Three Score Years and Ten

She started moving a bit more on me, with passionate kisses, fairly short ones as we were both breathing heavily by now. I tried to move with her but I didn't want to come too soon, but it was clear that I wouldn't last long. "I'm going to come..." I grunted; "So am I," she panted back. We both started moving more vigorously and the body took over as nothing else mattered bar the release of the pressure building up. Then each of us with cries lost awareness of everything except the sensation in our groins and the explosive release taking place.

After some minutes I came to my senses enough to kiss the side of her face as her head rested on my shoulder. "Thank you," I said, "that was far and away the most intense pleasure I've ever experienced. Sure beats wanking!"

"I don't normally manage to come at the same time as my lover," she said, "I hope I haven't spoilt you for all your future lovers by achieving that on your first time!"

"Hey, it gives me a goal to aspire to!"

We spent the night together and make love three times more, crammed into my tiny bed.

We became an item for the rest of the term, and I really fell for her, but it couldn't last: she had a job offer starting in Manchester three weeks after term ended, and had to spend that time finding a flat and moving in, and I had a couple of interviews in London, and ended up with a job offer in the centre with a similar accommodation finding issue. We both knew we'd find it hard to keep a relationship going at a distance, and agreed to part. Our last lovemaking was gentle and loving and somewhat sad, and after we said goodbye I admit I walked away without looking back with tears streaming down my face. We agreed, no letters, no contact, no regrets. But I still had plenty of the latter.

Then about three years later, I was walking along High Holborn to go and buy my lunchtime sandwich, and a voice from behind said, "Rob? Is that you?" I turned and saw a smartly dressed businesswoman with hair tied back, very professional and correct. My face lit up. "April?"

We moved together and embraced, a little warily, unsure as to what our relationship now was.

"Great to see you, what are you doing here?"

"I got a promotion, dependent on a transfer to head office here in Holborn," she said. "How have you been keeping?"

"I'm fine thanks, I reckon I'll be over you in another three or four years." I tried to make it a joke, but it was a bit too true.

"Look, I need to be back at the office in ten minutes, I've nearly finished my lunch break. Can we meet for a drink to catch up? Here's my card." I gave her one of mine back. "I've got football training this evening, how about tomorrow? Say meet right here about 6pm?"

So we met up, discovered neither of us had really got over the other, and ended up spending the weekend in bed in her flat, as her flatmate was away. We really were soul-mates, and within six months we were married.

WHEN I WAS IN MY THIRTIES, April and I lived in the outskirts of London, and became close friends with another couple, John and Libby. We met them first of all when we got an allotment, and they had just got the one next to ours. Both had been allowed to run wild and needed a fair bit of work to bring back into production, so we spent the late summer and autumn clearing grass and weeds, removing rubbish, and putting ground cover membrane on for the winter to kill off the perennial weeds prior to digging over in the spring. So we all spent a lot of time down there, helping each other learn unfamiliar gardening skills, becoming firm friends and meeting up regularly for drinks and dinner. John was an accountant, a very witty man, thoughtful and considerate, and Libby was a practice manager for a doctors' surgery, a tall, willowy, graceful woman, dark haired and dark eyed, a lively and gentle woman, very attractive, and with a disconcertingly touchy feely approach to her friends like me. She was forever putting her arms round me, hugging, holding my hand. April seemed oblivious of this, and also flirted harmlessly with John.

One weekend in April, when we were having dinner together, it emerged that the next Friday I had the day off work to let a plumber in to replace the sink and taps in our downstairs loo, and by coincidence Libby was at home because of a dental checkup mid morning. I said I planned to go to the allotment afterwards, and would take a packed lunch. Libby thought that was a good idea and said she'd meet me there.

Friday turned out to be one of those April days when suddenly the shackles of winter are fully overthrown and the sun comes out, the air is warm and it's a joy to be outdoors. I was at the allotment by ten thirty, I planned to remove the last of the ground cover and dig it over for planting. I had some seed potatoes that had chitted some time back and were overdue putting in the ground. I'd been going the best part of an hour when Libby arrived with a tray of lettuce seedlings.

As usual when we met, she flung her arms round my neck and gave me a brief kiss on the lips. Was it perhaps a bit more lingering than usual, or was that my imagination? She looked fantastic, she had great legs and knew it, wearing cut-off frayed denim shorts with a close fitting pale blue cotton vest top and clearly no bra, her smaller breasts making this easy for her. I tried not to look at the bumps of her nipples but I think she caught me sneaking a glance.

We busied ourselves for an hour or so, me on my digging and she on weeding and sowing new rows of peas and carrots, chatting about the idea mooted last Saturday that we might holiday together somewhere in the autumn. The thought of Libby in a bikini I must admit sounded appealing.

Eventually I stood up with a groan at the protesting muscles in my back, and said, "I think it might be time for a break pretty soon! How are you getting on?"

"Five minutes to finish planting out these lettuces, and I'll be ready too!" She finished the last one and grabbed a watering can and went off to the nearest tap to get some water. She came back with splatters of water all over her vest and shorts, laughing. "The water came out a bit more fiercely than I bargained for!" The vest was semi-transparent where it had got wet. Sadly none of the splashes was on her boobs.

"Perhaps you should take them off and hang them to dry?" I said with a smile.

"I think they will dry all right on me! I wouldn't want to risk someone coming by!"

Our allotments were at the bottom of the slope in the far corner from the entrance. Few others came down here, and I doubted our neighbouring plot holders would be off work. We were also shielded from view by our sheds, and the next plot up the hill had a small apple tree, so we were not likely to be seen.

"I think that's a pretty low risk, but I'll let it pass!" I said.

We got out our lunches and I produced a couple of beers from my cool box. "Cheers!"

We sat on a couple of old plastic garden chairs we'd brought down for the purpose and munched and slurped happily for a while, then cleared away the debris and sat for a moment to let our lunch go down. Libby produced a bottle of sunscreen and started lathering her face, arms and neck. "I'd better top up my protection, I think! Can you do my back?" She had a scoop neck at the back and while there wasn't a lot of back visible, there was enough to burn if not protected. I squatted behind her and applied the lotion.

"I noticed when you bend down the bottom of your vest rides up a bit, showing the back above your shorts. Don't want that to burn, shall I do that too?"

"Yes please!" She bent forward in her seat and gripped the hem of her vest and pulled it half way up. I applied more sunscreen. She felt warm and soft, and I worried I was getting hard.

"So have you ever bared all on a beach?" I asked. It came out almost without thinking, otherwise I'd have kept quiet in case the answer exacerbated my fledgling erection.

"Not on a beach, though I often go topless in the garden, there's a spot by the house where I'm not overlooked." That was something to think about. I definitely got a bit harder. I slid back to my chair next to hers and hoped I could hide it sitting down.

"I don't know if I could strip in public, she continued, "I haven't got much to show off!"

"Now I know you're fishing for compliments! As far as I can tell you've got a fantastic body."

"What do you mean, as far as you can tell? I'd have to wear a bikini to show any less than you can see now!"

"Ah, but for all I know, you have a tattoo of a penis, or green pubic hair or something!"

She laughed. "I can assure you there's no tattoo!" She leaned towards me conspiratorially and put her mouth close to my ear. "There's no pubic hair either..."

That was it, my erection was complete. For sure Libby could see if she looked at my lap. My jeans were uncomfortably tight. I made a non-committal grunt.

"What, don't you believe me? You don't trust me to be honest about my private parts?" she taunted with a smile.

"You know what Ronald Reagan said about the nuclear treaty when asked if he trusted the Russians to conform: 'Trust, but verify.'"

"You want me to prove it?" She stood up and looked around up the slope. There was no-one around save one old codger right up the other end of the allotments. She turned back to me and grasped her vest, and slowly pulled it over her head. Her breasts were small but perfect, shapely with the kind of conical nipple you sometimes see on smaller breasts. It seemed to me they were pretty hard.

"Wow..." I whispered.

"You too! I think it's only fair..." I pulled off my tee shirt as well. She undid the button at the waist of her shorts and pulled the zip down, then shimmied them down her legs and stepped out of them. She looked glorious, with bikini briefs in pink.

"OK, so you've either not got a tattoo or it's pretty small and discreet!" I said.

"Come on then, better get those jeans off before you either burst them open or damage that cock!" she smiled. I stood up in front of her and ditched the jeans, and realised the tip of my cock was pushing up past the waistband of my briefs.

She took a sharp breath and said in a low voice, "That's so sexy..." She reached forward and gripped my cock through my briefs. A line had clearly been crossed. She looked up at me, her face just inches from mine, and I lost myself in those big dark eyes. I couldn't help it, I leaned forward and kissed her. It was a long, slow, sensual kiss. Eventually I broke it and murmured, "I think you still have some more proof to offer."

"I'll let you find it," she said huskily.

I squatted in front of her and gripping the waistband of her panties, pulled them down. Her quim was indeed bare, and her inner lips were already showing and glistening with moisture; it was clear she was as aroused as me. I eased her back into her chair, parted her knees and kissed my way up each thigh in turn, then around her groin without touching her sex.

After a moment, she whispered, "Please, don't tease..."

I started to lick her pussy, and nibbled my way along her labia until I reached the clitoris. It was quite prominent, bigger than April's. I swirled my tongue around it and she gasped and pushed my head into her crotch. I kept up the assault until she cried out and her thighs tightened around me. After a moment I gently prised her knees apart and sat back and looked up at her.

"My turn," she said, "take those pants off and sit down..." I complied with haste. She fell to her knees in front of me and grasped my erection at the base, and leaning forward started to lick and nibble around the head, eventually pushing her mouth over the top and continuing to massage me with her tongue and bobbing her head up and down. It wasn't deep throat, but between her mouth and her hand it felt fantastic, and it wasn't long before I had to gasp, "I'm about to come..." She didn't pull back but redoubled her efforts and took all my spurts in her mouth and swallowed the lot.

When I had a measure of control over my breathing and I felt my legs would obey again, I stood up and took her in my arms and gave her a passionate kiss. The full body naked contact and the heat of the kiss began to stir John Thomas again; she felt it move and reached down to grip it again.

"I thought if I didn't actually have you inside me, it wouldn't really be infidelity," she said, "but I'm not sure if I can keep to that..."

...except that's not actually what happened. What happened was as I've written up to the point where she said,

"What, don't you believe me? You don't trust me to be honest about my private parts?"

And I replied, "I think for both our sakes, I have to trust you!"

And so the simmering sexual tension between us continued all afternoon but didn't ever boil over. The rest happened when I let my imagination run wild later on.

WHEN I WAS IN MY FORTIES, I got a contract requiring me to work in Brussels for six months. It was pretty hard on April, coping with our girls Sarah and Laura, but her mother Jane, who was by this time widowed, came to stay so April could keep her job; I think it helped Jane get over her bereavement. In any case, the money was good, and we agreed it was a chance worth taking.

I was with a group of other expats, and we tended to spend many evenings together, as the local staff, friendly as they were, had homes and families to go to.

One evening we'd all collectively gone to one of our favourite cafés for dinner, and repaired afterwards to my flat for coffee and a nightcap. One of our number was late however, a young woman called Jenny, who had been sent to another office for the day in Antwerp for fact-finding for our project, and had got caught up in a traffic jam following an accident. So it was around nine in the evening that she arrived at my door, tired and hungry. I found enough in my fridge to offer cheese and tomato sandwiches, which she gladly accepted.

The others decided they'd leave at that point, so I sat Jenny down at the table with her sandwiches and she talked about her day in the Antwerp office. I offered her a glass of whisky -- I'd already discovered she liked whisky, although in my experience not many women do. She declined on the grounds she was driving, she'd driven to Antwerp and had come straight here, parking somewhere down the street. She was still in her business clothes, and somehow these smart clothes didn't look quite right on her. She never did look really chic, and I couldn't work out quite why. She was a reasonably good looking woman, late thirties or early forties, medium length brown hair tinged reddish (henna perhaps, I thought), not tall, reasonably good figure, really nice and fun to talk with, and yet... She moved in a slightly awkward way, almost as if not quite in full control of her muscles, but somehow her clothes never seemed to fit or to be flattering. She was chattering on about how in Brussels, most Belgians were French speaking but spoke Dutch when necessary, whereas in Antwerp everyone spoke Dutch and would rather switch to English than French, when she noticed me staring at her.

"What, have I got something on my jacket?"

I was embarrassed to be caught with my thoughts on my face.

"No, just looking at your outfit, I was wondering if you were a bit warm with the jacket on." It was a navy blue suit, it looked like some kind of woollen cloth, with a skirt around knee length, and an unfeasibly high waistline, with a white satin blouse tucked in, and what I had at first taken to be some kind of matching white scarf I realised was actually part of the blouse, a kind of broad extended collar tied in a huge bow with the ends hanging down her front to the waist. This was topped by an unbuttoned jacket that hung to mid thigh and looked almost like a frock coat. OK in air conditioning, but it had been quite a warm day and my flat wasn't air conditioned.

"Sorry, I wondered if you were thinking like everybody else that I don't carry clothes well. I have a body that isn't properly proportioned, I have a high waist, a short torso and my boobs are bigger than is ideal for my frame. And I'm ok thanks, I'll take my jacket off in a minute perhaps."

"Your body looks in proportion to me!" I said.

"You'd see that I don't quite have normal body proportions if you saw me without clothes on. It's not weird or anything, just a bit... unconventional."

"I still don't believe it. Prove it?" I challenged. She looked at me uncertainly.

"Take a more comfy seat, Jenny," I said, gesturing to the armchair across the coffee table from the one I'd been sitting at, and she settled herself into it. I got up and refilled my whisky glass, and poured another and carried it over to her and handed it her. She took it with a puzzled expression.

"Sorry, I thought I said, I still need to drive back to my flat."

"If you are going to take your clothes off to prove your claim, you might need some Dutch courage. And if you do, I don't think you're going to drive again tonight."

Her eyes widened. She hesitated. We both held our breath waiting for her reaction. I watched her expression change from doubt to certainty. She lifted the glass and took a big swallow. She then stood up and slipped the jacket off.

"You're right, it is warm in here!"

Next she kicked off her shoes, and after a moment's hesitation, felt for the waistband button and zip on her skirt. She slowly eased this down her legs, stepped out of it and folded it and the jacket neatly and put them on the armchair.

This left her with her blouse, which was long enough to cover her to the tops of her legs. She reached under it and rolled her tights down her legs and tossed them on the chair.

Standing there with just a long blouse with her legs bare she looked a lot more sexy already. She undid the bow of the collar and unbuttoned the blouse. It hung open just enough to see that she had a plain white satin blouse and high waisted briefs, more or less matching the blouse. She stood there watching my reaction as she undid the buttons on the sleeve cuffs. Then she shrugged the blouse off her shoulders, folded it and put it on the chair behind her, and turned back rather coyly to face me in bra and panties to see my reaction. I tried not to disappoint.

"No, please stop! It's too horrible! I can't take it!" She looked at me in alarm, uncertain.

"No, wait, I must be strong for your sake. I can cope. I'm ok now, please continue."

A smile broke out as she realised I was ribbing her, and she grabbed a cushion from the chair behind her and threw it at me. I caught it, grinning.

"You still look ok to me. Let's see what you are like when it's all off."

Her expression became more serious again and I tried to read it. Shyness? Doubt? Nervousness? Anxiety? Arousal, even? I was certainly starting to get aroused.

She reached behind her back and unclipped the bra. She slid it down her arms and without turning threw it behind her onto the chair. It landed on the arm and slid onto the floor.

She was right, her breasts were a little large for her relatively small frame, but they were magnificent. They still seemed firm, with quite large areolae and neat button-like nipples.

"I can't see anything not to like so far..." I said softly. She gave a nervous smile and hooked her thumbs into her waist elastic and eased her knickers to the ground and stepped out. She stood and looked at me rather shyly, hands hanging at her side, one knee slightly crooked. She did perhaps have a high waist and a short torso, but you wouldn't really notice if you weren't looking for it. The bust compensated for any body shape issues, and there was a nice trimmed triangle of short dark hair pointing to the promised land below.

"I think you look terrific," I said, "you look so much better without clothes. Perhaps that's the answer, you should go naked more!"