That was Then... and This is Now

I decided to treat myself to a pre-Christmas holiday. I had always wanted to visit Scandinavia, especially Norway and had found there was a company that cruised up the North Sea coast line. It was expensive, but as this was once in a lifetime chance, I decided, what the hell.

It was evening time and after eating a delicious dinner, I decided to visit the bar. Who knows, I thought. I might meet someone, maybe even strike up a friendship on board. It would be nice to have some company for the eleven day trip.

When I stepped into the bar, it was very quiet as far as guests was concerned. There were about twelve people in total, excluding the barman and the pianist, who was playing quietly in the corner. The other patrons were around my age, some were a little younger and all were very much into being with themselves.

I sat at my table, thinking that I had made a mistake coming into the bar, but I ordered a glass of white wine and pulled my book out of my handbag.

As I was reading, I found that I was actually listening to the pianist. He wasn't just playing. He sang too and had quite a good voice. I put away my book and decided to watch him play.

He finished playing a song and announced that he was going to take a break but would be back soon. I watched him rise up from behind the piano and walk over to the bar.

He was dressed in a pair of white chinos, a white collared shirt and blue blazer. He looked to be in his mid 50's and his salt and pepper coloured hair reflected that.

As he talked to the barman, I could hear that he was English. He turned around to look into the room and our eyes momentarily met, but I averted my gaze. In that instance, I felt as though I knew him. That we had met before. He left the bar but returned a few minutes later and sat at the piano to play once more.

As he played I tried hard to recollect where I could have seen him.

The fog suddenly cleared in my mind and a door opened in my memory, which I chose to walk through...

That was then...

My name is Carol. I was 60 years old when I met Alan. I am now 82. A lot has changed since then. I have more grey hair now. Back then I was a platinum blonde. My 40 inch chest has sagged a little during the ensuing years, although my breasts have still retained a certain amount of their shape. In fact, I have been told over and over again, that for my age, I look damned good. I still have a flat stomach, albeit a little softer than it was in my youth and my bum has held its shape, with very little sign of cellulite. But my cheeks are a little softer than they used to me. Most of the compliments come from men who have tried, unsuccessfully, to get into my knickers.

Anyway, I digress...

Back then, Alan worked in the gardening department of a DIY superstore chain, in a small town called Bolster and I ran a concession stand for a double glazing company. The job was thankless, but it paid the bills and I took small consolation from the fact that I had access to the store's free canteen during lunch and coffee breaks.

Alan must have been around 28 when our paths first crossed.

Nothing planned. Pure chance.

He spent most of his time in the garden centre, but now and then he would be called upon to man the checkout. It was on one such occasion that we met.

I thought he looked quite attractive in a boyish sort of way, but I never dreamed how our meeting would turn into such a memorable event.

For all the wrong reasons.

I began flirting with him, trying to find out things about him. He let it slip that he was going to be alone for the weekend because his wife and child were out of town, visiting his parents and he had to work that weekend. Cheekily, I told him that if he felt lonely, he could call me and come over, I could cook him a meal. I even gave him my phone number.

Alas, all the flirting and innuendos that we shared appeared to come to no avail, as my phone stayed silent that weekend.

On the Monday morning, he apologetically explained that plans had changed. His mother had come down with the flu and everyone thought it best to postpone the trip to a later time.

I found myself telling him that my offer was always standing and that if he every was in need of a home cooked meal or just someone to talk to you, I would be available.

Quite a few weeks went by and although our "relationship" was based purely on jokes and innuendos, I was sure that was where we stay.

Until one Friday evening.

It was around 9 0'clock when my phone rang.

"Hi Carol," said a male voice. "It's Alan from work. I hope I'm not interrupting or disturbing you, but I was wondering if the offer to come over is still open."

My heart rate went up and my breathing quickened. I told him to come over in an hour or so.

After hanging up, I had a quick bath, put on make up and my favourite perfume. I put on a red satin bra and matching panties and over this, I wore a white toweling bathrobe.

One hour later, my doorbell rang and when I opened the door, standing on my doorstep was Alan. He looked very attractive in his dark suit, white shirt and dark blue tie. I felt a small tingle in my stomach which released a tiny twinge in my vagina. Something I hadn't felt in a long time.

I invited him in.

We went to my living room, at the back of the house and I offered him a glass of Chablis, which he accepted. He removed his jacket and sat on my red velour couch. I sat on matching armchair, opposite.

We talked about nothing much in particular. He explained that he had a part time job, as a pianist, in a restaurant, but business had been slow that night and he had been let go early. He didn't feel like going home, so he thought it was a perfect opportunity to take me up on my offer. I got the feeling that he seemed anxious, or maybe nervous. It felt as though he was in a hurry because he repeatedly looked his watch and kept asking me to join him on the couch.

I had been looking forward to his visit because at work he appeared to be a fairly mature character. More so than most of his colleagues and this was a quality that attracted me to him in the first place. But now, under my roof, on my couch, he seemed a lot less mature.

At one point, after a fourth suggestion to join him on the couch, he got up and made his way over to my chair, whereupon he knelt beside the furniture, held my hand and kissed it.

To me it appeared as a futile attempt at seduction. Almost laughable.

"What are you doing?" I asked. "Is there something on my hand?"

When he became embarrassed and made his back to the couch. He was blushing and apologising profusely. I started to take pity on him and finally, against my better judgement, I joined him on the couch.

He immediately moved closer to me and put his arm around my shoulder. I felt like a teenage girlfriend, who had been invited to my boyfriend's house for tea. Who had been left alone, while Mum and Dad made the sandwiches, so that their son and his girlfriend could have some "alone time".

Then, out of the blue, he asked if he could kiss me.

"Oh I don't think I would be very nice to kiss. I'm a little old you know," I said.

He turned my face towards his and looked into my eyes. I felt my panties suddenly dampen as his gaze penetrated me.

"I think you should allow me to be the judge of that," he replied, in a very stern and strong tone. As his lips covered mine, I experienced one of the most softest yet strong and most passionate kisses that I had felt in a long time. I reached up with my right arm and placed it on his shoulder.

I felt utterly powerless as his hand undid the cord around my bathrobe and it fell open. The same hand caressed my mid-rift and slowly moved its way up towards my chest. I moaned as he gently massaged my right breast and I felt a tingle as the palm of his hand brushed over my hard nipple. My right arm had been draped over his shoulder while he kissed me, but as he pressed harder on my breast, I moved my hand to the front of his trousers and felt what seemed to be quite a large erection. I pressed the heel of my palm onto his throbbing cock. It felt very hard.

I was beginning to get really turned on. My nipples were harder than they ever had been and my pussy was juicing so much that I could feel my thighs starting to get damp. My panties were soaked.

But then it all seemed to go pear-shaped, when he tried to drag me off the couch and onto the living room carpet.

I was annoyed.

"What the hell are you doing?" I asked, as my head bounced off the edge of the couch cushion.

He looked a little shocked, as I pushed him away.

"I thought I would spice things up a little by making love to you on the floor," he answered.

I closed my bathrobe, certain that he must have seen the dark patch in my panties and thighs glistening with my juices.

"I am sixty years old," I explained, in an annoyed tone. "At my time of life, I don't need the "rough and tumble" kind of sex. I need slow and tender. Warm and loving. Not Wham! Bang! Thank you Mam."

I was on the verge of throwing him out, but it had been so long since a man had paid me any sort of attention, that I held back and took a deep breath.

"Look," I said, in a calmer tone. "I would like us to have a good time. I find you very attractive and would love to spend some time with you. But getting carpet burns isn't my idea of fun. Let's take this to the bedroom, shall we?"

His eyes lit up and he followed me upstairs to my bedroom, where I opened my bathrobe and let it slip to the floor. I pulled back the sheets and climbed onto the mattress.

"Would you care to join me?" I asked, in what I considered to be my best sexy voice.

He removed his shirt and trousers. I let out an audible gasp when I saw his erection protruding through the tight white material of his cotton briefs. There was a little damp patch, I assumed from his pre-cum. I wanted to rip those briefs off and devour that erection, but he never gave me the chance.

He slid onto the mattress beside me and kissed me feverishly. His hands were everywhere and at one point I felt the clasp on my bra "ping" and then it was on the floor. His kisses moved from my mouth to my neck and then to my breasts. He licked and nibbled my nipples, but it was all done at lightning speed, with no time for me to really enjoy what he was doing. In fact I was starting to wonder if he really knew what he was doing.

His lips moved from my breasts and onward towards my belly. He paused there and I felt his tongue lick my belly button, which felt very nice, but again the feeling was fleeting as he moved further down.

Then all went quiet and still.

I raised my head off the pillow and looked down to see him looking at my panties.

"You have me turned on, which is why my panties are damp," I explained.

He looked up at me and smiled.

"I've never seen that before," he replied. "Not even when I have sex with my wife. Mind you I don't get to see this much with her anymore anyway."

"Why don't you take them off," I suggested.

He slowly removed the sodden garment and I watched as he gently rubbed his finger along the gusset, touching my secreted juices. He sniffed his finger and then the gusset. Then he lay the panties on the bed and stared at my crotch. I didn't shave back then, but I did like to keep my bush trim and tidy. I lay there with my thighs apart and my pussy on display. He bent down and looked at my pussy.

"You're acting as though you have never seen a vagina before," I said.

"Not one as pretty as this," he replied.

I took a sharp intake of breath when I felt him run his finger around my outer lips. I was wet. I could feel it. He lifted his finger to his mouth and licked off the glistening fluid that my pussy had deposited there. He bent down again and I gasped as I felt his warm breath on my crotch and the intrusion of his tongue to my pussy. His tongue lapped at my hole, as he tasted my juices. I felt him moving about and looked down to see his face buried in my crotch whilst at the same time, he was removing his underwear.

His tongue grazed my clitoris, which was hard as a button, causing me to moan aloud. I wanted him to stay there and make me come but he moved back to my labia. I wanted to tell him to slide two fingers in and lick my clit, but I never had the chance.

He stopped licking me, moved up my body and began kissing my neck again. But this time, when he moved up my body, I felt his erection enter my body.

His cock was long and thick and stretched my pussy in a way no man had ever done before. I was ready to forgive his lack of foreplay skills, if his cock could make me come. Sadly, after half a dozen thrusts, he grunted and expelled his semen into me.

No sooner had he come then he rolled over and began getting dressed, leaving me deflated and unsatisfied. I felt cheated. Humiliated even. I had allowed myself to get involved with this child. That's how it felt. This was a man, who was married and had managed to father a child. But somewhere along the way had never acquired the skills in the art of sex. I felt like I had had sex with a complete novice. An amateur. A virgin.

As he pulled on his shirt, he mumbled something about having to get home before his wife suspected anything.

I asked him if he fancied taking a bath first, to wash off any of my perfume. It was a very feeble attempt to keep him there a little longer, in the hope that I might be able to impart some of my experience onto him. Something I chastised myself for later on.

He politely refused the bath offer, grabbed his keys and his jacket and let himself out.

For a few days, I avoided speaking to Alan, at work. I was feeling a mixture of embarrassment, anger and humiliation. Then one day, he asked if I would meet him in the garden center for a chat. Reluctantly, I agreed. I couldn't go on ignoring him forever.

He acted as though nothing was wrong. Was it arrogance? Bravado? Or did he really think that he had acted like the great lover, he thought he was.

"I really enjoyed myself," he said. "I've never met a woman like you and I would really love to see you again."

I had already made up my mind that I wasn't making that mistake again.

"You have a great body, for a woman of you age and I have never seen such a lovely pussy before," he continued.

The latter remark made me blush and I felt annoyed for letting him get to me like that.

"The thing is, since we had our son, my wife won't let me anywhere near her. It's almost as though she did what she had to do to have a baby and now that she has, she's not interested in sex anymore."

What I really wanted to say was, "If you made love to her to like you did to me, then I am not surprised that she doesn't want to have sex with you anymore."

That's what I wanted to say. But I didn't.

" Can I call you sometime and come over?" he asked. "Because I really did have a lot of fun with you"

"We'll see," I answered, quietly. "Call me and I see if I am available."

He called me several times, but I let my answering machine take the call. Then one day he rang when I hadn't hooked up my machine and I picked up.

"Hi Carol, it's Alan. I was wondering if I could come over. I have the weekend all to myself."

I lied and told him that I couldn't see him as I had a stinking cold.

He said he was sorry to hear that, hung up and stopped calling after that.

I spoke to my boss at the double glazing firm and asked to be transferred to a concession stand in another DIY store.

I never saw Alan again after that.

This is now...

When I realised that I knew him, my heart raced a little. I am not sure why, because I was so sure that he didn't recognise me. After all it had been almost 30 years. I could have left the bar and went to bed but something was compelling me to stay and listen to the very end.

When he announced his final song, I was the only person left in the room. The barman had closed the bar and had gone to bed.

The pianist played his final song, rose up from the piano and began packing away. He collected his empty glass and placed it on the bar. As he passed me, I called out to him.

"Excuse me," I said. "Could I talk to you for a moment."

He stopped and walked over to my table.

"Of course," he replied, politely.

It was clear at that point that he had no recollection of who I was.

"I was wondering if I could ask you something," I said as he sat down.

"Of course," her replied again. "What can I help you with?"

I swallowed hard and said, "You look very familiar and I think we have met before. Tell me, have you ever lived in Bolster?"

He smiled.

"Yes, but I haven't lived there since the late Eighties."

Here goes, I thought.

"Did you work for Stokes DIY, in the gardening department."

For a moment, there was look of surprise on his face.

"If you were a customer of mine back then, I'm afraid my memory is a bit fuzzy these days."

I was shaking with nerves, because now I was certain who he was.

"You're name is Alan, isn't it?"

"Yes it is."

"You don't recognise me, do you? I wasn't a customer. I worked there too."

He sat back and looked at my face. I could tell that he was studying me. He was trying hard to work out who I was. Then it hit him and his eyes went wide open.

"Oh my Lord. Carol...the woman who ran the concession stand for Northern Glass!"

I smiled.

"What are the chances," I said. "I decide to give myself a little present of a cruise but who knew I would meet you here too."

He seemed to be trying to process it all. I decided not to jog his memory about that night. at least not just yet.

"You seem to have done quite well for yourself, since those days at Stokes. How long have you been playing piano?" I asked.

"Almost 25 years," he replied.

"I take it you don't live in Bolster any longer, then?" I asked.

"No. My wife and I divorced about 12 years ago. I moved away shortly afterwards."

He suddenly went very quiet and looked down at the floor.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

He spoke quietly and looked very sheepishly at me.

"I...er...realised that I have a memory about you and I. Something that I am not all that proud of and I think I owe you an apology."

"Whatever do you mean?" I asked, knowing exactly what he meant, but I wanted to hear it from him.

"The night I came over to your place and we...err...had sex."

"Yes, I remember," I answered.

He was wringing his hands and fidgeting. He sat bolt upright and forward in his chair. Clearly this memory was making him uncomfortable.

"Not my finest hour, I have to say," he admitted. "I was a real jerk. I had no idea what I was doing, back then."

Trying to put him at ease and attempting to console him, I said, "Well can you remember why you came to see me? Was it only sex you were looking for?"

He sat back breathed in deeply and then let it out slowly.

"Like most guys my age, I thought I knew everything about sex, but clearly I didn't. I really wanted to enjoy you. I had never met a woman like you. You were my first mature woman and I wanted to learn from you. Yes, I wanted sex, but I wanted more. I figured you have had more experience in sex than I had. I was clumsy, over eager and it was over all too quickly."

He leaned forward reached out and took my hand, which I didn't expect.

"I didn't really realise what a jerk I had been until some years later. I kept the memory of that night in a special place in my mind, but I embellished it to the point where it no longer resembled what really happened. After I learned that, I tried to forget."

He raised his finger in front of him and said, "On a positive note. I learned from my mistake and made sure that I didn't have sex that bad, that selfish, ever again."

I wasn't sure if he was using bravado again or really telling the truth.