I'm not proud of this. It's just something that happened, and when lust draws two people together, it takes a stronger man than me to resist.
My young workmate is a nice guy; good sense of humour, interested in music and films beyond the last five years - you can have a proper conversation, a laugh and a drink with him. I can see why Rachel was attracted to him, too. She's 19, slim, very pretty, with pale skin and light red wavy hair. She has this clean, wholesome look about her and she's very sweet and kind.
They used to come to my place sometimes for dinner and we would have a good time. I did my best to treat her as Jed's girlfriend, rather than a possible girl for me, and although she was far too well mannered to flirt overtly with me, I could sense that she had thoughts in that direction too.
It's a fine line you have to tread, though. If a girl fancies an older man and you do something about it, who really minds? But if she doesn't fancy you and you make a move, you're a dirty old man. So the conversation never came around to sex or anything that could lead in a dangerous direction.
I didn't stare at her body; well, I didn't stare at it when she or Jed would know I was doing it. This took a bit of doing, because when I know I have a chance with a woman, there is a way of staring that can be done discreetly. It's fine if she knows you're doing it, as long as nobody else knows she knows.
So far so respectable. Then one Sunday evening there was a knock on my door and it was Rachel. On her own.
''Rachel!" I said. "Where's Jed?"
"He's gone away for a week, up to see his parents. His Dad's ill," she said. "Is it okay if it's just me?"
"Of course it's okay," I said, desperately trying not to sound like the wolf welcoming Little Red Riding Hood.
"I got bored on my own," Rachel said, making herself at home on the sofa. It was a standing invitation, so if they didn't call to cancel, I cooked and assumed they would be coming.
I fetched us both a glass of wine, cheap Prosecco that tasted better than it should for the price. Rachel set about looking through my CDs.
"So you still collect music like this," she said.
"Like what?" I asked.
"On CD. All our stuff is just downloaded onto our iPods."
It seemed like only a few years since I had made the transition from vinyl, and I still missed the big album covers, but now CDs were becoming obsolete too. Perhaps sensing that she'd offended me a bit, she pulled out one by Joan as Policewoman.
"This is cool," she said, handing it to me to put on. I duly took off Jimi Hendrix's Smash Hits and replaced it with the chilled, plodding piano of Rachel's choice. I like it too, of course - that's why it was in my collection.
It was one of those situations where you're with someone who you've spent plenty of time with, but never just the two of you. In the past, she had always directed her conversation through Jed, even if it was aimed at me. The one subject I felt we might start off smoothly with was books, because she was studying English Literature at university and could talk about anything from Jane Austen and Chaucer to, well, modern stuff. I decided not to bring up Shades of Grey, the erotic sensation of the moment.
"What are you reading right now?" I asked.
"For uni, still on Trollope," she said. "For me, E. L. James."
There, she'd said it. The Shades of Grey author. I could tell Rachel had had to swallow quickly and spit it out, but she'd done it. I decided to leave following it up for later and asked her about Anthony Trollope.
"Did you know he was largely responsible for setting up the postal system?" I said blithely. "Virtually invented the pillar box."
"Yeah," she said. "Wandering around the UK on a horse, deciding where to site them. It's a wonder he got any writing done."
We continued in this vein right through dinner (chilli con carne, from scratch, with my own fair hand), and I was quite surprised by the amount of wine she drank. She matched me glass for glass on a thoroughly unpleasant, gooey Argentinian number that was as dark as a Buenos Aires bimbo's hair and had a bizarre aftertaste of butter.
Afterwards, she insisted on clearing the table and then joined me on the sofa. I sat side-on, with my right knee drawn up and out, because it was comfortable, not because it presented my crotch to her, but she mirrored my position - and you know what it means when someone does that. In a business setting such as an interview it's a sign of respect, whether it be leaning forwards on your elbows or sitting back. In a social and potentially sexual setting, well, it certainly doesn't mean 'go away'.
"So what do you think of Shades of Grey?" I asked eventually. She smiled and shook her hair.
"As literature? No. Doesn't cut it." I remained silent so she would give me the other side. "As an erotic book, a style that hasn't really been seen in modern publishing, it obviously does the trick," she said, her cheeks reddening just slightly.
"Do you think most women like to be dominated?" I asked.
She turned her head away and mumbled, "I'm not really an expert on that."
"But there is nothing wrong with being submissive," I said. "It doesn't carry over into the rest of your life. It's just one sphere of activity."
She said nothing and I could see her trying to think of a way of retrieving her equilibrium, but she couldn't. I moved closer and put my arm around her. She snorted quietly and stiffened, then relaxed into me. I kissed her forehead and she looked up and right into my eyes.
"So how does submissiveness go in your book?" she said softly. I leaned towards her.
"You allow me to kiss you," I murmured, and kissed her lovely, delicate pink lips. Her dainty tongue flickered with mine and she sighed as she gave her mouth to me. After a while she sat back a little.
"Then what?" she said.
"Traditionally," I began, "I put my hand on your tits and you don't object." I slid my hand inside the opening of her shirt and into her bra cup. She had small breasts and the bra was quite loose. I felt her little nipple already hard, so I undid two buttons, pulled her right breast out and sucked it.
"Am I being submissive?" she asked playfully but nervously.
"You're being wonderful," I said.
"Would it be wrong for me to do this?" she asked, putting her hand on my bulging crotch.
"You can be proactive and still submissive," I said, unzipping my flies and pulling my cock out. She touched it gingerly and then held it in her hand.
"You can suck it if you like," I said, and she didn't hesitate. She put her head straight down and took the head in her mouth.
"God," she said after a moment or two. "You have a very nice willy."
"Let's go to bed," I said and we took our hands off each other reluctantly and filed through to the bedroom.
"Take your shirt off," I said firmly, and she did. "And your bra."
As she did that I took off my clothes. She walked up and hung her bra on my erection.
"Now take your trousers off," I said, and she dutifully removed the tight denims.
"Knickers," I said, gesturing with my head.
"Why don't you take them off me?" she said defiantly, sitting on the edge of the bed. I knelt in front of her and she lifted herself to enable me to do it. I put them to my nose and inhaled.
"You're fucking gorgeous," I said, throwing them onto a chair and pushing her back on the mattress. I spread her legs and got my head up between them. She had sparse red pubic hair and her succulent cunt had that spicy taste that you don't find in older women. I licked her like a gourmet, savouring her flavour. Her lips were small and neat, as was her clitoris. I licked them earnestly, lovingly, and she writhed with pleasure.
"Do what you like with me," she said urgently. "Shag me, for fuck's sake. Sorry."
I climbed on top of her and slid my eager cock into her warm, soft, wet hole. "Oh, fuck me," she begged. "Shag me, you fucking sexy man. Cum inside me. I want you to. I'm cumming. Ohhhh. Cum inside me."
I squirted my semen into her beautiful depths and lay heavily on top of her, then slid off and lay next to her.
"Got any tissues?" she asked, and I passed her two.
"Rachel, I'm sorry," I said.
"Don't be silly," she said. "I've wanted you to seduce me since the first time I met you. And anyway, it was mainly my fault, wasn't it?"
"It was nobody's fault," I said, kissing her neck.
"I know," she said. "Something as beautiful as that can't have blame attached."
"Maybe," I said. "And as long as nobody finds out, ever, it's okay."
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<a href="http://www.lushstories.com/stories/straight-sex/waiting-for-rachel.aspx">Waiting for Rachel</a>