Three Score Years and Ten

She put her hand on mine. "Oh, that's nice of you to say so. Shame you're not single!" And I laughed and changed the subject, because she was really attractive and I didn't want to make a fool of myself.

As we worked on configuring the new website I'd discovered that she had hitherto got all her product data from a master spreadsheet maintained by the Sales Director, and started to look into how this might be used to simplify updating the online product base. So I worked with them both to adapt the spreadsheet slightly into a form where with the help of a custom built import routine it could be uploaded directly from spreadsheet to website. Everything went fine, and after much testing and a few long days in the office, it all went live, and was an almost instant success with customers.

So my few weeks working with Becks and our daily banter in the office came to an end. We went out on my last day for a drink, and when we parted at the end of the evening, she pulled me into a hug and kissed me on the cheek.

"Thanks again for all your help and support, and for boosting my confidence about finding a mate! Keep in touch, please?" I promised and left with a heavy heart at the thought I wouldn't be seeing her every day any more.

As it transpired, this new website got put forward as a case study for a conference presentation that autumn in Birmingham. I got the news when Becks phoned me one morning about three months after our parting. It was a delight to hear her voice again, and after a few minutes of greeting, she broke the news.

"John wants me to present from the company side, and hoped you would present the supplier's view. I said I'd ask you as I thought I could persuade you better than him!" John Carlton was the marketing director and her boss, whom I knew fairly well.

"Did you now. And how did he take that?"

"He just said, 'You've got some natural advantages when it comes to persuading men!' I think I may have blushed."

"Well, you'd better start persuading then!"

"Oh please, Rob, it'll do my career good, and I'd so like to work with you again!"

"When is it again?"

"Thursday 10th November till the morning of Saturday 12th. There's a conference dinner on the Friday night. We will pay for your accommodation at the conference hotel. Our slot will be on Friday morning."

"Hang on..." I checked my calendar. "I've got something on Thursday morning, so might not get there until lunchtime, otherwise it looks ok. I'll need to check with my boss, but I'm sure he'd be pleased to have me speak there."

"Hey, that's great. I'll really look forward to meeting you again!" And then we fell to discussing how to structure the presentation and set up some dates to review emailed drafts.

Tempus fugit, as they say, and November came around. We'd not managed to arrange a meeting to go over the presentation, due to busy diaries on both our parts, and so it was just after the start of the Thursday afternoon session that I arrived at the conference, and sneaked into the auditorium to sit at the back. It wasn't a riveting topic or presenter, and I passed the time scanning the audience to try to spot Becks or anyone else I knew. I spotted a handful of former colleagues and clients but couldn't see Becks, but then again I couldn't see all the audience from where I was sitting.

When the afternoon tea break arrived, I wandered out and ran into a couple of contacts, and spent most of the tea break networking. As they called time for the last session, I saw Becks talking to her boss, John Carlton, and a couple of other people I didn't know. I caught her eye and waved, and she gave a discreet wave back. I didn't get a chance to speak to her until after the final session, when I caught up with her as we all left the auditorium. She was still with John, so I just shook hands with both of them, and we exchanged pleasantries. Then John said,

"I'd like to have a quiet word with Valerie, but perhaps we can all have dinner together this evening?" And so we arranged to meet in the bar at six thirty, and like most of the other delegates I headed off to my room to regroup before dinner.

I guess I was down in the bar a few minutes early, and so was Becks. She said, "I didn't have the chance to do this earlier!" and gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"Valerie, eh? So, Valerie, how have you been keeping?"

She tossed an imaginary strand of hair back and in an affected voice and with a twinkle in her eye, said "It's my professional name, you know! I've been fine, thanks, although I've missed seeing you in the office every day!" Then we saw John making his way towards us, and added, "Let's aim to catch up later." I nodded, and then greeted John as he arrived.

We had a pleasant dinner chatting about the company, colleagues there and how the website was doing, and I enquired after John's family. When we'd all finished, and repaired to the bar for coffees, John said, "I think I'll make an early night of it, I need to be up early tomorrow to catch a train back to London. I'm sorry I won't get to see your presentation but at least the organisers are sending out videos of them, so I will see it eventually. Good luck!"

After he'd left, I said to Becks, "So, how are you really keeping? How's the BF?"

She grimaced. "He's great, just about perfect really. Cooks like a dream, does all the housework, independently wealthy, and really good in bed. Now all I have to do is find him!"

"Becky!" I said scoldingly, "How you are still unattached escapes me. If I were twenty years younger, even fifteen, I'd be trying my hardest to win you over! Perhaps it's just as well I'm too old for you."

"That's not for you to say," she said vehemently. "You can legitimately ask yourself if I am too young for you, but only I can judge if you are too old for me. So am I too young for you?"

I was a bit wrong-footed. "Er, no, not at all I suppose. I guess you are right about that. So are you saying you like older men?"

"I didn't say that. Mind you I like the right older man."

"So why do you think you can't find the right partner? Is it that men don't approach you?"

"Oh no, they approach me all the time. It's just that they don't follow through. I think they know if they don't stand a chance, and I'm rather picky."

I smiled. I knew she had strong opinions, and yet was so empathetic to most people. "Why don't they measure up then?"

She looked pensive, and a bit evasive. "I think it's because I have an ideal, but he's unobtainable. So I guess I don't act as welcoming as I might."

"Oh," I said, "is that someone I know?"

She looked at me quizzically. "I can't say," she said, and got to her feet abruptly. "I think I'll turn in early as well. I want to be at my best tomorrow morning."

"Good point," I said. "I hope you have a good night's rest and I'll see you in the morning."

"Good night," she said, and turned to walk away.

I was a little bit puzzled and alarmed, I hoped I hadn't said anything inappropriate, she wasn't normally that curt. And what did she mean by an ideal who is unobtainable?

I didn't see Becks at breakfast, or in the first session, but as we filed out for coffee, she was already in the hall outside. We were first on after the break, so we both headed to the front to get set up, and then both took a quick bathroom break so as not to have any, shall we say, physical distractions during the presentation.

We did a double act, Becks explaining the project from the client's perspective, and me explaining the approach from the supplier's perspective. It seemed to go pretty well, there were some intelligent questions from the floor at the end and we got a good round of applause. We grinned at each other as we made our way off stage.

The rest of the day passed with conference sessions, lunch and networking, and afternoon tea with a chance for me to look at the displays and stands I hadn't been round before. It was actually quite a useful conference for work purposes.

At the end of the last session, there was the usual round of announcements and thank yous, and the MC then reminded us that drinks would be served from 6pm and the formal dinner would start at 7pm. We filed out and as I couldn't see Becks I decided to head to my room to freshen up and catch up on emails before drinks.

I got back down to the meeting area around 6:15 and it was already heaving. I fell into conversation with some people I vaguely knew, and grabbed a glass of typically conference indifferent white wine from a passing waitress. At seven we were called through to dinner, and they had made table seating plans at the door, which as usual meant much slower progress as everyone milled around the displayed plans to find out which table they were on. I found that I was on table 12, and didn't hold up those queuing behind to find out which table Becks was on, but it wasn't 12.

Dinner passed as conference dinners do, largely inconsequential chat with people you don't know, and in this case wouldn't help your business network, whilst eating food which was not bad considering the challenges of mass catering on a budget, but not what you'd hope for if you were eating out yourself.

Around 8:30, an announcer called for our attention and told us that there would be a cabaret starting in about fifteen minutes once they'd finished serving the coffees and drinks from the bar. A few of the folks on my table got up to go and talk to other people they knew, and I just started to scan for Becks when she slipped into the now empty chair beside me.

"I happen to know," she said, "that the cabaret will be a magician, who does things like cutting your tie in half and then presenting it back to you mysteriously whole again, and finding things in your pocket that weren't there before, and a comedian nobody has ever heard of. Do you fancy stepping out and having a drink somewhere quieter?" I was happy to agree.

We settled in a couple of comfortable chairs in one of the hotel reception rooms, and managed to catch the eye of a server to get some mint tea and a Tia Maria for Becks, and a malt whisky for me.

"Well, this morning went all right, I think. I heard someone say it was thought-provoking."

Becks nodded. "I hope it results in more business for you then. I hope it's also raised our profile in the industry a bit."

"And your personal profile! John was telling me yesterday whilst you were powdering your nose that he thought you'd done really well with the website, both in setting it up and in keeping it fresh as a live site, and I told him I thought your presentation was really good as well."

"Thank you!" She beamed. "You see, I'm not just a pretty face!"

"Kindly stop such shameless fishing for compliments!"

She laughed. "Worth a try," she said. "So, have you got anything planned for the weekend?"

"A quiet weekend to get over this conference! It's been a different Friday for me from last week: that was Shakespeare at the National Theatre on South Bank! Twelfth Night, which is always a bit of fun. A girl disguised as a man falls in love with a man, and his betrothed falls in love with the girl thinking she's a man. All good clean LBGT fun!" Becks laughed. "How about you?"

"Well," she said, "I was thinking I'd catch up on sleep and house cleaning. How good a weekend is that? Like you, it's a bit different from last weekend, I went to an Eighties themed fancy dress party. I went as a Baywatch Babe. Let me show you..." and she fished for her phone. She thumbed through a few screens, and then passed it to me.

It was a photo of Becks in the iconic red one-piece swimsuit and flip-flops. Wow.

"Wow," I said. "Pamela Anderson, eat your heart out. I wish I'd been there to see!"

"Well," she said, "you can. I brought my Baywatch costume with me, I wore it when I swam in the hotel pool this morning instead of going to breakfast. Come on, I'll show you."

She got to her feet and held out a hand. I shouldn't, I thought, but my legs got me up and my hand sought hers despite my resolve.

We walked to the lifts, and unusually there was one waiting. She pressed for the tenth floor. That was a long enough ride for me to remember her comment about having an unobtainable ideal man. I found myself hoping that she meant me, and also that she didn't mean me, in equal measure.

We exited the lift and walked half a dozen doors to her room, and she let me in. "Take a seat," she said, waving in the general direction of the armchair and bed, and disappeared into the bathroom. I sat on the edge of the bed, suddenly feeling nervous.

A couple of minutes and the bathroom door opened. I stood up. She came out and stopped a couple of feet in front of me.

"It's still a bit damp," she said, "and I found out this morning that it's a little bit translucent when wet. It's the first time I've worn it for swimming. I don't think it's translucent now though, what do you think?"

I was being given clear permission to stare at her magnificent breasts. Larger than average, but not grotesquely so, on the contrary. They seemed very shapely and firm enough not to sag without swimsuit support. I couldn't say I could see her nipples, although you could make out where they were. As for the rest of her, curvy but not fat, great legs, shown off well by the high cut thigh. She looked at me quizzically.

"Well?"

"I'm speechless, as you can tell. Becks, you look so good, so sexy... how can any man not want you?"

She lowered her eyes, and in a husky low voice, said, "Do you want me?"

I looked at her hungrily. I felt my resolve softening, and something else hardening. "I'm a man, how could I not?"

She stepped forward until she was just inches away. I put a hand out to her waist.

"You're right, it is still damp. My mother taught me I shouldn't wear damp clothes."

"No, I shouldn't," she said even more huskily. She raised her hands and pushed the shoulder straps down her arms and shrugged her arms out of them. Then she slowly pushed the suit down to her waist. Those marvellous breasts burst free. She looked every bit as glorious as I had dreamed.

"Perhaps you could do the next bit..." she murmured.

I squatted down and gripped the swimsuit on both sides, and gently eased it over her hips. Her shaved pussy came into view, puffy and already glistening, with the delightful aroma of female arousal. I pushed the suit down her legs and it pooled on the floor. I stood up again and took her in my arms. She put her arms around my neck and we had a long, soft, sensuous kiss.

She stopped and said, "it seems so sexy being naked like this with you still in your business suit. But on the other hand, I think it's about time you lost it." And she unbuttoned my jacked and pushed it off and threw it on the armchair.

I stood and let her undress me. I loved watching her move, every movement seemed sensual and erotic. She removed my tie and shirt, and then my shoes and socks. Then before undoing my trousers, she pressed her hand against my erection. "That feels promising," she said.

She undid the belt buckle and the zip, and then the waist catch, and they fell down my legs. She grasped the waistband of my boxers and lifted it clear of my rampant cock and pushed them down my legs. "That is indeed promising!"

She dropped to her knees and I lifted each foot in turn as she pulled my clothes off my feed and dropped them on the chair behind her. Staying on her knees, she grasped my cock and with both hands stroked, massaged, and fondled my cock and balls. It felt so good. Then she leant forward and kissed and licked around the head, and then took the end into her mouth. She moved her head to and fro fairly slowly, her tongue massaging and sucking, it wasn't deep throat but it felt just as good.

I groaned. "It won't take much of that..." I said.

"Then I'll come back to that later, I want the first time you come to be inside me." My cock gave a twitch. I wanted that so bad. She rose to her feet and pulled me towards the bed, and scooted backwards until her head was on the pillows. She let her legs fall apart and the sight of her sex open and inviting was so incredibly sexy. I got onto the bed and moved to kiss and lick her slit, with satisfying moans in response, which got a lot louder when I moved up to circle and suck her clitoris.

After a minute, she put her hands on my head and said, "It won't take much for me either. And I want the first time I come to be with you inside me too."

I moved up, pausing on the way to discover that those lovely breasts were firm to the touch and tasted exquisite, and she felt between us to grasp my cock and position it at her entrance. I moved very slowly forward in little steps, two centimetres forward and one back, until I was buried. She kissed me passionately, tongues dancing, making little moans of pleasure, as I rocked gently to and fro. I felt her moving against me more vigorously.

"Faster and harder," she whispered. I stepped up the pace. It felt so good. She hugged me tighter and tighter. "Yess... I'm almost there..."

"Me too," I panted. I felt her fingers on her clit, and she started making small cries, then "yes... yes... come for me now..."

I was past the point of no return, and buried myself deep, pumping for what seemed ages.

As we lay recovering, she said, "I hope you weren't banking on getting too much sleep..."

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

"I brought my Baywatch costume with me, I wore it when I swam in the hotel pool this morning instead of going to breakfast. Come on, I'll show you."

And I said, "Thanks, but perhaps I'll see it in the hotel pool tomorrow morning." The rest happened when I let my imagination run wild later on.

NOW I'M IN MY SEVENTIES -- where did the time go? The best part of a lifetime with a woman I still can't believe fell for me, two daughters long fled the nest and two grandchildren occasionally causing mayhem to our daily lives. Nowadays, April has kidney problems and I have high blood pressure, so we rarely feel in the mood to have sex, but we still make love in other ways every day. So what if I livened up things over the years, both with April and in lonely nights on my own away on business, with a little fantasy based on friends and colleagues? It's still, as it always has been, only April I really have eyes for. I was never going to make a fool out of April.