This relates to a sexual relationship between a 19 year old girl and a man in late middle age. If you find that repugnant, please click away now.
We’d lived on the same quiet cul-de-sac, in a leafy, middle class, estate for 20 years. The epitome of “middle England”, with a wide cross-section of residents. Younger couples in the smaller houses. And families, with kids of all ages, in the larger dwellings.
My wife and I, in our mid to late 50s, were amongst the oldest living there. Our kids (as we still insisted on calling them) were now grown up and had left home. Matt, aged 28, was working for a finance company in Paris. And Emily, two years younger, was living in London, where she worked for an advertising agency.
Angela and I had been married for over 30 years. And were, despite a few bumps along the way, very happy together. Angela was slim, still very attractive and always immaculately groomed. We both looked after ourselves. Eating well, not smoking, only drinking (by and large) in moderation and keeping fit and active.
Some may argue that we still had a reasonably healthy sex life, probably 2-3 times a month. More when we were on holiday. We had sex more often, I was aware, than many couples of our age (or who’d been married as long as us). But I would most certainly prefer to have had more frequent, wilder, sex. Simply put, I wanted, if not needed, more.
I’m not proud to say that our imbalance in sexual desire led me to stray occasionally (usually whilst away on business trips). Now and again with escorts. Or sometimes with willing, similarly bored and lonely, business women. And I was also a voracious consumer of pornography.
I often wondered if Angela knew about either of these traits. I suspect she did. But worked on the principle of “no harm, no foul”. Or, out of sight, out of mind. Having these extracurricular outlets meant that we enjoyed the sex that we had. And stopped arguing about the sex we weren’t having.
I really am not condoning my actions. I’m aware that I’m painting a picture of myself as a selfish narcissist. And, in some ways, I’d find it hard to disagree with that. But it was a formula that appeared to work for us both. Particularly as there was no emotional attachment to the other women I bedded.
We were friendly with several of the neighbours and regularly had meals, drinks etc with a number of them.
Two of our closer friends were Kathy and Ted, who lived opposite us. Kathy was an attractive, vivacious, blonde in her early 40s (we’d gone to her pretty wild 40th birthday party a few years earlier). Ted was calmer and about 10 years older than her. They’d lived on the estate for almost as long as us. And we were firm friends. Often walking our dogs together in the local parks and woods. As well as going out for occasional meals. And regularly having BBQs and drinks together in our respective homes.
They had two smashing children. Hugo was 18 and away on a gap year. Hannah was a year older and studying at University. We’d seen them both develop from cute, precocious, funny, kids into confident, really attractive, young people.
Hannah, in particular, was gorgeous. Sleek, blonde hair, like her Mum. Also shapely, but more toned (she was a county level 400m runner). She was one of those young women who appeared to be effortlessly attractive. A little more reserved (though most were compared to Kathy). But exuding charm and confidence. She was certainly aware of how good looking she was. It would have been hard to not be conscious of the impact she had on boys ( and dirty old men like me). Though certainly not a diva.
One evening, in early summer, Kathy bustled over, looking quite upset, as I was pottering in our garden. Angela was away with work for a few days and I was about to prepare a simple dinner.
“Jack, is your head office still up near the airport?” she asked.
“It is,” I confirmed, “still on the same dreary business park. Why do you ask?”
“I was wondering, on the off chance that you are up there tomorrow, could you pick Hannah up?”
“As it happens, I do have a couple of meetings there tomorrow morning and am planning on leaving there late afternoon. Would that work?”
“Oh gosh, thanks Jack,” she spluttered. “As I think you know, Hannah is on her way back from a holiday with some friends from Uni. I’d planned to collect her. But my Mum is ill again. And Ted and I are going up North tonight to see her for a couple of days. I’m getting really concerned about her.”
“Hannah could make her own back, I’m sure. But the trains and bus connections from the airport are lousy. So if you can pick her up she and we would really appreciate it.”
“No problem at all,” I assured her. “Send me her flight details and I’ll be there tomorrow to collect her. Now, you go off and sort your Mum out. Please give her our love.”
So, at 4pm the following day, I was waiting at the departure gate for Hannah. As she trooped out with two other friends, lugging a big wheeled suitcase, I’m bound to say my heart skipped a beat. fatih escort Flights from the Balearics at that time of year often contain their fair share of “babes”. But these three young women were breathtaking. With Hannah, in my opinion, the fairest of them all.
She was wearing cut-off denim, “Daisy Duke”, shorts, a tight vest and sporting a golden tan. God, she looked smoking hot. Though I immediately berated myself for thinking like that.
Seeing me waving, she raced over and gave me a huge hug. Squeezing me tightly and pressing those pneumatic tits against me.
“Hey Uncle Jack, thanks so much for picking me up.” she gushed. “How’s my Mum? And how is Grandma?”
“Your Mum’s fine,” I assured her. “She rang me whilst I was waiting for you. Apparently your Grandma seems a little better. But she’s going to stay for another day so they can see the GP with her and try and get to the bottom of things. But we’ll call her from my car on the way home. She wants to know, of course, how your holiday went.”
We loaded her bags into my car and set off for home. As she strapped herself in, the seat-belt bisected her breasts. And this action, if anything, further accentuated their splendour.
As I looked across and clocked this I thought I saw a flicker of recognition from Hannah that I was checking her out. But she was either too polite, or too embarrassed, to pick me up on it. But I was sure she had a knowing smile.
I suspect she was used to this. But I didn’t want her to think I was some middle aged pervert, leering after hot young women.
Spoiler alert, I really shouldn’t have worried!
We made a quick phone call to Kathy, where Hannah assured her she was safe and well and looking forward to seeing her parents in a day or two.
Shortly after this, as we hit the motorway, she dropped off to sleep. So, whilst keeping my eyes on the road, I must confess I contented myself with occasional glances across, to drink in her beauty. And particularly her beauteous tits.
By the time we got home it was approaching 8pm. So we rung ahead and ordered an Indian takeaway, collecting it on our way through the village.
We went to Hannah’s house. I found some plates and glasses in her kitchen whilst she dropped her bags upstairs and loaded her first pile of washing.
She’d slept a large part of the way home. Exhausted it seemed from a wild week of partying. But, as we ate our meal, she regaled me with tales (watered down I’m sure) of what she’d got up to on her holiday.
As we finished our meal she was raving about some of the beaches and scenery she’d encountered in Ibiza. She got her phone out and showed me some photos. There really were some gorgeous sights. In particular one snap with her and her two friends topless in the surf!
They all looked good, but Hannah looked stunning. Her tits were as perfect as I’d very recently found myself imagining them.
“Oops, sorry about that,” she laughed, “I’d better file that one away before showing Mum and Dad. Or Dad anyway. Mum wouldn’t mind. She’s always getting her top off on holiday. Sometimes around the house, or even in the back garden. It drives Dad mad.”
A revelation that, whilst not especially surprising (as I said Kathy seemed pretty wild), was certainly arousing. And one that I filed away myself, in the sexual recesses of my mind.
As we finished our meal I started to excuse myself.
“Hannah, I’ve got another busy day in work tomorrow. And you’re clearly exhausted from your holiday. So I’ll say good night.”
As I bade farewell, Hannah pulled me in for a hug. Once again, squeezing me tightly so that I felt those tits pressed between us. I also imagined that her groin, not just her tits, was closer to mine than a customary hug like this would involve.
“Thanks so much Uncle Jack, I really appreciate you picking me up. Everyone else is still going to be away and it sounds like you’re busy in work. Why don’t you come round tomorrow evening and I’ll cook dinner for you as a thank you?”
“That’s really kind of you, I’d like that,” I agreed. “What time?”
“Any time after 6pm,” Hannah suggested, before pulling me in again for another hug and a kiss.
But, this time, rather than a kiss on the cheek, she kissed me full on the lips. It wasn’t open mouthed, nor was it prolonged. And it was accompanied by Hannah, unmistakably I felt this time, rubbing herself against me.
This was certainly not what conventional social norms dictated a goodbye kiss between a middle aged guy and a young woman should be like.
I was so taken aback I said nothing, just murmured a slightly embarrassed good night. I could also tell that Hannah was blushing. But, despite that, as I was about to leave she pulled me back to her and repeated the kiss, on the lips again, with another effusive thanks.
I had an early start, so I went almost straight to bed. But my dreams that evening, I’m a little ashamed to say, contained some quite clear imagery of Hannah on fındıkzade escort a sun kissed beach. And her and I kissing passionately.
The following evening I knocked on her kitchen door just after 6.30pm and let myself in.
The smell was intoxicating. But not as much as the sight of Hannah. If she’d looked hot the previous day, now she looked volcanic.
The denim cut-offs she wore yesterday had been replaced with a pair of tiny, tight, satin, shorts. Her white vest showed off her golden tan. And she was clearly braless. With her tits, firm as they were, bobbing away as she moved towards me. And her (erect) nipples visible through the thin fabric.
Giving me another big hug, with her big, braless, breasts crushed between us (though no kisses on the lips this time), she ushered me to the table. She’d prepared a simple pasta dish, with a green salad. But it really was very good indeed.
Throughout the meal, Hannah seemed a little distracted. And not as effervescent as she’d been the previous evening. I put it down to exhaustion from the holiday.
As soon as we’d finished, she very quickly cleared the plates away, ignoring my attempts to help her load the dishwasher.
“Leave them on the drainer,” she insisted. “I’ll clean up later.”
Taking my hand, she pulled me back into the living room and sat me down on the sofa. Plonking herself next to me, in fact so close she was almost upon me, she had a very serious look on her face. I had a feeling she had something important on her mind.
Still holding my hand, she looked me in the eye, took a deep breath and started to explain herself.
“Uncle Jack, am I right in thinking you’re open minded?” she began. “And really caring?”
“Well…” I pondered. “I would say yes, I probably am. At least I’d like to think so.”
My mind was racing, as I wondered where this might be going. Imagining that it would involve a revelation of an issue from her holiday. Which, as it turned out, was partially true.
“Good,” she continued, “so I hope you won’t be shocked at what I’m about to ask you. But please, please, don’t tell a soul.”
It appeared that she had tears in her eyes. And that magnificent chest of hers was heaving. I was torn between compassion and unwanted arousal.
“Look,” I said, “this is clearly serious. I can see you’re upset. You can tell me anything. But I can’t promise not to tell anyone. That would have to be dependent upon what you tell me.”
“No, you idiot,” she laughed, “I’m not upset. I’m desperate. And actually, I don’t think you will want to tell anyone what I’m about to ask you. At least, I hope not.”
“Ok…” I answered, carefully. But I was intrigued now. “Then go ahead.”
Taking one last deep breath, Hannah looked me in the eye and blurted out, “will you lick my pussy and give me an orgasm?”
I looked at her absolutely aghast. Of all of the revelations, or requests, I was expecting, this one didn’t even come close.
For several seconds I was lost for words, as I tried to process what I’d just heard.
Was it a wind-up? A trap? A very, very, poor joke? Or some form of university dare?
Whilst I paused to compose myself, Hannah jabbered on, “and if you do that for me I’ll do anything you want. I’ll give you a blow-job. Or we can have sex?”
Finally recovering the power of speech, I assumed a tone that I hoped was both firm, but unpatronising.
“Listen Hannah, I am open-minded. So I’m not going to get upset, or judgemental. But that request, which I’m assuming is some form of prank, is inappropriate and really not funny.”
Now there really were tears in her eyes.
“Oh, Uncle Jack, I’m so sorry,” she sniveled. “It’s not a prank. It’s not a wind-up. I really do want you to lick my pussy (at which point, much against my better judgement I started to feel myself become a little more aroused). But I should have explained myself. Will you hear me out please?”
Turning directly to face me, and ensuring I was square on to her, she took my hands in hers and placed them on my lap, between us. With our legs pressed closely against each other.
“Right,” she began, “I’m not a slut. Well not too much of one, I hope,” she said with a small grin. “I’ve slept with a few boys. Five, to be precise. The latest of which was a really nice guy I met on holidays.”
“We had sex together several times, protected of course,” she insisted. “But he never made me come. In fact, I’ve never had an orgasm with any of the boys I’ve slept with.”
“I can bring myself to orgasm pretty easily when I play with myself,” she confided. Which had the effect of arousing me further. In fact, I could feel my dick twitch in my trousers. And, with Hannah’s hands in my lap, I suspected she may have felt it too.
“Ok…”I conceded, reluctantly. “I’m sorry to hear that. I know a lot of women struggle to have an orgasm through penetrative sex (which as I said it made florya escort me realise I sounded like someone from an agony aunt column). In fact, some women only achieve orgasm with a partner when they find the right one (agony aunt time again).”
“I know all that,” Hannah agreed, a little testily. “I’m sure I’ve read the same articles as you have. Which is why I think having my pussy licked, as opposed to being fucked, is the best way for me get an orgasm.”
I was a little shocked to hear her say “fucked.” But, given that she’d just asked me to perform cunnilingus on her then I guess a little bad language was not too much of an issue.
“Right, got it, that makes sense,” I agreed. “But where on earth do I come in? Just ask your boyfriends to go down on you.”
“I’ve done that,” Hannah sighed, “trust me I have. Especially when I’ve been giving them blow jobs. I’ve told them it’s only fair for them to return the favour.” Cue further twitching of my dick.
“I think it’s all the porn they watch,” Hannah suggested. “I like porn myself (which was another revelation to me). But the men in it hardly ever go down on the women. And when they do it’s only for a few minutes to try and make them squirt. So young guys just lap away, or finger blast you, with no finesse at all.”
“I’ve thought of asking one of my girl friends to help me out,” she continued. “And I may yet to do that. But I know I really much prefer boys to girls, or men to women. But I just want one to give me an orgasm. Or possibly several,” she concluded with a chuckle.
By now, much against all my better judgments, I was becoming properly aroused. I was sat, with parts of our body in contact with each other, looking into the eyes (when I could tear them away from her heaving chest) of a stunningly beautiful young woman. With whom I was having the most intimate of conversations about oral sex, potential lesbian hook-ups, porn and orgasms. I challenge anyone not to have been turned on.
“So that’s why, in part, I thought of you,” she explained. “I reckon a more experienced lover like you would know how to properly treat a woman.”
These flattering words had the effect, I’m afraid to say, of starting to undermine my resolve to nip this quickly in the bud.
“And a few weeks ago, that idea really took hold,” she continued. “You came round for a BBQ, just after I’d come back from Uni. You and my Dad were in the garden and I’d popped upstairs to get a warmer top.”
“When I came down I heard Aunty Angela and my Mum chatting in the kitchen. My Mum was complaining that my Dad seemed to have gone off sex. Which was really sad, but also really “ucky” for me to hear. But Aunty Ang was saying the opposite was true with you. And you couldn’t keep your hands off her. Then she laughed and added, “he especially can’t keep his tongue off me.”
“My Mum was astonished that you loved licking pussy so much. And was really jealous of Angela. And so was I,” Hannah confessed. “As well as being really turned on.”
“In fact,” she concluded, with a throaty laugh, “I went to bed that night and masturbated, as I imagined you going down on me.”
“Hannah,” I scolded, “you really shouldn’t be telling me stuff like this. Even if you are thinking it. I’ve known you since you were a kid. Our two families are huge friends. And I’m sure I’m close to being three times your age!”
“Wow, are you really? God, this is even kinkier than I imagined. I though you were a DILF. But maybe you’re a GILF,” she laughed. “You look really good for your age though. My friends messaged me after you met me at the airport yesterday and asked who the “silver fox” was who picked me up?”
“Oi,” I chuckled, “if you’re trying to persuade me to perform sexual favours on you, the last thing you should be doing is taking the piss and calling me a Grandpa.”
“Oooh, that sounds like you’re seriously considering it,” Hannah exclaimed. Pushing me back and sideways on the sofa (with little or no opposition from me) she leapt onto my lap. Straddling my legs with hers. So those stupendous tits were now inches from my face.
“I am considering it. Very seriously,” I agreed, in a sombre tone. “And I’m considering what a spectacularly stupid thing it would be for me to do.”
“God, you’re making me work for this,” she laughed. “I really didn’t think persuading you to see me naked, lick my pussy and fuck me would be so tough. Especially the way you were looking at me yesterday and this evening,” she grinned.
“Plus, I can feel how hard your cock has been since I alerted you to my plan.” As she reached down and gave it a quick grope. “Mmm, it really is very hard and a decent size too,” she reported, licking her lips lasciviously.
“Surely you want to get your paws on these tits?” she asked. “Almost everyone else I meet does.” As she said this she fished one out of her vest, tweaked a nipple and then fed it back in.
“Oh my God, Hannah. Of course I want to see those tits. And of course I want to fuck you. And lick your pussy. But it would just be so, so, wrong. I’d be breaking so many issues of trust and probity.”
“Look,” she argued, “I do get that. And if you were the one trying to persuade me, then that really would be wrong. But I’m the one taking the lead here. I’m going into this with my eyes – and legs – wide open,” she added with a grin.