Where Exactly Were We?

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How I seduced a younger woman, or did I?
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Chapter 1

I hadn't set out to do it. I had never thought about it or planned such a thing. It just wasn't me, it was not my thing, well it had never been until then. Something must have changed, but was it with me, was it circumstances or what?

Chapter 2

I was Acting Head Copywriter in a big ad agency. Acting, because I was not a full time employee, but a freelancer, as they call self-employed contractors in the ad business. Things were booming and the agency was stretched. With the typical lack of loyalty and 'sell yourself to the highest bidder' attitude of that crazy business, job jumping was rife and good employees were on a merry-go-round of moving from agency to agency. Hence the agency's need for an 'Acting Head Copy Chief.'

I usually worked from home. The flat I shared with my twelve year old daughter in London Docklands was both my home and work place. It was certainly big enough and the great views over the rejuvenated docks and beyond to the Thames were highly conducive to the creative mind. The sort of word orientated mind needed to produce elegant plagiarism, which was the 'grift to the mill', for most copywriters.

I had been there three years at the time. That made , well nearer forty really, single woman, trying new things, working out where I was going and where I would like to go, I was redefining mysel; life-style re-engineering as some of those 'up their own arse, magazines term it.

I didn't want to take the job. I don't like the pressure of managing others and I don't like going to work. Working I don't mind. Hard work I relish, but I hate the corporate bullshit of companies, especially ad agencies. That, and it made easier for me to look after Sara, was why I was freelance. Oh yes, I also didn't like the macho, totally non PC way of agency life anymore. Whilst by no means a feminist, I do feel females are entitled not to be continually sexually or verbally harassed in the work place, but that is a concept that has not reached the ad business: especially where thirty something divorcees, 'who must be gagging for it', are concerned.

Mike, the MD and I went back a very long way. We went back to before I had even met Kevin. In fact he was instrumental in me meeting the man who became my husband, for he was an Account Director at the agency on Kevin's account and I was the copywriter. We had kept in touch throughout my marriage, but carefully resisted getting too close in fear that we would rekindle to the powerfully sexual relationship we'd had pre Kevin.

"Look Mands, we're in deep shit," Mike said.

"So tell me something new," I replied into my mobile as I sat in my apartment naked apart from a pair of pale blue, lacy shorts.

He went on to tell me about the agency's staffing problems, the projects he had in process, the backlog of copy to be written and the new business pitches he had lined up.

"So why call me? You know I'll take all the work you want to give," I asked idly stroking my right breast with my fingertips.

As part of redefining myself after all those years with Kevin, I had found chat rooms and from that, exchanging mails with people I met on there. Obviously, the content of both was rather, shall we say 'intimate and personal?' No, let's call a spade a spade, it was fucking horny, well most was, some was just pathetically pornographic and I quickly got away from that.

"You should write stories," one of the guys said in a chat room one day.

I had previously exchanged a few mails with him describing some of my sexual experiences. I found that interesting, quite sexually stimulating, remember I was now single after fourteen or so years of three or four times a week sex, and strangely cathartic; it was helping me find myself again after the devastation of my marriage break up.

"I couldn't do that," I had said to him, "I've got an eleven year old daughter."

"So?" He had persisted.

"If they were published she might see them."

"Not if you published them on Literotica," he suggested.

I looked it up, liked it, read some fantastic erotica and was on my way.

"I need help in the agency," Mike was saying.

I was only half listening for I was proof reading a piece I had just written for Lit, called The Mirror. That describes my body and how, by writing about myity, I aroused myself and ended up naked on the floor of the apartment masturbating in front of a floor to ceiling mirror. As I chatted to Mike, I glanced over at that mirror wondering ........................?

"Really?" I murmured probably sounding absent-minded as I read my lengthy description of my full, heavy, at the time, 35 D breasts which I was fondling as I read about them.

"Mandy are you listening to me? I'm in deep shit and I need your help," Mike said, dragging me away from my sexual meanderings. I closed 'The Mirror' and let go of my breasts, although they were still tingling and I had that lovely warmth of arousal all through my body.

In the end I agreed. I would do three months, pretty much full time. I would spend the mornings in the agency, the early afternoons with clients, but would generally leave to be home by four when I would then continue working from home. We agreed a great package, including a Porsche 911, my dream car.

****

I was two months into the contract. It was working well. I had sorted out many of the problems, had called on a number of old contacts to overcome the copy backlog and do the pitches and had recruited a few key creative and production staff including four copywriters, one of whom was a senior writer, earmarked as my replacement.

I was running a weekend workshop for the copy team. Sara was away for a few days with her father, so I had set it up at a lovely country hotel, not far from Windsor, just outside London. The arrangement was to meet for dinner on the Friday evening and discuss the loose agenda I had prepared. The overall objective of the workshop was to improve both the quality, but as importantly the speed with which we turned copy projects round, at present it was too slow and cumbersome.

On theFriday morning we would discuss the overall problem as a group, have a brainstorm and develop loads of potential ways to improve, irrespective at that stage or their practicality. We would then break into four smaller groups of three and investigate the suggestions and come up the best three workable suggestions from each group. Later, maybe the next day, these would be presented to the main group and fully discussed with a view to developing one from each group into a workable system the next morning.

The back end of the Saturday afternoon was to be one-to-one counselling and coaching sessions pairing the more senior with the more junior team members; this was recommended by the training facilitator I had invited. He paired us by the most experienced with the least experienced and so. I was thus paired with the second least experienced, Sammi.

She was twenty two or so and had just left Bristol University with a solid 2:1 in English and Psychology, a perfect combination for a copywriter in the ad industry. She was on the company's graduate trainee scheme and would spend a time in different departments eventually finding a permanent home with a job in a department that was most suitable for her. She had spent a few months in accounts, which was where all the grads started, and had been in copy for just a few weeks.

I knew that she was very popular throughout the agency, particularly with the creatives, but also she seemed to making quite an impression on the suits in account management. But then, when you looked at her golden blonde hair, her blue eyes, her pretty face, her youthfully rounded figure and slender, tanned legs, it wasn't hard to see why, and I realised a little ashamed of myself, I did look at them quite a lot. When you added in her bubbly personality, her smiling, chatty, friendly demeanour, her willingness to help and her apparently strong work ethic, the reason for her popularity and why most of the department heads, me included, were already making overtures to capture her for their group was pretty obvious.

The afternoon had gone well and we were onto the last session, the one-to-ones. Sammi and I found a quiet spot in an empty room off the bar. We talked about her career aspirations and why she had chosen to come into advertising and then she had shown me her copy portfolio. Her writing, though inevitably a little naïve, was sharp and punchy and showed a lot of promise, which I told her.

"Oh really Mandy," she said leaning forward and grabbing my wrist, "You really mean that?"

"Yes absolutely Sammi, you have a good style," I replied turning and looking at her. As she was leaning forward the long sleeved, low cut top had gaped a bit and my eyes confirmed what I had thought earlier that she wasn't wearing a bra.

"I do appreciate that, for really that is what I want to do," she went on not letting go of my wrist or straightening up.

"What write copy?"

"Yes, just like you do."

"You enjoy writing then?" I asked.

"Yes I love it?"

"Do you write for pleasure then?"

"Yes some short stories, essays, some script work, that of course never gets published; all the usual sort of stuff."

We laughed at that and she asked.

"And you Amanda, what do you write for fun?"

I could hardly tell her that I exchanged e-mails with men I met in chat rooms and that I wrote erotic stories, both of which served as my masturbation fodder or that I published them on Literotica so I said.

"Oh this and that usual stuff."

She had bent one leg and slid one foot under her bottom on the settee with the other foot on the ground. Her slender legs were very tanned and I could see lots of both for she was wearing one of those micro, hipster denim skirts. She was also wearing dark blue panties, I noticed, gulping a little.

I went through some work stuff with her, before we started chatting more generally about our lives, more girly stuff really.

Looking back later, I was surprised at how easily the conversation had flowed and how much I had opened up to her, something I rarely do and had never done before to a girl some fifteen years my junior.

I told her about my early days in advertising as a copywriter in the late eighties when I was about her age. As we chatted about that I even went as far as saying.

"Now don't you do this and keep it to yourself, but I committed the cardinal ad industry sin of fucking the client."

"Really?" She smiled, "How exciting, did it cause problems?"

"No not really, because I also married him."

We both laughed at that.

"So you're the footloose and fancy free divorcee now are you?" She asked.

"Well I wouldn't go that far."

"Are you over it now?" She asked leaning forward to look at a paper on the coffee table. I was leaning back on the settee and watched as her top slid up her back. The waist of the hipster skirt was well down on her hips so I got another view of the blue lace, which confirmed that she was wearing a thong. As she leaned forward so her hip moved a little and pressed against the outside of my jean covered knee.

"Are you in a relationship Sammi?" I asked to her back.

"No, I've had a few, but kids my age bore me and older blokes tend to get too intense or they're married."

"Yeah I know what you mean," I replied, quite liking the feel of her hip against my leg, but realising I shouldn't leave it there, so I moved a little.

"You reckon you'll marry again?" She asked suddenly as she leaned backwards until her shoulders were against the back of the sofa, with her body stretched out and her legs under the table. This time her shoulder came in contact with my arm and her breasts and nipples were clearly outlined by the thin material.

"I don't know, but at present I have no desire to get mixed up with any men."

"Why not?" She asked as she turned her face and looked at me.

"Well after Kevin I just don't want the emotional attachment and dependence."

"Just the sex?" She smiled.

"Well I'm not so sure on that either really."

"What, no sex?"

I laughed, "Actually not much no, but to be truthful Sammi, I find that difficult without some form of emotional involvement."

"And that you don't want so you have a classic Catch twenty two don't you?" She asked seeming to press her arm more firmly against mine.

"Yes I suppose I do."

"And I know precisely what you mean and how you feel Amanda, I am a little like that myself."

"Really?"

"Yes, I sometimes go weeks even a couple of months without."

I laughed. "You need to be careful, young lady, that can be bad for you?"

"Well you don't seem to do too badly on it do you, and you go ages don't you?"

"Well yes that's true I do, if you mean what I think you do?"

She looked right into my eyes with an assurance that belied both her age and her organisational position in relation to me as she coolly said.

"I meant going ages without having a man Amanda, without having sex."

I felt things were getting a little too intimate, too open and too frank. I knew that I shouldn't be doing what I was doing, thinking what I was thinking and hoping for what I was hoping.

Would you like a drink or something?" I asked.

"I'd kill for a beer."

"Good idea any type?"

"Becks preferably, but anything will do," Sammi replied looking into my eyes and smiling.

I returned with two beers in the bottles and sat alongside her on the settee. She was still pretty much stretched out although her legs were bent at the knee and her bare feet, she had removed her shoes, were on the ground. Her skirt had risen just about as far up those beautifully tanned legs as it could and her top had also been stretched upwards leaving a three or four inch band of bare flesh round her waist.

She turned to look at me, our eyes met.

"So where were we?" I asked.

She stared right into my eyes and without smiling said quietly.

"Yes Amanda, where exactly were we? Something to do with not having men very often I think."

Before we could follow that avenue the training facilitator came and advised it was time to stop and get ready for dinner.

****

Seeing my bloated nipples in the dressing table mirror as I stood there in just my jeans as I got ready to shower and change for dinner, my mind went back to when I was at university. It went back to when I was experimenting sexually, when I was examining my sexuality, when I was finding myself, when I was originally 'engineering' my life-style and sexuality.

I found myself recalling the feel of a breast in my hand, a female breast. I was remembering the sensations that raced through me as I cupped one, as I stroked, caressed, squeezed and rubbed it. The feelings that gave me, the emotions I experienced as I did that to a breast that was not mine, to a breast that was another woman's, yes the feelings I got as I started to make love to another female.

****

The dinner was fun. We were all there dressed just slightly more smartly than for the training, well the females were. At least the guys seemed to have changed their tee shirts! Most of us were wearing jeans, what else? Sammi, though, was still wearing the ridiculously short skirt, but had put on one of those sparkly tops, with very thin spaghetti straps. I was wearing my tight jeans, which were slightly, but not overtly hipster, but which clung to my bum and pubic mound like a second skin. They were tucked into black, knee-length boots, very fashionable, I was assured by my daughter. I had slipped on a threequarter sleeved, white cotton, scooped neck tee which I was wearing outside the jeans. Over it I had a short cardigan with three buttons, which were done up. Nice package, I had thought, as I looked in the mirror just before leaving my room to go down to the bar.

As usual with a bunch of advertising creatives, all the arrangements quickly went to pot. We stayed in the bar far too long, drank too much and didn't sit down to eat until nearly nine thirty. God knows what the other diners thought as we drank loads of wine, got louder and louder and continually changed places as about half the team in twos or threes went out for a smoke, well I think it was just that, but who knows?

At one time Sammi was sitting next to me. The men had sloped off to the bar and there was just her, me and three other girls still at the table. We chatted, but to be truthful I was a little pissed and I could not recall just what we talked about. I do remember, though, saying something about it now being all girls together and one of the others at the end of the table said.

"Bloody good job too, who want's that macho bunch?" Given that rumour had it that she was near to being the 'office bike' that was a little rich I thought. I smiled at Sammi, who raised her eyebrows as we turned to face each other our knees touching under the table.

Looking right into my eye as she said.

"Remind me boss, where were we exactly?"

We both laughed and, as everyone was leaving, got up, gave each other a peck on the cheeks and went to be, rather regrettably alone, I thought as I opened the door to my empty room.

****

I was on my back, naked. The bed clothes were pulled back. There was a miniature from the mini bar on the bedside table; why, I don't even drink Scotch! My mind was again recalling the feel of a woman's breast in my hand. But not just recalling it, for now I was also actually feeling it. Not another woman's though, not really, but in my mind it was someone else's. Was it Susie's, the first girl I had sex with, or was it Sharon's the girl I had a threesome with, or was it Sammi's? I wasn't sure whose breast took prominence in my mind as I squeezed and moulded my own ample mounds of flesh.

The finger and thumb on one of my hands found the hardened nipple on one of my breasts; they pinched it. That sent such shock memories of times gone by through me that I grunted and moaned, yes at the same time, I also jerked and shuddered for good measure.

Oh the early memories of feeling another woman's nipples, the rubberyness, the elasticity, the way it grows in your fingers or, more stunningly, in your mouth. And shit, what feelings thatwas giving me as I recall the sensations on my tongue and lips as they met and began to love Susie's large, round, very dark areola or as they sucked Sharon's nipple between my teeth and gently chewed it. What would Sammi's be like I found myself wondering as I took a sip of the Scotch, almost burning my throat as it slid down? Small, pink with nice buds, I smiled as I pulled both of mine away from my breasts, making each nipple go to nearly twice its normal length. Mmmmm.

The next day we worked in larger groups and I saw little of Sammi, perhaps that was a good thing. We wrapped up around five and all headed home, some to see their families, others their boy or girl friends, most to go out on the town and me to sweat over a pile of e-mails and other stuff that had piled up.

Sara, my daughter, was staying with her father so I had yet another evening and night alone. I hate that. When I was married, Kevin was away a lot on business, well on shagging as well so I subsequently found out, and I never found that a problem even before Sara was born. Since the divorce, though, I have found it hard to cope with the loneliness of being by myself all night. Days are fine, I like the solitude, but as the evening drags on and bedtime alone approaches I get restless and edgy.

Often I drink too much and sometimes, come on don't kid yourself with sometimes, try nearly always, I go into chat or messenger, find a 'friend' or meet someone new and get into conversation. Occasionally that leads to me masturbating either, as we send messages to each other or, when I log off from him. Now and then, I will meet a couple of 'special' guys and will have phone sex with them, I enjoy that, but as both of them are married, it doesn't happen on weekends.