The first time I saw her I didn't really notice her. She had partly obscured my view of the television. At that moment, I was more concerned as to whether England would finally score a goal tonight. I had no idea that within a couple of hours I would be doing outrageous things with her. Beyond anything sexual I had done spontaneously in my previous 60 years. I had always planned everything.
In my long life, I had done some fairly adventurous things. But always planned, and always with my wife or girlfriend. I'd certainly never been given to picking up unknown women in public places; definitely not given to sexual encounters with them without getting to know them first.
Sure, life had been reasonably fulfilled in many ways, including sexually. I'd done some fairly wild sexual things with each of my wives. But now I was getting old and that was all several years or even decades ago. And it had never been unexpected sex with a stranger. I had married in my 20s for the first time, split up in my 40s, married again soon after. That marriage had now ended amicably some years ago, with the last sparks and embers fizzling out in a sad and tragically polite British ending. My libido had apparently gone into a long hibernation.
I was on the second day of a week's solo break to the Costa del Sol with no particular intentions. I'd just wanted some late winter warmth. I was in an Irish bar watching the football on the telly. As the match began to peter out, I became increasingly aware of the two women at the table in front of me: their heads kept blocking my view of the screen. Their appearance and activity became increasingly more interesting than a mediocre sporting performance. They were mostly talking to each other with occasional glances to the screen and across towards me. There was nothing remarkable about them, really. They were mid-40s, apparently. Brits too. The shorter one to my left had mid-length, almost black hair, a pale grey sweatshirt draped around her shoulders over a dark t-shirt, mid-blue skinny jeans and pink trainers. The taller one to my right had longer blondish hair with the mousy brown roots growing out, a black leather jacket over a white T-shirt, pale blue straight jeans and white trainers. They began giggling as they occasionally glimpsed over at me, in a way that they should have stopped doing 30 years ago when they were teenagers. I was a little discomforted but amused. It was impossible to ignore them a metre away at the next table. So I engaged.
"Is everything alright?" I asked. They smiled with mild guilt.
"We think you look like Bryan Ferry," said the blondish one. I laughed out loud. I couldn't help myself since I do not, and never have, resembled the suave singer. They laughed even more at their own joke and asked me to join them at their table. I couldn't refuse, not least since I had hardly had a conversation with anyone in two days. The dark-haired one introduced herself as Deb, and the blondish one as Nat.
"Natasha?" I asked.
"No, Natalie," she replied, "but only my mother calls me that. We will call you Bryan unless you want to tell us your real name."
Since I really don't like that name, I owned up to being John. They explained that they too had arrived a couple of days ago for a girls’ week away as Deb had recently split up with her husband. This pushed me to tell my life story, which I am usually reluctant to do. Well, I only gave them the headlines, not a full and lurid catalogue of previous sexual experiences and preferences from my past.
I ordered us some sangria and for nearly an hour we shared stories about where we were staying, places we planned to visit and favourite food and drink. I was enjoying myself rather surprisingly, despite having to talk about myself. They were not the kind of people I normally spent time with; I was generally much more reserved, not outgoing like them. I was fiddling idly with a beer mat as I often do. Nat's gaze fixed on my hands as I began to make little tears in it.
"I do like your hands," she said. I quite liked the unusual compliment.
"Well, I suppose they're my favourite part of my body," I replied with atypical openness, my shyness with strangers having slipped away somewhat.
"Yes," she said. "They are very square and masculine." Now my head was beginning to spin somewhat. I hadn't expected such forward comments from someone I'd just met. Nat asked Deb what her favourite part of her body was. Deb blushed slightly but apparently felt obliged to be honest to her friend, I could tell.
"Well, my legs, I suppose," she admitted. I couldn't help but glance down, taking in her thighs in her tight jeans in a stolen moment that I think they clocked.
"And what about you, Nat?" Deb teased.
"Oh, you know that very well," Nat replied. She hesitated for a split second and then blurted out cheerily: "My nipples, of course!"
I was now suddenly very out of my depth, but not uncomfortable. My brain was beginning to remember that flirtatious encounters with females had been an occasional part of my life in the past, though a distant memory by now. My cock began to tingle. A warm sensation of anticipation began to well up within me. But my British reticence overtook my animal instincts. I tried to change the subject.
"So what are your plans?" I asked, meaning for the rest of their holiday. However, my ambiguous question took us down a different path.
"Well, perhaps it is time to call it a night," said Deb. "Why don't you walk us back to our hotel?"
We had already established that it was close to mine. Fair enough. I agreed. I had found a safe exit from something that I hadn't come prepared for. Our hotels were maybe six or seven minutes' walk away. I began to relax on the journey, feeling relief, with them chatting quietly to each other, and my interjecting occasionally. Then after a couple of minutes, Nat moved me between them and each of them put their arms through mine in a jaunty fashion, causing us to walk in unison with a pleasing rhythm and a sense of fun. We talked about our favourite singers, making the journey pass very quickly through the warm, dark Spanish night. We reached their hotel first. I hugged Deb and said goodnight. I went to do the same to Nat, but she stepped back. I was confused.
"No," she said, and began leading me back to my hotel and waving goodnight to Deb, who also stood there looking rather disconsolate. In the minute it took us to reach my hotel, my head spun up, down, round and sideways like being 16 again. What was happening? Things like this had never happened to me at any point in my life and why should they start now at the age of 60? Surely, I was too old for this now.
But my adrenaline was pumping and my testosterone was making my balls pump with expectation. We said nothing in those 60 seconds as she held tight to me; her left hand gripping my right, the sea breeze flicking her hair, and my subconscious maleness aroused by the smell of female pushing itself through my nostrils into my imagination. I swiped my card to open the street door.
"What's your room number?" she asked.
"302," I managed to recall.
She pulled me gently into the lift up to the third floor. My 60-year-old heart was pumping; my hormones had awakened from several years of dormancy, and my anticipation was through the ceiling. Where would this go? Where would it end? What did she really want from me? I had met her less than two hours earlier; she was about 15 years younger than me. I could sense her pheromones careering into my head like wild horses.
Still no talking in the lift, though her eyes stared into mine with white heat as she held both my hands and we faced each other, our lips a few centimetres apart. We fell out of the lift as it pinged open and into my room opposite. I put on a soft light as she pulled away from me a moment and sat on the bed. She whispered to me that she needed my full attention. I nodded my assent as my imagination continued to go haywire and my cock to stiffen somewhat. She took off her leather jacket and hung it neatly on a chair. She slipped off her trainers and slid them under the bed, leaving her tiny white socks on.
I started to try to talk, not knowing what might come out of my mouth, but it was incoherent noises like those of a young boy. She put her finger to her lips and motioned for me to sit next to her. I complied. She put her left arm around my shoulders and pulled me into her with a sweet grin and a twinkle in her eyes. I hadn't, in the whirlwind of the evening so far, really considered her face but I now saw the beauty of her shiny dark grey eyes, petite nose and rounded lips. I was a teenage boy again with love in my head and a sizeable hardening cock springing to life in my pants. It began to feel like I was watching a fantasy younger version of myself. But in my own real life, this kind of thing had never happened to me.
We sat for a few minutes, almost frozen in the moment, a suspended animation of possible foreplay. She very slowly moved her lips closer to mine until they touched. Just for a second. Then withdrew. And paused for a few seconds, almost reflectively, then repeated. But this time with more urgency.
My head was spinning faster; my cock was nearly fully hard; and certainly bulging. She took my wrists with some force in her hands, lifting them close to her face.
"I do love your hands," she said. She moved them down to hover close to her breasts. She could feel me shaking and smiled. She let go and lifted her T-shirt off over her head. I was overcome with her mixed scent of femininity and fresh sweat. I marvelled at the tightness of her skin and its lovely pink-brown hue, slightly darker than I had imagined. She brushed her right hand over my crotch very delicately and slowly. I was close to an out-of-body experience. She carried on like this for a minute or two. Then finally she put her hands behind her back to unclasp her smooth, thin, perfectly white bra.
"It's about time I showed you the best part of my body," she said happily. Her breasts were fully exposed. Not huge, but pleasingly rounded and quite firm. But I had to accept that her nipples were amazing: very wide, slightly long, and already quite firm, with nice smooth areolas with a hint of darker brown. I stared at them for a minute or so. The passage of time was confused and confusing. She took in the expression of awe on my face.
"I want the best part of your body touching the best part of mine," she said.
I was still consciously reluctant but was overtaken by my animal instincts and reawakening memories of previous sexual activity. My left index finger hesitantly moved towards her right nipple and brushed its tip softly. She shuddered. The nipple stiffened slightly. I did it again. Again, she shuddered and made the softest of moans. I watched the nipple stiffen further and swell. I knew I could mischievously create a greater longing in her by concentrating only on the one nipple. So my inner teenage naughty boy did just that. I continued to brush her right nipple with my fingertips. I was growing in confidence and finding my 40-something self, with the right level of sexual confidence. She moaned more.
My testosterone levels were high, as was my cock. My memories were flooding back, triggered by the smells and tactile sensations. Suddenly, I realised that I wanted her. All of her. I had moved outside of myself. I was so incredibly aroused. I had rediscovered a super-confident version of myself. As never before in my life with a stranger. But it reminded me of things I had done with each of my wives. I quickly switched into that assertive sexual person I had once been, with a flair for the novel. I told her I was now in charge. She nodded.
I told her to go to the window, the full-length glass doors of the Juliette balcony. She did. As I stood just behind her, matter-of - factly, I told her to remove her jeans. I couldn't believe where I had taken myself mentally. She complied. I watched her long legs emerge from under the tight denim, arousing me further. I stared at the pleasing rounded flesh of her buttocks, split only by the tiny white line of the back of her thong. I came up close to her. I kissed her neck. She was moaning more and more. I had smelled nothing as sexy: a mix of stale and fresh sweat, leather and sun cream. She was struggling to maintain full muscle control as her breathing increased in speed and volume. My hands reached to her chest again, flicking both her nipples. She was becoming intense and losing self-control. I sucked her left earlobe. She screeched. I put my right hand across her mouth to quieten her. She began sucking at my fingers. My left hand found its way to the front part of her thong, which was barely there. I rubbed across it, feeling the hairless flesh of its side, while nibbling her ear more. I sensed she was losing control completely. I didn't care; I had found another level of my sexuality. I was being a younger and more sexual John.
I put my tongue tip inside her left ear. She was vibrating and breathing faster. Her hands began to rub at my crotch and chest. My breathing was ever faster. I had never been anywhere near this kind of spontaneous and dangerous sexual experience with a stranger. Meticulous planning was my strength and my fetish. But now I was abandoned to the moment. And I had found a side of myself that loved it.
I rubbed the front of her tight, soaking thong. I could feel the folds of her swollen labia through the very thin material. I grabbed at the garment and pulled it down off her, stroking the outside of her legs on the way down; and the insides on the way back up. Her thighs were very damp.
She was naked, except for her tiny white socks, pressed against a window. I hoped she could be seen. The thought excited me more. I returned my left hand to her nipples and my right to the little Brazilian line of pubic hair. I enjoyed the bristles as I gently rubbed it. She began to call my name and to grab at my waistband. She was breathing extremely heavily.
"Fuck me, fuck me," she said. I put my right hand over her mouth and told her not to talk. She nodded but continued rubbing my crotch, holding back. My self-control was basically turned off too. I pulled my shirt off. I pressed my extensive naked flesh against hers. It felt good, strong and reminiscent. I managed to slip my trousers and underwear off too. She was trying to talk but I held her mouth closed.
"I'm going to fuck you," I said. I released my hand from her mouth to hear her consent.
"God, yes, now," she said.
I looked at my cock. I hadn't seen it this stiff and upright for a very long time. I guided it slowly into her cunt, under her considerable buttocks. She tightened her vaginal muscles around me, squeezing my cock. I thrust gently the first few times. I could sense she was about to cum. My chest pressed her on to the glass, spreading her breasts against it. I felt her body tense and her nipples stiffen even further.
She was on the point of orgasm. She called me to fuck her harder. I did. And then I pulled her back slightly from the window, my cock still in her, and flicked my fingers against her nipples. Her whole body erupted as an orgasm surged through her and deep guttural noises of intense pleasure started to scream from her mouth. I had to put my hand over it so as not to wake anyone. I continued to thrust harder and further inside her. I felt her body tense, ready for another orgasm.
She cummed again as soon as I touched her very gently just above her clit. I thrust for another minute and could feel myself on the point of ejaculation but managed to delay. I was able to give her one further orgasm from my penetration just before I cummed inside her. I couldn't believe the length and intensity of my own orgasm and the amount of cum that I propelled inside her.
I tried to pull myself together. I was discombobulated by the physical and emotional intensity of everything on top of such an unexpected occurrence. Memories of previous sexual moments with my wives, long hidden away by the sadness of loss, came flooding back.
The smell of her skin close to my face was amazing. My cock slid out of her. I rubbed her neck and shoulders gently. She began to slow her breathing and began to relax as I did. I turned her round to face me, pushing her bum against the glass. I put my arms back around her neck and kissed her gently on the lips. I took in the full extent of her expression. I had never seen anyone look simultaneously so dazed and ecstatic. I thanked her. She gave the most imperceptible of nods. I got the impression that she couldn't actually talk.
I began to realise how shaky my legs were; I was not unfit but not used to that particular type of activity. I needed to lie down. I took her hand and led her into bed next to me. I didn't know if I would be able to sleep immediately. I put us on our left side, spooning comfortably, my right hand lightly touching her breasts. Her breathing had slowed to normal. She was staring straight ahead, fixed on nothing. I kissed the back of her head and said goodnight. That was my last conscious moment of a day whose last two hours were a total whirlwind that had reawakened me sexually.
But as I fell into sleep, I knew I was back. And ready to fuck, to please and to enjoy.
