Memories of a Baby Boomer

Taking my hand, she placed it inside her robe as it made contact with her bare flesh, leaving me eager to explore. Yes, I had imagined her naked, but the act of touching her felt completely different as my hand firstly went to her breasts. Compared to Aunt Lucy, gran's tits were huge, wrapping my hand around one of them, I tested its weight, squeezing and fondling the ample mammary before my fingers found her nipple, twisting and tweaking it as it began to grow.

Guttural sounds emanated from her throat as I moved closer to her and planted my lips on hers, my erection now pressed against her body as I opened the robe wide and felt my shaft rest against her pubic mound.

I may not be Casanova, but after two years of having sex with Aunt Lucy, I was no novice either. Our kiss and my hands on her tits started her initial arousal, I felt her shiver as my hand moved down her chest and over her belly. She wasn't as slim as Lucy, but at the same time her stomach wasn't huge, there was just a little more of it and it felt sexy as I explored her extra flesh. And then my fingers were running through her pubes as I listened to her breathing increase rapidly. When finally, I ran a single digit along the length of her slit and parted her pussy lips, I'm sure I felt the whole bed move. From grans mouth I moved to her neck and then to her chest, raining kisses on her tits before taking her nipples into my mouth as I sucked at each quite large bud and nipped each one between my lips.

'Oh God, That's so nice......Oh fuck. Oh, my......my-oh-my......Oh my fucking God!'

Her words changed constantly as I worked my way down her body. I had no idea what she was expecting, certainly not I think, to find me finally laying between her open thighs, my face inches from her vagina. When I opened her fanny and my tongue made its first contact with her moist interior, I thought she was going to scream the house down. She was panting, crudities coming one after another as her thighs crushed my head and my tongue penetrated her passage, licking and sucking at her pink insides.

Her thighs were meatier than Lucy's, as was her bottom and I was now in my element, my mouth crushed against her pussy as her hips moved one way and then the other. With my hands beneath her thighs and up against her buttocks, I spread her arse, the thumb of my right hand sinking into her fanny as my tongue moved to her clit. The thumb of my left hand found the puckered entrance of her back passage and spread the juices leaking from her cunt over it before a small amount of pressure sent it up her arse. It took a lot of effort to keep her cunt up against my mouth as she climaxed, her body thrashing about in the small bed as she wailed and cried her release, her juices splashing my face and entering my mouth.

Although she implored me, I refused to stop, sucking on her clit, and flicking it with my tongue as I reached along her body and grabbed both tits, abusing the ample flesh and twisting at her elongated nipples.

Her first orgasm flowed into a second, 'Oh fuck, oh fuck, yes, yes, just there, oh shit. Oh, my fucking Go......d!'

And only after that, did I allow her to relax, for no other reason than I wanted to put my bedside light on, and to gaze at her naked body closeup.

By the time she eventually opened her eyes I had moved. Having opened her legs wider, I was knelt between her thighs, my knob pressing gently against the open lips of her pussy. She blinked several times, bringing a hand up momentarily to shade her eyes against the light as I rammed my cock up her cunt in one swift motion. Her eyes went wide, and her mouth shot open as a loud gasp escaped, and then I was fucking her. As I had been taught by Lucy, my shaft penetrated gran's cunt at a steady rate, not too fast, not too slow, a constant rhythm that reawakened her desires and started to build her lust. My hands were never still as I ran them over her flesh, the lightest of touches as I explored her body.

There was no mistaking her maturity, her breasts wobbling back and forth with each thrust of my hips. Wrinkles were starting to appear, at her armpits and between her breasts, but none of that mattered. Her belly was well rounded, moving in time with her tits as I increased the speed that my cock thudded into her cunt. There was extra meat at her waist and hips, her thighs and arse had also gained a little over the years. Her face showed its age, but as I gazed down at her from my vantage point, what I saw was a beautiful mature sexy woman, all of which spurred me on as I began to shag her faster and faster.

From the look on grans face, I feared she was going to have a heart attack, she had stopped breathing, her face going crimson and her eyes rolling up into her head. Her mouth hung open and spittle covered her lips as she shook convulsively, her hips rising to meet my every thrust as she had a massive orgasm.

'You fuck me.... you fuck me......you fuck me,' she muttered over and over again until she went ridged and threw herself backwards, bouncing off the mattress as my cock exploded inside her cunt, filling her now sloppy hole with spurt after spurt of cum until I dropped from exhaustion.

I left gran in my bed snoring contentedly and went and jumped into hers. Surprisingly, I hadn't seen that coming, never imagining that one day I may shag my grandmother despite my ardent desires. My conclusion was that she was every bit as good in bed as Aunt Lucy, our coupling having more than adequately satisfied my urges.

There were consequences I later realised, but at the time I was more interested in whether that had been a one-off, or if she was open to us repeating our copulation the next time mum was on nights.

Nothing much was said the next morning. I was up early before mum got in, and woke gran up, telling her to go back to her bedroom. She made no mention of our escapade other than during the day when we had a few moments alone, she sidled up to me.

'You randy young beggar. No wonder Lucy likes you around there so much.'

She never gave me any impression as to whether it may happen again, but I just got the feeling that last night would hopefully be repeated. As it was and over the next six months, I slept with her several times. On each occasion, we headed for her bedroom, while mine had sufficed that first time, hers gave us a lot more scope and room to fuck.

While my sex life had taken that unexpected turn, it did not mean that I suddenly abandoned Lucy. At her house, I could spend the night with her after having sex, whilst with gran, we had to pick our moments. I don't think Lucy ever knew or realised there was now another woman and if she did, she never brought the subject up. She was somewhere in between my mother and grandmother's age, I didn't know exactly how old, as it was considered bad manners to ask questions like that.

We did occasionally discuss our quasi relationship, but one evening she set my mind at ease, 'I'm used to being unattached,' she told me, 'It's how I like it. That's not to say that I don't enjoy our sex life, it's great. We use each other, and that's perfectly ok. As for anything else, it's not something I'd want, even if you offered it.'

I suppose that the females who did suffer were the local girls, as my twenty-first approached and looking back over the last few years, I acknowledged that my sexual preferences were definitely centred around more mature women. While I appreciated the beauty of young girls, I started to find that they didn't do anything for me. Up west and out with friends there was a plethora of them to choose from, but each time, I found it was the older, perhaps middle-aged ladies that caught my eye. I never approached them, always scared that I may be found wanting or be rejected.

I couldn't discuss it with Lucy, fearing that she may see it as though I was becoming bored with her. So, it was to my grandmother that I turned and tried to explain what I was experiencing. She was sympathetic and understanding, my desires were no reflection on what she and I did, it was just that I was growing up.

'They are no better than you, and I would bet that they are just as scared as you are, if not more so,' she told me. 'You're a good-looking young man and I think any woman would be happy with you in the bedroom department. What scares them is that someone of your age would be interested in someone of their age.'

I had never thought of it like that, with the local girls I had the gift of the gab, but around older women, I suddenly became tongue-tied.

Gran continued with her advice, 'Firstly, you're not going to find many older women in the pubs and clubs that you frequent. If that is what you want, you have to go to them, they won't come to you. Secondly, the way you dress marks you out as someone young and probably inexperienced. Try buying a nice suit, perhaps a shirt and tie, dress like they do and not like your friends do and see what happens then.'

It is surprising how much of life is common sense, it's just that sometimes we need someone else to point the way.

Somehow her words seemed to give me a new outlook on life, at a time when most single blokes of my age struggled to get their leg over once a week, here I was with seemingly an unlimited supply on tap as Lucy and gran satisfied my wants.

Now perhaps, you may conclude that I was being greedy, but the notion of having sex with my mother had suddenly sprung to mind. It had lain dormant for a while until one evening when I was surprised to find that the sight of her in her nurses uniform, complete with black stockings had me trying to hide a bulge that persisted on expanding inside my trousers. My mother thankfully did not notice, but the amused look on my grandmother's face and the twinkle in her eyes told me she knew exactly what was in my thoughts.

The following weekend I took gran's advice, catching the bus into town and heading for the shops that sold exclusively to the middle classes rather than the emerging teenage market. My job paid well and although I shelled out for room and board at home as well as giving a little bit to Lucy, I had still managed to save a considerable amount. I knew what I wanted, the suit had to have the same styling and cut as the new fashions, but at the same time, it had to display a quality that said it was not from the same shops that most older men would use. I found a tailor who was prepared to make me the suit I envisaged, even though the price made my eyes water.

Most of my friends earned about ten or eleven pounds a week, whereas because of my hard work, I was earning nearly double that. A suit on the high street was roughly seventeen pounds, this one was costing me forty guineas. (Nearly forty-two pounds.) and was in a style that was now becoming prevalent.

The suit would take about six weeks to make with me returning several times for fittings before it would be ready. The shirt and tie could wait until later, once I saw what it looked like. Afterwards, I wandered aimlessly for a while, window shopping and gazing at items that would have cost me six months or a year's wages to purchase, that was how the other half lived.

Bored and with a twenty-minute wait for my bus, I dodged into one of the many expresso bars that had opened. It was busy inside, groups of the new swinging people sat around tables, laughing, and talking. Taking my drink, I gazed around, most tables were full except for one by the window occupied by a rather attractive middle-aged lady who somehow seemed vaguely familiar.

'Pardon me. Do you mind if I sit here?' She shook her head, presently engrossed in a book she was reading.

Sitting, I gazed out of the window watching people pass, probably a mixture of a few Londoners and mostly tourists wandering the streets and doing exactly what I had done previously. Every so often, I would glance at the woman opposite, there was something about her niggling at my brain which just refused to materialise. It felt rude to interrupt her and anyway, as usual, I was feeling tongue-tied.

Perhaps she had noticed because eventually she lowered the book and looked over the top of her glasses. 'Have I got something on my face that you find interesting?' she asked.

Embarrassment coloured me as I apologised profusely. 'I'm so sorry,' I began, 'It's just that I have a feeling that I know you, but I can't think from where. I'm sure I've met you before.'

She stared at me for a moment, as though considering if it was some kind of chat-up line and then shook her head, 'I can't say that I have ever met you before,' she said before returning to her book.

I apologised once more and tried to keep my head down, continuing to stare out of the window. But you know what it's like when you get that itch in your head and I just had to keep sneaking glances as I became frustrated with myself for not being able to place her. She was smartly dressed in a twinset and pearls, about her mid-thirties I roughly guessed and with a still, extremely pretty face.

Finally, the book went down, and she removed her glasses, staring at me as she went 'Humph,' with a loud sigh. 'Look, young man, whatever you may think. I do not know you.' Perhaps it was her tone that loosened my tongue, I wasn't wrong, I knew here from somewhere, I just couldn't place where which was bloody annoying.

I wasn't going to let it go this time as I began cautiously. 'You don't work in the city, do you?' Watching as she shook her head. 'Are you from the Eastend?' I persisted.

'No...... but I work there. I'm headmistress at St Martin's school.' And then it hit me, plain as day, sitting back in my seat and beaming broadly. 'Miss Cummings, year five. I was in love with you!'

My face must have suddenly looked stricken as I realised what I had just said.

She smiled for the first time which then turned into a laugh, 'And you are?' She stopped and screwed her eyes up, her brain mentally going through the archive of children she must have taught.

'Robert,' she paused for a second, 'Robert Duncan. Well, Robert, you have changed a lot since the last time I saw you. And anyway, it's not Miss Cummings anymore, thank you very much, it is Mrs Hardman now.' I saw the twinkle in her eye as though she had known the mirth that her name had elicited from us lads.

My bus came and went as we chatted, and I bought fresh drinks. She asked about my life, and I told her how she had inspired me, how even after I had left her class, I continued to work hard and what I now did for a living. I told her all about myself, though judged that it was best to leave out the parts concerning women. I was confident now, the words coming easy and in full flow as I made her laugh with many of the stories I recounted.

'So, you were in love with me, were you?' she said, stifling a giggle.

I felt silly now, she saw it only as a childish crush, which it probably was, but even twelve years later, there was still a small part of her attached to my heart.

Sitting back, I tried to look indignant, 'Well I thought so I'll have you know. Why do you think I tried so hard? All I wanted to do was please you. And then when I moved up a class, I found that I had got used to working hard and so I just carried on, but I never forgot you.' She looked incredulous, probably thinking that I was making it up.

And then it was time for her to go and I didn't want her to. 'I don't suppose you fancy going out for a......' I stopped mid-sentence, realising what I was asking. 'Of course, you don't, you're married.' It felt like I was a little boy once more and had asked a foolish question.

As she stood, she opened her handbag, took out a pen and a slip of paper and wrote something on it. 'I'm actually separated. This is my telephone number. Ring me at that time and perhaps we could speak further.'

She left me sat alone, my heart beating rapidly. As stupid as it may sound, I knew. It was a tangible feeling, something that felt as if I could reach out and touch it. After all this time, I was still in love with her.

We didn't have a telephone at home and so the following night, I walked down to the phone box at the end of our road. It was only just after seven o'clock and although it was a chilly evening, my palms felt clammy, and my stomach was tied in knots. Dropping coins into the slot I spun the dial, listening to the clicking wheezing noise that all public call boxes made. There was a pause and then the phone on the other end started ringing just as panic set in. I didn't have a clue what her first name was, and I'd forgotten what she said her married name was.

'Hello, St Martins School.'

I felt a complete numpty as I hesitated before pushing the button and asking for 'Miss Cummings.' I heard her snigger before she spoke again. 'Is that you Robert?'

'Yes, Miss. Sorry, Miss.' Suddenly I was back in school, and she was my teacher once more as I heard the gales of laughter.

When she eventually composed herself, she spoke kindly to me, 'I'm presently at school, its parents evening. Are you far away? If not, why don't you come and meet me? I'll be here until nine o'clock.'

I readily agreed, thankful to replace the receiver. 'What a fucking plonker,' I said out loud to myself, that probably wasn't the best of first impressions.

The school was situated approximately halfway between where we used to live and where we lived now., close enough that I could walk it in fifteen minutes or less. Rushing home, I washed and shaved, before putting on a clean shirt and setting off to go back to school.

Standing outside the gates, I was full of trepidation, it was the same feeling I'd had nearly sixteen years earlier. Taking a deep breath, I advanced across the playground and reached the main entrance, pulling the door open and holding it as a couple exited.

Inside, it smelt the same and looked the same as I walked down the corridor. In my minds-eye, I could have been five or six once more. Passing several classrooms, I looked in, noticing parents waiting to speak to the teacher, some of whom I recognised as having taught me, something that had never entered my head when Miss Cummings, sorry! Mrs Hardman invited me here.

She hadn't told me where to meet her and so I just naturally gravitated towards what would have been back then the headmaster's office. Popping my head around the door I noticed that she already had parents in with her. She must have caught sight of me out of the corner of her eye because she excused herself and pointed upwards, holding up four fingers. I knew immediately where she meant as I climbed the stairs and entered a classroom, this was where I had spent my fifth year with her as my teacher. It felt as though time had stood still, looking exactly as I remembered it, my desk still in the same position as the day I left.

From memory, the classroom had been huge, rows of desks neatly aligned and ample room to move around without interrupting anyone still working. Now, it looked minuscule, sitting at my desk, it felt like I was sitting on the floor with my legs bent nearly double. Our minds deceive us, we forget that what looks large to us as a child, looks small to us as adults.

I heard her voice as she entered the room, 'Hello Robert.' Lost in thought, it was an automatic reaction as I stood, 'Good evening Miss.'

She was consumed by fits of laughter again, tears streaming down her face as she indicated that I should sit once more while she perched on the edge of the desk in front of me. Taking a handkerchief, she dabbed at her eyes as she struggled to get herself under control, 'Well if nothing else Robert, we certainly seemed to have taught you good manners.' And she was off again.

Finally, she was able to speak, 'Robert, you need to stop calling me Miss, I'm not your teacher anymore. My name is Sarah.'