I was late for my conference. The train was delayed and getting across London was hell that day. I was flustered when I arrived, cheeks a little pink, hair slipping and tripping out of what had been a sophisticated yet soft high ponytail. I stuck a loose tendril behind my ear and paused at the door. The conference had already begun and I was going to have to make a surreptitious entrance.

People on the other side of the door were applauding. It seemed as good a time as any to try to slip in unnoticed.

Leaving my overnight bag in a corner I gathered some papers and spied a seat that didn’t look too difficult to reach. As I slid into it, some of the papers tipped out of my arms and into the lap of the gentleman beside me.

“Sorry,” I muttered feeling flustered again and, “Thank you,” as he handed them back to me.

I was soon settled and the next speaker came on. By this time I had begun to notice my neighbour. I couldn’t see his face without making it obvious and turning my whole self to look at him. I couldn’t help but notice his strong thigh flexing slightly under soft grey suit fabric as he crossed his legs and his equally strong fingers steadying the papers he held on his knee. I chastised myself for not getting a decent look at his face as I sat down but I had been so conscious of causing a scene, I hadn’t had chance to look.

More than the appealing sight of his leg and fingers, I became acutely aware of his scent. It was unusual, yet intensely familiar. A lemony, citrus smell, tinged with spice and sprinkled with masculinity. I was pretty good at recognising different colognes. I didn’t know what this one was yet it was so familiar I was baffled by it. What was it?

I was not paying any attention to the speaker. I would find the notes somewhere and report back. What was that scent?

As I was being consumed by the aroma, I felt myself being mentally transported to a holiday in Greece some fifteen years earlier. I smiled to myself thinking about that holiday, one I had taken in my early twenties with a close girlfriend...

I breathed in. It was undoubtedly my neighbour’s aftershave that had taken me there. Maybe he was wearing cologne that was popular back then, or maybe even something popular in Greece.

Suddenly my breath caught in my chest. It couldn’t be. Could it?

I had an ardent, yet lamentably, brief affair on that holiday with a man fifteen years my senior who was leaving the resort the day after I arrived. We spent one incredible night together and although we never saw each other again, I had never forgotten him. Quite the contrary in fact, I thought about him for months afterwards and years later still attribute that night with him to a sexual awakening in me. That night changed my experiences for the better. Until then I had only slept with boys my own age. I always felt that he helped make me the woman I am today.

I cast a sideways glance at the man beside me doing the maths as I did. Joe, the holiday lover would be early fifties by now. That seemed about right for my neighbour. The build was similar, a slightly powerful edge to it. The hair, as short as Joe’s had ever been but slightly greying at the temples. I wasn’t sure but I knew that at the first opportunity I would look into my neighbour’s eyes because I had never forgotten Joe’s eyes.

The scent was teasing my nostrils as the speaker droned on, and once again I found myself being carried back to Greece .

I was twenty-two and on an end of college holiday with my best friend Sarah. We were both single and free and had every intention of having the time of our lives.

We spent our first afternoon in Zante sunning ourselves and relaxing by the pool and then headed out in the evening for dinner and cocktails. We were both happily single but not averse to meeting some attractive men.

Sipping cocktails in an outdoor bar we were talking about what appealed to us in men. What our ideal man would look like. What he would need to have to interest us.

I glanced up as four men walked into the bar. “I think my ideal man has just walked in,” I said and nodded to Sarah to take a look.

She knew at once which one I meant. “The one with the eyes?” she asked and I nodded again.

He was beautiful. I had always been attracted to older men, although my experiences to date were with guys my own age. He was mid- to late-thirties. To a twenty-two year old, he was definitely an “older man”. He was well built, like he worked out but not to the point of vanity, with short, light brown hair and the most spectacular eyes. Even from the distance I was sitting, I could sense their piercing quality and the frame of long, dark lashes.

I was too shy to talk to him but at some point he arrived with his friends at every bar we visited that evening. As the evening was drawing to a close, I knew I had to do something about this burning attraction.

Eventually, spurred by being somewhere where nobody knew me and by more than a few cocktails, I asked him if he would take a photograph of me and my friend. He obliged and immediately started talking to me. He was funny, intelligent and flirtatious. He raked his stunning eyes over my body and touched my arm and hand as he talked to me. By the time the bar closed I was smitten. When he invited me back to his apartment, I followed him obediently.

I smiled to myself in the conference, now aged thirty-seven, remembering how I had said to him at the time, “Just because I am coming back with you, it doesn’t mean I am going to have sex with you.”

He patted my arm and looked into my eyes and said, “Okay,” with one eyebrow raised and a look so sexy it made me falter and blush.

By the time we arrived at his apartment his hands were roaming all over my body and we only just made it through the door before his lips were on my neck and his hands creeping up my skirt to grip my buttocks as he pulled me to him.

This was a man, a real man. I had never been kissed by a real man before, not like that. As his tongue slipped between my lips that were already parted in a sigh of passion I could feel his cock, hard, thrusting against my thigh and a flood of juices seeping into my panties.

In the conference, fifteen years later, the memory had much the same effect.

In Greece, my flimsy summer top was discarded on the floor. His strong fingers forced back the lace of my bra exposing my full breasts, causing the stiff, swollen nipples to spring up to his waiting mouth. His lips were closing around my nipple, tongue caressing it as his hands moved once again to my thighs.

My skirt was around my waist, pussy dripping and hot as he crooked his finger inside the leg of my panties and found it begging for him.

“You are so fucking wet.” he murmured against my throbbing nipple. As he pulled the delicate lace fabric of my knickers to one side and thrust a finger into me he moaned, “Ohh and so fucking tight.”

Back in the conference I squirmed in my chair at the memory and was aware that he glanced towards me. Again I wondered if it was him and was immediately back in my reminiscence.

At that point in my life I wasn't very used to men going down on me or to men whose absolute intent was to be sure of my pleasure above anything else. I was used to guys my own age whose goals in life were to get laid and get off. Guys who had yet to experience the absolute pleasure in giving pleasure.

I caressed the front of his shorts, excited by the stiff rod hidden beneath the material. He opened them allowing his cock to leap out of its confines. He closed my fingers around it and I could feel the pulse. Not for long though. He wanted me to cum.

Pulling off his shirt and stepping out of his shorts he stood before me, naked, firm, strong and tanned. His cock was jutting from his body like a shiny pole and I wanted to touch him. He lay me on the bed and freed my body from the rest of my clothes. My legs were parted It was my instinct to open them to him and he buried his face in my exposed pussy.

I had been licked before, but not like that. I had been fingered with a cursory lick from one or two inexperienced college boys who could barely contain their cum in their bodies as they did it.

This man was feasting on me. His tongue explored. His fingers delved and thrust. His lips sucked and kissed my pounding clit. My passionate breaths turned to lustful panting as his fingers and mouth worked wonders I had never felt before. I had cum, with boyfriends and by myself many times but I wasn’t prepared for the string of orgasms about to wash over me. My naked body was trembling. His tongue pushing into me. My hot cunt trickling its sweet juices over his lips and chin. He could tell I was close. He could tell I was tipping over the edge.

I had never known such an assault on my senses. My body both tensed and shook at the same time and my pussy seemed to clamp onto his lips and tongue as orgasm after orgasm ripped through me.

He lifted his head just enough to look at my quivering pussy and I heard him say. “Oh my God you are squirting!” and he opened his mouth to drink in the clear, thick water that was spewing violently and uncontrollably out of my trembling cunt.

Back in the conference I wondered whether I had actually uttered a small moan as I remembered what Joe, my holiday lover, had done to me. My pussy was tingling and I knew that my panties would be wet. I wondered whether the man next to me, Joe or not, could tell I was becoming aroused in the seat beside him.

Not caring whether he could tell or not, I was back in my thoughts. I recalled the wonder in Joe’s beautiful eyes when I finally stopped cumming and the taste on his lips as he worked his was up my body to kiss me again.

“Do you still not want me to fuck you?” he asked, smiling against my lips, recalling what I had said earlier. His hard cock was nudging against my sticky wet pussy.

I opened my legs so that tip of his cock slipped a little between my parted lips.

“Oh you do want me to fuck you?” He smiled again. He was moving his hips gently so his cock was lightly stroking against my engorged clit. He was making me brave. I rocked on the bed gently to meet him. I was so slippery I knew it wouldn’t take much and I opened my legs wider and wrapped my legs around him.

We both gasped as his cock had no choice but to sink deep into me and I said, “Yes, I want you to fuck me.”

Oh and how he fucked me.

If, when recalling every detail of that night, I had been anywhere other than in a room full of strangers, I would have put my hand between my legs and stroked myself to orgasm. As it was, I could do nothing but squirm furtively in my seat, trying to press my thighs together as much as I could to stem the tingle and throb of my clit. I was already growing concerned about the telltale signs of my arousal I might leave on the back of my close fitting, gray skirt.

That night in Greece he put his hand over my mouth as his thick cock slammed in and out of my trembling body. I forgot about being shy and inexperienced. My moans of desire were uncontrollable, crying out for him to fuck me harder, panting and begging him to slide deeper into my cunt. My breathing was heavy, desperate, feverish. I was in danger of waking the neighbourhood as I climbed once again to the same intense conclusion that had engulfed me earlier.

His breathing was ragged and rapid, turning to unchecked, abandoned moans as I gripped and tugged at his pulsing, twitching cock with my young, toned labia. It was sucking and slurping around him as we both edged closer to our orgasms.

I came first, moaning and gasping as it rocked my body. My pussy contracted around him and it brought the orgasm to him, he let out a deep and throaty moan and I felt his hot spunk blast into me.

“Can all delegates be back to their seats in twenty minutes?” I heard and was suddenly aware of the man beside me getting to his feet.

Torn for a moment between diving as quickly as possible into the ladies’ room to bring myself to a much craved orgasm and stealing a proper, face-on look at the man beside me, I chose the latter. I looked up at him from my seat as he turned to put something down on his.

Our eyes met. His piercing eyes, an unusual steel grey, ringed with a darker halo of slate, framed by thick, lustrous lashes bore into mine for just a moment. He smiled briefly, in the way that colleagues do and looked away. Then he looked back. An expression of recognition flickered through his face and one eyebrow arched in surprise. He opened his mouth to speak as someone bowled towards us from behind.

“Joe! Joe Taylor! How good to see you again!”

An outstretched hand flew past my shoulder and he had no choice but to acknowledge and return the gesture. I stood up to find myself a much needed coffee and as I turned away from him he grasped my wrist.

Holding an apologetic hand up to the man who had stopped him, he smiled at me. “Are you coming back?”

I nodded and slipped away thinking I may have to pay that visit to the ladies’ room after all.