Jan - 'Tart of Gold'

When I looked up I saw that he had tears rolling down his face. He pulled a large white handkerchief from his pocket and mopped up. I had the urge to go and comfort him, but I resisted, because I hadn't finished.

"That is the most beautiful thing that I've ever had said to me. Thank you," was his reply.

I started again before he could say any more: "I thought a lot about your reluctance, and I think I may have an answer, which you might not have admitted to yourself. I think that in your relationships with women for many years you have been in control. Whether it's housekeepers or clients, you have called the shots. I've been the same. I haven't for a moment allowed myself or my sex partners to get out of control. You had a business that you controlled even to the extent of deciding who you would employ and delegate to. I haven't had quite that control, but in the supermarket I was a team leader, and as a tart I always chose who I allowed to fuck me. I think what you are doing by keeping me at arms-length - literally - is telling us both that we may have to lose a bit of that control."

I was taking a gamble here. Perhaps he really would rather I faded out of the picture; but I somehow didn't think so.

"That's brilliant," he said after thinking for a moment, "I'm tempted to say you've been wasted, but who am I to judge that? I don't want to lose my independence, and I'm sure you feel the same. But you have become an irreplaceable part of my life, and I couldn't bear to lose you. So we must find a way of staying as we are and adding to it. I need a bit of courage to let go some of a shield that has become like another skin. But I'm happy to try."

*****

That's how we came to move on. His suggestion was that we tried another massage session, and this time he was prepared to do anything I asked. I thought that was a good compromise, as we both had an element of control.

So next week I was even more excited. I was impatient to get beyond the eating, but he always produced such lovely food that I was seduced into eating slowly enough to relish it properly.

When we got to the massage I let him follow the same pattern as last time. I was allowing myself to be relaxed in a delicious way. Besides his fingers were sexier than most of the cocks I've met in my busy life!

While I was on my back I asked him to include my boobs this time. I was a bit sad that they were not the lovely perky little creatures that they were 35 years earlier. No matter, he made the most of what was there, and being an engineer he understood the structural limitations of my twin peaks.

By the time he'd finished with the second breast I had to ask him for a towel under my vulva, which had started to shed tears of joy.

"Please can you let your lovely hands whisper to my cunt's ladies-in-waiting?"

I was trying to be a bit poetic so he wasn't put off by unnecessary crudeness, or too much medical jargon. Anyway, he understood perfectly. He reached for a little oil to add to the party down there, and began to stroke my pussy lips, oh so tenderly. I was beyond enjoyment: I think I was moving to another life and I asked God could it please be like this if I got to heaven?

The time came to turn me over. Again he repeated what he had done the last time. When it got to the point where I had 'opened up' and he had shoved a pillow up my crotch, he let me expose all that I had there.

After he'd finished massaging the buttocks I asked him to explore the valley between them and show me how the anus could be brought into play. Soon he had found the target and, with a little bit of oil to lubricate, he began to circle the wrinkled ring as softly as a goose feather. It made me tingle. Gradually he increased the pressure until his finger entered and slid in to the first joint.

I rolled half over to face him as he stood at the side of the table. "I'm open to you now. Go where you will: just bring me to a climax. Make me cum for you. Please."

When I had rolled over to face him it had occurred to me that in this position all bases could be covered, except of course the breasts - he only had two arms unfortunately. He was obviously aware of the same possibilities, so I finished up with a finger in my arse (left hand) two fingers in my cunt (right hand), and the right thumb rolling round my clit. Now, I ask you, can a girl ask for more? All these digits were not idle: each one moved in an appropriate manner, in and out, up and down, round and round, all with the appropriate vigour or gentleness.

You don't need to be a genius to work out the result. What you don't know is how long it took, or how long it lasted. Neither do I: I had long since lost any track of time. This man was a master of his craft, and the fact that I had decided I loved him made it a moment for mind, body and heart to come together joyfully. It wasn't as complicated as I'd thought.

Colin left me lying on my back, after he'd gently rolled me over. Then he found a blanket, so soft that it must have been cashmere, and covered me over before quietly leaving. I don't know how long my little cat-nap lasted, but when I came back to full consciousness I got off the table and put on the gown. I really wasn't ready to get dressed, so I wandered next door in the gown, to find Colin sitting reading.

"Hello," he said. "You were my best 'subject' so far. I'd like to lend you to some of my other ladies to teach them relaxation and how it isn't necessary to be entirely passive during this sort of sensual massage. I loved the way you moved your legs and bottom subtly and minimally to join in without spoiling my rhythms. I was hoping you wouldn't try to put your arms round me, which would have been awkward."

"Oh how I wanted to! And how I wanted to kiss you when you were touching my face!"

"Do you want to adopt your usual position on my lap?" Silly question, as I demonstrated. He looked at me in a way that I was sure meant 'kiss me now'. I put my lips to his, my tongue to his. We were properly joined for the first time, and I made the most of it. I don't want you to think that I raped his mouth, because what I did was matched by his response. It was entirely consensual, and very erotic. Bear in mind that in this position my vulva was resting - or wriggling around - on his groin. If he became erect I would certainly feel it - but I didn't.

"Please may I stay the night?" Long pause.

"I'm anxious not to disappoint you. I'll be honest; I don't know whether I'll be able to fuck you or not. My penis, who you should know was once named Benjy, appears to be an anarchist. He accepts no rules and decides for himself what he's going to do, and when he'll do it." He looked me in the eye when he said this, and I thought I saw just a tiny bit of a smile.

"Listen to me now," I said in my best school-mistressy voice, "I've been fucking regularly 7 or 8 times a week for 30 of the last 40 years. By advanced mathematics that works out at about 12,000 fucks. On the other hand, apart from Tyler and Maisie on the odd occasion, I have never spent a night in bed with anyone. So which do you think is going to be more important to me: my 12,001^st fuck, or my first night sharing a bed with a bloke of my special choice?"

"You're very clever. If you'd decided to extend your evil empire it would by now stretch from Land's End to John O'Groats and you'd be a multi-millionaire. Speaking entirely selfishly, I'm so glad you didn't."

"So what's the answer?"

"Of course you can stay the night, and welcome."

"It just so happens that I slipped a few things into my shoulder bag, but I didn't bring a nightie."

"Do you need one?"

"I don't, but you may."

"I haven't worn one for years."

*****

Reading this you probably think "o.k. so they're going to bed together; what's the big deal?" Well it was. I hadn't done this before, and he had doubts about how his elderly body was going to perform. No pressure then? Strangely not, but that didn't mean that what was to follow was anything but extraordinarily special.

The first thing to do was show me his bedroom, which was spacious like the rest of the house, and without much ornament, except for two enormous paintings of jazz scenes by a friend of his. They were full of bright colour and lots of movement and I loved them, they were so full of life.

Colin said he didn't really like so-called en-suite bathrooms, but he showed me into one of the two bathrooms near the bedroom. Remember I'm still in the gown, with nothing on underneath. He went into the other bathroom to undress, and I brushed my teeth and combed my hair and had a pee. I also thought I'd better wash my nether regions, which had been active participants in the massage. Then I went back into the bedroom and sat on the bed. It felt very odd. I usually undressed my clients. Most of them wanted sucking off, which I could do while they were still partly dressed. In fact some of them remained that way for the full session, but others liked to show off what they thought was a magnificent body!

When Colin came back into the bedroom he too was wearing a gown, so our first act was to remove each other's gowns. For an eighty-year-old he had a loveable body. It didn't have the attributes of someone younger: there were no well-formed muscles showing, and the skin had lost some elasticity. To my mind this was compensated for by the fact that he was so comfortable in his body. Although he had a lovely bush, still golden brown, around Benjy, the rest of his body was almost without hair, and what there was seemed more like down. He still had a discernible waist, without a belly sticking out. I looked him up and down and then into his eyes.

"I love what I see," I said, and put my arms round him and gave him a big hug. I think it was the first time I'd been able to do that to a naked male without a rampant cock digging into me. I had to get used to the idea that if Benjy stubbornly refused to join in, it wasn't my fault. You can't tell anarchists what to do.

We got into bed. It was still warm enough not to need the bedclothes over us immediately, so we could enjoy each other's bodies freely. I liked Benjy. He was a good practical size (as far as I could tell), easily accommodated but not insignificant. Sounds quite posh that - like a very up-market furniture salesman. I thought Benjy would expect that sort of recognition.

"Would you rather I didn't do this," I asked as I fondled his rather lovely cock.

"I don't mind at all. I'll tell you if it changes. Will you come and lie across me?"

I shuffled over and lay diagonally across him. Access to Benjy denied. He put his arms round me, and kissed my hair, then found an ear, clearing a way with his tongue until he could push it into the cup of my ear, then nibble with lips at the outer edge. I was at first startled. I remembered that Mum had told me how some people loved their ears to be gently played with, but this was the first time I'd discovered that I was one of them! His free arm now began to stroke my bottom; he sought the wrinkled ring and played with it; slid his hand between my legs and found the slot between the lips but didn't attempt to enter. He withdrew and started to stroke my back from neck to buttocks.

If I try to describe what I was feeling at this time I would fail. The stroking had the same slightly hypnotic effect that I had felt on the massage table: the difference here was that we had full body contact, and what a difference!

Now his arms were wrapping round me again, hands quietly moving up and down my spine. I was drowsy and fast falling asleep.

I've no idea how long I slept. I apologised for dropping off.

"Why apologise? I may have intended for you to do what you did. I'm really happy that you felt so relaxed. I should apologise for myself and Benjy."

"Please don't do that. You know what I said about what was most important. Turned out to be absolutely true. I couldn't be happier."

I lifted myself off his poor squashed body and started to caress the skin as lightly as I could. On his back he was open to me, and I took advantage, but leaving Benjy to make his own mind up. I worked on all the other bits though. The softer sides of his arms and thighs seemed particularly happy to get attention. When he began to look as sleepy as I had felt earlier. I got over him and sat down over his cock, trying to ignore it. I took hold of his feet and massaged them. Then I lifted my bottom and shuffled back so that my bum was only a foot away from his face. I lifted his sleeping cock with fairy hands. "Can you give my bottom some loving please?" I asked. I felt hands and fingers soon doing all the right things. I cradled the reluctant cock in one hand and stroked with the other hand, treating the object of desire like a softly purring cat. I detected movement. I continued for a few moments, then, when I was sure that interest was aroused, I took it in my mouth. I suppose what I did with my mouth, teeth and tongue was like we've all done many times with a particularly delicious ice cream cornet. As Mum wasn't watching I could slobber away as much as I liked, swirling my tongue round the gradually hardening lollipop: the opposite of ice cream, which always gets softer - didn't want that.

I was getting excited. Yes, I was aroused, but more excited by the fact that the reluctant Benjy had decided to join the party. I kept telling myself "it doesn't matter if he collapses". In fact I became convinced that I had already achieved what I wanted.

Nevertheless! "Please keep working your end. I'd really like a well-lubed finger shoved up my arse please," I called to the rear guard.

That took a few moments and while it was happening I was finding the space in my mouth around the stiffening cock was shrinking. Now or never, I thought, like a battle commander I summoned resources. The fingers on my right hand encircled the base of the now-impressive weapon and squeezed firmly. Keeping a hold on 'things' I took my mouth away, sat up, lifted off a bit, shuffled into strategic position and lowered myself and the target area which reconnaissance by the left hand had located and prepared for entry. Only when dear Benjy had found a new home did I release the right hand hold.

The sense of achievement was immense! Battle honours were awarded.

"How are things back there?"

"Brilliant, delicious, fantastic." With the aid of some nifty wrist-work he'd managed to keep my bottom-hole part of the action. 'Command and control' was suitably appreciative. Mention in dispatches.

"The next bit may result in premature withdrawal," I warned, "But it's really worth a try. I want you to prepare to roll onto your right side, keeping Benjy right where he is. You might want grab hold of me, and I shouldn't try to leave your finger where it is. We can always replace it."

So we rolled. "Bring your knees up and give a good thrust to make sure the lad is well and truly home and not dry."

After that instructions were unnecessary. We were fucking!

Best ever. Truly, I've never felt such electric energy. If we'd been made of metal there would have been a storm of sparks. This position is great for people losing mobility because the body is supported along its full length and the hips and pelvis are free to rotate with the thrusting movement.

Colin started very respectfully: the tempo was leisurely.

"It's really delicious, lover. Don't think you have to but if you'd like to go at it a bit more vigorously feel free."

He began stroking my back; his finger found its way into my bottom again, and a hand reached round to search for the clit. With all that arranged he began to increase the speed and vigour of attack until there was a loud slapping sound as belly and buttock collided. Still he pounded on. I was amazed at his stamina. I could cum any time now. From the feel of his cock it seemed like he too would cum quite soon. A final quickening, and accompanying sighs and cries from us both, finished with a shout - no, two shouts! - as we came almost simultaneously.

I wanted to cry with joy. It seemed that the twelve-thousand-and-first fuck had turned out better than expected, in fact better than all the other 12,000.

I turned to him and tried to say how wonderful it had been: that I'd never understood how sex could be other than a means of selfish pleasure, but now I did: that I felt joined to him as to no-one else apart from Mum and Tyler.

"You were brilliant. Had you worked out how you were going to do it in advance?" - he asked, obviously curious.

"Dropping off to sleep helped! It made us so much more relaxed. I didn't plan that," I confessed.

"I thought you were just tired or bored. Then I realised that you had simply done what I had hoped you would and relaxed. Hadn't quite expected you to lose consciousness mind you."

"So we both had a strategy to try to get the other one to relax. What a great masterplan! We might have been so successful that we didn't wake up 'til dawn."

"I think it would be an excellent plan to sleep now don't you?" he asked.

"Ah dear, no stamina these 80-year-olds."

We arranged ourselves as spoons and fell asleep almost immediately, waking up about 6 hours later. We immediately started stroking each other in the places we were learning were most liked. Strangely for me I wasn't itching to get fucking again: but then I'd never woken up beside a bloke that I'd been with for the last 12 hours, and who'd already massaged and fucked me. The sensual pleasure of simple touch, skin to skin, was a novelty. I thought, but didn't say, that I wasn't sure I minded if we never fucked again, so long as we could lie together like this.

*****

This began a period which I look back on as amongst the happiest of my life.

I would never have been able to write this but for him because he got me reading again. He first handed me a book by an author called Sarah Dunant called 'In the Company of the Cortesan'.

"I don't want to turn you into an academic, or even a bookworm, but you haven't had time to read much," Colin explained, "and now you've got a little more leisure I think you'd find it stimulates your imagination to take you to new places and new experiences. The book I'm giving you now seems like a good starting point because it's about a tart; a very up-market one, but nevertheless that's what she was!"

I read the book, and I confess I was tempted to give up a couple of times, but having got into it I found it exciting and the characters weirdly attractive.

Colin had introduced me to the guy who ran the bookshop in town, and suggested I went to see him when I'd finished reading the book he gave me. I could talk about it to him, tell him what I thought of it, and get some suggestions about what to read next. I did that, and chatted to Will, the tousle-headed thirty-something who ran the shop. I liked him - and he seemed to like me, because he spent ages suggesting books based on my comments about 'In the Company of the Courtesan', and my long neglect of reading proper books.

I started to read quite a lot, and as I read I looked up the 'Good Reads' website and compared my reactions to those of other reviewers. Sitting down to read was quite different from watching telly. Reading appealed to my need to control: you can stop and start when you want and you can partly create the characters for yourself. Watching telly you can feel as if you're being led by the nose - which you've probably gathered I don't much like.

Colin took me walking, too. He introduced me to The Ramblers Association, a group of walkers that had started officially in 1935, the year that Colin was born. Their local branch was a very mixed bunch by age, sex and occupation, but they all loved to walk, and I joined them. I had always walked a lot; remember, I never had a car. I walked the parks because I loved the greenery and the changes with the seasons, but I'd never walked in open country.