Chapter 1
I admit it. I'm not like other guys my age, my tastes vary from what is currently fashionable, especially in women. For some reason, it seems to be thought desirable for women to have unfeasibly large arses and huge saddlebags. Sorry, but it does nothing for me, nothing at all. Now, the way women were shaped in the nineteen seventies and early eighties, now that was sexy. And Wrangler and Levi jeans of the day, before waistbands dropped, oh! A tight pair of Wranglers with a nice firm arse squeezed into them, well! That makes my chinos a tight fit.
So, when I turned the corner into the freezer section of my local supermarket and was presented with just such a backside, bent over, struggling to grasp the last Sara Lee cheesecake from the bottom, I was instantly attracted.
“Can I help?” I asked, bending over and scooping it up. I could feel my erection pressing into me as I leant over the rim. I was conscious of it even more as I straighten up and turned to offer the dessert and found my eyes tracking instantly from beautiful pure blue eyes down to a perfectly round pair of breasts which were stretching a white T-shirt impressively, all the more so because of the two large, dark, nipples, no doubt chilled by the freezer's air, which pointed straight at me. I swallowed hard, and saw her eyes drop to the bulge in my chinos. A bulge, that having managed to straighten itself out, was threatening to push past my waistband.
“Thank you, young man, very kind.”
Young man? Now I looked at her more closely, spotted the faint lines around her eyes, the shape, and the confidence of her. Yes, she was older than me, not by much, perhaps five or six years, if that. She obviously thought I was younger than my thirty years.
“No trouble at all, glad to be of assistance.”
She smiled and turned away, and the light in the store seemed to dim.
“Is there anything else I can help you with?” I blurted.
She looked back over her shoulder, her long blond hair seeming to move in slow motion waves. “No, but thank you again.” She continued to walk away.
“Can I buy you a coffee?”
She stopped, stood still for a while, then swung her shopping trolley around and walked back to me. She stood a trolley's length away from me and looked me up and down.
“How old are you?”
“Thirty,” I replied.
“I'm forty.” She just let the number hang there, as if that settled everything, and everything being settled was a sad thing.
“You do not look it,” I replied, putting the emphasis strongly on the 'do not'. My eyes tracked up and down, the way her jeans fitted tightly into her crotch, but still, there was a gap between her inner thighs. Where the jeans sat unbelted on her hips, you could have run a fingertip around in the gap between the waistband and her T-shirt. She was fit, trim, and outstandingly gorgeous. I looked at her left hand. There was no ring, and she saw me looking, her thumb rubbing against where a ring once was.
“I'd still like to buy you a coffee,” I insisted.
There was a look flashed over her face, a look that said 'what am I getting myself in to', or perhaps even, 'I shouldn't do this'.
“Okay,” she said resignedly, as she had given into herself not to me. “I'll see you in the café next door when I've finished. Just coffee, mind.”
“It's a date,” I quipped.
“No, it isn't,” she said firmly, turned and walked away, but her hips swung more than they had before and my hard-on grew harder.
I was round the store and through the check-out in record time, stashed the bags in the car and rushed into the café. She wasn't there, so I grabbed a clean table by the window and waited. I didn't have to wait long, as I soon spotted her locking up a BMW M series and walking towards me. Again I was awestruck by her stunning figure, the perfectly fitting jeans and the T-Shirt that seemed to be spray-painted over her firm breasts. I stood up as she entered, waited until she spotted me and came over.
“Justin,” I said, putting out my hand.
“I hope not.” She blushed. “Sorry, rude of me, silly joke and,” she looked down, “obviously stupidly inaccurate. Start again. Hello Justine. I'm Sarah, I'll have a long black, please.” Again, she blushed at the possible double entendre of her words.
“One black coffee, coming up,” I said and headed rapidly for the counter.
“I'm sorry,” Sarah said as I put two coffee mugs on the table. “I'm not good at this.”
“At what?” I asked.
“Chit chat. Meeting new people. It's been a long time.”
“Since?”
“My divorce. When I was your age, I was getting divorced. Seems like an age ago now.” She stared wistfully out of the window.
“You don't look forty, honestly. You look… gorgeous.”
“Thank you, but I'm too old for you.”
“Can't I be the judge of that?”
“I said 'only coffee', didn't I.”
“Okay,” I relented. “So, Sarah, what do you do?”
“I'm work in a lab.”
“Doing what?” I wasn't trying to sound interested, I was interested.
“NMR Spectroscopy. Chemical analysis.”
“Very good, I know what it is,” I replied softly, not wanting to sound boastful but not wanting to be mistaken for someone who only liked women for their looks.
“And what do you do, Justin?”
“I have a science degree as well, but I work in publishing.”
“Because?”
“Because I got sidetracked after I left university.”
She laughed. “I know how that happens.” Again the wistful smile.
The ice was broken now, and we started chatting, easily. Sarah was easy to talk to, we shared similar interests and a love of Scandinavian detective series, and we pushed empty coffee cups back and forth as she described her morning runs and weekly gym visits. I used to run each morning, but of late I had fallen out of the habit, solely due to laziness. Suddenly we were just looking at each other.
“I should go,” she said, suddenly making a decision and shattering the moment.
“Can I see you again?”
“Why?”
“Because I like you.” The truth.
She took a napkin from the table and passed it to me.
“Put your phone number on that,” she said, lifting a Biro from her handbag.
I started writing on the soft material, the ballpoint ripping the paper as soon as I tried to get the ink to flow.
“Sod it,” she said, snatching the paper from me. “Do you want to come back… for a slice of cheesecake?”
The way she said it, the momentary pause and the involuntary downwards glance told me that more than cake was on offer.
“I'll follow you,” I replied quickly and stood as she stood, and walked out to the car-park.
In the sunlight she was even prettier, her hair shone and her nipples showed through her T-shirt, awakened by the morning cool morning air. I hastened to my car and followed her BWM out onto the main road. She turned away from the direction of the nearest housing estate where I lived, out towards the countryside. She didn't have an M series just for looks either, and I quickly lost sight of her as we moved onto the back roads, only to find her waiting at an empty junction. As soon as I was visible in her rearview mirror, she indicated and turned left, heading towards a small village, driving slower now and allowing me to keep up. Soon she indicated again and pulled through a gateway onto the gravelled drive of a small thatched cottage. She parked in front of a double garage and got out, shaking her hair so that it tumbled and shook over her shoulders. I couldn't but notice the way her boobs swayed, too.
“Thank you, kind sir,” she said as I put the last of the shopping bags down on the kitchen island. We stood facing each other. She was about shoulder height on me, and she was obviously sizing me up, making a decision. “You know I'm forty?”
“So?”
“And you're not married, engaged or otherwise attached, are you?”
“No,” I replied, quite truthfully. My last relationship had fallen apart months ago, mainly due to mutual disinterest, and I’d just not found anybody interesting since. I wasn't really interested in just hooking up for one-nighters, so I'd just buried myself in work, eating sensibly and keeping fit. Apart from the running. That'd let slip having lost interest having pulled a muscle, and failed to finish a marathon I'd been running for charity.
Sarah stepped closer, and cupped the outline of my cock with her hand. Her eyes closed and she just stood there. I could feel my cock hardening, presumably she could too. Slowly I lifted my hands and cupped her breasts, feeling the firm, well-filled lace of her bra. She breathed deeply and suddenly seemed to make a decision. Her hand hands gripped my T-shirt, and she started to tug at it, so I let go of her boobs and whipped it over my head, grateful that I'd got firm, muscular pecs and the hint of a six-pack. Again, she looked at me, sizing me up as her hand ran over my chest, feeling how smooth and hairless I was.
“Nice,” she said and hastily pulled off her own T-shirt, dropping it on the floor. She stood there, waiting for my reaction, a look of defiance in her eyes.
“Oh my god, wow!” I blurted. Through her T-shirt, her boobs had looked round and pert, no doubt aided by the bra, but with the shirt removed, I could see that her boobs were constrained by her bra, not enhanced. They were big, and round, curving out of the top of the cups in a way that said their height was due to firmness, not underwire. I slipped my arm around her waist, pulling her to me and bending my head down, my lips eagerly seeking hers.
The kiss was tentative, delicate, and then suddenly passionate, her mouth opening to reveal fresh breath and a questing tongue. Her hands were all over me, then squeezing between us and tugging at my belt as her mouth seemed to drag me in. I felt desire and lust in a way I'd forgotten. Not only was Sarah beautiful, desirable and sexy, she was hungry and lustful too.
“Do you want to go upstairs?”
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