Stages - Blossom, Plum, Prune

GG just looked at him. Hard. Her eyes were unfathomable, yet inviting, her head tilted the tiniest bit sideways, body language clear. James got the message, nodded.

Together they stepped to the desk beside the row. The Dutch girl behind the counter looked up brightly when James said "A room for five hours, please. Credit card okay?" She did a double-take, blushed, and recovered nicely. She took the card: five hours, $US 125, no VAT in the airport, a duty-free zone. The girl handed them the key, set the timer, gave minimalist instructions. She walked them to Unit Seven, ushered them inside, giggled to herself as she turned away.

The door clicked shut behind them. James turned the lock: it made a satisfying privacy-thunk. The acoustic isolation was excellent - the hustle and bustle of the crowd, the loudspeaker-announcements and other blather, dimmed to nearly zero. There was a tiny whirr of the unit's AC: he imagined he could hear GG breathing over it. Her body language was intriguing, aspects of lustful teenager mixed with frightened little bird. They faced one another silently, a full step apart, all the separation the tiny room allowed. A bed. Skimpy headroom for James, and him not particularly tall. Clean sheets, a tiny toilet with, above it, a choice of fold-down washbasin or fold-down shelf for luggage. A small couch with reading lights. Beyond that, hardly room left over to turn around, but it was plenty for their needs.

GG turned slightly, dropped her handbag into the luggage space beside James' briefcase. Face to face again. Complete privacy. Both were nervous, each could see it in the other. She smiled, he returned it: he really did have the nicest smile! She took a deep breath, and James admired the way it made her nipples thrust against the blouse fabric. What was it here that was turning him on so headily? The romance of 79-year-old nipples? The sudden intimacy with a perfect stranger? Or just the fact that they were obviously compatible, mutually interested, and of the proper gender distribution?

He reached gently for her blouse hem, started to raise it, and she stopped him with a touch of her hand, whispered "Wouldn't it be better to have the lights out? I don't want you turned off by what you see! I did have nice breasts, once, but..."

James just shook his head gently: "Nope. Dark is not an option, lover. We can dim the lights, I suppose." He did so, leaving a low but totally revealing glow. "GG, I want to SEE you. Remember the blossom, the plum? It is NOT the case that you were "once upon a time beautiful but not any longer"... All that's happened is the stage is different now than before. So what? Believe me, the beauty is still there. Trust me. I think you're just screamingly sexy. And sight is important to me, and to you as well. Otherwise why do we study people so much? Okay? Please? Humor me... besides..." He grinned sheepishly at her in the most endearing way. "Besides, I love having my lovers able to see me, too – it's an amazing turn-on to be a little bit of an exhibitionist!" "

She gave her assent by not denying his request. Her insides were dancing a tarantella. He indicated her blouse with his eyes, asked "Now, may I?"

She bit her lip gently, nodded, held her arms out before her like a little child waiting for help from Mommy. James raised the hem slowly: she shivered as his fingertips slid over her belly and ribs. She closed her eyes as the blouse went over her head, afraid to open them to see his reaction to her so-thoroughly-used breasts.

She needn't have worried. She heard the blouse's sibilant whoosh enroute to the floor, then his fingertips were tracing the soft, gravity-driven curves, gently lifting her hypersensitive breasts up and away from her chest, his tongue lapping softly along the tender skin at the fold of the under-crease. She wondered if she were as sweaty THERE as she seemed to be almost everywhere else, then lost the thought. He was inhaling and mouthing her nipples, left, right, back and forth. Not just her nipples, but most of each breast, pressing the nipples hard between the back of his tongue and his palate. Rolling. Suction. There was a blinding light in her brain, most pleasing, it had been a very, very long time, nice to know it still could happen (and so easily, too!), to know that critical systems weren't rusted shut by age and disuse.

He tested her, quickly found the intensity and precise texture of stimulation that her nips adored, locked those parameters into his touches, added a little random variation for effect. Minutes passed, and she stood there rooted as he nursed. She was absolutely saturated with pleasure. No minor, perfunctory dribbles from this man, instead bucketsful of totally-focused attention. She marveled: he could nibble or suck on only one nipple at a time, yet both tingled equally. That particular connection wasn't in any diagram of the female nervous system that she had ever seen. Maybe the diagrams were all drawn by little old men? Inexperienced, unknowing, uncaring males?

She watched: James seemed to be in a trance, eyes closed, almost transfigured, breathing gently through his nose. ("Of course he is! His mouth is completely full!" she told herself silently, with a suppressed giggle.) She didn't think she had ever seen anyone, short of a baby actually nursing, look so contented. Yet he wasn't totally lost in her boobs, for down below her breasts, his fingertips were doing non-stop wonderful things with her ribs, the bumps of her spine, her navel. She closed her eyes again, soaking. She wasn't going to be the one who broke this off, not for anything.

Then his mouth was gone, the wetness he left behind was evaporating and making coolness where his mouth had been so warm. Her eyes snapped open as his teeth fastened on her nip-ring and pulled, tugging her tit out into a curved cone and sending sensory jolts to her brain. He inhaled the ringed nipple and its breast. She pressed his head hard to her chest, as if to have him burrow inside. In the full-length mirror she watched him suckling, felt her whole breast harden again. He sucked and rolled as his hands undid her skirt, then she was helping him.

Ten more seconds to naked.

Actually, not quite naked: she still wore her pearls. She moved to take them off, but he stopped her: she understood completely. They were getting awfully good at detailed communication without words, weren't they? There was something blindingly erotic about the view in the mirror, her clad only in pearls, him still fully dressed. What a perfect advert for any pearl company, she thought as she eyed their reflection, but who would publish it?

Goosebumps followed his fingers: he was giving her no quarter, exploring every part of her, and enjoying himself so blatantly it was removing decades with every touch. God but it felt good! Physical intimacy with a man again. A pretty, caring, sexy man at that. Out of the blue. After twenty-seven years. A man one third her own age. Such an utter improbability in the abstract, yet so comfortably RIGHT in their amazing reality! Yee Gods!

He backed away for a moment, whispered "Damn, but I love to touch you. You're so responsive!"

She considered the statement, found it hard to accept: she'd never been praised for that before... clearly he could intuit what was going on inside her, and equally clearly it pleased him to generate responses in her. How wild-and-crazy was that?! He devoured her once more with his eyes: she blushed all over, the flush flowing down her body like paint under her translucent skin. He commented, and the color intensified.

His eyes fastened on her crotch, she asked why, he explained: "One of my favorite body-parts. Yours is pretty. I like the way you've trimmed the edges of your bush, neat and close. And the hair is thin, too, so I can see your lips. You have nice, big pussy-lips. I like that."

She was startled again, he was certainly good at surprising her: she'd never much liked that part of her anatomy, and her thinning pubic hair had made her excruciatingly aware of her elongating lips. She supposed those were just the female parallel of the proverbial "old man's saggy scrotum". But if it were a plus to James, who was she to argue?

She was again wet between the legs, the second time in both twenty-seven years and ten hours! More than wet, she was soaked. Wasn't there some conventional wisdom about old women having "dryness" problems? Maybe some women: perhaps most. Not herself, not here, not now. Not with HIM!

She returned to the problem of clothes. It was her turn to do him. She undid his shirt, slipped it off. The pile on the floor grew. Nice chest, not hairy, neither soft nor muscle-bound. Somehow, during his explorations of her, his shoes and socks had been transported into the corner, apparently under their own power. A minor mystery. Now his shorts. She already knew there would be no underwear, but wasn't prepared for a perfectly clean-shaven crotch - she had been so preoccupied in the airplane last night that she simply hadn't noticed.

She had, however, noticed that he wasn't fully circumcised. She tugged gently on the loose skin, studying how it slithered up and over the head, how with a little tension it could readily be made to fully cover the helmet. She sent her fingers to investigate the denuded skin around the cock-base: nice, soft, baby-butt-like. So completely different from the Brill-O pads her men had sported and been so proud of. She greatly liked this variation.

He stood there nude, showing off. Her mind managed to both relax and go tense simultaneously when she saw the cantilevered marble hardon he sported, full-blown, proud. Clearly, for whatever reason, he found her visually exciting and that flattered her in a way she didn't think was still possible. But it scared her also: what if she couldn't provide him with whatever he needed to maintain that interest?

Part of her mind kept taking notes. Interesting, this split personality, observer and participant. Observation - her hands were so much smaller than his cock and balls. And question - had she really had that lovely, pulsating object in her mouth, nursed on it to completion? And done so almost in public? It seemed so unreal and so far away already.

They examined themselves in the mirror. James finally asked "So? What do you see there, M'lady?"

She tried to be objective, flushed again brightly. He let her think. With a slightly sour tinge, she said softly "Well, dear, to be QUITE truthful, I see an attractive, gorgeous but very young man standing beside a silly-looking, little and very old lady who is undoubtedly out of her depth and acting very foolishly in lusting after him. What do YOU see?"

She studied him, waiting. Her nipples crinkled as she watched his eyes scanning her. She tightened her belly muscles, tried to will away the wrinkles and sags and droops that were suddenly so screamingly obvious to her. 'God, I am positively ANCIENT!!' she thought in a mild panic.

James spoke, being careful and precise: "I like being lusted after! That's quite a compliment. Thank you. And, GG, that's not what I see, not at all. Funny how perceptions differ, isn't it? To me, those people there, well, they look like a good couple, of very different ages but so what? The woman is quite attractive, a very nice body, which she has obviously taken very good care of because it's in amazing shape. Beautiful hair. Gorgeous skin. Nice smile and pretty white teeth, all her own. Strong, smooth legs. Nice sensitive pleasurable tits. A pretty crotch, too. A butt that doesn't sag nearly as much as on most women half her age. And a lady who is fully capable of adventure, if that nipple-ring is any indication... maybe someday you'll explain it to me? At any rate, GG, they certainly do look like a good couple. Probably off on a very interesting adventure. It's absolutely certain, too, that he's attracted to her. Just look at that hardon he's carrying!"

He twitched it, made it dip, a salute, then before her, ran his fingers over the tight skin on her belly: no underlying fat. He commented, wiggled the skin over her abs. She sighed at his touch. "That's from all the years of yoga, James. There were whole years on end when I wondered why the hell I was putting so much time and energy into that. But now I think I know. It's almost as if I knew you were out there! As if I knew, or maybe my BODY knew, I had to be ready for this encounter."

He ran his tongue up her midline, from the top of her bush into her navel, up her breastbone, then bit gently on each nipple, all the while making comments. He liked everything he encountered, voiced his appreciation.

She giggled, blushed at all the compliments, and stared again into the mirror, decided they really did make a nice couple. Definitely old and young. Not a textbook case of attraction, was it? Re-evaluation time? He wasn't having any of the "age difference, old-lady" business: maybe she should try to purge it from herself.

She evaluated critically the components of the reflection: HIM? Smooth, strong, twice her mass. HERSELF? Tiny by comparison, almost little-girlish, but with gray hair and tits. Saggy tits, though—she scolded herself again, but the thought wouldn't leave her be. Good nipples, even she liked them. Very different texture to her skin than his, instead of defining it as young-vs-old, best to call it merely an interesting contrast, hers almost translucent, parchment-like, delicate, microscopically flattened instead of smoothly curved.

She tried then to see herself through his eyes, and asked without meaning to, "What do YOU see in ME? The person, not in the mirror!?"

He replied gently "No seventeen-year-old. But I do see beauty. Experience, sensitivity, needs for touching and being touched. You're full of all the primary female sexual mysteries, GG, the stuff that attracts every man to every woman. Plus, lady, that's a nice body, older and wiser and experienced, well trained and in very good condition. You are strong, and supple. Very attractive indeed. After all, it's the outermost package of the person inside, whom I happen to like a lot!"

He grinned, slid his hands down her sides, squatted, ran palms over her thighs, calves, up her front to cuddle her tits again. "I also like the package itself, don't get me wrong!" He twanged his cock at her: it bounced impressively. "This here thing don't lie, Madam! Speaks only the purest truth, he does"

GG glowed. He turned slowly for her. Showing off, or figuring out her needs and wants and playing to them? Perhaps both.

She studied his curves and planes and crevices with fingertips and tongue and lips and nose. James reveled in being explored, let her know there was absolutely no hurry whatever. Her hands explored his crotch like tiny mice investigating a new territory. She heard his intake of breath, his little whistles and groans as she touched, investigated, inventoried, memorized. Apparently she was pleasing him.

His hardon agreed wholeheartedly.

She was thoroughly enjoying herself. James enjoyed it as well: certainly, he didn't rush her. Shortly, however, he sat down on the bed, pulling her towards him to stand between his knees. She watched his face approach her breast: meanwhile, her fingertips were doing very interesting things with his foreskin, and the attached cock was telegraphing its delight.

James caught her yielding breast in his teeth, bit gently on the nipple, sent shudders through her. Then, slowly and luxuriously, he inhaled the breast into his mouth. Deep. It was very different from the way he could deal with his other women and their firmer but decades-less-experienced bosoms: this tit was infinitely compliant and pliable. Experienced, knowledgeable, it filled his whole mouth, flowing softly to conform to the complex, convoluted shapes in there.

The big strawberry-textured nipple hardened brilliantly as it slid between tongue and palate, dragging behind it the mouth-filling velvety-soft tit. He stretched his mouth wide to bring in even more, sucked harder to bring it deeper still. His tongue pressed her tissues hard against his palate, felt traces of its long-dormant inner workings, moved them about, much to GG's erotic delight. Under his strong, whole-mouth suction the nipple reached the back of his tongue, almost but not quite at his gag-spot. He squeezed it, rolling, pinching. He found the intense sensations extraordinarily erotic, and wondered if this were what a baby really experienced. GG obviously agreed on the enjoyment, and actually growled with pleasure.

James found himself considering the differences between dealing with this tit and those on his most recent, part-time girl friend, a 23-year-old athletic hardbody with small, solid breasts, tits that hadn't yet answered the inexorable calls of gravity or use or time. Sure, she had sensitive nipples, loved having her breasts kissed, but compared to this, touching her wasn't particularly erotic: the image he conjured up was of a half BB attached to a half billiard-ball. He could lick and nibble, but fill his mouth and soak in the sensations of a tit so constructed? No way. This older boob was exciting and deeply satisfying, much nicer. Odd that he was rejecting the Playboy tit so easily, after being brought up on it all his life.

Now she was soaring, eyes closed, nearly climaxing with each little change in suction. She hadn't yet considered what she might do for him in return, although without conscious direction her fingertips were keeping James quite happy. His hands slid down her sides, cupped her buttocks, cupped them lovingly. Big hands, she could feel how they covered her bottom, how her flesh squeezed out slightly between his wide-spread fingers. She tightened her buttocks, got an answering hard squeeze.

Then his hands were spreading her bottom-crack wide open. Still he suckled, but also his fingertips were slithering delicately along the valley of her cleft, between her lips, across her anus. He tickled her pucker: that yielded unexpected, but exciting sensations. James combined that touch with a change in his nursing, and nearly blew the top of her head off. Then his fingers were slipping into her wetness, from the rear.

She went wanton: a tiny stutter-step spread her legs a bit, and the added access let him slip a finger deep inside her. Home again. There it wiggled gently like a separate living entity, generating sparks.

James stood up and lifted her with him, still with his mouth completely full of breast. She was up in the air briefly, in his arms. It happened so suddenly, and felt so good! Protected. He squeezed her hard against him, no "fragile China-doll" approach. That was especially nice. He turned, stooped, laid her down on the bed on her back. His hands moved to her knees, spread her wide open before him like a sacrifice. She caught a glimpse of them in the mirror; it was amazingly exciting.

Then her breasts were free of his mouth and hands, hanging sideways, aching for more touch. Not exactly what she wanted, this sudden abandonment, but other things were clearly afoot.

She held her breath as his hands cradled her bottom and his mouth slid gently, lovingly, wetly down her midline. Held her breath, waiting... would he? Was he really going to do that thing, about which she had heard so much, dreamed so much, yet never actually experienced? None of her men had been interested in returning the oral favors they almost universally demanded. Her long-gone husband had openly declared the idea to be gross, or whatever the term was at the time.

One of her last lovers, so long ago, so far away, had occasionally provided a tiny, unenthusiastic lick or two, but only as overt, perfunctory quid-pro-quo for her mouth's ministrations to his cock – certainly not because he (or any man in her short life-list) got any enjoyment from the process. But James was quite obviously headed that direction. And of his own volition. Wonder of wonders, what had she encountered here?