The Old(er) Ones Are the Best Pt. 03

But it wasn't as though I was there every day. It would sometimes be weeks between getting a call and some jobs might take an hour, others a couple of days: it just depended on what they wanted.

There had been two eye openings.

The first had been the grandmother.

Who, even at approaching seventy, was still a very attractive woman. She always wore lose fitting, neck to ankle length clothing in subdued colours and always had her head covered.

It had been about a year after I'd first started that she'd stopped me on the drive.

And, in her heavily accented English, said, 'Hello David, I'm sorry for stopping you but would you mind helping me with something?' She seemed quite unsure of herself.

'Of course Mrs Rashidi, lead on.'

'It's in my room.' She had always called it her room but the reality was that she had a small single storey wing to herself. It comprised a large living, dining, kitchen area, a big double bedroom suite and a second large bathroom, also a single garage and a small courtyard garden. Her "room" was accessed from the main house through a connecting door but it also had its own front door leading out onto the circular drive.

I'd followed her through that front door and on into her bedroom.

'Would you mind sitting on the bed please David.' Her tone had been almost apologetic.

I'd raised an eyebrow but had done as she'd asked.

Sitting there I'd watched her, and, even though my sordid imagination had been working it's usually overtime, I'd still not known what she'd had in mind.

And, despite that imagination, I'd still been surprised when she'd said, 'I really hope you don't mind.' and had reached for my belt and pulled it apart. She'd then spent a moment struggling with my trousers button and zip until I'd leaned back and sucked in my stomach giving her easier access.

The short battle over, she'd tugged my trousers and boxers off my hips and I'd felt her warm hand on my flesh.

Which hadn't needed much encouragement: the blood had already been pumping and her hand hadn't needed to do much at all. But I'd still enjoyed the brief contact.

She'd let go of me and, after kicking off her shoes, had reached under her dress and quickly rolled her knickers and tights to her ankles and off her feet. Eyes fixed on my midriff she'd climbed onto her knees to straddle me. Pausing for a second she'd tugged her dress out from underneath her then carefully shuffled forward until I'd felt a brush of hair and a soft heat along the length of my now gently pulsating cock.

Putting her hands on my shoulders she'd closed her eyes and tentatively settled her weight on me.

And she'd just sat there: hadn't made a sound or moved for a good minute. Just sat across my hips, still fully clothed except for her knickers, tights and shoes, still wearing her head scarf.

It was her face that I'd watched through all that. It had been tight and anxious, almost fearful throughout. Sitting there across my hips it had become totally relaxed, her eyes closed with a slight smile on her face. She'd managed to do it; to get me there.

With my length trapped between us.

I'd just continued to watch her, wondering what she was thinking, marvelling at how her smooth olive skin totally belied her years.

Then she'd opened her eyes and caught me looking. She'd blushed again but given me a hesitant smile.

Before slipping a hand under her dress and, with a frown of concentration, had lifted herself and taken hold of my shaft.

The tip of my cock brushed through coarse hair then, guided by her hand, the enveloping heat had slowly, smoothly slipped down my length.

Until she'd again been sitting across my hips, but with me now buried in a warm, soft cocoon.

And again she'd closed her eyes and just sat there.

And again I'd just lain there watching her.

Until she'd shivered and taken a deep breath.

Then she'd started to move.

Not much: a gentle rocking of hips: just rubbing herself against me, moving me around inside her body.

And she'd seemed content to just do that.

In fact I'd found that she was so content, that that was all she'd wanted to do.

I'd tried to lift a hip; tried to roll her over, but she'd felt me move, almost before I'd started, and she'd gripped her knees and pushed down, made it understood that she wasn't having it. A little later I'd moved my hands, tried to put them on her thighs, but she'd frowned and pushed them back to the bed.

It was clear that the only thing I was allowed to do was lie there and provide the means to her end.

So that's what I'd done. Why wouldn't I.

She'd kept with the gentle rocking of hips and any frown had quickly smoothed out to smooth skin and fluttering eyes behind closed eyelids.

And every now and again she'd had a small, almost imperceptible orgasm. But, with just a slight stiffening of her back and twitch of her head, it had taken me a couple of times for me to recognise it for what it was, but I'd still not been sure, so I'd started to look out for it. And then, the next time, I'd felt a tiny squeeze of her bum and pussy. That, so to speak, had been the clincher.

I'd found myself pleased; knowing that she was getting what she wanted

Which just left me to relax into it: I'd closed my eyes and gone with the flow.

Besides, even though the purpose of me being there had been for her gratification, her sitting there fully clothed, with her headscarf still immaculately in place, gently sliding back and forth on my hips with a soft look of pleasure on her face had been highly erotic.

And that highly erotic, coupled with her slow gyrations had gotten increasingly stimulating. The tingling and the warmth had built to the point where I'd been heading rapidly towards my own gratification.

But then she'd had her fill.

I'd just felt her latest little squeeze and twitch when she'd taken a shivering breath and stopped moving.

I'd opened my eyes, just as she'd opened hers. She'd blinked, getting her bearings. She'd looked down at me and had blushed and smiled a slightly embarrassed not very sure of herself smile.

She'd pushed herself off me, slid back off the bed, and hurried into her bathroom closing the door behind her.

I'd lain there for a moment, processing what had just happened, contemplating my still very hard, very aching cock whilst wondering if she was going to come back. And quickly realising that she wasn't, not while I'd still been lying there with my very erect cock anyway.

Rolling off the bed I'd pulled my clothing into place. Then, still being rock hard, I'd had to spend a few moments trying different angles to make sure that my rather obvious condition wasn't a rather obvious condition to others I might bump into. Finally, with a last glance at the closed bathroom door, I'd left.

I'd seen her a little later in the day, I'd been polite. 'Afternoon Mrs Rashidi.'

She'd nodded. 'David.' And gone on her way. Good, I'd thought, no embarrassment, no avoiding me, maybe that's it. She'd had an itch that needed scratching, she'd scratched it and it was never to be mentioned again. I'd obviously have preferred a slightly different ending, but really, I wasn't complaining.

Only that hadn't been it.

Three weeks later and I'm back, clearing autumn leaves: not my favourite job, when she'd approached me.

'Morning David, could you please help me with something?'

There had been an immediate feeling of anticipation. 'Of course Mrs Rashidi, what can I do?'

'In my room please.' And had set off with me following.

Around a corner to her front door. She fumbled her key then let us in, she'd been nervous again.

Once inside we'd headed straight into her bedroom and stopped beside her bed.

Stepping up close she hadn't looked me in the eye, hadn't said anything, had just unfastened my trousers and pushed them down. Unbidden, I'd sat on the bed: something in her manner had told me how this was supposed to go.

She'd just reached between my legs and had grasped my cock, begun to manipulate me: I couldn't describe it any other way. She was actually being a little rough with no real finesse, if anything I would have said that she hadn't really known what she'd been doing, she'd needed me hard and had assumed that that was all she had to do.

That sense of anticipation had gone: the act had become too forced, too mechanical.

I'd lain back, closed my eyes and tried to relax. It had worked: I'd begun to get hard.

That had been enough for Mrs Rashidi.

She'd kept hold of me, had climbed onto the bed and had arranged her dress around us.

She'd shuffled a little and I'd felt the bush of her pussy and had realised that she wasn't wearing any underwear.

That had got me the rest of the way up without any problem at all.

But the next fifteen minutes or so had followed the same course as it had the last time.

Including me walking out of her door trying to arrange myself into as comfortable a position as possible.

I'd visited the house on five more occasions, all for work, and each time Mrs Rashidi had accosted me, said the self same thing and had sex on me.

It was never sex with me: I'd never got to cum and she'd never allowed me to do anything except lie there and give her the erection she needed.

And it had begun to get increasingly difficult to get that erection; any feelings of the erotic had long gone: we all need some kind of motivation: need, stimulation, excitement, whatever. And the more times she'd approached me, the less of any of those there'd been. Once there she'd never given me any latitude to interact and had continued to be quite rough with her hand and, when I'd tried to guide her had forcibly pushing my hand away.

I'd begun to try and avoid her but, even though it was a big place, it wasn't that big.

So, the first eye opener had been the grandmother.

The second had been the son, Ajmal.

He made a pass at me, and not a very subtle one.

He'd had his nineteenth birthday party the night before and I'd been at the top of a set of steps taking a string of party lights down when I'd felt a hand between my legs.

Looking down I'd found Ajmal smiling up at me through his wild mop of black hair, still with his hand on my crotch.

Stepping down to the floor I'd smiled at him and said, 'I'm sorry Ajmal, I'm extremely flattered, truly, but it's just not going to happen.'

He'd looked quite crestfallen and had just walked away. He'd avoided me for the rest of that day and I'd never been called back. The obvious conclusion, to me, had been that it was because of that.

But there'd been a sense of relief: it had given me an out with the grandmother. I'd begun to dread my visits, and had been approaching the point of sacking myself.

That was well over a year ago.

Which means that Ajmal will now be twenty.

I know that he's definitely into girls but he'd also made a pass at me, maybe he's into older women as well. Also, he's young and bubbling over with hormones and sex appeal and I have a feeling that, if he likes someone, then he's into sex with that someone, regardless of pretty much anything.

I think he'll like Jen.

'I think you should. Have a think about it and we can talk about it later once I've spoken to him.'

I could see that she still wasn't sure, but it would be a moot point if he wasn't interested, so I left her to think.

But I won't know unless I speak to him.

And I still have his number from once being asked by his mother to pick him up from the airport.

He answered within seconds. 'Hello David, how lovely to hear from you.' He has a very light, almost calming voice with hardly any accent; only the occasional word hints at his heritage.

He sounds genuinely pleased to hear from me. 'Hello Ajmal. I was a little worried that you wouldn't answer.'

'Considering my behaviour last time I was always going to answer, if only to apologise. So what can I do for you?'

'There's nothing to apologise for Ajmal, another time I might have said yes.'

That clearly surprised him. 'Really, so are you......?'

I chuckled. 'No Ajmal, I'm not. But I would like to ask you something.'

'Hummm, shame. But go on - ask away.' I smiled, I could sense him pouting.

'Look, it's a bit complicated. How do you feel about a drink or a coffee?'

'Ooh, a date. Coffee would be good, when were you thinking?'

'My time is pretty free, how does tomorrow sound?'