Yorkshire Pudding Ch. 05

Yorkshire Pudding ch 5 -- Meeting up in Paris, plus a surprise

For the newcomer: Hank and Miriam are two "elderly" folks with full rich lives that lacked for nothing until they met. In one unforgettable evening, they discovered that they lacked each other. In the six weeks since their meeting in Yorkshire, they have stayed in contact and are about to follow through on their plan to see if they are as compatible out of bed as in.

Read Yorkshire Pudding chapters 1 through 4 to discover just how compatible they are in bed....

Hank is scouting locations for a new film project and Miriam's husband is headed stateside for two weeks. She tells her daughters and girlfriends she is going to Paris for the week to shop and enjoy the city. All are a bit put off by her rebuttal of taking any travel companions, but she convinces them all that she just wants some time alone.

So settle back and enjoy what it can feel like to fall in love past retirement age, especially when two libidos are in synch like these two.

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At 10:22 sharp, the Eurostar glides out of St Pancras Station. Miriam is nestled into her 3A solo seat in car 12. As the sunlight gets squeezed from the window as they enter the tunnels below the Thames, the steward offers her champagne which she gladly accepts as her mouth has been a bit dry ever since she got on board.

Actually, until she exited the taxi at front of the station, this all was a bit dreamlike. As she pulled her rollaboard and small duffel through the lobby, her heart rate began to increase and her mouth became dry. She was really going to do this!

She and Hank had stayed in contact, but their planning was discreet and while they emailed weekly, they only spoke twice and never texted, both worried that James or Terri might see. Hank's next location scouting was in France. He had come a week earlier than his site survey duties required, so they could spend time together without interruption.

And while neither faltered in this follow through, Miriam did not realize just how deeply it affected her. Not until her mouth parched into this imitation of the Sahara.

As the steward served her the champagne, she asked him for some water, "make that a bottle, liter if possible." As she throws down the entire flute in one long guzzle.

"Actually, we are only supposed to serve by the glass, but let me see what I can do."

He was no more than 30 years old, but he actually winked at her! Bloody hell, was he patronizing an old woman or am I giving off the pheromones that I am feeling?

She pulls her compact from her purse and feigning an assessment of her hair, she gave herself a quick once over.............. Yeah, I'm 66 years old, but I could pass for 50's and I do look pretty good. Okay, he was not patronizing granny.... Or at least that's how I am going to take it.

Oh god, what if this is a MILF fantasy for him......... or I guess a GMILF!

He returns with two half liter bottles of Fiji water.

"Oh, thanks very much, greatly appreciated."

"I thought two might be nicer, you could share the other with your partner."

"Oh, but I am traveling alone."

"That may be, but you are definitely joining someone later. Ma'am, I serve people every day and you are glowing with anticipation. Apologies if I overstepped, but you do look radiant."

"Well, you are certainly a cheeky young man and you have made my day........ at least until I get to share your gift with my friend."

"You are welcome, it will fit in your bag more easily as well."

He moves on through the cabin serving the other passengers.

As the train speeds through the Chunnel, Hank is finishing off his preparation of their room in Paris.

He had wanted to stay at the Grand which at one time was truly grand. Not so much anymore. The Crillon and Georges V were financially out of the question and he wanted to be away from the hustle and bustle of the Champs Elysee anyway. Finally settling on the Grand Hotel du Palais Royal: posh and yet quietly hidden behind the Louvre, close to the Seine.

Their suite is on the top floor with classic garret ceilings whose angles would certainly make contact with his head throughout the week. It was full of light and one window had a view of the top of the Eiffel Tower. There was an enormous mirror opposite the foot of the bed which made the room feel larger than it was.

Early in the morning he had hit a local fruit stall as they opened, scoring strawberries, blueberries, peaches and apples. Crème Fraiche was cooling in the mini fridge as was a bottle of champagne.

At the florist he got flustered. After choosing an exotic collection of birds of paradise and other tropical flora, he rejected them got her some roses. They were in a tall vase on the bedside table and were lovely but still not really speaking for him. With 90 minutes left before she arrived he asked the concierge for a florist that might carry gardenias. Within 5 minutes she texted him a pin drop of one nearby.

By the time he returned, he was sweating and worried he would miss her arrival. He changed shirts and headed out, with one carefully wrapped gardenia corsage in his hand.

Gare du Nord was a 20 minute taxi ride and he found himself as nervous as a teenager. What the fuck was he doing with a corsage!!!???? He mopped his sweaty forehead on the shoulder of his shirt and noticed a bit of body odor. Fuck! He cupped his hand and checked his breath...... at least that seemed okay.

He moved to the left a bit to catch his reflection in the driver's rearview mirror, scrutinizing himself, looking every one of his 69 years. And yet his eyes were sparkling with excitement as he thought about Miriam and a week together, alone, in the City of Light, the City of Love.

Love......... Is that what this is? He was certainly infatuated with her. Even with the current project filling his work days, he thought of her a great deal. Time at home with Terri had been pleasant but what they did not share was becoming more and more evident to him.

Part of him felt like a cheat and part of him felt like someone reclaiming themself. He would do his best to not spend time in self examination while with Miriam. That was for him to work on, not the two of them.

He checked his armpit again and decided it wasn't that bad. Otherwise, he was freshly bathed and had spent 30 minutes last night plucking his genitals. It was overdue anyway, but he loved that he was doing it for her. Terri says she liked it, but Miriam noticed it immediately and commented. Okay, time to put Terri aside, James aside and allow us to be ourselves.

Exiting the taxi at 13:30, he strode into the cast iron cathedral of the arrivals hall. Expansion was taking place on both sides of the station in preparation for the 2024 Olympics, which after completion would make it the largest railway station in Europe.

He scanned the immense schedule board and began to freak out as he could not find her train, as he began to wonder if he was at the wrong station, he noticed he was looking at the Departures.......... Sheepishly, he moved to the next archway and perused the Arrivals board. Eurostar 5 would be arriving at Track 11 and was on time.

He moved out onto the pier and positioned himself in the middle of the span covering the three first class cars.

He was wearing a striped, cotton button down shirt and jeans with a pair of black Puma trainers. Realizing he has only seen her in a her great auntie wedding outfit, lingerie or naked, he is curious as to what she will be wearing. Holy shit, will I even recognize her? Will she recognize me?

The train whispers into the station, sighing to a stop and his heartbeat increases it's tempo as his throat gets a bit tighter.

Inside the train, Miriam has just rushed through the same cadence of thoughts and concerns. I can bloody well recognize his penis, and those deep puppy dog eyes, but I'll be damned if I have any idea what he may be wearing. And I was in that beautiful, but dowdy watered silk dress and then naked. That sure isn't my get up now!

Miriam is wearing a pair of jeans with caftan like blouse that covered her hips enough to keep her from feeling too large. Truth be known, she thought her bottom quite nice, but was still nervous about how she looked to him.

Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail and it's dark, burgundy red tones bounced nicely off the light green batik pattern of the caftan top. She was wearing a pair of jodhpur boots with a 3" heel, chosen so that he would not have to bend too far to kiss her (if he chose to). She got out her aviator sunglasses donned them, prepared for the glare as they left the station (and a shield from showing her reaction to him, plus she looked very sexy in them).

The porter was watching her from his station by the door. He smiled and gave her a wink and a thumbs up and then went on to unfold a traveling wheelchair for another "elderly" passenger.

Throwing her bag over her shoulder, she wheeled her bag to the end of the car. Turning right, she looked down, carefully stepped across the gap onto the platform and then lifted her head.

Hank was bobbing on his tiptoes, watching the passengers come off the train, scanning the three car exits from first class. Two of them emptied quickly as the train did not seem that full.

The middle exit was still active and slowed down as a porter navigated a wheelchair across the gap, relinquishing control to two family members waiting for his passenger.

Another couple exited and then he caught a glint of that rich, dark red burgundy hair and as the woman's head rotated up, scanning the crowd, his throat constricted. How on earth could he have thought he would not recognize her! Christ, she is stunning!

Looking down at the wheelchair confined woman in front of her on the platform, Miriam realized that they were likely peers. She said a quick prayer of thanks to whatever gods kept her ambulatory and looked up........... and there he was.......... Oh god, how American! Hank the Yank is wearing trainers to meet me in Paris! But look at him. He is looking straight at me and I have never felt loved by a glance before.

How the hell could he be 69? He truly carries himself like 40. Oh shit, here he comes. He moves like he is at home anywhere. Not like someone who "owns" the place, but like someone who just belongs (even with those trainers).

What is that in his hand? Oh my god, it's a corsage! What am I going to do with that?............. oh hell, I'm going to pin it to my blouse and tell him how wonderful it is...........

Hank is dumbstruck....... She is a bloody movie star and I look like Joe Schmo. I took a taxi here for Christ's sake, why am I wearing running shoes? Okay, chill out, I'm almost there.

"Miriam."

"Hank."

"It's great to see you, you look lovely."

Miriam, unhitches her bag from her shoulder and sets it down beside her rollaboard.

"Hank, you want to try that again?" She laughs that laugh and he is transformed.

Sweeping in with his right arm behind her waist, he pulls her to him as she brings her right hand up to bend his head down those few inches....... Bringing his mouth to hers. Kicking a heel up behind her, she stands on one leg and feels his strength hold her steady. They kiss as though 20 years old and it makes them feel 20 in doing so.

"Oh God, I was afraid I might not recognize you! How insane when you are the most beautiful woman in the station."

"Hank, that is sweet, but so untrue, especially here in Paris."

"Don't contradict me. I make my living assessing the visual. And you are exquisite."

"Well, you were easy to spot as well......"

"Yeah, as the most obvious American on the platform. I actually have several nice pairs of shoes I could have worn, I guess I was a bit nervous. I certainly don't deserve someone as nicely turned out as you."

"Don't worry. We have a week of dinners to share and if you don't have proper attire, we will acquire some. I actually think I would like to take you shopping anyway. But I saw something about you that I did not really know beforehand."

"And what was that?"

"While you may be easily identified as a Yank, you sure are no tourist. You actually give off a CIA vibe if anything."

"What do you know about the CIA?"

"You would be surprised what international insurance investigators need to do at times. I will tell you one night over dinner. Now, can you let me go, people are starting to stare a bit as we are conversing while in a clinch, our mouths less than an inch apart. And something is digging into my back."

"Oh shit, I ruined it."

Hank's right hand retreats from around her waist, the corsage he had strapped to his wrist for safe keeping now crushed.

"I brought this for you. I thought a bouquet would be too much and so............"

"And so you brought me a corsage."

"Yeah."

He holds the fractured bloom toward her face, the gardenia's scent amplified by the damage done to its petals.

"Oh Hank, it's a gardenia. How the fuck did you know?"

"Know what?"

"Did we talk about gardenias in Yorkshire?'

"No, I am pretty sure that is one of the things we did not talk about."

"I LOVE gardenias. When we lived in Mozambique, we had a tree in our yard and there were nights where one could not smell anything but their fragrance."

"Well, this little puppy is done for."

"No, I will leave no gardenia behind. Here, let me see what we can do."

She disassembles the corsage and gives the pieces to him to hold.

Untying her ponytail, she pulls some bobby pins from her bag, sweeps her hair from left to right, pinning it into a crown as it cascades down her right cheek. She then takes the broken stalks of the bloom and secures them in a crescent above her left ear.

She then selectively separates groupings of the hair tossed over her head and weaves them around the secured petals.

In the three minutes it took her to effect this change, she has gone from red carpet glamorous to casbah exotic and Hank is truly breathless as he knows she also rescued his sophomoric move......... and yet, was it? Or was his choice of a gardenia another example of their seemingly otherworldly connection?

He grabs her bag and rollaboard and turns them to the exit.

"No, give me the bag, you will need a free hand."

She throws the bag up on her left shoulder and reaches for his left hand with her right.

They both quietly marvel to themselves that this just feels so RIGHT. He thinks back to imagining himself strolling down a boulevard with her, hand in hand. And now they are actually going to do it.

Out at the taxi queue, she gives the dispatcher their hotel and address in more than passable French and once again he feels outclassed by this sophisticated beauty he has fallen in love with.

They climb into the back of the Citroen and he asks about the train ride in. She tells him about the cheeky porter and he advises her that the porter was spot on, which makes her blush. The more he talks, the drier his mouth gets until she reaches into her bag and pulls out the bottle of Fiji water.

"This is from your buddy, the porter. I shit you not! He told me to keep it for you."

"Well, he was a wise lad. Can I tell you what a country bumpkin I feel like next to your sleek, continental sophistication?"

Hank gulps down the Fiji so grateful as his lips and palate and tongue were beginning to stick together.

"Hank, it's only clothes and if you keep this up, we are going shopping now, before even hitting the hotel. But I would like to change first and so please just know I can rescue you as easily as I rescued your flower, which I love to pieces! Well, actually, you loved it to pieces. Gardenia from my Hank, how wonderfully this adventure has begun."

At the hotel, they fill the small elevator and the moment the doors close, she turns and forces her tongue into his mouth, her hand searching for his cock.

Her tongue is just as long, thick and sinuous as he remembered. She explores him, tickles his uvula and as she brings it out of his mouth, runs it through the cleft of his upper lip, and then out onto the tip of his nose where her lips close to claim her snake and lightly kiss his him.

"Hank, you are the most confident self assured man I have ever met. I am touched that you love me so much that my "sophistication" intimidates you. But stop deprecating the man I love, or I will have to slap you silly."

"You have a deal. But I do want to be a visually suitable escort, so let's get some sensible shoes onto you and you can take me shopping."

"First, let's see what you have to work with."

They have reached the room and Hank slides the door key into its slot, then pushes the door open and steps back to let her enter first.

"Oh Hank, it's wonderful! So much light! And except for that one window over there, no one can see in. Are you okay with not drawing the blinds? I hate waking in a cave."

And already they are learning the basics of each other.

For decades he has gone with Terri's need for pitch blackness and 'waking in a cave' while he prefers to let the sun wake him. She explores the suite as he hefts her suitcase onto the stand, but leaves it closed.

"There is a bidet -- glorious!!! I will be having fun with that. And I am pretty sure we can both fit into that tub with room to spare."

She returns to the bedroom area and notices that he put her case on the stand, but did not open it. Full marks for the lad!

She runs the zipper around it's perimeter and opens it up, taking her toiletries kit to the bathroom and quickly brushing her teeth.

She then moves to the closet and flips through his hanging clothes and inspects the dresser and closet floor. Everything is of high quality but boring. It's going to be fun to up Hank's game.

She takes a seat on the bench along the foot of the bed and begins unwrapping the ankle straps of her jodhpur boots.

"Let me."

Hank kneels in front of her and finishes the first boot's straps, pulling down the side zipper and sliding it off her foot. He repeats the procedure with her left and then rolls and pulls her socks off her feet.

"Oooooh that feels good. They are beautiful boots, but a little uncomfortable and the heel height never helps!"

With a recent pedicure and her signature British Racing Green toenails, Miriam's wiggling toes are irresistible and he lifts one to his lips, kissing the tips. They are a bit moist and sweaty after their confinement and he finds this highly erotic. He tongues her big toe and pauses, this may not be the moment...............

"Do not stop."

Well, I guess this is the moment

He slides his tongue under her big toe and wraps his mouth around it, sucking and pulling as he massages her sole and other toes with both hands. He works his way down to the her pinky toe, sucking each one until they are all slippery and wet.

"Christ Hank, why didn't they get that treatment in Yorkshire? Please, please do my other one."

Miriam leans back onto the bed as he gives the same treatment to her other foot. By now she is making sounds and when he finishes, he sees she has unzipped the fly of her jeans and has a hand buried in her crotch.

"Could you help granny with her knickers, please?" Miriam giggles and starts wriggling the jeans over her hips. They are pretty tight through her thighs and he helps pull them free. By the time the waist is to her knees, it's an easy yank to get them completely off.

Miriam's panties are a deep, dark green, but still show the contrast of the wet stain spreading at their center.

"Ooooh, look what you've done!" Miriam smiles as she strokes the stain with her finger before lifting her hips and pulling them free, over her knees and off onto the floor with her jeans.