as we turned down a quiet passageway leading from the station

Laughing, I reached up and grabbed your hand which was dangling down my chest from my shoulder. I looked up at you and said, "What like this?" As I rubbed your fingertips across my breast; just quickly and lightly more as a joke than anything else.

"Oh yes," you said pushing me back against a wall, wrapping one arm round my shoulders and cupping my breast with the other as you kissed me.

'"Fuck, it's supposed to me who's daring and up for anything not you,' I thought as your tongue probed nicely into my mouth. We kissed for a moment or two almost, but not quite oblivious to our surroundings.

Three things happened during that kiss: I enjoyed it; I realised how hard you were and you discovered, if you hadn't worked it out already, that I was not wearing a bra. Actually, I lie, four things happened and my response to the fourth was to whisper in your ear.

"Shall we forget the Konstam?"

"Huh. What do you mean?" You asked reluctantly it seemed, breaking the kiss and taking your hand away from my breast, which did, though, continue tingling with arousal.

"I can make a salad or even run to heating up a pizza, why not come to my home for lunch, right now?"

Him.

"Sounds good," I answered, smiling at your eagerness and hoping that meant what I thought it did.

Though for me, this wasn't all about fucking. I enjoyed your company, enjoyed our verbal sparring, and actually wanted to learn more about you. But even I had to admit that, right there and then, fucking you dominated my mind. Maybe you hadn't expected the aggressive reaction to you lightly rubbing my fingertips against your breast, but it seemed that every sexual tease, words or actions, that you shot in my direction, had an effect that was unfamiliar. They inflamed the feeling of horniness inside me, like someone setting a match to a fire.

One suggestion or gesture resulted in a throbbing that brought an overreaction, it seemed. I'd turn a peck on the lips into a passionate kiss, a brushing of your breast into a full-blown grope and had we not been in public, hell only knew what I'd turn a brief, clothed, grinding into! The feeling of your braless breast against my hand, your hard nipple against my palm, burned itself into my mind. I think I love a woman's breast more than any other part of her, though there are so many delightful alternatives to consider.

The erection that had briefly subsided was back again with a vengeance. The image of your lips around me that had brought me so close to a disaster on the train, returned. The thought of taking you, aggressively, in your bed, on the carpet, or even on top of a fucking wardrobe, jumped around inside my head.

"Sounds good," I repeated, hoping the look in my eyes didn't give the game away, that the bulge in my jeans wasn't too obvious and that the slight breathlessness as I said the words didn't tell you what I was thinking.

Then, images of you walking away from me after finger fucking you in the doorway returned, God knows where from. They made me nervous, uncertain. Part of you did, too. A glorious uncertainty, yes, but they created a hesitancy nevertheless.

You couldn't be the ultimate pricktease, could you?

I'd walk into your house with you, and your mum would be there, with her friends, your friends, and my friends, all shouting, "Surprise!"

Or maybe there'd be a guy there with a big red book. "Today, James Taylor, you thought you were visiting London to fuck a young bird's brains out. But today," he continued as the audience of family and friends were to reveal "Today, this is your Life!" And in an Irish accent.

"You okay?" I heard you ask. "Depriving you of your lunch, am I? Don't deny it, I can see it in your eyes. Here I am offering you a salad, when all you can think of is something more substantial, much juicier, that you want to devour. Is that it?"

Those Jayne eyes twinkled at me again. They were saying, why don't you fuck me now, right here, in front of the world. That would be a new experience for you, wouldn't it?

For me, yes, though it wouldn't be the first time I'd had sex out in the open of course. For you, I wasn't so sure. With Jayne, anything was possible! And anyway, I'm sure that wasn't precisely what your eyes were telling me. It was just my horny brain that was suggesting it.

Wasn't it?

"Back to the station?" I asked, attempting to get a grip on reality. "Head for the Underground?"

"Better than heading for the hills," you joked, taking my arm again. "Circle Line, that's where we're headed. Circle Line to Liverpool Street, then we'll change. But don't worry, daddy-o. You won't get lost. I'll look after you."

"Ever fucked on the Underground?" I asked, instantly wondering where the words had come from, and wishing they hadn't. "Sorry, forget that," I mumbled, feeling myself blush. Think of something intelligent to ask instead - some fascinating subject that would impress you with my man-of-the-world knowledge. "Er, what do you think of Boris Johnson?"

Shit! Was I really that stupid??

You gave me that other Jayne look, the one that says, don't be a prick. "What everyone else thinks," you told me. "As for your first question, it might be easier to ask me where I haven't been fucked."

No, I didn't ask the question, though the way my libido was at boiling point, it was a subject I'd have loved to explore.

"We'll be at my house before you know it," you added, as we headed back into the station and down the steps to the Circle Line. "You can get settled first while I whip up something to eat. You'll like your bedroom."

Fuck, there you went again. My bedroom? What about your bedroom, Jayne? Or, our bedroom? What did you mean, my bedroom?

The laugh you gave as you saw my puzzled expression sent another shiver down to my toes. Fuck, Jayne, you couldn't help it, could you? Teasing this previously respectable, well regarded, ex blue chip company Director, pillar of the community and turning him into a frothing at the mouth, out of control, lascivious, sleezy, pervy what? Dirty old man?

Or a young man inside a George Clooney look-alike body (okay, my imagination was running wild) desperate to taste the delights of the young woman who'd gradually invaded my psyche?

One of the things I realised there and then was that I didn't care. More basically, I was an animal circling its prey, heading for the younger females in the herd, not just because they were younger, but because this particular one stood out from the rest.

She could have been much older. She could have been less attractive. But she would still have stood out in the same way.

Okay, you had already dismissed such thoughts as bollocksville. I could accept that. Different generations thought differently. And I was only too aware I was invading the territory of the younger generation. But........, who knows?

Invading your territory, I might be, but this animal had separated out a potential female mate from the rest of the herd, and given the opportunity, he was going to take her on a sensual journey to places her fucking younger generation rarely visited.

Her

"Would you mind if we got a cab from Loughton Station I asked?"

"No not at all, why?"

"Well, it's only a few minutes' walk, but we would have to walk past the neighbour's houses and they are very nosy."

"You mean you don't want to be seen with an old man," you said as we whizzed through Buckhurst Hill station.

"Age has nothing to do with it, I don't want to be seen taking a man of any age into mum's house."

"Ok I was only joking."

"Wow, this is impressive," you said as we pulled into the in gate of the front garden.

"The ill-gotten gains of a now defunct and probably bankrupt property developer," I said as you paid the scandalous four pounds fifty fare.

"And this is even more so," you continued as you followed me up the steps to the porch of the unnecessarily large, very Essex, posh suburb almost, but not quite, footballers' wives' type of house. I saw the cabbie who I am sure had dropped me off before staring at us. I smiled and waved.

"Yes, ripping off unsuspecting souls by buying property at lower than proper prices, messing it around a bit then selling at a hugely inflated price, brings its rewards. Five or six bedrooms, study, bloody great dining and two other downstairs rooms plus a snooker room, gym, pool complex and a tennis court."

"I take it you don't full approve of your parent's having such a place. It must be worth a fortune in this area."

"Guess so, but dad's finances are all fucked up, so who knows? Who knows really who even owns it? Anyway, sod all that?"

"I'm sorry," you said considerately as you slid your arm round me.

"Thank you," I replied letting you pull me into your arms."

You held my face as our bodies moulded together. We kissed for the second time today. It felt good, but I didn't think I was ready yet to go further, even though the sensation I felt pressed against my stomach indicated that you were.

"Come on" I said, "Let me show you your room."

The look on your face as I said that for the second time was hilarious. 'He really is beginning to think I'm a PT," I thought as I wiggled out of your embrace.

I showed you the formal dining room overlooking the gardens to the side, the lounge, the conservatory and study and then the pool.

Holding your hand, I said. "Shit I should have told you to bring your cossy, you won't be able to have a swim now."

"No?" You replied in a tone that suggested you would. "I'm all for skinny dipping," you went on."

"Ooooo at your age as well," I replied laughing.

We walked round the garden and looked at the tennis court. "Won't be able to use that either, and we can't do skinny tennis." Here's our little gym," I said showing you into the room at the back of the double garage complete with a couple of machines, weights, a big exercise mat, a bike and rowing machine and a massage table.

"That's interesting," you said.

"Yes, where mum gets her relief, I reckon."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, she has a PT, personal trainer not what you were thinking, who is also a masseur, who I reckon is giving her one."

We wandered through the garage and back into the house.

"Come on, upstairs," I said leading the way to the staircase.

"Best invitation I've had all day," you said, brushing your hand across my bum.

"Well play your cards right and you may get an even better one later," I said, giggling as we got to the top of the stairs, your hand still on my bum. I showed you mum's room which was quite spectacular with a massive bed, all white carpet and fittings, a bank of mirrored wardrobes down one side, and floor to ceiling patio doors leading to a balcony on the other.

"And this is where I live," I told you as walked down a corridor to the granny flat built over the garage.

"It's just like a flat you said," as I showed you the small kitchen, a study cum sitting room and of course the bedroom with the ensuite wetroom and the double bed.

Mum and dad had had the place done up for me when I took my A levels to give me more privacy.

"So, where is my room?" You asked.

"We'll see, it just depends how well you behave yourself," I said smiling.

"And how will I know how to behave?" You asked coming over to me and putting your hands on my shoulder.

"Use your instincts," I replied, not moving but looking you right in the eye as you let one hand run down my arm to my elbow, your wrist brushing against my breast.

"How's this?" You asked, gently cupping my boob.

"Not bad, you're learning," I replied gently pressing against your hand.

Still staring into each other eyes I felt your finger and thumb find my nipple and then pinch it.

"And this?"

"Yes, that's good," I breathed feeling a strong rush of arousal. "What's the time?" I asked.

"What?"

"I asked if you had the time?"

You looked at your watch. "Ten past one."

"Thanks."

"Why did you want to know?"

"I was wondering whether it was time for lunch."

"I see, and is it?"

"Maybe," I replied putting my hand on the back of yours, which was still on my breast. I pulled it tighter as I said softly. "It could be James."

"Really?" You said looking totally confused.

I made my mind up.

"So, what would you like, a drink, a cup of tea, a pizza lunch or......" I paused before adding in a croaky whisper. "Me?"