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Welcome To Kirkgate

I reached the bus stop just in time and boarded the empty vehicle, panting for breath. The driver looked at me in exasperation as I fumbled for my wallet and dropped change all over the floor. I wouldn't have said I was drunk but the couple of beers I had had were certainly taking their toll. Just about regaining my composure, I apologised to the unimpressed, middle-aged man behind the wheel and paid my fare before retreating to near the back of the bus, well out of sight. 

Given the size and remoteness of my village, the last bus left the city far too early for my liking and was invariably empty. At eighteen, I was almost certainly the youngest person to live there and among the very few to stay up past 10.30 of an evening. I lived alone with my fifty-year old father. He was extremely lenient with me, pretty much letting me do whatever I liked, but I tried not to take liberties, knowing how much he worried about me. He had lived in the village his entire life and we ran the local butcher shop so we knew everyone and everything that went on. Unfortunately, it wasn't the kind of place you would often come across juicy gossip and Mrs Brown's worsening arthritis was hardly stimulating stuff for a young guy like myself. I wanted to move to the city and start a life of my own, but I was worried about leaving my dad on his own. My mother's death had been really hard on him, on both of us, and he had never been quite right since then.

The bus journey was long and dull and I stared out of the window into the blackness, starting to feel sleepy. We rumbled through the quiet city centre and the street lights slowly became further and further apart. The rows of shuttered shops and trendy bars were replaced by four-in-a-block housing and the occasional dingy pub with half of its customers outside smoking. I was jerked out of some daydream by the sound of the bus doors shuddering open, the sharp coldness of the night air filling the entire bus instantly and making me shiver. I looked up to see a tall woman, dressed very elegantly, step onto the bus and smile at the driver. Curious, I listened closely as she spoke to him and was surprised to hear she was traveling to my very own sleepy, little village. I wondered at who she might be visiting at this late hour, for she certainly was not a resident that I had ever laid eyes upon or even heard about. Her attire and demeanour were enough to satisfy me that she was, indeed, a stranger, possibly calling upon an elderly relative. I did recall Mr Hartford harping on about his niece a few days earlier.

She made her way up the aisle of the bus and stumbled when the bus jerked into motion, reaching out to grab the pole beside where I was sitting. Seeing my smirk, she laughed at herself and took the seat on the opposite side of the bus. I looked over at her straightening her pencil skirt, her sleek, tanned legs catching my eye briefly, and guessed her age to be around thirty-five or thirty-six. The sensibility of her appearance - from her perfectly executed make-up to the carefully chosen, 'not-too-revealing' blouse - made me think she could not be very much younger, and yet the softness of her facial features and the stylish way her mousy brown hair was cut could not let me think her any older. As I debated the point in my head, I realised that I was staring, nay, gawping at this woman and, having noticed, she was returning my gaze. Fortunately, she gave me a reassuring smile to which I gave a nervous one in reply before turning my attention to the window, flushing momentarily with embarrassment.

Just as I was trying to work out where we were and therefore how much more of this bus journey I would have to endure, I felt the seat beneath me shift and a slightly raspy voice spoke at my side. "Hi, I'm Olive. Do you live in Kirkgate, too?" Her accent confirmed my suspicion of her origins - a city accent was very distinctive to that of a country bumpkin like myself, despite its relative nearness. I was surprised at her vibrance and the amount of energy she exuded so late in the evening.

I turned to find the woman sitting inches from me with her hand extended, smiling infectiously. "I do, aye," I said, taking her delicate hand, noting how long and slender her fingers were. Piano-playing hands, my dad would have said. "Andrew," I added simply before presumptively asking, "You visiting someone up in Kirkgate, are ye?" Her handshake was pleasantly firm but somehow graceful. She looked at me with warm, hazel eyes and held my grip just a moment longer than seemed natural.

"Oh, no," she laughed, finally releasing my hand, "I live there." I raised an eyebrow at her and she must have guessed at my suspicion for she hurriedly continued, "I just moved there yesterday, onto Green's Lane. It's a lovely little place, isn't it?" Her face beamed with genuine happiness and an enthusiasm which was hard to find amongst Kirkgate's inhabitants. My mind whizzed down Green's Lane, unable to find a single vacant property. Then, suddenly, I remembered - James Macrae, the retired school master, had packed up and moved to England with his third wife, a scrawny-looking, red-headed woman, twenty years his junior. The house had lain empty for months and little mention had been made of it for some time. I didn't even know he had decided to sell it.

"I see. Well, welcome to oor humble village. My father and I run the butcher shop on Market Street, so I'm sure we'll be seein' plenty of each other." As I said this, she adjusted her blouse and I noticed her cleavage for the first time, at which I blushed. Though it was only a brief glimpse, I noticed how clear and smooth the skin on her chest seemed and I could see her bosom was of moderate proportion. Now that I thought of it, she seemed to have a very nice body and I was certain I had not underestimated her age. I wondered if she had guessed at my age. My rough stubble and perpetually stern expression often belied my youth and many said I could easily be mistaken for a man in his mid-twenties. In any case, this beautiful woman did not act as though there was any discernible age gap between us.

A delightful conversation ensued for the remaining half hour of the bus ride. Something between us clicked and we were soon chatting comfortably, quite at ease in each other's company. I learned that she had recently split from her husband of seventeen years and had used the divorce as an opportunity to finally get away from the city and concentrate on fulfilling her dream of becoming a novelist. In the meantime, she was working from home as a website designer and so didn't need to be in the city. The peace and quiet of a little country abode had always appealed to her and I made sure to give her lots of reassurance that she would absolutely love it here, not sharing my own desire to abandon the place.

"The whole community's just great," I told her. "We look after our own - anyone will do anythin' for ye - but we know no' to stick oor noses in where they're no' wanted. Everybody's entitled to their privacy." She gave me a look as if to say, 'That's just what I wanted to hear,' and in her gaze I thought I saw a blossoming friendship start to form.

Olive was more sophisticated than those I usually socialised with but she still had a very relatable, 'down-to-earth' quality about her that made her instantly likable. Every time I spoke, she paid close attention and absorbed all I had to tell her about Kirkgate and its queer ways. It had been a long time since I had met someone who would listen so intently to, and be genuinely interested in, my many anecdotes. I was acutely aware of the foot of her crossed leg coming to rest against my shin but put it down to the way she was sitting and the narrowness of the bench.

"Aye, so watch oot for auld Aggy," I warned her, "She once whacked me right across the knees wi' that stick o' hers for an untucked shirt." At this, she erupted into a fit of laughter, throwing her head back, and I couldn't help but laugh, too. The movement of her hair sends a coconut-scented waft my way and the smell lingers under my nose. Her sweet laugh echoed around the hollow vehicle causing the driver to look back at us in his mirror, grinning.

Our eyes met again as her guffawing subsided and this time I saw something different there. Her hand found its way to just above my knee and lightly squeezed my thigh, the lingering touch causing my heart rate to rise ever so slightly. It was then that I realised that her look was not merely one of new friendship but of fresh attraction. Of course, I had admired her beauty and her delicacy, but the idea of any kind of romantic encounter between us had but briefly fleeted through my mind. Yet now, confronted with that very prospect, I could think of nothing but of how her pale, thin lips might feel against mine. 

Her foot now moved slowly up and down my leg and goosebumps began to form on my arms as she inched closer towards me. I could feel my chest pound through my shirt and beads of perspiration were taking shape on my forehead. To have a woman (an older woman, at that) make an advance on me like this stirred a strange mixture of emotions within me - flattery; arousal; nervousness; lust. Trembling, I placed a large, rough hand on her small, dainty one and she tightened her grip once more. Inch by inch, our faces drew closer together, our breath mingling in the space between, our fingers intertwining on my lap. Olive's lips puckered and I was but a second from kissing her when our bodies were thrown forward by the seemingly sudden arrival of the bus at our stop.

"Kirkgate," the driver shouted back to us. I hadn't realised we were so close; time had seemed to stand still as I had stared into her big eyes. We hastily shuffled down to the doors, thanking the tired-looking man behind the wheel, and stepped onto the narrow pavement. I took a deep breath of the fresh, summer air and watched the bus disappear into the night, leaving me standing there on the street I grew up on, lit only by the moon.

"It's right dark," I said to Olive, turning to look at her, "I'll walk you to yer door." I was raised a gentleman and always believed that no woman should have to walk alone in the dark, however safe a place they were in. At any rate, I knew I didn't want to part company with her just yet. She happily took my arm as we went on our way and hugged it tightly when a cold wind rushed past. I rather enjoyed the feeling of being close to her and very much wanted another opportunity to kiss her; I feared the moment had passed and could not be recaptured.

"Don't you have a girlfriend, Andrew?" she inquired of me with somewhat forced nonchalance. Our conversation during the journey had been, by my own design, heavily weighted towards her and I had divulged very little about myself thus far. I was, and am, a private person; something which I inherited from my father, it seems. Quite aside from that, I never feel there is very much about myself worth telling, having lived a relatively modest life and with few notable accomplishments to boast of. The tone of her question amused me, for I was sure I could tell that she was hopeful of my being single and certainly expected such a response. 

Indeed, I was not to disappoint her, answering simply, yet purposefully, "No." In my eighteen years I had only had one girlfriend and that relationship is not a topic I ever discuss in any great detail. The break-up had been... messy and I was never really a 'share your feelings' kind of a guy (something else I got from my dad).

To prevent her from asking any further questions along these lines, I made the innocuous remark, "It's a right lovely night the night, so it is," at which she chuckled quietly and secured her hold on my right arm with both hands. As we turned on to Green's Lane, only just wide enough to walk along side each other, I resolved to make a second attempt to kiss her and my heart beat faster once again at the idea. In my mind, there was evidence to support my conviction that she would not reject such an advance and these opportunities are often so rare, I had thought to myself, that one ought to take them when they do happen to present themselves. My decision was made.

Stepping into the small, unkempt garden that had once belonged to Mr Macrae, she released my arm to fish her keys from her handbag as we walked. I stopped at the foot of the two steps that led to the shallow porch and faced Olive to bid her a good night. Yet again, our eyes fixed on the other's and, as though to replicate what had happened not ten minutes previously, our lips drew ever nearer. Her hand clasped around mine at my side and her lips puckered, just as they had done before. There would be no bus driver to interrupt us this time, standing together in the silent darkness, our faces but an inch apart. The instant our lips met, a warmth washed over me in spite of the cold. My arms went instinctively around her waist, hers around my neck, pulling each other into the deep kiss. Her tongue gently urged my lips to part and they quickly gave way to its will as it eagerly sought my own. They pressed against one another firmly, swirling and dancing in our mouths, our breathing becoming heavier. The passion of our kiss intensified and our embrace brought her lean body tight against mine, my thick fingers now caressing her sides. The world around us melted away and there was only her and me, lost in our own desire.

I could not say how long it lasted; maybe a second, maybe ten minutes. Time meant nothing in a moment so utterly perfect. When the kiss ended, she placed her head against my chest and held me close to her; I never wanted her to let go. The air was still; there was no movement in the lane whatsoever, not a sound to be heard. She took a step back from me and I took a deep breath, then smiled at her broadly as our hands came together in the space between our bodies. There were so many things I could have said to her but right there and then, in the serene shadow of her house, all I managed was, "G'night, Olive."

She laughed noiselessly and gave me a moist peck on my left cheek before replying, "Goodnight, Andrew. Thank you for getting me home safely." With that, she ascended the steps and let herself into her new home, pausing only briefly in the doorway to give me a shy grin. The door shut and I stood alone on the overgrown path, gathering my thoughts for just a minute, before making the short walk home, still thinking only of her, still smiling.

Talk of Olive's arrival in Kirkgate was rife over the next few days, with rumours being conjured up just as quickly as they could be dispelled. I chose not to partake in this gossip-mongering and decided to remain tight-lipped about our acquaintance, giving no more than a smile and a nod to the musings of the church group. Feeling it did not behoove me to develop an emotional attachment to an older, not to mention divorced, woman, I tried to refrain from thinking about her too much. My work helped somewhat, but still the memory of our passionate kiss would creep into my mind from time to time, and in the solitude of my small bedroom I was plagued by the recollection of the coconut aroma of her hair. My body longed to feel her in my arms again.

Of all the theories floating around about the occupant of my thoughts, what sparked my curiosity most was the speculation about her age. It seemed even the few people who had had the fortune of meeting her so far did not know for certain, though many were willing to give their own opinion on the matter. Most reckoned her, as I had, to be in her mid- to late thirties, but the range of guesses soon grew very large. Dorothy, the baker's wife and a kind-hearted lady, put her at twenty-seven, an extremely generous estimation in my view, and held firm that she could not be a day over thirty. Conversely, Aggy had been conveying to anyone who would listen her understanding that the newest addition to Kirkgate was not more than a stone's throw off of fifty years old. Naturally, I dismissed so high a supposition, but took it as reason to ponder the subject further. It crossed my mind that this woman, the object of my affections, could be better suited to a man of my father's age. I lamented my youth as I gradually pushed the possibility of anything more than a friendship developing between us out of my mind.

On the third day since our encounter, I began to think it strange that our paths had not crossed at least once in that time and worried that she may, having realised what a mistake she had made in kissing me, be avoiding me. Debating whether or not to pay her a visit to clear the air, I walked out of the freezer but froze when I heard a familiar raspy voice at the front of the shop. For fear of an awkward exchange in front of my father, I remained unseen in the back, practically holding my breath as I listened to the end of their conversation.

"I've got a few errands to run, so can I come back for that a little later?" she asked hopefully.

My dad's quiet, yet buoyant voice answered, "I'll do you one better, Ms Parson, I'll have my son deliver it to your house. How's an hour for ye?" My body tensed. I was about to get the answer to my own question - if she agreed, it surely meant that she didn't want there to be any awkwardness between us; if she declined, my suspicions would be confirmed. My ears pricked expectantly as I awaited her response.

"Oh, Mr MacArthur, that would be wonderful," she said, seeming genuinely delighted at the suggestion. I breathed a deep, silent sigh of relief, exceedingly pleased with her near-excited reaction. "You're much too kind," she continued, "Are you sure it's no trouble?" 

"None whatever, my dear." There was an exchange of money, a final polite thanks and she was gone. I finally allowed my body to relax, if only a little, and joined my dad at the counter. Expressionlessly, I let him relay the whole event to me again and I busied myself with preparing her order as he told me how very lovely he had found Ms Parson and what a welcome addition to our small community he hoped she would become. Meanwhile, I immersed myself in thoughts of what to say and how to act when I returned to Green's Lane. The sunny disposition with which she had accepted my father's offer left me wondering whether I had given enough credence to the idea of her actually being attracted to me. I was back to square one and with less than an hour to ready myself for coming face to face with her again.

That hour passed without consequence but altogether too quickly. Our only customer was Mr Aithie, the oldest man in Kirkgate (pre-dating most of the buildings, too), out for his morning constitutional. Even in his ripe old age he was fully aware of all the goings-on in the village and he, like everyone else, was forthcoming with his two cents on the new arrival. As expected, he was disapproving of her divorced status, but had to admit to her being rather charming when they had met the previous day - high praise indeed from the patriarch of our society. Shortly after he left, I shed my apron and hat and lifted the parcel that had been made up for Olive. Before I made it to the door, my dad requested that I not be long on account of him leaving for a dentist appointment in the next town over. Though I didn't want to rush the visit, I was glad of a having a prepared excuse, lest the conversation become uncomfortable.

It was unseasonably cold that day despite the clear skies. A flash of déjà vu caused my heart to thump in my chest as I turned once again onto the short row of houses. The image of her moonlit face moments before we kissed was forefront in my consciousness and by the time I reached those wooden steps, I was so nervous that I nearly tripped over the first one. I carried on and, with one slow breath, knocked three times on the dark brown door. My feet shifted in place as I waited, looking up and down the empty avenue, until the silence was broken by movement from within. The door swung into the house and Olive stood there, her face lit up with sincere elation. An unconscious smile spread over my face and any uneasiness I had left me there and then.

"Andrew!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around my neck, "It's great to see you again. Come in, come in." Relinquishing her grasp, she stepped aside to let me enter the modest house and followed me in. The place was still pretty bare, with unpacked boxes dotted around the place, but she had clearly been keen to start on the redecorating because all the walls were stripped of wallpaper. I took her delivery to the kitchen, placing it on the counter, and when I turned back around, she was standing as close as she had done three nights previously. If I had any doubts about her attraction to me, they vanished with a flutter of her eyelashes; her intention was apparent in her eyes. Her hands went behind my head and she pulled my face to hers in a savage kiss, her fingers roaming wildly through my thick hair.

Running on impulse, my hands were on her hips pulling her into me, the tips of my fingers just able to make out the contours of her buttocks. She explored my mouth with skill; our nasal breathing grew heavier as our bodies became familiar with the feel of the other. I sensed her breasts pressing into my chest and I pushed my hands under the material of her red blouse to feel the soft skin of her back for the first time while she untucked my white shirt and fumbled with a button. The way she had blind-sided me had left me little time to properly comprehend what was going on. A gorgeous, sexy, older woman had her tongue down my throat and her hand now dangerously close to my crotch. Could I have pried my hands from her sensational body, I'd have pinched myself. The pang of desire I felt, though, assured me that this was no dream.

Olive's lips moved to my neck, kissing and sucking lightly, and she proceeded to remove my shirt with a great deal of urgency while she fondled my flat, muscleless torso. Two of my fingers slipped into her waistband to feel the fabric of her underwear. She pushed me back to lean against the countertop and flashed me a mischievous grin as she unbuckled my belt. I was quickly becoming aroused by the forceful way she was taking control of this situation; there was nothing more appealing to me than a woman who knew what she wanted and who was intent on getting it. Our lips pressed firmly against each other and I caught a whiff of her almost edible scent. A slithering hand made its way down my hairy abdomen to my now open trousers, over the front of my woven boxers and wrapped around my...

"Oh, shit!" I half-shouted as I grabbed her by the shoulder and held her at arm's length. A look of surprise and confusion spread over her face. It pained me greatly to have to say what I did next, especially in my state of semi-undress. "I've... got tae go; I'm so sorry. My da' is leaving in five minutes an' I have to mind the shop." I let her go and started to make myself presentable again, repeating, "I'm really sorry, Olive."

"I understand," she said, unable to disguise her disappointment and straightening herself up, too. When I was ready to go, she put her arms round my waist and pulled me once more into a long, tender kiss. I would have given anything to be able to stay there with her but I couldn't let my father down. I brushed the hair out of her eye and was about to apologise to her again when an idea struck her like a lightning bolt, giving her eyes a look of childlike excitement with an unmistakeable glint of delicious wickedness.

"Come back tonight," she cut me off suddenly, "I'll cook for you; we can do this... right." She shot me a naughty smile and I knew I was powerless to refuse, not that I would want to. We agreed a time and, with no more than a teasing peck, I dashed out of the house, already later than I should have been but too high on the thought of our dinner date to feel bad about it.

What followed was the slowest seven hours of my life. The shop had very little custom so I had altogether too much time to relive and, indeed, over-analyse my steamy visit, not to mention what was to come next. While I wanted simply to embrace the situation and live in the moment for once, I could not help but question her motives for being so forward with me. Though not unattractive, I was not so dashing as to make a woman swoon on first sight, yet our acquaintance had been so short that I doubted her interest in me could be much more than purely physical. The thought that she might be wanting for any kind of male intimacy since falling out of love with her husband was not the most farfetched of my musings and I quarreled with myself about whether I would wish to be used in such a way. Inevitably, any incertitudes that consumed me were eventually quashed by the ever more vivid memory of the feel of her hand on my skin. In spite of how shallow I was coming across to myself, the idea of my being so uncharacteristically adventurous and spontaneous excited me to no end. By the time my father returned that afternoon, I had convinced myself that I was more than alright with being 'cougar bait'.

For fear of a complicated conversation, but without wanting to lie to my dad, I simply told him that I had a date and may be out late. When pressed, I confessed to having met someone a few nights ago when I was out but could not be coerced to disclose any further details. This information pleased my father greatly for he had been so deeply concerned about my happiness since my break-up; he felt I had been shutting myself off more than usual. His worries were founded: I had been notably less sociable since the end of my relationship and had taken to spending many more evenings alone in my room than I usually would have. In truth, the night I met Olive was the first I had been out of Kirkgate in nearly three weeks. Perhaps this 'adventure', fling or not, could be just the thing to give me something of a new lease of life. The more I thought about it, the more compelling a case I made for going through with whatever the evening held in store for me.

We shut up shop at five o'clock, giving me a very adequate two hours in which to prepare. My first task was to decide on something to wear and the sight of my messy wardrobe made it a more grueling one than it ought to have been. The tricky part was choosing an outfit that struck the balance between looking smart and mature and not seeming as though I'm trying too hard. I found a nice, 'not-too-dressy' shirt and plain black trousers - a simple and understated look. With that part taken care of, I stepped into the shower to rid myself of the undesirable scent of raw meat and sweat, not exiting until I was certain that every inch of me was spotlessly clean. In my room, my reflection looked back at me from my mirror, conscious that another human being would be seeing me naked that night. The towel around my waste fell away and I stood for a minute, surveying my body, pondering the idea of 'manscaping' for the first time in my life. With the attention from Olive, my confidence was pretty high and I was feeling good about how I looked. As such, I made the decision not to jeopardise my self-esteem with some risky experimentation and pulled my ironed clothes on without giving it another thought. A purposely subtle touch of aftershave and a breath-freshener later and I was ready to go, with twenty agonising minutes to spare.

My father was under the impression I would be dining at a restaurant and so I concealed the bottle of red wine I had selected from our (his) rack as I bade him goodnight. I was not relishing the prospect of attempting to make my way back to Green's Lane undetected by my neighbours and I was sure, light of foot though I was, of a few twitching curtains. Alas, there was nothing for it but to make the journey swiftly and quietly and if suspicion were raised then I would deal with it in the morning. Fortunately, I did not meet anyone on my way and I soon found myself facing the heavy door of Olive's house again, gripping a wine bottle tightly in one increasingly sweaty hand. I heard the bus I was supposed to have gotten on creak along the distant main street. Contrary to the moisture on my brow, I was feeling quite bold and wasted no time in knocking firmly on the door. The answer came quickly and I was immediately rendered speechless by the sight now before me.

Sexy; beautiful; gorgeous; stunning - none of these words could begin to describe the woman that was standing in front of me. "Just in time," was her welcome, with a smile as if to say, 'That was just the reaction I was going for.' I gulped and wiped the gormless expression from my face before following her like a puppy down the hall. My eyes were drawn to her bottom, admiring the way her black dress hugged and accentuated her curves, and down her shapely, sun-bronzened legs. She had dressed to impress; to seduce. A divine fragrance was emitted as she sashayed towards her lounge and I couldn't help but be captivated by her movements. I was yet to utter a word, mesmerised as I was, but was forced to break the silence when we reached our destination and she turned to me expectantly.

"You look... phenomenal," I croaked, my mouth dry, and she laughed before returning the compliment and planting a quick kiss on my lips. I became aware of some delicious smell coming from the direction of her kitchen and noticed she had set up a cute little table for two in the centre of the room, a lit candle on the surface. The romantic ambience heightened my anticipation of what was to come and each passing moment in her company reassured me that I had made the right decision in coming here. My arm extended, offering her the bottle of wine. "I didn't know what you were making, or what yer preference is, so I hope this is a'right." The truth was, I hadn't given these things a thought until this very second, I had picked it rather arbitrarily. Thankfully, my choice seemed to go down well.

"You didn't have to do that, Andrew," she cooed, taking the bottle. "This looks lovely. Why don't you pour us a glass and make yourself comfortable while I go and check on the food?" She placed it on the table and disappeared from the room. Two ready and waiting glasses were eagerly filled and I was surprisingly at ease as I coolly took a sip from one. She returned shortly afterwards with two large plates which she placed down on the table and promptly joined me. The radiance of her skin was breath-taking and she blushed at my remark on the healthy glow of her cheeks. We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, looking across at each other in the dim light. I could have stared at her all evening.

The food was as tasty as it had smelt, if not more so; from what I could tell, she was a talented cook. "This is right good quality gammon, Olive," I said with a knowing smirk - it was the same gammon I had delivered to her earlier. "My compliments to yer butcher." 

"I'll have to think of a way to show my appreciation," she teased as a foot came into gentle contact with my shin. With a lustful look in her eyes, she reached for her glass and murmured her approval of the wine.

The conversation, like the wine, was flowing as we ate and I felt comfortable enough to laugh and joke freely with her. She pushed her hair back flirtatiously a few times while her naked foot crept slowly up my trouser leg, having the desired effect. A sense of inevitability filled the room as the number of innuendos littering our speech grew rapidly. Every part of her, from her luscious lips to her hypnotic cleavage, was so inviting and I was finding her truly irresistible. An animal urge to rip the dress from her voluptuous body and run my hands all over her came over me, but I knew that if I was patient, the reward would be all the sweeter. I could make out the faint outline of her hardened nipples through the silky material of her dress and smiled at her arousal, longing to touch them.

"I hope you still have room for dessert." Olive bent down next to me to pick up my empty plate, a breast brushing briefly against my face. I knew exactly what I wanted for dessert; I was all het up at this stage but was quite certain she knew exactly what she was doing so I decided to let it play out a little longer. With a wink and a swish of hair, she was gone again and I took a long slug of wine in the hope it would calm me down. I had not expected to be as into this as I was; I was coming out of a shell I didn't know I was in until now. It was all so new and surreal and I hadn't quite gotten my head round it all yet. It still hadn't really sunk in that this was happening to me; that this woman had brought me here, essentially, to have sex with her. Truly a boyhood fantasy come true. When she returned with two bowls, she bent down to my ear and whispered, "Enjoy," in a way that sent a shiver down my spine.

She resumed her seat at the table as her foot resumed its place on my inner thigh. In a clichéd yet terribly erotic way, she scooped up a dollop of whipped cream on her middle finger and sucked it off as she stared over the flame of the candle at me. Her foot reached its final stop and began to sensually massage me, with her licking her lips. It was almost as much as I could take. She proceeded to scoop up yet more of her dessert, this time with two fingers, and extended it across the table to me. My eager mouth engulfed her fingers and sucked firmly, my tongue slowly licking them clean. I felt her toes curl and grip me and I knew we weren't going to make it through this course. She stood up to cross over to me and I rose to meet her, taking her in a rough kiss - the same kiss I had stopped in the kitchen earlier. There would be no interruptions this time; nothing could stop me from realising my primal desire for this goddess. 

A tug at my hand told me all I needed to know and we made our way with haste to her bedroom. Immediately, I began undressing her, my lips roaming over her face and neck as I reached round to pull down the zip and ease the straps from her shoulders. Her hands were at my belt again, releasing some of the tension, and her long fingers traced over my tangible excitement. The dress slid down her body to reveal matching black lace underwear and she kicked it to the side as she pried at the buttons of my shirt. My hands slipped into the back of her panties, groping at her plump cheeks while my lips left a trail of kisses along her collarbone. Our bodies were working in sync with each other to heighten the sensation of every touch. When my shirt came free, I let it fall to the floor and Olive pushed both hands up the front of my chest, over my nipples, making me pull her near to me and run the tips of my fingers down the small of her back. A whimper of pleasure escaped her.

Her bra came undone easily in my hands and her full breasts came into view as the material floated down to join the growing pile of discarded clothes. Instinctively, I took one in each hand and let my thumbs wander over the sensitive areola, evoking a groan from within her. Our tongues danced once more as her impatient hands tugged my trousers down and eventually they land on the floor. She grasped me tightly through my boxers and it was my turn to groan into her mouth. My feet were working independently of the rest of me to remove my shoes. Moving her over to the bed, I lifted her up by the buttocks and laid her down on it, climbing over her after pulling off my socks and tossing them aside. I sucked at one nipple, nibbling at it lightly while I rolled the other between my thumb and forefinger; her approval was audible. She ran her hands through my hair, grabbing it in fists as my mouth traveled down past her navel to the top of her underwear. With a deep breath from her, I removed the article and held it to my face, feeling the dampness and smelling her musk. She lay there naked, panting slightly, filled with lust and in need of the touch of a man. 

I rubbed her mound with the palm of my hand while tickling the inside of her thighs with my tongue. Without warning, I licked across her outer lips with the flat of my tongue up to where her clitoris was begging for release. Holding her hips, I used the tip of my tongue to tease it out from her folds and flicked at it playfully, eliciting ever louder moans and causing her upper body to writhe. I was done teasing her; now was the moment. I urgently removed my boxers to release my engorged organ. I cannot remember a time before or since that I have ever been so fully erect; so absolutely, unbelievably aroused. My mouth came up to meet hers again and we shared a long, strong kiss while our bodies shared their heat. "I want you," I growled in her ear as I positioned myself at her entrance.

"I need you!" she shouted up at me, her teeth bared and fire in her eyes, and I plunged into her depths to a cry of ecstasy. Like a machine, I ploughed into her again and again, feeling her inner walls contract to draw me in. She yelled out with every thrust, spurring me on, imploring me to go faster. I spread her legs wider and my hips rose and fell with increasing velocity, the sound of our flesh slapping together echoing through the room. Expertly, she matched her thrusts to mine, forcing me deeper still and driving us both ever closer to the edge. Adrenaline was coursing through my veins, giving me energy I never knew I had, and she screamed my name at the top of her lungs as I brought the intensity to a new level. Our bodies were one entity, bumping and grinding together to achieve one ultimate goal of satisfaction. 

I was nearly there, but she wasn't ready yet. Slowing down dramatically, I pulled her head up to mine and we savoured the moment of intimacy. Without ever leaving her, I rolled her over so she was on top of me, her firm bosom pressing into me, and began to thrust once more. Her hips rolled over my pelvis, seeking out her own particular 'spot'. She sat upright and found it, as evidenced by the look on her face, and we moved in unison again, climbing higher and higher towards our peak. My long strokes hit her just in the right place every time and she yelped loudly enough to alert the neighbours. She warned me she was nearly there, using an assisting hand to tip her over the edge. I kept pushing up into her with all my might, watching as her body trembled and convulsed with her climax, feeling how her tightened grip was pushing me to the brink. One last, almighty shudder let me know she was through it and I returned her smile through my deep grunts. To see her so clearly satisfied was all I needed.

My orgasm erupted like a volcano deep inside her, never ending spasms releasing lashings of my seed. When it was finally over, I breathed a heavy sigh and pulled her into my chest, just holding her for a minute. Our breaths were heavy, my chest heaving as she nuzzled into my neck lovingly. It was, by far, the most incredible sex I had yet experienced in my young life and I knew then that it would be hard to beat. Her sweat-coated body clung to mine as our hearts returned to their regular rate. There was only one thing to say: "Wow!"

"Not bad for a forty-three year-old, huh?" she replied and watched as my eyes widened in surprise. Aside from having the body of a woman ten years younger, she had the sexual energy of a girl my age (with the benefit of experience). I found myself in a state of shock and awe.

"You're... really!? I mean, you look... And the way you just... Wow!" I repeated, astounded to be holding a woman of more than twice my age, almost as old as my mother would have been, in my arms. She simply laughed in that sweet way that I was quickly growing so fond of. I looked across to the window to see that it was now pitch dark outside and kissed Olive's forehead before we both drifted off to sleep

It was only three hours later when I was wakened to a strange yet not altogether unfamiliar sensation. Groggy, I looked around the room in dazed confusion but it was too dark to even make out the clothes we had shed in the heat of the moment. As I came to my senses, I realised what was happening to me and looked down to find my new mature lover reviving me orally while I slept. It was probably the sexiest thing that had ever happened to me and I was almost sure I must have been dreaming. Then again, the past day had hardly been typical for me, so I guess just about anything was possible. I could feel myself coming to full hardness in her mouth and let out a low moan as she increased her suction, making her look up for the first time since I woke. In the dark room, her smile shone brightly up at me, drawing out my own grin.

"Sorry for waking you, sweetie." Her voice, even raspier in the dead of night, suddenly sounded so sexy and I beckoned her towards me into another deep kiss as my big hands massaged her sides. "I saw you lying there," she went on, "And I just wanted you again so badly." A sneaky hand found its way down my torso and she gave me a few persuasive strokes and a puppy-dog look that I couldn't have resisted even if I wanted to. I let my own hand slip down to between her legs and discovered that she was already quite wet. One of my thick, rough fingers moved up and down along her slit, spreading the moisture until I could push it inside her, making her gasp. After gently preparing her with my finger, I repositioned her underneath me and readied myself to make love to her for the second time. Olive laid back in anticipation and wrapped her legs around my back, pulling me to within an inch of entering her.

Slowly and tenderly, I eased myself into her, making sure to enjoy every little sensation her opening afforded me. Once I was fully inside, I wetted a finger in my mouth and brought it down to trace light circles around her solid nub. At this, her breath became shallow and she closed her eyes tight, mouthing the word, "Yes." I started to take long, purposeful strokes in and out of her, teasing her clit more and more by increasing the pressure of my finger, at which she started to lose herself in waves of pleasure. My thrusts became more forceful as she dug her heels into my back to pull me deeper. She flinched at my light pinch but when I tried to withdraw my hand she held it in place, panting for breath, nearing a very quick release. I kept a steady pace as I brought her to a very loud orgasm and her strong muscles clamped down on me to make me groan through her convulsions. Her body relaxed and I put all my energy into achieving one final, mind-blowing climax. Relentlessly, I slammed into sweet Olive, moving the bed underneath with every jerk of my hips. Below me, she was squeezing and playing with her gorgeous breasts, tantalising me right to the edge of a tremendous release. 

Just a few seconds later, I collapsed, spent, beside her on the cotton sheets of her new bed. Our lips met to say thank you; she laid a contented arm across my chest. To this day, I don't know what I did to deserve that night but I still hold it in my heart as one of the most important in my life. We started to doze off again, and in the still night I whispered to her, "Welcome to Kirkgate, Olive."

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