Rosamund lived in a detached house on a promontory overlooking the sea. That night she made me a simple supper and invited me to stay. If I thought my luck was in I was mistaken. She talked about herself, listened to romantic music on Radio Luxemberg, then she made a couple of telephone calles from the hallway. I slept in the spare bedroom. I had the impression that this was all about something else rather than the seductive episode I had imagined.

The following morning Rosamund and I strolled the beach to an old rowing boat half buried in the sand where we sat and talked, but basically about nothing, for apart from the Christmas kiss at the bank we were worlds apart.

After about half an hour a woman in her early forties approached us. I was somewhat taken aback when Rosamund rose and made the introductions, at which the newcomer addressed herself to me in native Low Dietsch, which of course took me completely by surprise.

"This is Mevrouw Kaete Rosenhagen née van Bruggen, the widow of your Uncle Paul who died last month in Limburg," Rosamund explained.

I had never met Uncle Paul; he and my father were brothers but couldn't stand each other. Rosamund had somehow become entangled in the affair through the London bank and now explained the complicated situation.

After the Second World War it was discovered that everybody in Holland had been working for the Dutch Resistance. That was not really the case, of course, and during the war my father and his brother had been working for different sides. This was the cause of their bitter enmity.

In his Last Will and Testament, Uncle Paul had provided for the financial well-being of his widow but stipulated that the farm estate and the manor house should pass to any Rosenhagen bachelor related to him by blood who was prepared to marry his widow and domicile himself with her permanently in Holland, since he wished it to remain within the Rosenhagen family. The only known male Rosenhagen who could fit the bill was myself, and so all I had to do to inherit was marry Kaete Rosenhagen.

Rosamund told me that Kaete came from the Dutch landed gentry and had unbroken experience of administering my uncle's estate since before the war, a period of over twenty years. To become a Lord of the Manor so to speak was every Dutch boy's dream, even if to become one meant marrying a rather plain Jane old enough to be his mother. I thought about a certain stumbling block for some time and sought the counsel of Rosamund about the question of sex.

"I understand that a very liberal sex policy will be offered to accommodate your desires," Rosamund said.

I glanced at Kaethe who was in earshot and asked, "Is that true?"

When she nodded her confirmation I declared that I would marry her, and my proposal was accepted with ecstasy. Rosamund offered to attend to the paperwork, I should resign from the bank on 2 January, my eighteenth birthday, Kaete would obtain a special licence to marry at the local registry office and then the "happy couple" would go to live on the Limburg estate.

As she departed, I heard Kaete whisper to Rosamund, "You can have your quid pro quo now."

In the kitchen that evening, I came up behind Rosamund, clasped my hands around her waist, kissed her neck and said, "So what is this quid pro quo?"

She laughed, and after turning off the oven, rested her head back on my shoulder.

Raising my clasped hands she separated them and placed one on each breast, the nipples already hard.

"Can you guess what I want? After you've showered go and await my pleasure in my bedroom."

When eventually she joined me she made a charming vision. She had a slender if not gaunt naked body which I found very attractive. Casting aside her silky dressing robe with an attitude of 'Well, I suppose we might as well get it over with', something far removed from the way she was actuially feeling at that moment, she approached me in a very determined manner, her nipples protruding at the centre of rather sagging but neverthless still beautifully shaped breasts. She had highlighted her eyes with blue liner and fluffed out her hair with the dryer.

"Well, are you going to do me now or what?"

She liked it when I pushed her back on the bed and responded to my kisses at once. Her face flushed, the 51-year old Lady of the Lower Dutch East Indian Nobility sprawled impatiently in her nakedness, one leg bent at the knee and open to reveal her sex.

I had read in a sex book that the area between the clitoris and vaginal orifice is highly sensitive in most women. 'A slow tantalizing licking of the area...will provide erotic arousal and pleasure orgasmic to most women.' I was very interested to find out if that was true for my first experiment in sex.

I knelt between Rosamund's thighs and told her to rest the back of her knees on my shoulders. She did as I said but demanded: "How are you going to get your penis into me from down there?"

According to the sex book, a woman's genitalia are structured in a certain way. Rosamund was not typical in this respect. She had no exterior clitoral structure at all except for a thin stringy appendage which apparently tickled when touched but otherwise served no purpose.

To gasps of protest and indignation ("What on earth do you think you are doing there, Rosenhagen?") by tongue play I got the petals of her labia open and licked up her vaginal secretions, which were now quite profuse. She was shocked at the sensation of being tongued up and down between the clitoral string and the vaginal opening, made two stifled gasps of protest and encouragement and then she was overwhelmed by her orgasms, orchestrated amidst terrible groans of pleasure. Finally after long minutes she relaxed and pushed my forehad away.

"I can't stand any more, Rosenhagen," she cried. I cuddled her thighs in my arms and caressed her abdomen. I had conquered Her Ladyship with my unexpected tactic.

"Rosenhagen...?

"What, Rosamund?"

"Where did you learn to do that?"

"From a book, Rosamund. Would you like the title?"

"What I would like is for you to do that to me every time we have sex."

"But Rosamund, I'm going to marry Kaete."

"Yes, I know that darling. But as I said, she has agreed to a very liberal sex policy in the marriage and on my frequent visits to Limburg I shall be sleeping with you."

"Oh. Is that the quid pro quo?"

"You're so perceptive darling. Do we have a deal?"

I nodded happily. It looked like the Limburg estate might yet have a few surprises up its metaphorical sleeve. And I just loved being surrounded by ladies over the age of forty.