The Lady of Bathe Street

Author's Note:

This story is about Henry Gawain, who knows he fucked up, okay? He probably should've just called the police instead of agreeing to do WHATEVER that old lady wanted him to, but that's not what happened.

This older woman/younger man story is meant to be tongue-in-cheek (though whose cheek has the tongue in it is really up to you) and not taken too seriously. In addition to some absurdity, you can expect literary references, oral sex, and hopefully a laugh or two.

**

Look, I know I should've looked in the rearview mirror, okay?

I know.

I mean, I know now.

I should've looked in the rearview mirror, or twisted to look out the back window, or hell, I guess I could've washed my car so the goddamn backup camera wasn't covered in dirt.

There's a lot of things I should've done. There were a lot of things I could've done. The fact of the matter, my friend, is that I did not do those fucking things, and I ran over the crazy old lady who lived down the street.

Well, okay, I didn't really run her over. My foot was barely on the gas. The car was rolling backward like it does down the driveway and before I hit the usual bump at the bottom where the curb dips down, I heard a thunk.

That's what it sounded like. Just... thunk. Dull and quick, and at first, I was like "what the fuck was that" because I knew I wasn't far enough down the driveway to hit the dip in the sidewalk, and besides, it didn't usually sound like that. Luckily, I had those quick reflexes from all those years dodging dudes who tried to grab me and my best friend Kevvy and beat the shit out of us, so I slammed on the brakes without even thinking.

Anyway, so that was when I looked out the side mirror, and I see these... sorry, I shouldn't laugh, but it was kinda funny in a way... see these legs just pokin' out from behind the car with these big old orthopedic shoes on them, kinda flailing in the air. And I'm just like, oh shit, 'cause that's a fuckin' person! So I put the car in park—'cause I was thinking a bit more straight by then, right, and I didn't want the car to roll backward—and I jumped out and ran over to her.

Now, I knocked her down, I fully admit that. I hit her with my car. Poor old thing was lying on the ground on her back, grey hair splayed across the sidewalk, groaning. And I felt extra bad 'cause she was wearing this like, old lady skirt. I dunno how you describe it. Those real long ones that are made of cotton or something. And the reason I could see her legs was that her skirt flew up and was all bunched around her waist.

That was the first weird thing, 'cause I recognized her as the lady who lived down the street, and she's been living in that house since God knows when. I'd seen her a couple of times out walking or whatever. Didn't seem like a very social person, kept to herself, whatever, but I knew she had to be old. Like, not old-old, but like, older. Like older than my mom, but my mom's not that old, she's only 50. So like, maybe old enough to be my grandma? I wasn't really sure. Either way, you think, a lady that age, skirt bunched up around her waist, she'd have on some granny panties or whatever.

Not this lady, though. She had on these tiny little red lace panties and like, you could tell she kept things, uh... well-groomed, you know? 'Cause those little panties, they were tight, and there was no way there could be any kind of hair or anything under there. You'd see it instantly. So that kinda shocked me a bit, not gonna lie, but I only looked for a second before helping her.

"Shit!" I said. "You okay?"

"Do I look okay?" she groaned.

"Ah, shit. Fuck." I knelt down next to her. "Can you stand up?"

"Watch your mouth, young man," she said.

"Sorry, ma'am."

"Ma'am!" she scoffed. "You're losing points there, dear. I'm not old enough to be a ma'am."

"Uh, sure," I said. "Okay, miss... Ms...? Mrs?"

"Fiona," she said hoarsely. "Fiona Ragnelle."

"Mrs. Ragnelle, I'm so—

"Ugh. Just Fiona, please."

"My bad," I said. "Fiona, I'm Henry Gawain, and I'm real sorry, okay? Do you think you can stand up?"

She moved a little, shifting side to side like she was testing to see if something was broken.

"I think so," she said. "I think—"

And see, everything would've been fine, except she started patting down her sides and discovered her entire skirt was around her waist. I shit you not, her face turned as red as those little lace panties she was wearing.

"Oh my God!" she hissed. "Were you looking at my panties?"

"N-no!" I said. "I mean, yeah, because... well, I mean, not on purpose."

She struggled to sit up, but when I tried to help her, she batted my arm away.

"I can't believe you," she spat, tugging her skirt down over her legs. "You hit me with your car, then you sit there looking at my panties like some kind of pervert. I ought to call the police!"

"N-no!" I said, alarmed. "Look, Mrs. Ragn—I mean, Fiona, look there's no... we don't need to call the police, right? Look, you're okay, you're sitting up and everything!"

"How dare you?" she said. "You drive like a damn maniac all over the neighbourhood and now that you hit me with your car, you want me to just pretend that's okay?"

"Not at all," I said. "I just mean, there's no need to call the cops, okay? We can... like, let me make it up to you, how 'bout that? I can, I dunno, mow your lawn or something. Whatever you want, you call me up and say 'Henry, get your ass over here and open this jar of pickles for me' and I'll run right over and do it."

She stared at me for a minute, I think probably trying to make sure I wasn't lying, and I wasn't. I was dead serious about not wanting her to call the cops. If she did that, they'd find out I was driving without my license, and then I'd be real fucked because they'd probably arrest me or something.

"You mean that?" she asked.

"Oh, yeah," I said.

"So if I said to you 'Henry, get your butt over here and put on a Speedo and clean out my pool,' you'd do that?"

"Well, I'd have to go out and buy a Speedo first," I said uncertainly. "And I mean, that's not really what... ah, what the hell. Yeah, if you didn't mind having to wait for me to hit up Walmart, I'd clean out your pool in a Speedo."

Her eyebrows furrowed as she stared at me. "How old are you?"

"I just turned 19 a couple months ago," I said.

Her mouth was a little wrinkled, not because she was old but because she was twisting her lips, kinda like she'd eaten a Sour Patch Kid or something. Then she nodded at me briskly

"I believe you, Harry," she said. "I won't call the police."

"Cool," I replied, trying to hide how relieved I was. "And it's, uh, Henry. Now, uh... were you serious about that Speedo? 'Cause I don't mind, really, I just was about to go to work and I don't get my paycheque till Friday, so if—"

"I was joking," she said stiffly. "No, I have something different in mind for you."

She made me give her my phone number, and then let me help her up and get her back to her house. She was walking pretty good so I didn't think I really hurt her, but I wasn't taking any chances. Fiona could've easily sold me out to the cops. Still, I was pretty much shitting bricks 'cause she wouldn't tell me what she had in mind for me, just that I was to come over to her house the next day after work and to plan to be there for at least a couple of hours.

That was the second weird thing about the whole situation. I couldn't stop thinking of it the whole rest of the day, or the next day. I mean, she said the Speedo thing was a joke, but that's a pretty fuckin' odd joke to make to someone you don't know, right? So then I thought maybe she wanted me to do something else, like clean her house naked or be a stripper for her bridge game or something. I wouldn't blame her. Not to toot my own horn or whatever, but I'm pretty hot and she seemed kinda lonely, so I get why she'd want something like that.

I told my buddy Kevvy about it and he said she was probably joking about it as payback for staring at her panties, which made sense, too. I probably deserved it, if not for staring at her panties, then for thinking about them later that night when I was in the shower.

Not that I told Kevvy or anyone about that part of it. I mean, no one really wants to admit they jerked it picturing some old lady's panties, but like, ignoring how old she was, her legs were pretty fine and those panties were hot. I'd never see any girl wear panties like that, and it'd been a while since I'd seen any girl wearing panties in real life. So yeah, I got off thinking about Fiona's old lady pussy underneath those panties, and maybe that was a little weird, but I came pretty hard so it was worth it.

The next day after work, I stopped at home to take a shower quick and then went over to Fiona's. She lived six houses down and on the other side of the street, and she'd said to be there right at 5:30 PM, so I had to jog to get over there on time. I was still pretty nervous when I knocked on the door, and it was only then that I thought maybe I shouldn't've worn my nice jeans and a good T-shirt. Like, if she wanted me to clean or whatever, I should've put on some old clothes.

It was too late to do anything about it though, so I figured I'd just try to be careful.

Fiona opened the door shortly after I knocked. She looked pretty nice for an older lady. Her grey hair was done up in curls and she had on some makeup, but it was nice makeup. When my grandma wore makeup, it always looked sort of scary because she'd wear bright blue eyeshadow and this crazy red lipstick, but Fiona looked really classy. She had on another long skirt and a red shirt that was kinda low in the front, and just looked... well, I mean, I admitted I jerked off thinking about her, so she looked pretty hot for an older lady. I wondered if she was wearing lacy panties again and then stopped wondering about it because I didn't really want Fiona to catch me getting hard or something.

"You're right on time, Harry," she said. "That's a good start."

"It's Henry," I said. "And thanks."

I wasn't really sure what I was thanking her for. Maybe for not calling the cops.

"You're welcome. Come in and follow me."

Her house was kind of sad. It was dark and dungy, the curtains drawn and a layer of dust covering most of the surfaces. If Fiona was around my grandma's age, she should have had pictures of her grandkids on the walls and stuff, but they were pretty bare. The carpet was really dark and she didn't have much furniture, either. What she did have was really old, but not the nice kind of old that people go out to those antique shops for. It was old and kinda beat up, like someone had taken a baseball bat to most of it.

She led me into her living room at the back of the house, which was a little nicer. It wasn't quite as dusty and she had a nice-looking couch and a rocking chair. There was a fireplace, too, and a couple of bookshelves and a coffee table. It was still dark, though, the curtains closed as tightly as they were around the rest of the house, and a single lamp glowed in the corner.

"How are you feeling?" I asked as she settled onto the couch.

"A little stiff," she said. "But I'll survive. For now."

I grimaced and nodded. "I'm sorry, again. I feel really bad."

"I know you do." Her tone was a bit comforting, and the lines around her mouth deepened as the corners of her lips turned up.

"I'm glad you're mostly okay, though," I continued.

"Me too."

Awkwardly, I shifted from one foot to the other. "So, uh, what do you want me to do to help? Cleaning? Yardwork? I'm pretty good at repairing stuff, too, if you've got, like, shit to fix up anywhere."

"Language," she said.

"Sorry."

"You're forgiven." Fiona patted the spot on the couch beside her. "Come sit down. Do you like Scrabble?"

I must've looked as confused as I felt because she laughed.

"You know, Harry, I thought and I thought and I thought all night about what I could get you to do to help me out, and you know what I eventually decided?"

"Uh, nope," I said. "And it's Henry."

"I decided I'd just really like someone to play Scrabble with."

Immediately, I thought it was too good to be true, and that I was getting a hell of a deal here. I mean, I ran over an old lady, and all she wanted me to do was play Scrabble with her? It was another weird thing, but for me, it was like hitting the jackpot. Then I was kinda disappointed because I'd worked myself up into thinking she'd want me to, like, give her a striptease or something, and I knew that'd be fucked up but it was sort of hot. Then my chest did that thing where it hurt a bit. Her voice was steady and her expression didn't change, but I could hear sadness beneath her words and see loneliness in her eyes. Once I considered that, it didn't seem quite so weird after all.

"Yeah," I said. "Shit, of course I'll play Scrabble with you."

"Language," she said again.

"Sorry." I moved over to the couch and sat next to her. "But also, you know, if you do have anything you need me to do around the house, I can help with that too. After Scrabble, if you want."

She looked surprised for a moment, then smiled. "Would you like something to drink, Henry? I have apple juice, water, or coffee."

"Apple juice is great," I said. "But let me get it, at least."

She refused to let me get it and came back a few minutes later with two glasses of apple juice and a plate of cookies. Then, it was time for Scrabble.

I started off surprisingly good, actually, but it became clear pretty quickly that Fiona was way better at Scrabble than me. It's a game for smart people, not for guys who had to take remedial English in high school. Still, it was pretty fun, even if I was spelling words like "cat" and "dude" and she was spelling words like "sovereign."

"How long have you lived here?" I asked while I was waiting for her to take her turn.

"Too long," she said distractedly. "Far too long."

I nodded, even though I didn't really understand. "Did you move here with your husband or something?"

"No."

I nodded again, just for something to do. "Cool."

She played "avalon" and I frowned.

"Is that a real word?"

Fiona smirked. "Are you challenging it?"

I shrugged and took one of the cookies off the plate. "Nah, I trust you."

"Do you?" she said.

"Yep," I replied through a mouth full of cookie.

A little while later, I tried asking her another question.

"Where did you live before here?"

"I've always lived here," Fiona said.

"Always? Like in this house?" I asked, laughing.

She looked at me, one eyebrow raised. "What are you so desperate to know about me, Henry?"

"Just trying to get to know you. I didn't even know your name before I ran over you and I've lived on this street my whole life."

The sound of her laugh shocked me. It was almost musical and made her sound genuinely happy, and also about 30 or 40 years younger than she looked. Which would've put her around my age, maybe. I wasn't sure, and I knew enough to know that it definitely wouldn't be polite to ask. I also didn't know what she was really laughing at; I didn't think I'd said anything funny.

"Dear, you wouldn't believe me if I told you," she chuckled.

I frowned. "Try me."

The corners of her eyes crinkled even more than usual as she stared at me. Her eyes were really strange, I realized. They were a really dark shade of blue, almost purple, and they studied me intensely. I stared back, almost unable to move, almost a little scared of how strong her gaze was.

I had no idea what she was thinking. I barely had any idea what I was thinking, and I was the one thinking it. All I knew is that Fiona's eyes were like magnets and after a while, I don't think I could've looked away if I wanted to.

Strangely enough, I didn't want to. Strangely enough, I started thinking about her panties again, and I felt my face starting to turn red. I couldn't stop myself from remembering what her legs looked like, how perfect her crotch looked behind that lacy scrap of fabric, and how good it felt when I was stroking my cock and thinking about her.

When she finally spoke again, her voice was soft and smooth, almost sensual in its comfort.

"I'll tell you," she said. "But you have to kiss me."

See, that's when shit got really weird, 'cause she wanted me to kiss her, right? And I probably should've been a little concerned about that, because Fiona was... well, old. The old, though admittedly hot, lady from down the street was staring at me with her weird-ass eyes in her weird, dirty house, and she wanted me to kiss her.

And I wanted to kiss her, so I did.

I don't know what I really expected. I thought maybe she'd have stale breath, but it wasn't too bad. Kind of tasted like apples, probably from the apple juice. Her lips were a little wrinkly but they were really soft. It wasn't, like, a perfect kiss, but it was good, and I obviously liked it because I closed my eyes and kissed her harder.

Once my eyes were closed, I couldn't even tell she was older than me at all, and it was like I couldn't get enough. I put my hand on her waist and she trailed her fingers along my neck, making my skin tingle. My cock twitched and I couldn't quite believe how turned on I was getting just from kissing her. She seemed to realize it too, and the hand that wasn't playing with my hair and touching my cheek moved forward into my lap.

I felt her smile at the same time her hand cupped my cock through my jeans. She started rubbing it and I couldn't help shudder against her. It was only when her tongue slipped into my mouth that I realized what I was doing, and my eyes flew back open.

"Are you okay, Harry?" she asked as she caught my gaze.

"Fiona, you're touching my cock," I said hoarsely. "And it's Henry."

"Would you like me to stop?"

Here's the thing. Like, despite the fact that she was old and her lips were a little dry and all that, my cock was pretty hard. I was really liking how her hand felt through my jeans and I'd already kissed her, right? And I'd already jacked off thinking about her the night before. And I mean, come on. It's not like I was drowning in pussy otherwise. So yeah, maybe it was all pretty fucking weird, but it's not like stopping there would take any of it back.

"Nah, you can keep going."

She laughed again and even though I'd just said she could keep doing it, she pulled her hand away.

"I will," she said. "I need you to do something for me first, though."

"Anything," I said.

"That's good to hear," she replied. "I need you to kiss me again."

I leaned forward obediently but she stopped me.

"Not there."

It turned out she wanted me to kiss her pretty much everywhere but on her mouth. Under her direction, I unbuttoned the red blouse she was wearing and kissed her chest, then unhooked her bra and kissed her breasts. They were pretty good, actually; I mean, a little saggy, but saggy boobs are still boobs. I kissed between her breasts, I kissed her nipples, I sucked on them—that wasn't at her request, that was just because I really liked her nipples, and I think she liked what I was doing because she started breathing heavily—and I cupped my hand around them and played with them for a while.

She seemed to like all of it, but eventually, her hand came under my chin and gently pushed my face away.

"You still have plenty more kissing to do," she said.

I must've looked confused because she rolled her eyes at me.

"Down there, Henry."

I got a little nervous there, I've gotta say. I mean, she looked hot, but I didn't actually know what was under those little panties she'd been wearing. And like, her breath wasn't bad, but... well, I'm not trying to be a dick, but I was a little worried that things might taste a little musty.