The Lady at the Bus Stop

On the fourth day, a Friday, when there had still been no reference to "the kiss", I decided to make my next move; I'd been thinking about it all week, wondering how I could take things to the next level, wondering how she felt about being kissed by me.

'What are you up to this weekend?' I asked her as we pulled away from Richmond House.

'Nothing much. A bit of gardening if the weather's nice. Housework if it's not, I suppose. What about you?'

'Well,' I began, my heart pounding, 'I was wondering if you fancied going out to a pub with me tonight or tomorrow night and maybe grabbing a bite to eat? My treat.'

'Oh,' said, sounding surprised. 'Are you sure?'

'Of course I'm sure. I wouldn't ask otherwise.'

'Well,' she said, slowly, 'that would be lovely. Thank you.'

'Which is best for you? Tonight or tomorrow night?'

We settled on that evening and I said I'd pick her up at seven. Very little else was said during the journey home. There was a sort of expectant silence, like that before a thunderstorm.

It occurred to me as I was in the shower that I hadn't said anything about what to wear and that ladies of a certain age are sensitive to these things. I suppose I was a bit surprised she hadn't asked. Or indeed asked where we were going. So instead of jeans and a polo shirt I wore chinos and a collared shirt; it was a warm evening. I was glad I had done, because when I pulled up outside her house at seven o'clock, she came out of the house dressed in quite a nice grey woollen dress that hugged her figure and made her breasts stick out and her hips seem even wider.

I think she'd washed her hair too and as she got into the car I caught a whiff of scent and I noticed that she'd painted her nails post-box red to match her lipstick. Altogether she had quite a lot of make-up on but the overall effect was to make her seem even more desirable to me. I suppose part of it was the belief that she had done all this for me. She was even wearing heels.

'You look really nice,' I said with feeling.

'Thank you. I hope I'm not overdressed. I forgot to ask you where we're going. Not that that would have made much difference. I don't really know many places around here.'

She wasn't overdressed; the place I'd chosen, a gourmet pub in a village a few miles to the east, tended to cater to an older clientele and there were several couples in their sixties and seventies who had dressed formally. There were not however, I noted, any couples with such an obvious age difference. But we drew no stares as the waiter seated us in the quiet corner I had requested.

We ordered food and drinks and looked at each other across the white linen covered table.

'Well, here we are having dinner together,' began Carol, 'and I hardly know a thing about you. Tell me something about yourself, like where you were born. You don't sound as if you grew up around here.'

'I was born in Bristol,' I told her, 'and I've got a brother and a sister and I did law at university and then I got a job here, in Sheffield. That's my potted history.'

'That's very potted.' She looked at me with those heavy-lidded eyes. 'Did you go to university in Bristol?'

'No, Newcastle.'

'So why come to Sheffield?'

'It was the best offer I got and it's a bit nearer to my family than Newcastle.'

'I wish I could have gone to university,' she said. 'And I'm guessing that you're not married, or we wouldn't be here.'

'No, I'm not married. I was engaged once, but it fell through. She decided my best mate was a better bet,' I added.

'I'm sorry.'

I shrugged. 'Your turn. I presume you're not married either.'

'My husband died last year.'

'Oh goodness! I am sorry!'

'Don't be. He wasn't a very nice person.'

She went on to tell me about how she had met him at school and how he had charmed her and persuaded her to leave before her A levels and move in with him, despite her family's protests. And how he had descended into a drunken, abusive slob so that they never had any money and couldn't afford to buy their own home.

'The only thing of any value in that house is the stupid great television set that he bought on the never-never so he could watch football in HD.'

'But otherwise everything was rosy?' I asked in an attempt to lighten the mood. To my surprise, she laughed, the first time I'd heard her do so.

'Thank you, Nick. I'm sorry to be so miserable. Thinking about my marriage tends to do that. And thank you so much for inviting me out. It's a real treat for me.'

The conversation as we ate and drank our wine was less controversial. I told her a bit about my work as a lawyer and she told me a couple of anecdotes about her work as a cleaning lady, including interrupting the managing director of an advertising agency as he was screwing his secretary over his desk.

After two glasses of wine Carol seemed to relax and we laughed a lot more over our desserts and coffee and then we were heading out into the carpark and I was wondering if she was going to invite me in when we got to her house. The evening would be a bit of a failure if she didn't, I thought.

I parked outside her house and she looked at me.

'Thank you for a really lovely evening, Nick. It's been the nicest time I've had for I don't know how long.' She paused, looking down into her lap. 'Would you like to come in for a coffee? It's only instant, I'm afraid. And I don't usually keep drink in the house.'

'Lucky I brought this then,' I grinned, taking the bottle of Merlot out of the driver's door compartment.

I opened it in the kitchen and Carol found two mis-matched glasses and we took them through to the lounge-diner. We sat together on the old, lumpy settee and chatted and sipped the fruity wine. Then, feeling quite natural about it, I put down my glass and held out my arm to Carol and she reached up and put her glass on the mantlepiece and she came to me and we lay back into the sofa and kissed and it was sweet and slow and languorous and we explored mouths and tasted saliva and worked our lips against each other like a pair of seasoned lovers.

After a while I let my hand slide from her shoulder and run over her breast and Carol froze and I pulled my hand away and broke off our kiss.

'Are you ok?' I asked, concerned and disappointed.

'I just need to talk to you, before things go too far,' she said, quietly. 'To ask you some things.'

'Ask away.'

How old are you, Nick? You didn't mention your age at dinner. Neither did I,' she added.

'I'm twenty-nine, I admitted. 'I'll be thirty in September.'

'And I'm fifty-six and you're a lawyer and I'm a cleaning lady and I'm not very pretty and I'm wondering why you want to be with me. I'm sorry Nick, I think you're lovely but I don't want to think that you're here for some cheap thrill and I know that sounds awful and I apologise but... I just want you to tell me why you are here.'

I picked up my glass and took a big swallow.

'Ok,' I said, marshalling my thoughts, 'that's a fair question and I'll do my best to answer it honestly.

'I'm here, fundamentally, because I find you very sexually desirable. I also find you very good company', I added quickly. 'I like to talk with you and be with you. You take an interest in me and you ask intelligent questions and I know you're a lot older than me and, as you say, you're a cleaning lady but that's not who you are. I'm not here because I feel sorry for you, although I do feel sorry that you had such a shit marriage, and I'm not here because of some cheap thrill, as you said. Because I haven't shagged a fifty-something lady yet, or something like that. I'm here because I am attracted to you physically and emotionally.

Carol looked at me for long seconds after this little speech. I was actually rather proud of it, although I'm a lawyer and words are my trade. I was also rather proud that I hadn't said anything that wasn't true. But I didn't know how my words would resonate with Carol. In the end, she surprised me, standing up and reaching for my hand.

'Well if that's really how you feel, I'd better get you upstairs and into bed before you change your mind.'

In her bedroom, the one at the front, overlooking the road, we stood together and kissed again. The double bed didn't leave room for much else apart from a rickety wardrobe and a cheap dressing table. Carol had drawn the curtains and it was nearly dark as we stood, mouth to mouth, arms tight around each other, lips working, tongues probing.

'It's been a while,' said Carol eventually, 'so be gentle with me. I'm sure you will.'

I started to undress her, unzipping her woollen dress, sliding the zipper to the small of her back, pulling it from her arms, over her hips and onto the bedroom carpet. She was wearing a black bra and a matching garter belt.

'Stockings?' I grinned. 'What a nice surprise.'

She laughed softly. 'My husband wouldn't let me wear anything else. It's become a habit. I don't have any pantyhose.'

I kissed her neck and her shoulders, I ran my hands over her brassiere and her stomach with its little middle-aged bulge. I slid my hands over her hips and cupped her buttocks in their silky black panties. I unclipped her bra and she shrugged it to the floor and I saw her breasts in the gloom of the bedroom and they were glorious soft grapefruits with big nipples, hard with desire.

I knelt and pulled her panties down over her stockings and pressed my face to her hairy pussy, breathing in her scent, loving the feel of her bush on my face. Carol gave a low moan and I stood and kissed her again.

'Get on the bed,' I told her and she climbed on slowly, with that natural elegance she had.

I undressed quickly, tossing my clothes into a corner, my cock rigid with lust for this woman, straining at my foreskin, pointing at the ceiling, leaking a clear fluid.

I climbed onto the bed with Carol and we went into an embrace and we kissed as though this was the last day of the world, the last hour. I felt her arms around me and I felt her nails lightly raking my back and I was consumed with desire. I broke the kiss and lowered my head to her breasts, taking an engorged nipple into my mouth and sucking and licking the big, stiff button. Carol gasped and twined her fingers in my hair as I transferred my attention to her other nipple and suckled it into my mouth.

Then I was working south, kissing her tummy, licking her navel, parting her legs so that I could kneel between them and lower my head to her pussy. I parted her labia with my thumbs and slid my tongue into her vagina and she groaned and got hold of my hair again and pressed my face into her cunt as I lapped her juices and smelt the scent of her arousal. I could have licked her puss all night and I swear it felt like if I had a cup of her juices to drink every morning I'd live forever. She smelt delicious, sweet and light but with just the right amount of darker, muskier odour. She opened her stockinged legs wide and pressed me to her and I licked and sucked her labia and flicked the tip of my tongue over her clitoris, sucking the little pearl into my mouth and swirling my tongue around the sensitive bud. She squealed and gasped and then I was back to her vagina.

'No!' she wailed. 'Don't stop! I'm nearly there!'

So I fastened on to her clit again and she bucked her hips and thrashed her arms and legs and cried out as her orgasm swelled through her like a bubble of sensation, crashing through her cortex, lighting fireworks in the darkness of her bedroom.

As her climax subsided I knelt up and entered her, slowly and firmly, one hand on my shaft, finding her labia in the gloom, rubbing my purple glans up and down her slit, finding her hole and sliding in, the whole way. My whole seven inches.

Underneath me she stared up at my face. 'Oh Nick,' she whispered. 'That feels so wonderful.'

So I lowered myself down, supporting myself on my elbows and I started to fuck Carol Mason with long, slow strokes. Coming almost right out and sinking back in with a delicious squishing noise. God it felt good! Better than I'd imagined. I'd thought that maybe age would have slackened her muscles, made the sensations less acute, but not a bit of it: she felt as tight as Zoe and hotter and more liquid than any girl I'd ever had.

She called my name as I thrust in and out and I felt the tingling in my balls that presaged an orgasm. Near the end Carol grasped my buttocks and dug her painted nails into my flesh as she urged me on, deeper inside her. The feeling swelled and crawled up my spine and burst in my brain in a fizzing sheet of intense pleasure. I gasped and grunted as I ejaculated inside her, jet after jet of hot spunk until I was empty and numb.

Afterwards I held her and kissed her face and stroked her hair and I told her that it had been better than I possibly could have imagined, which was me telling the truth again, a dangerous habit for a lawyer to get into.

Carol didn't cry but her face was wet with tears and I could taste the salt as I kissed them away. She talked in a whisper and she told me that it had felt like nothing she had ever experienced before.

'My husband just had me,' she said. 'There was never any foreplay. Sometimes he hurt me. It never felt like it did with you tonight. A million miles away.

'Will you stay with me tonight?' she asked.

It would be good to say that I stayed and we fucked like rabbits all night. I did stay but we went to sleep very quickly and slept until past seven o'clock in the morning. In fact I woke to the sound of a mug of tea being put down on my bedside table.'

Carol was in a dark red bathrobe which she shrugged off and slipped into bed beside me. In the daylight coming through the curtains I could see her body in a lot more detail than I had the previous evening. And it was ok. Actually it was rather lovely, in a mature way. Yes, there were signs of aging, of course there were. Tiny stretch marks on her hips and above her breasts, a bit of a middle-aged tummy, fine wrinkles on her upper arms. But these weren't blemishes. They didn't detract an iota from her sexiness and elegance. If anything they enhanced it.

I grabbed her and we kissed, tasting each other's morning breath. I ran my hand down her stomach and cupped her labia and she shivered and my cock started swelling in anticipation.

'I'd love to Nick,' she said, but I go round to my friend Christine on a Saturday morning and take her out in her wheelchair.'

'Can't Christine wait,' I said, making a disappointed face.

Carol laughed. She's in her eighties and it's a big deal for her. So no, not really.' She paused, thinking. 'What about later today? Are you doing anything?'

'I do my supermarket shop on a Saturday morning,' I told her. 'After that I usually work for a few hours.'

'How about coming round after that?'

'Why don't you come to me?' I asked.

'Really?' she said, surprised.

'Yes, really.'

'Oh, Nick, you are lovely.' She wrapped her arms around me and dragged me down for another kiss.

I hadn't intended to invite Carol to my house. At least, not so soon. I suppose I was concerned what the neighbours would think, which was snobbish and small-minded of me. But after last night I wasn't that bothered what they'd think and besides, the houses all stood in their own grounds, so it wasn't as if you were overlooked.

She arrived at five o'clock, ringing the doorbell with that stupid Toccata and Fugue tone by J S Bach. She was wearing a summery dress with bare legs and she'd put her hair up in a ponytail. I thought she looked very nice. Very fuckable in fact.

'Gosh,' she said, coming into the hall, 'what a lovely place.'

She'd brought a little overnight bag which she dropped in the hall and I took her on a tour of the property, talking about what I'd done to the place and what I planned to do. She asked loads of questions as she followed me from room to room, cooing over the kitchen equipment and running her hand over the rosewood dining table.

Upstairs, we went into my bedroom -- the master suite.

'Oh goodness,' she said. 'You've got your own little bathroom,' and I realised she'd probably never seen an en-suite before. 'And that bed's massive. I'd get lost in there.'

'Not tonight you won't,' I promised.

'I haven't got to wait until then have I?' she grinned at me.

I laughed and grabbed her and we went into a passionate embrace, kissing and tonguing each other, hands running over bodies, fondling, squeezing, feeling. I practically tore her summer dress off her and her bra and knickers. Then I pushed her on to the bed and she rolled onto her back, naked, and lay looking at me as I stripped my jeans and T shirt off and crawled onto the bed with her.

It was full daylight that second time we made love, so I was able to appreciate the fine tone of her skin and the fullness of her breasts and their big, raspberry-brown nipples. She squealed as I took one into my mouth and bit down gently with my teeth, nibbling her as I ran my hand down her body and slid two fingers deep into her cunt, finding that she was already soaking wet. My God, my instincts had been right that day in the bus shelter. She was unbelievably sexy.

I finger-fucked her while I sucked her tits and then I brought my sopping fingers to her mouth and she licked them clean and I almost passed out with the stark eroticism of the act. What else would she do, I wondered.

I kissed her again, tasting her juices on her lips and tongue. Then I was off, kissing my way past her breasts, licking her navel, kissing her little podgy tummy, going further down, feeling her thick, brown bush of pubic hair tickle my chin and nose. Her legs were drawn up, thighs spread, labia exposed to my gaze. Her cunt lips were thick and loose and straw coloured and they were slightly parted in arousal, showing a hint of pink, wet flesh inside.

I leaned down and buried my face in her pussy, licking and sucking her labia, pushing my tongue inside, seeking the entrance to her vagina. Carol was making little panting, gasping noises and then I felt her hand on my cock, circling the shaft, stroking me lightly. I swung one leg over her, so that we were in a sixty-nine, and lowered my hips in invitation, offering my cock to her mouth.

I licked her from her clit to her perineum, bending her legs further over to get even more access, pressing my face to her pink wetness. She smelt fresh and clean and she tasted light and sweet and less musky, less sweaty than the previous evening. And glory be! I felt her mouth on my cockhead, warm and slick with saliva, her tongue exploring the nooks and crannies of my foreskin, her lips sliding up my shaft, taking me inside her, warm and liquid.

The sensation was exquisite, but it was more than just the sensation. There was the knowledge that this was my bus shelter lady; Carol, the fifty-six-year-old office cleaner; sexy Carol. Carol who'd attracted my attention the first time I saw her face. I'd been honest with her: this wasn't some cheap thrill, this was serious lust!

Carol was now sucking me off with a delicious up and down motion of her head, her hands splayed on my buttocks, her fingertips inches from my anus. My ex-fiancé had been delightfully dirty in bed and had introduced me to anal play, licking her middle finger and sliding it into me as she sucked my cock. It had made me come like a controlled explosion. She'd also, without any prompting from me, offered me her arse and it was clear, when I took her up on her offer, that she enjoyed it very much. That was the biggest tragedy of our break-up; it wasn't her personality I missed, it was the sex!

So I was mentally urging Carol to touch me in my most intimate spot and to reinforce the mental suggestion I reached round one of her buttocks with my middle finger and found her rosebud, pressing gently with my fingertip, stroking the little crinkled pucker.