The Old(er) Ones Are the Best Pt. 01

She curls around until her face is over my hips. I lie back, close my eyes, picture what she's doing.

Her breath on my skin, the ends of her fingers moving slowly up and down my shaft, her lips touching me; almost tentatively, then her tongue, just a dab; tasting something new.

Her lips leave me, I feel her shift.

I open my eyes. She's kneeling, still looking at my cock, fingers still holding me. Then she swings a leg over my hips, stops, poised, the head of my cock a mere inch from the junction of her thighs, looking up her eyes meet mine. She lowers herself until I'm touching her, she bites her lip and closes her eyes, lowers herself a little further, eases herself down, my glans begins to penetrate her, keeps going.

She stops at the first couple of inches.

She opens her eyes and looks at me again, let's go of my shaft and puts both hands on my chest, then she actually grins and, with an 'Ommphh!', drops onto my lap burying my cock to the hilt. Hmmm, it seems that we didn't need lubrication after all.

She freezes as her bum hits my hips, eyes wide and unfocused. A slight tremor ripples across her shoulders. She sits for a few seconds then squirms a little. 'Ooooh.'

Her eyes focus into a look of rapt concentration. I watch her.

Even in her 70s she still has a great figure. Ok, maybe her skin has lost some of that elasticity, yes there are a couple of stretch marks here and there and perhaps her boobs have dropped a little, but, other than that.....she looked great. And, sitting there as good as naked; with her hair in total disarray, her long painted fingernails, suspenders and stockings and still wearing her pearl earrings and necklace, she looked fucking hot!

She looked even hotter when she started to slowly grind herself on my lap, my cock buried to its root in her heat.

Once again I find myself doing one of my favourite things; watching a woman's face during sex: her eyelashes are fluttering, her mouth is either open with her tongue peeping through or she's biting a lip; her face is a window to the sensations and feelings sweeping through her body, just watching her face is a massive turn-on.

And watching her I let my mind drift back to how we got here.

__________________________________________________________

It had been about 10 in the morning and I was in the bank. I'd turned to leave when a woman, who'd been behind me in the queue, said, in what I can only describe as a very public school voice. 'Excuse me, are these yours?'

I'd turned and a tall, elegant, older woman had been holding up what I'd instantly recognised as my tablet and diary.

'Oops, yes they are, thank you.'

She smiled. 'That's ok.'

I'd walked over to her and taken them from her outstretched hand. We'd smiled at each other and for some reason I'd felt a tingling at the back of my neck.

Walking out of the bank I'd paused at the pavement's edge. I'd remembered her smile, her voice. I'd wondered what I should do. If I should do anything at all.

I'd turned back towards the bank, and there she was, coming out of the door, she'd seen me and smiled again, I'd smiled back.

Without another thought I'd gestured across the road at the town centre coffee shop. 'Not trying to be a pest but could I buy you a coffee?'

She'd looked at me, surprise on her face. 'You don't have to you know, it wasn't anything.' That very well enunciated public school voice again, it suited her.

'It was, some people wouldn't have said anything, so I'd like to. Please.'

'Eeerrrm, OK.'

'Good, thank you.'

We'd crossed the road and entered the café and, after I'd asked her what she'd wanted, I'd joined the queue. I'd then stood and watched her as she'd looked for a table, she was very slightly shorter than me in her low heeled red shoes, thick gray hair framed her lightly tanned face, she'd looked stylish in blue denim jeans with a wide tan belt, a blue denim shirt and a wide checked, grey sports jacket with the sleeves rolled back. I'd likened it to the shabby chic look except that there hadn't been anything shabby about it. The café had been relatively full apart from half a dozen empty tables in the back and she had chosen one in the farthest corner, probably to avoid the risk of anyone she knew seeing her sitting with me, where the high backed bench seats formed a U shaped cubicle. She had sat side on to the café, crossed her legs and checked her clothes. It might be the shabby chic look but, on her, it was a very elegant look, one I didn't think she had to try too hard to achieve.

With the coffees in hand I'd walked up to the table, she had been busy on her phone but as I'd approached she'd put it in her bag. I'd set the coffees down and removed my jacket. The light levels were quite low but I remember looking at her and thinking that she looked a bit haughty, almost arrogant. It was just the way she held herself.

It had seemed slightly condescending at the time but I'd also thought 'bet she was a beauty 30 or 40 years ago', now she was in that bracket of being 'very attractive for her age' with her long slender neck, high cheekbones, narrow nose and chin, slightly oriental eyes with thick, shaped eyebrows.

At that moment I hadn't been able to think what to say so, for some inexplicable reason, I had, like an idiot, grinned down at her and, rather to my surprise, she'd grinned right back. It had totally transformed her face, a very open grin full of feeling, and even in the dim light, her eyes sparkled; in an instant I'd liked her a lot.

I'd looked into her eyes and held out my hand. 'I'm David.'

She'd taken my hand and returned my gaze without any hint of shyness or embarrassment. 'Stella.'

I'd kept hold of her hand. 'A pleasure to meet you Stella.'

She hadn't tried to let go nor had she relaxed her grip. 'Likewise David.'

Her hand had been soft and warm, her grip firm.

She'd broken from my gaze and had glanced at the bench seat to her right, taking it as an invitation, I'd let go of her hand and sat down.

'Truly though Stella, thank you for the diary and tablet, I could have managed without the tablet but the diary has all my work stuff in it, that would have been extremely inconvenient.'

'No problem at all David, I saw you put them down and then walk away when the teller called you.' She'd raised an amused eyebrow. 'I haven't seen anyone use a paper diary for quite a while, not really the modern way you know.'

I'd laughed. 'A bit old school I know, just that sometimes I have to make notes when I'm walking round with a client, so it makes life easier, for me anyway.'

And the conversation had gone on like that; where we were from, what we did, where we lived etc etc. It had been a very easy conversation despite coming from totally different backgrounds, with totally different lives and totally different interests. We'd clicked without any effort whatsoever, Stella was a very easy person to talk to and I'd thoroughly enjoyed the time. She hadn't fidgeted, looked bored or nervous in any way, just sat, talked and listened, not in the slightest bit haughty or arrogant. For some reason I'd found her hands fascinating; they were slim and elegant, like the rest of her, fine boned with very long fingers, her fingernails were equally long, manicured and painted a coral pink. She had a wedding ring but no engagement ring and quite a chunky signet ring on her left little finger, also a Cartier watch on the same wrist.

Thirty minutes later, we'd finished our coffees and it was time to go; me to my next job, she to lunch with a friend.

We'd stepped out into the street. 'I enjoyed that Stella, thank you for saying yes.'

'So did I, thank you for asking.'

I popped the question. 'Can we do it again sometime?'

She didn't hesitate. 'I would like that very much David, I usually come into town every Tuesday, would that suit you?'

I'd hoped for sooner but wasn't going to push her. 'Very much so. Same time?'

She'd smiled. 'How about an hour earlier, say ten o'clock?'

I'd hid my pleasure, mostly. 'Sounds perfect, look forward to it.'

'See you next week then David.'

I'd paused, slightly undecided on how to part: shaking hands had no longer seemed right and a kiss certainly wasn't appropriate, so we'd both smiled and walked away.

The week had taken far longer than seven days to pass but when Tuesday had duly arrived and I'd found myself standing outside the cafe, I'd been extremely nervous. Hard to explain why except that I'd found Stella very attractive in more ways than just looks and, me being me, I'd had a hope that I would, eventually, be able to take things a lot further than a coffee. But to do that I couldn't afford to fuck things up; and that was what I occasionally tended to do. And that was probably why I'd been nervous.

A couple of minutes later and I'd spotted her coming out of the carpark. She hadn't immediately seen me and I'd watched her standing at the curb waiting for a gap in the traffic. She'd been dressed very differently from the previous week in a simple, deep green, calf length floral dress with buttons all the way up the front, black translucent nylons, salmon coloured high heeled shoes and a matching bag slung over her shoulder. She'd also done her hair differently; it was piled up on her head and from a distance it looked randomly done but up close it had obviously been done with great care. Again that understated elegance.

She'd looked ahead as she'd crossed the road and seen me waiting. Pleasingly, she smiled and waved, I'd waved back and watched her cross; she had a long, loose limbed gait that I felt showed an unconscious confidence and awareness. I'd also watched her breasts jiggling inside her dress.

'Hi Stella.'

'Hello David. How have you been?'

'I've been very well thank you. Am I allowed to say that you look great? I love the dress.'

She'd smiled, and for some reason looked grateful. 'Of course you are, and thank you.'

I'd turned and opened the door for her. 'Shall we?'

Stepping inside we'd paused, she'd looked around with a slight look of indecision in her eyes.

I'd stepped into that indecision. 'Same again Stella?'

She'd suddenly seemed distracted, had jumped. 'Erm, yes please. I'll get a table.' And had walked off.

A few minutes later and I'd arrived at the table with our drinks, it had been much quieter than the last time but she had still picked the same one as the previous week.

She was also sitting exactly where she'd sat last time. Only this time she was looking extremely tense.

'Are you ok Stella, you seem a little......uncomfortable?'

'I'm fine David, sit down.' She hadn't sounded fine at all.

We'd both sat stirring coffee, she looking down, me doing the same but surreptitiously watching her, studying her fine boned features, adding to what I remembered from our previous meeting. Today she'd added jewellery, I couldn't remember if she'd worn any the last time, a pair of pearl teardrop earrings and a pearl necklace. I could see a pulse beating just below her earring.

We'd sat like that for a couple of minutes, I'd been unwilling to break the silence as I'd felt her conflict and that she'd needed time to think.

She'd taken a breath. 'Do you make it a habit of inviting strange women for coffee.'

That had caught me out. 'You're not that strange.'

She'd frowned. 'You know what I mean David.'

That hadn't been promising. 'To be honest Stella I'm not sure why I asked you, apart from you returning my things, it was on an impulse but I did and I'm glad.'

She'd looked up. 'Oh, why?'

'Because, at the time I'd liked your face and your smile. I still like your face and your smile and I think I like you.'

She raised an eyebrow. 'You think?'

'I don't know you yet. You still might be strange.'

She'd laughed, visibly relaxed. 'I don't think I am, but you never know.'

'A question for you then Stella, do you always say yes to invitations for coffee from strange men?'

'I almost never say yes to strange men.'

'Almost?'

'I did to you but you're my first.'

'Ah. So why did you say yes?'

'Oh no David, me first. Do you make it a habit of asking strange women for coffee?'

I'd decided that honesty was the way here, she wasn't stupid. 'A habit, no. Have I asked a stranger if she'd like a coffee before, yes I have, I couldn't tell you how many times over twenty or thirty years, but it has happened, yes. But it's not as though I wander up and down the high street asking the question. You know; a kindness repaid, a connection made, that sort of thing.'

'That sort of thing.' she'd mused. 'God, I wouldn't dare. And did they say yes?'

'Not always, but more often than not.'

'So I'm not your first.' It hadn't been a question.

'I'm not counting Stella.'

She hadn't said anything and I'd wondered if she'd wanted to ask the next question. I'd also wondered if she'd wanted to leave.

I didn't want her to leave. 'So why did you say yes?'

She'd paused, thinking. 'Honestly, I don't know. Last week was an impulse decision. All sorts of thoughts went through my head, kind of an instant yes no list. It would have been rude to say no. Was it wrong to say yes. You didn't seem weird or dangerous. You weren't being pushy. You asked nicely. All sorts of things but at the end it came down to that I'd never been asked before and I liked your smile. This week was a very different feeling. I've been nervous all week and last night I barely slept. This morning I nearly didn't come. Tried on a dozen different outfits for gods sake! Got in and out of the car twice! Sat in the car park for ten minutes. But then when I saw you across the road I was pleased, even excited.' She'd blushed at that. 'But when I stepped in here all the doubts came tumbling back, what was I doing? Meeting a strange man for coffee. I don't know David. What am I doing here? You tell me.'

I'd been watching her the whole time she'd been speaking, and I hadn't really known how to answer, this was a first. But, in for a penny in for a pound as the saying goes. 'I think you're filling a void. All those thoughts and feelings: nervousness, trepidation, indecision, excitement, anticipation, even pleasure.' I'd moved my hand a fraction. 'They're thoughts and feelings you probably haven't experienced for a long time and you don't know how to deal with them. Your head is telling you to run away and forget it ever happened and your heart is telling you to stay and see what happens next. I'm not going to try and make you stay Stella, that's entirely your decision and you have to want to stay.' I'd brushed my fingers across the back of her hand, then let my hand alight on the table besides hers, not quite touching. 'But just so you know, I'd like you to stay.'

She'd sat there, her head down, looking at my hand.

Then she'd looked up, looked around the cafe then at me. 'So what does happen next?' Stella's voice had dropped an octave, there was a croak to it.

I'd started to stroke the back of her hand with a finger.

I'd glanced around the cafe myself, it had still been quiet with nobody sitting anywhere near us. Shifting sideways towards Stella had put me much closer to her, I'd sensed an increase in tension but she hadn't moved. I'd squeezed her hand and smiled, hopefully reassuringly. Her face had relaxed a little, had adopted a look of faint curiosity.

I'd turned more towards her, slipped my hand under the table, resting it on my knee, reached out with my fingers and very lightly touched her thigh. Her dress material was very soft, I'd been able to feel the warmth of her skin through it. She'd blinked at that first touch but still hadn't moved.

I'd stroked up and down her thigh until I'd found the first button. And, slowly, methodically, I'd begun to unfasten them.

The look of curiosity had disappeared, changed to one of......longing, it radiated desire. Her eyes had almost closed, her lips had parted, the tip of her tongue just visible between them. Her breathing had quickened, her breasts moving against her dress.

I'd unfastened five buttons, reached her lap. Stroking back down her thigh I'd pushed her knee, uncrossing her legs, her dress falling open with them. My fingers had settled on her knee; she'd taken a slight breath, then held it, her head had dropped a little further, her face falling into shadow.

I'd started to stroke the inside of her knee with my fingertips. Slowly moved up the inside of her thigh. As my hand had moved so her legs had parted, seemingly of their own accord. Her legs were long, seemed to go on and on, I let my fingers wander, as far round as I could reach, onto the top, back down to her knee then back up the inside but slowly progressing higher until, unexpectedly, surprisingly, my thumb had encountered lace: and in an instant, that feeling of surprise had changed to one of excited realisation; she was wearing stockings.

The tingling in my stomach had hatched into madly cavorting butterflies.

My fingers had paused to savour the change in texture but, anticipating what lay beyond, it hadn't lasted long and they'd continued their exploration until all my fingers had settled on the lace.

Again I'd paused, I'd been a fraction from touching her skin but I'd had a sudden feeling of trepidation at what her response would be when that happened.

She'd sensed my hesitation, her head had lifted and she'd sat back, her head resting against the back of the seat, at a slight angle as she'd watched me through hooded eyes.

I'd moved my thumb, just a fraction further, and touched molten skin.

I'd closed my eyes at the touch and couldn't help but shiver. I was sure that I'd heard a slight moan from Stella and when I'd looked, her eyes had closed and I'd seen the white of her teeth through parted lips.

I'd made small circles with my fingers as I'd let my hand drift up, one finger after another settling on her skin until they'd all been gently stroking her inner thigh, the faintest of contacts as I'd watched her face, trying to judge her reactions, to gauge how far she would let me go.

Truth be told, I'd been extremely surprised that she'd let me go that far. Not for one minute had I planned the event, I'd just used her reactions and words as a guide to what to do next. Each step had been a test to see if I could move to the next step, and each test passed had prompted the next. Having then found myself with my hand inside her skirt I'd been equally surprised to discover that she'd been wearing stockings. If I'd seen her in the street and asked myself the question 'What is she wearing?', I'd never have answered 'Stockings'.

And yet there I was, with my hand inside her skirt and she definitely wearing stockings. And, if the presence of a strap had been anything to go by, suspenders.

And so I'd continued, it would have been extremely rude not to have.

I'd begun to stroke the warm skin at the top of her thigh and each time I'd dipped down my knuckles had brushed against her opposite leg.

And every now and again my thumb had touched the lace of her knickers, an almost negligible touch, but with each of those touches her heat had increased and, along with the heat, a faint trembling, as though in nervous anticipation, had begun to flicker through her thighs.

I'd spread my fingers, my thumb rubbing against her knickers, just along the seam where they met her thigh. A fraction more and I'd felt the roughness of coarse hair.

I'd pushed my thumb under the seam, touched her stomach, pushed into the short curls of hair, edged down, drawn by the heat, touched the heat.

She'd shivered, whimpered, as the heat became fire.

My fingers had found the edge of her pussy, stroked up and down, a little further and I'd felt the bumps of her inner lips; they were damp, slightly slippery. I'd pressed against her, entered her, just a little, just enough to find the inner folds of her sex. She'd hissed and her head had dropped forward again, her hands pressed flat on the table.