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This continues from Granddad – Angie – It’s quite long so I’ve split into two parts.
Enjoy. Comments always welcome.
“Sorry I pressed that button Granddad,” she offered.
We left the beach, eventually, and paddled hand in hand back to the harbour wall before returning to the apartment. We showered and dressed to go out. It was a little chilly and My Sweetheart wore one of her own creations, the red one she didn’t wear to the party, with a delicate lacy shawl we’d picked up in the village, her red high heals and white stockings. She looked totally stunning. I wore a simple jacket and trousers not wanting in any way to detract from her loveliness. Having partaken of a healthy lunch we settled on a good solid steak for dinner.
“What button was that, Sweetheart?” I asked innocently.
“You know,” she giggled girlishly, “the one where you put a baby in my belly to take home to Mummy, like you had Mummy and Grandma.”
“Ohhh, that one?” I replied contentedly, “you didn’t enjoy that it made my cock really hard and how fast and hard I came then?” I teased.
“I did, very much so but it wasn’t intended to do that. Just give the audience something to imagine while they watched us fuck.”
“Pity we didn’t fuck then, wasn’t it?” I chuckled.
Her face clouded briefly then became a happy beam of the brightest sunshine.
“Yeah, it was pretty awesome, wasn’t it? Don’t think anyone minded though, d’you?” she chuckled.
We both chuckled then laughed out loud, enough to turn a few heads our way. Thinking about it now, I don’t think I’d laughed and chuckled quite so much as I did on that little holiday, for a long time.
“I wouldn’t mind, y’know,” I suggested.
I could see her mind flicking over the last few moments, wouldn’t mind what?
“Y’know, you having a …” I started.
She reached out swiftly and put her finger to my lips.
“Stop!” she commanded.
“Now listen,” she demanded when she was certain I wasn’t going to continue, “firstly, we’ve known each other less than two weeks. It’s been great fun, I’ve never felt so happy in my life and I want to continue being with you BUT if I get pregnant either deliberately or accidentally everybody but everybody will think it was deliberate. That I set out to trap you! THAT IS NOT GOING TO HAPPEN! You understand?
Secondly you have not once mentioned being married nor having any children so, forgive me saying this, at your age I think this could be a temporary aberration. No, let me finish,” she said holding up her hand to quell my retort,
“Thirdly, We’ll be going home in a few days, unfortunately, there’s a different reality there. The circumstances will be different. Our own reality might kick in and demand more common sense. Anything and everything could change once the warmth of the sun is no longer shining on our naked bodies and holiday mode has become a thing of the past.
And finally, just so you know, I think I love you, Granddad. I’ve certainly never felt so happy and content with a man before but I’m also smart enough to know it might, just might, be infatuation or the endorphin rush of an over abundance of fantastic sex. Also it could be that you might, just might, no, don’t interudelyupt, just as easily be confusing love with infatuation and the enjoyment of a damn good fuck. So, instead of even thinking of making, potentially long plans for the future can we continue to enjoy ourselves together and let it all go where it takes us, please?”
She looked at me almost forlornly. It was clearly something she had been thinking about for a while.
“Yes,” I said very simply, “two questions?”
Her happy smile was the only answer I really needed. I’d happily wait forever if necessary.
“I’d like to meet your parents. Let them know what you might be letting yourself in for?”
She laughed at that.
“Might be difficult meeting both my parents. Dad buggered off when I was just five. Even then I knew he was a total waste of space. Mum’ll be delighted and green with envy, jealous as hell. She likes older gentlemen, says they know how to treat a girl. I’m sure I inherited that from her. I’ll probably have to protect you from her. We can go and see her anytime you like. Second question?”
“Where will you live? My place or yours?”
“Mine,” she responded quickly, “I’ve an AST Agreement and a good landlord. He doesn’t jack the rent up at every opportunity. He fixes the things that need fixing without problem. AND I will need somewhere if everything goes tits up with us. It’s also easier for work. I’d want to see you as much as possible though, stay over, you staying with me. Normal boyfriend/girlfriend sort of thing?”
“How do you know it’s easier for work,” I asked reasonably, “you’ve not been to mine, yet.”
“Got your address on record, silly,” she giggled, “I’ve been in the town long enough to know where most areas are. You live on the very edge of the town, the opposite side of the centre from me, don’t you?”
“You şişli escort drive to work?” I didn’t bother to answer her question. She knew she was correct.
“Yep, while I can. Why?”
“It looks as if your car’s on its last legs, to be honest. Will you let me get it sorted? I’m not very happy with the love of my life driving around in something that could be dangerous, or not as safe as it should be.”
“That’s thinking long term, Granddad, thought we weren’t going to do that yet!”
“It’s not,” I argued, “its looking after my future, not yours. How d’you think I’d feel if something happened to you in that car. Something that I could so easily have prevented by simply replacing it with something better. I’d be devastated regardless of us being together or not. Let me, please?”
My turn to look forlorn, I turned it on for maximum effect.
“Granddad, you’re so sweet. OK, but second hand, nothing fancy, promise?”
“Promise Sweetheart, now what would you like for dessert?”
It was only a stones throw from the restaurant to the apartment but we took the scenic route, through the village, passed the clubs and towards the beach. We paused outside the swingers club.
“You want to go inside?”
“No, no thanks, I’m very happy with you and my circle of new friends. You want to go inside?”
I didn’t. She slipped off her red heels, I told her to keep her white stocking on. We walked out onto the beach to the waters edge. We paddled in the moonlight all the way to the nearly empty Swingers beach. We stopped and watched the activity for a few minutes then made our way slowly home. Shower, bed and tender lovemaking. She didn’t go for her morning run, said we should share a session of good cardio-vascular exercise. We did then I watched her yoga on the balcony with great pleasure. We showered and wandered into the village for a late breakfast before heading for the beach, quiet end. Pegging out the picnic rug we got ourselves settled. That is me laying on my back and she resting on one elbow while tracing her finger-nail over my chest.
### ### ###
“So, did you fuck Angie after you completed your training?” she asked, right out of the blue.
“Yes, now and again a bit like Gladys I suppose. As and when.”
“So who was the next Contented Cunt, if you please?”
She sat up, mimed picking up the notebook and pencil from the rug, licked the tip of the pencil and sat, waiting for me to commence.
“Mrs. Davies, Mrs. D,” I started.
“Now how did I know she was going to be married?” she asked with a snigger.
“Because, maybe, that I came to pick you up for this holiday fully believing you to be married?” I offered laughingly.
“Yeah, that’ll do it every time.” she accepted gracefully.
### ### ###
“At the end of my six months I was ready to jump out of the frying pan and into the fire. Charlie made some calls and I was sent up to a fishing town on the East Coast. A nine inch gas pipe for local distribution laid through the streets of the town. The contract was scheduled for about six weeks.
At seven o’clock on the following Monday morning I presented myself at the site office. By eight my test weld was completed. By ten it had been X-rayed and ultrasound tested and found satisfactory. It was cut into test strips and sent away for tensile testing. While we waited for the results I was given a list of three likely places to find lodgings and told to be back by one.
The first place was not encouraging. The woman looked very sour-faced and unwelcoming. The second was much better. A happy, cheerful woman with a big friendly smile and an even bigger bosom. Her husband was away at sea chasing the silver darlings, as she put it. I thought she meant he was chasing pretty girls! I dumped my bag. She told me that dinner would be on the table at seven whether I was there or not and I headed back to the site office.
My first professional weld was in a trench about four feet deep, on my knees with a small bell hole, six feet downstream to collect the flooding tide. It was constantly being pumped out by three big, noisy, water extraction pumps in the hope that it would prevent me drowning or electrocuting myself. It stank of seawater, coal gas and something I’d rather not think about. To my left normal street traffic crept by and to my right mothers peered down at me as they pushed their prams passed. Health and Safety was a long way in the future. They only stopped the traffic, motorised and pedestrian when the weld was being ‘bombed’, X-rayed in English although they actually used radio-active isotopes, hence ‘bombed’.
Mrs. Davies was a lovely lady. I was back at my digs by six, that first night. I knocked on the front door and she opened it with a beaming smile.
“‘allo Darlin'” she said with a cheery smile, “blimey, you look a state! Wotcha bin doin’? Looks like you’ve bin working up to yer neck in dirty puddles! Better come in the back door. Down to the alley, left at the bottom. I’ll open the gate for yer!”
“Lock mecidiyeköy escort the gate!” she shouted across the back yard, “don’t want everybody wanderin’ in unannounced!”
I slid the bolt across and picked my way across the badly laid stepping stones to the back door in the deepening gloom of a late autumn evening.
“Get yer boots off before yer come in. Put ’em on the newspaper beside the door. I’ll tidy them up for the mornin’.”
I did as I was told and stepped into the scullery.
“Gawd blimey! You’re in a right state an’ no mistake! Get that lot off, I’ve time to get it cleaned and dried by mornin’.”
I started to peel off my wet, filthy clothing, including my socks.
“And those keks!” instructed Mrs. Davies, gesturing at my Y fronts.
I looked at her, shocked.
“Wot,” she questioned, “I’m a married woman, I’ve seen a man’s willy before.
Now I’m not shy around women, never have been as I’m sure you will realise. I struggled to peel off my wet underpants while Mrs. Davies politely averted her eyes. With my pants around my ankles I tried to kick them off rather than bend, sensibly and work them off. It didn’t work so I had to bend to finish the job anyway. Mrs. Davies turned, expecting to find me at least in a position to have covered my ‘privates’. Instead I was just straightening up.
“Jeez!” she exclaimed, “I’ve seen willy’s before, but not one quite like that! Right, get yourself in the bath, let’s get you cleaned up! Top of the stairs then straight on and while you’re at it you’d better wash yer ‘air. I’ve never seen anyone in such a mess. I’ll be up with fresh towels directly!”
The bathroom was, a bathroom. The essentials. Wash basin, toilet and bath. A short bath at that. No shower in those days but a set of tubes with a rose on one end and spongy holes on the other that fitted to the taps would have been handy. I ran the bath water, it was much hotter than I expected and had to put some cold in after I’d had a pee, in the loo not the bath.
Lowering myself gingerly into the hot water I made sure that I didn’t overflow the bath. No worries as I couldn’t get all of me in the bath at the same time. Deciding to wash my hair first I had to put my feet up next to the taps, bent my knees and tried to sink down far enough to get my head under the water. No easy task.
With my hair thoroughly wet I reached for the shampoo on the shelf, just out of reach! Reorganising myself I grabbed the plastic bottle, poured some into the palm of my hand and applied a liberal amount. With a head covered in suds and my eyes shut tight, no non sting shampoos in those days, I put my feet back up beside the taps and lowered my head beneath the water once more. Holding my breath as long as possible I vigorously massaged my scalp. I lifted my head slightly so that I could a) breathe and b) work on the back of my head. As I rose up a little I sensed rather than saw a shape where the blank white of the door should be. Cracking an eyelid slightly open I was delighted to see Mrs. D standing transfixed. Her arms bore a couple of large towels but her eyes were glued to my cock!
After the best part of an afternoon being wet and cold the heat of the bathroom was bringing it back to life. Without so much as a flicker of an eyelid I reached down, as boys will, and rearranged my equipment, giving it a little stroke and tug to get it straight before returning my hand to further washing my hair.
I heard a sharp intake of breath and opened my eyes suddenly.
“Oh! Hello Mrs D,” I said totally ignoring the fact that she was staring directly at my hardening cock, “perfect timing. Would you mind passing me the shampoo bottle?”
She shook herself then shuddered as if in a trance.
“What? Oh, yes. Sorry. Lost my train of thought for a moment there. Shampoo? Yes, here it is.”
She placed the towels on the lid of the loo seat and reached over to get the shampoo which was perfectly easy for me to get myself. Her big bosoms seemed to be heaving as she tried to steady her breath. Now, I did, at that time, very much enjoy older women. Mrs D was probably a fair bit younger than Gladys and Angie but older than my girlfriend so having Mrs D breathing heavily at the sight of my growing cock was not an opportunity to be missed in my mind.
“Once I’ve finished my hair, would you mind doing my back?” I asked innocently.
“Well. Umm, I’d better pop down and see how the dinners doing. Don’t want that spoiled now do we?”
With flushed cheeks Mrs D scooted out the door and I heard her scuttling down the steep stairs. I gave my hair a second quick wash than concentrated on getting my cock nice and hard for her. Soon as I heard her coming back up the stairs I pushed my head back, closed my eyes and started to rinse the soap out of my hair. Mrs D couldn’t fail to notice the rampant cock as soon as she entered the bathroom.
“Oh my!” she exclaimed much to my delight as I surfaced and squeezed as much water out of my hair while doing so.
“Everything alright, Mrs D,” I asked smiling innocently.
She was again flustered.
“Eh? Oh yes, I’ve turned everything down so as long as I start on the gravy in about fifteen minutes it should all be fine.”
“That’s good. Wouldn’t want our first dinner together to be spoiled now would we, Mrs D? Now what would be best for you? Shall I remain sitting down so you can kneel down or should I stand? What would you prefer?” I said as I started to lift myself from the sitting position to the standing.
She watched my cock as if mesmerised, it broke fully from the water, rose to the horizontal as I started to stand then to the near vertical as I stood fully before her.
“I like it standing, if you don’t mind, John.”
She still hadn’t taken her eyes off my cock! I handed her the bar of soap and the flannel.
“Start wherever you like, Mrs D.” I suggested.
She took the soap, held it in her hand then put both hands in the bath water before working up a nice handful of lather. Cupping my full balls in one hand she used the other hand to stroke along the length of my cock.
“Is it always this hard?” she exclaimed.
“No.” I told her seriously, “but it usually gets pretty hard when a beautiful woman strokes it. I’ve been laying in a wet, muddy trench all afternoon and it’s been wet and cold all the time. That it’s as hard as that is all down to you Mrs D.”
“Me?” she exclaimed, “I’m an old married woman and you’re a young lad. How could I make your willy hard without even touching it?”
“Well,” I said thoughtfully, “for a start You’re not old. Second you’ve got a lovely pair of boobs and thirdly married women often know a lot of things a young lad like me would like to know about.”
“Gedawaywivyer, you’re just saying that!” she said clearly pleased.
“Now why would I say that if I didn’t mean it?” I countered.
“Well, because,” she paused, “because…” she ground to a halt.
“Because you’re stroking my cock rather nicely?” I suggested playfully.
“Well…” she dried up again.
“If you carry on stroking me like that you’ll make me cum. You want to rinse it off and as it’s so nice a clean, give it a kiss?” I suggested while hoping I hadn’t totally blown it.
She looked up at me.
“I’ve never put a cock anywhere near my mouth,” she informed me sternly.
She looked down, directly at my rampant cock.
“On the other hand it does look rather lovely,” she admitted.
She slowly got on her knees, picked up the flannel and gently rinsed my cock of all the soap suds. When she was satisfied that it was perfect she leaned forward and tenderly kissed the very tip. It was as much as I could do to resist the urge to push my cock forward and right to the back of her throat.
“Now look what you’ve made me do. Your back isn’t washed and I’ve got to go and make the gravy,” she scolded.
She thrust the flannel back into my hand and told me I had ten minutes, no more, to get finished, dried and be sitting at the table. She headed for the door still very flustered.
“Mrs D,” I called after her, “is anyone else joining us for dinner?”
“No John, just you and me,” she called back from halfway down the stairs.
Ten minutes later I was sitting at the table, with a small towel just about wrapped around my waist.
“What?” she exclaimed when she walked in with two large plates full of delicious smelling food.
“I didn’t want to be late for our first meal together. Anyway you’re not seeing anything you haven’t seen before. Less actually as I’m wearing a towel.” I responded, with a cheerful grin.
I stood to show her the nicely tented little towel which promptly fell to the floor. I made no attempt to recover my decency.
“You’re a wicked lad,” she remonstrated with a happy smile, “you’ll quite put me off my dinner. Just think yourself lucky it’s shepherd’s pie not bangers and mash!”
She didn’t tell me to go and get properly dressed nor make myself decent, so I didn’t. I picked up the towel and hung it over the back of my chair and resumed my seat. We sat opposite each other. I took a forkful of shepherd’s pie while I watched her. She took a forkful of pie also and put it into her mouth, chewed it very gently then swallowed. She looked up. Our eyes met and locked together.
“That wasn’t shepherd’s pie you just ate! That was bangers and mash.” I accused jokingly.
She gave me a mischievous smile.
“Eat your dinner!” she demanded.
A command that was somewhat lacking in authority as she laughed at the same time. We ate in a companionable silence for a few minutes.
“This is delicious, Mrs D, almost as good as my Mum’s,” I complimented before forking another load into my mouth.
“Only ‘almost as good’?” she countered, faking a crestfallen look.
“Mrs D, if you were my Mum how would you feel if I told you someone had made a better shepherd’s pie than yours?”
She looked at me carefully, for all the world as if she was considering something momentous.
“You’re a thoughtful lad,” she said, “so tell me, what would your mum think if she knew you were sitting down to dinner with your landlady, without a stitch on and teasing her with that beautiful hard cock, umm?”
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