In a small community, in this case, 60,000 people, where you have lived for a long time, using a dating website and focusing on your exact geographical area inevitably means you come across people you know. That’s perfectly natural - you’re all there for the same thing and it’s nothing to worry about, as long as your profile is tasteful and decent.

That’s how I see it, anyway, but different personalities see it in different ways. I know a guy, for instance, whose snappy pickup line on one such site was, “I don’t want a relationship, I just want to fuck you up the ass.”

And it worked, too. I know, because I had a date with a woman who had recently met him despite – or perhaps because of – that devastatingly frank assertion. She was, it seemed to me, still wincing from the encounter, but she didn’t say bad things about him. Maybe it was just a box she wanted to tick, and having achieved it she had moved on, or reverted to her natural path.

But that’s by the by. In my comparatively tame world, I had once found myself knee deep in a conversation before I realized who it was I was being Mr Nice Guy with. Friendly had led to flirty before suddenly she put two and two together and got me. She was a friend's ex-wife, and although everyone gets marked down as crazy during a divorce, I believed what he had told me about her.

But I didn’t fancy her. I had found her attractive several years earlier, but she had let herself go and was by then bloated, boozy and unappealing. I would have fucked her one time if we hadn't known each other, but in the circumstances, I knew it could have got nasty, so I made my excuses and steered clear.

Shortly afterwards, though, I chanced upon a girl I had known twenty years earlier, when I was a thirty-year-old aspiring rock star, fallen upon hard times and working as a waiter in a fancy hotel, and she was a room service girl not long out of school. And roly-poly even at that tender age, with an unquenchable smile.

We admired each other from a distance and exchanged the odd bit of chat when our paths crossed, but she was so young and so round that I was too cool to tell even my closest colleague that I was having fantasies about young Jessica.

I got my life back on track and moved away and rarely thought of her again, and yet when I returned and began looking for internet-powered assistance to get my rocks off, there she was, swimming in the same pool. I liked her immediately – her sunny personality shone through even in the little typed exchanges that are your only barometer, and she seemed to like me. She seemed so friendly and safe that I soon agreed to swap photos, and there was short, young, round Jessica. Still short, now with some life experience, even rounder but now irresistible because my reservations had been swept away by the years.

It was now perfectly reasonable to strike up a relationship with her, and she felt the same.

We met in the budget-priced restaurant of a once-good hotel on the edge of town. I was early as usual and was sitting at the table watching the door when she breezed in, overdressed in a silver satin dress that she might have bought for a wedding.

She was beaming, of course, because that’s her default setting, and I beamed back because she just made it feel like everything was all right. She was a human anti-depressant.

I stood up and we embraced eagerly and awkwardly across the table. It could have turned into a kiss and degenerated into a scene and an arrest, but eventually, we managed to calm down and we got through the meal with just the occasional hand-holding and half-standing cross-table kiss.

When we left, I immediately threw her against the wall of the car park and we kissed like Adam and Eve, unable to believe our good fortune that we had been given the gift of sex.

We spent ten minutes out there, tongues plumbing the depths of each other’s mouth and hands all over each other, although she drew the line at intra-underwear activity.

With Jess having to get home because of children and babysitters, we made our way to the taxi rank, stopping at every convenient tree and alley to kiss some more.

It was probably just as well we couldn’t go to bed together that night, because I would have cum as soon as I got inside her. We arranged that she would come to my place on Friday night.

“Just one thing, though,” she said bashfully. “It’ll be my period.”

“We’ll work something out,” I said brashly and she perked up again instantly.

For two days we exchanged excited texts which I struggled to keep on the right side of explicit, while she peppered hers with smileys, full of hearts for eyes and lolling tongues.

When Friday night came I thrust a glass of Sauvignon Blanc in her hand and we sat on the settee, putting our glasses aside and rolling around, all over each other. Within two minutes we were both naked and she was sucking my straining, out-of-control cock.

Suddenly she stopped and went serious.

“We’d better take it easy or it will be all over too soon,” she said, the young girl I had fantasized about having learned a few things in the intervening years of passionate flings, marriage and divorce.

“Okay,” I said, and racked my brain for conversation. “I used to think about doing things with you,” I said. “But I didn’t dare.”

“I was legal,” she protested.

“Yeah, but I was so much older,” I said. “It would have looked bad. The management wouldn’t have liked it.”

“The management wouldn’t have known,” she said patiently. “The management wouldn’t have seen me doing this…” and she bobbed down and sucked me again.

“Did you imagine doing stuff with me?” I asked, my hand between her legs, toying with the string of her Tampax.

“In my mind,” she replied, stroking my cock, “you taught me everything.” She made a meal of the last word, leaving me in no doubt about the potential there for unfettered carnal enjoyment.

“So who had the pleasure of being the first?” I asked.

“Ben,” she replied, naming my best friend at the hotel, a young Scot much closer to her age and a thoroughly nice guy.

“Good,” I said, genuinely pleased that it had been a decent man who had deflowered her. “Now, shall we go upstairs?”

Jess looked at me dubiously.

“And we can take it easy in comfort,” I added, and she sighed with relief.

We climbed the short, steep staircase, which led straight into the only room up there, my bedroom. It was relatively tidy in her honor.

We lay on the bed and kissed again, still eager and passionate, before I began a tour of her body. I kissed her neck and she wriggled with delight.

“Ooh, that’s my favorite,” she giggled.

When my mouth alighted on her breasts she braced them, offering them to me.

“Suck them hard,” she urged. When I obliged she writhed around in pleasure. As I sucked, my right hand was stroking her side, then made its way down to her crotch and found her clitoris.

“Okay, but remember,” she said quietly. “Roadworks.”

I stroked her inner thighs and thought about how good it would feel to glide up and down them with my hips. Then I made a decision.

“Turn over,” I said quickly. She turned immediately, unquestioningly.

I kissed Jess’s buttocks and slid my tongue between them. She brought her knees up to give me full access to her arsehole, and I licked her there, gently but firmly, happily.

“You like that?” I asked.

“It’s lovely,” she said. “Why?”

“Some people find it too kinky,” I explained.

“I am quite kinky, actually,” she confided. “Keep doing that. Please.”

She was breathing in short, staccato bursts as the thrill of my tongue in her arse took over her senses and normal processes like lung function took a back seat.

Jess allowed me to lick her arse for a few beautiful minutes before she broke the precious, intimate silence.

“Do you like anal?” she ventured.

“Yeah,” I murmured. “I’d love to.”

“In my bag,” she said. “On the chair.” We had brought everything upstairs with us: clothes, phones, bags, underwear.

I rummaged in her bag until I found a tube of KY jelly, which I presumed was what she meant. I waved it in front of her eyes as she lay in a rimming-induced trance and she nodded.

Before I applied it, though, I needed one last taste of her little puckered hole. I licked her slowly and with love.

“God, you really like that, don’t you?” she sighed.

“I have thought about licking your arse on and off for twenty years,” I told her, and it was true. From time to time I had thought about what I had missed out on with the girl in the frumpy brown uniform. And every time it had ended up with me licking her arse. Now I had had that great privilege and she had no idea how much it meant to me.

I spread some jelly around her hole and poked my middle finger into it. It was soft and warm and welcoming. I slid the finger as far as I could and she groaned.

“Yes,” she said breathily. "Go on.”

I smeared some jelly onto the head of my cock and moved up behind her. I toyed with her for a short while, sliding up and down the toboggan run from her lower back to her vagina.

Then I pressed the head against her hole and felt it expand quickly and suck me in. Jess groaned invitingly and I began to move in and out, in and out. In all the fantasies I had enjoyed about her over so many years, I had never had my cock up her arse, but here we were, doing it, and it was beautiful. I plunged up and down inside her and she seemed to hold her breath before suddenly convulsing with ecstasy as she came, collapsing on the mattress as her cavity let go of my rod.

I took a tissue from the box next to the bed and wiped my cock because it was too slippery to control my foreskin. Having gained some traction I masturbated urgently but briefly before the spunk shot out of me and landed in her crack. I grunted and slid my thumb into her arse, taking some semen with it.

“Fantastic,” she hissed. “Lovely man. You have no idea…” But I did, because it was a kind of dream come true for me too.