Train Of Events

Chapter 1

Temptress, or tester; who can tell?

For once my defences were down. I was between women and descending into self abuse, which was a frequent occurrence after an affair came to an end. My every relationship since the divorce 15 years before had burst forth from a promising first date like an incandescent firework, only to fizzle out as the fantasy turned to reality.

I had only one rule when dating: no married women. I had suffered for my former wife's infidelity, and I didn't want the responsibility for destroying someone else's marriage.

No, make that two rules: I had to fancy my date like hell (that would be to agree to a second assignation – the first was usually a blind date).

Actually, now I think of it, there was a third rule: no sex for a decent interval after meeting for the first time. Sex had a way of confusing things.

~~~~

It all started when I agreed to let a room to Helen. She was 28, blonde, not well educated, and in a dead end job. As a mature professional, I was wary of letting rooms to females, particularly young ones. My libido was still rampant, and I am a voyeur by inclination. I would not want to risk being accused of sexual molestation, or worse, rape. Anyway, usually, the enquirer – if female - would terminate the telephone enquiry, as soon as I explained the household arrangements.

This time. I explained that it was me in the house alone, although my son was at university and would be home for the holidays. Mitigating circumstances were that it was a large four-bedroomed house with two reception rooms, so the lodger could have their own sitting room if they wished.

"That sounds fine," she said. "My names' Helen, can I come round and view the room?"

I don't regret agreeing to that. Helen was a good lodger: clean and tidy, very sociable, no ties, except for the occasional unsavoury loser, who rarely lasted more than two visits. The sort careless women picked up in clubs, or vice versa. Never as attractive in the cold light of day or when sober.

Helen had local links but she was very vague about them. I surmised that she didn't get on well with her family, and didn't want to talk about them. Moreover, she wouldn't want to subsidise them from her meagre income.

We got on well because she was easy going, much like me. She would fix her own meals, and often, we would eat together in the evenings and swap stories about our working day. She was a hairdresser in a local salon but her heart wasn't in her job, and she had notions of working abroad if the opportunity were to present itself.

It wasn't long before Helen started to sit in the living room with me to watch whatever I had on the TV. We would talk as we watched, so I guessed she wanted what she called 'intelligent company'. It was Spring and she tended to dress down in the house: some sort of shapeless wide-necked top over a strappy vest, and woolly leggings. Helen was average looking. About three inches shorter than me, she had good, firm and muscular legs, and from what I could tell under her outfits, a shapely, rounded bottom and a fine bust.

I felt the best way to handle her was as a daughter. She seemed to treat me like a father figure anyway, often confiding in me about her latest boyfriend, and asking my advice about everyday matters.

William came home for one weekend and pronounced her trouble. She didn't show much interest in him either: too young, I assumed. At 28, nine year's difference might have seemed half a lifetime to her, and he probably found plenty of easy lays at uni.

She had a girlfriend who lived close by and called regularly to go out with her. The friend was a bit of a slut, which probably explained why she was sadly an unmarried mother, struggling to cope in a bedsit. "Wow!" she exclaimed, "what a house. We could have some great parties in here."

Spring turned into summer and the warmer days caused me a problem. I couldn't dress down at home as I was wont to when on my own. No shorts or slumming in my underpants whilst Helen was around.

Helen had no such hang-ups. Her winter at-home outfits were gradually phased out for lighter wear. At first, it was loose tee shirt and leggings, then the bra was sacrificed, and she started wearing loose tops with wide necks. I had trouble preventing myself looking when she bent forwards. The sight of her generous breasts swinging freely beneath her loose top reminded me that I hadn't had sex in many months. I also began to notice how shapely her hips were. Her tops barely covered her thighs so that the shapely undersides of her bottom became apparent in her tight fitting leggings.

Summer came early and it was hot. She dispensed with the leggings in favour of tiny shorts with cutaway sides. The bottom curves of her buttocks were now visible, and I felt myself increasingly awkwardly erect whenever she appeared. I had tried wearing track suit bottoms around the house, but my member stood out like a pole in a tent, so I reverted to tight jeans. At least it would keep the prick down.

One particularly hot evening Helen came into the lounge minus the shorts. I had seen her often enough, wandering from bedroom to bathroom in bra and panties, and was fascinated by the variety and attractiveness of her underwear. What knickers was she wearing this evening?

She flopped down at the other end of the three-seater sofa we usually sat on together, lying away from me on her side, head resting on the upholstered side arm. Her knees were drawn up towards her belly, feet pointing towards me. That was her preferred position. I never minded her making herself comfortable. I concentrated on the TV programme as usual, so as not to ogle her.

"How can you cope with this heat?" she asked.

"It doesn't feel bad tonight," I said, "why, are you feeling OK?" She had my attention.

She brought her knees further up towards her chest and I could not stop myself looking instinctively down at the backs of her thighs and the exposed underside of her bottom. OK, let's check out the knickers. There at the top of her thighs were two beautiful brown mounds in a pear shape with a deep slit running up towards her rear – her naked pussy - about two inches away from my hand resting beside me on the sofa cushion. It would be nothing to move my hand slightly and be touching her pussy. Was that what she wanted? Surely she was asking for it.

I didn't; I made no move or comment, and faced forward to try and concentrate on the TV screen. After a few minutes she sighed and left the room. I heard the front door close soon after and guessed she had gone to a pub in town to get drunk. Would she come home alone?

Next morning, I was headed for the bathroom at my allotted time when Helen's door opened and she came out, also heading for the bathroom, rubbing her eyes as if just woken from sleep. She was stumbling a bit, as if still drunk from the night before.

She was also stark naked.

As she rubbed her eyes and raised her elbows, her breasts were lifted upwards so that they swung more freely than usual as she stumbled towards the bathroom. Wow, what a sight, and as contrived as any situation I had ever confronted. She wanted me to see her butt naked.

I paused by the bathroom door to avoid bumping into her and said as gently as I could muster "Hi Helen, it's my time for the bathroom."

She opened her fully eyes at that, looked at me and smiled. "Sorry, " she chuckled, "I was sleep walking, too much last night" and she dropped the side of her head on my right shoulder and her hand on my left shoulder, as if she was about to fall asleep standing up resting on my shoulder. This was going too far: over familiar and straining my self-imposed restraint to its limit.

It hadn't stopped me from drinking in the gloriously sexy sight of her voluptuous body, though. I had under-estimated just how sexy and beautiful she was, naked. Some women look better unclothed than dressed. Helen was one of those. She wasn't slim, but all of her curves were in perfect proportion, and her body was firm. Moreover, her breasts were very full and round, large and soft, but not particularly saggy. They jiggled gently as she walked.

Nor had I missed sight of her shaved pussy. I remember thinking: pity, now I won't know whether or not she is a true blonde.

~~~~

Back in my room, I relived those few moments of the encounter.

"You prick tease," I cry, grabbing her forearms and pushing her against the landing wall, pinning her upraised arms against the wall either side of her head. I am crazed with her sexual provocation.

I kiss her head, her neck, then drop my lips to her breasts and take each nipple in turn into my mouth and suck it until it stiffens and grows hugely in size. I clasp both her wrists with my left hand and using my superior strength, pin her arms against the wall above her head. She doesn't resist but stares at me, expressionless, expectant.

I don't care what she thinks, whether or not she wants this. It's payback time for all those months of teasing me. She obviously wanted me to fuck her or she wouldn't have left her bedroom naked. She knew this was my time to use the bathroom.

Keeping her arms pinned to the wall, I step back to survey her naked body. In that restrained position her breasts are lifted even further. Now she is breathing heavily and her chest rises and falls with each breath. She is looking me in the eye challengingly, but she does not fight me. This is exciting her.

I grasp first one tit then the other, and feel them thoroughly with my hand. Then I run my fingers down her belly, turn the fingertips upwards and push my fingers between her legs, my index finger searching for her cunt. Yes, there is the clitoris standing proud and erect. I rub back and forwards against it a few times to test her reactions. She groans and moves her legs slightly apart. I can feel her vaginal wetness forming on my finger. Crooking it up in a come-hither gesture, I push it up inside her, rubbing against her clit. She gasps and pushes her torso out towards me. She wants it.

Keeping her wrists pinned to the wall above her head with my left hand, I loosen the cord of my dressing gown with my right and shrug it off my right shoulder. Letting go of her wrists I shrug it off completely so that I am now naked in front of Helen. She is staring at me, wide-eyed, panting.

This isn't going to be beautiful. I grab her hand and pull her down onto the landing floor on her back, push her arms above her head. That pushes her breasts up and taut. Her nipples stand proud.

I pin her upper arms to the floor. I suck in a nipple, drawing it well into my mouth. She moans and shifts her hips with pleasure. After sucking the other nipple, I grab my penis and push the tip up against the slit of her cunt. She is so wet that my prick slips in with ease. I push it in deep and she lifts her hips off the floor, further to improve the angle of thrust. I push as far as it will penetrate inside her then withdraw it slowly to the neck of her vagina, before plunging it in again.

At first, I regulate my thrusts through habit, but it has been so long and very quickly I lose all restraint and begin to pump furiously, selfishly, until I feel my orgasm building. With a final triumphant groan I can feel my hot sperm squirting out of me and deep up inside Helen's body. I am a spent force, and I flop my head on her breasts, resting most of my weight on my upper arms and elbows. After a few moments, I look up into Helen's eyes. I have no idea whether or not she has come. She is smiling and has a look of triumph in her eyes.

~~~~

Back to reality.

Of course, I didn't really attack Helen, and I was later grateful that that I hadn't taken advantage of her.

She didn't forget her shorts again.

We sat at the kitchen table two evenings later. "Will you do a favour for me?" She asked. "I have a friend who is going through a very difficult separation, and wants someone to talk to." Looking me fully in the eyes, Helen continued, "I know you are an honourable man and a good listener. Would you be prepared to listen to her? I'm sure it would do her good to get another man's perspective."

I agreed and gave her my mobile phone number, then forgot about it.

A week or so later, she came home with an older woman whom she introduced as Susie, the mother of her best friend. They were going out clubbing together and Helen had to change her clothes. Would I mind entertaining Susie?

What was she doing going out with clubbing a woman twice her age? I didn't take much notice of Susie, and don't remember what we talked about. I just wanted them out of the house so that I could relax and get on with my solitary evening.

Next evening, Helen announced that she was leaving. She had got a summer job in South Africa, grooming dogs.

Then she was gone.



Chapter 2

Maturity doesn't necessarily mean experienced

The call from the lady to whom Helen had given my number came a week after Helen's departure.

It was Susie. Could she come round and talk to me? Half an hour later she was on the doorstep.

This time, I had she had my undivided attention. We stood in the hall and did the preliminaries, properly this time. I invited her into the kitchen and following behind her. She was petite, say 5'4", slim with a small waist. She had silver blonde hair, well cut in a close-cropped, layered style. She was wearing a light summer dress which dropped from her waist, emphasising her rounded hips. The dress was fashionably above the knee and showed off a good pair of shapely legs.

As we sat together at the kitchen table, I listened as Susie told me her story. I studied her face and realised that she was in fact classically beautiful. Every feature of that face was in perfect proportion, from the short, straight nose, the large green eyes, the tanned complexion, and her generous, smiling mouth.

As she spoke I could see that men would find her attractive. When she smiled, which took some time to appear on that first occasion, she dazzled. Then men would find her irresistible. Susie had a captivating smile which drew one into her spell. She was an enchantress.

What man would spurn such a beautiful woman?

Susie had made a bad marriage. In her late forties, but looking much younger, she had married a man 15 years her junior. She had been attracted to his youthfulness, on the rebound from her own divorce from a much older man, for whom she had been a trophy wife. He had been a wealthy builder. Now she had a toyboy for a husband.

Geoff was going through a mid-life crisis at 35, worried about Susie's advancing age, and totting up her useful years as a wife. He had decided to play around, and got himself enmeshed with a twenty-something. They had moved in together after Susie discovered the affair and threw him out.

Helen had suggested that Susie speak to me after carrying out what she described as extensive tests of my honourability. I hadn't been entirely convinced by that story line but it had obviously persuaded Helen of my reliability. What if I had fucked her? Would I have failed her test of honourability, or might she have stayed instead of going off to South Africa?

~~~~

Susie sought my opinion on everything about her, from her looks, attractiveness, and what life might be like after Geoff. On that first occasion, I took her enquiries at face value and tried to be honest, objective, and constructive. I didn't attempt to flirt with her. She was a married woman, after all.

She asked if we could talk again.

The second m was easier. She came around the next Saturday afternoon, and we talked more about me this time, and we swapped opinions about our likes, dislikes, and so on. Susie asked to see around the house. I gave the tour, finishing up at the door of my bedroom.

This is a large room, about thirty feet in length, with windows at both ends, making it very light and airy and seeming even bigger. Susie went in and looked around. "I want to know what sort of man you are," she stated. "Do you mind?", indicating a door to one of the fitted wardrobes.

Having sneaked a peek in all the wardrobes, she asked," Why so many mirrors?"

It was true, most of the wardrobes had mirror doors, and the dressing area opposite the bed had a big mirror covering the entire wall of the alcove made by the overhanging cupboards and the built-in dressing table. It gave a good reflection of the action taking place on the bed. Sadly there hadn't been any worthwhile action since the room had been refitted.

Honesty is usually the best policy and now I felt the urge to flirt. "A beautiful woman needs lots of mirrors to check her dress from all angles ... and to see her lover ... "

"And you?"

"I like to watch."

"Helen told me you were a gentleman. Does a gentleman spy on women?"

"He does if the lady knows he is looking and consents."

"And are you a gentleman?"

"I don't take advantage ,if that's what you mean. Does it matter whether or not a man is a gentleman?"

"Of course. I've had enough of boys, and men who are uneducated slobs. I want a kind, considerate man who will sweep me off my feet."

She had moved up close beside me and we were looking into the mirror at our reflections, side by side. It was a curiously intimate moment. Both our thoughts had strayed into the same dangerous territory.

"What about your resolve not to mess with married woman?" my conscience enquired.

This is different, I thought, this woman has been deserted by her husband and the marriage is almost certainly doomed. I wouldn't be breaking them up.

On impulse, I took Susie's words literally and lifted her off her feet, cradling her light, slim frame in my outstretched hands and arms. Instinctively, she slipped her arm around my shoulder, then threw back her head and laughed. "I asked for that," she said.

I looked down at her and saw the outline of her nipples pushing up through the thin dress material. One of my hands was supporting her back, and I could feel her skin through the thin cotton material, unhampered by any bra strap. My right hand was supporting her bottom, again unencumbered with panty straps. She was naked under the dress.

I was gone, suddenly besotted with this beautiful, happy creature, relaxed and uninhibitedly enjoying being in my arms.

I didn't want to let go of Susie just yet.

"Do you feel suitably swept?"

"Oh yes, I feel safe in your arms."

I swung her around gently and began to waltz, humming the Blue Danube, as I twirled around with her resting in my arms. She laughed continuously as we whirled around. I moved towards a padded storage box at the foot of the bed and stepped up onto it. Susie was now 6 feet off the ground and she shrieked as she looked down at the floor. "Put me down!"

I bent at the knees to angle Susie's body into an upright position, to lower her feet to the floor. It took considerable effort to achieve a controlled descent whilst I remained standing on the storage box, but Susie was light. Besides, I realised she was naked under the dress and I wanted to take full advantage of that, and accelerate the development of this relationship.

"And what was that about no sex before a decent interval has elapsed?" my voice demanded.

I didn't normally trust women's motives in relationships on the rebound, but I intended to go with my instincts on this one. Besides, it had been many, many months .....

As Susie's feet touched ground I straightened up still clasping her hips in my palms, so that her thin dress 'accidentally' rode up , and exposed her naked to the waist. Ooops! She had her back to me and was facing the dressing table mirror. For a moment we stood motionless looking at Susie in the mirror with her naked and blonde pubic hair exposed. She didn't react angrily or in embarrassment. Instead, she moved forwards as if to move from my grasp, or possibly to get a closer look at her body in the mirror.