Three Ages of Woman Ch. 01

AN EROTIC PICARESQUE

They were quite a trio. Three generations of one family: daughter, mother and grandmother. They were all three together when I met them. It was in a bar. It was unusual enough that the three of them were out on the town together, but then they were an unusual family. Well, Grandma; we're not talking wizened old hag here. This Grandmother was the right side of sixty, just. You know, and I hope you forgive the snobbery, but these underclass types, they breed young. She was 56, her daughter 37 and her grand-daughter 19.

But that's what I like; prime rough from the wrong side of the tracks. That's why I was in this part of town for the evening. Ok, so it's probably a bit of a fetish, or a specialist interest at best, but then the usual type of relationship never works for me. I don't know why, because I love women; I mean I appreciate them as people as much as out of sexual desire, but somehow I have to separate the friendship part from the fucking. I don't know; I just haven't managed to solve the mystery of how it is that you can talk about this or that and the meaning of life five minutes after your dick was up there shafting away at her arse. That's why for me it has always been pick ups in low rent bars, and swinging clubs, and the odd whore when pickings were lean.

This little trio seemed to offer something of all three of those: the anonymity and transient frisson of a bar room pick up, the possibilities of a swinging set up (and some), and it's got to be said, cos there's no getting away from it, they looked like a little gang of street whores. At least, that's what I thought when I was standing at the bar ordering myself a drink and Mum came up next to me to order theirs. I could feel her next to me before I saw her. It's the way the air seems to get heavier when the kind of woman who makes the old chap perk into life is suddenly close by. It's a kind of sixth sense, with me at least.

Following my dick's lead, I looked around and there she was. Peroxide blonde and dark roots, sharp brown eyes, and a good aquiline nose that added an air of refinement that was entirely unwarranted. Ordering her drinks, she was all gravelly cockney and dropped aitches and glottal stops. I was hooked before she even gave me a look and the ghost of a smile. And what a look it was. I felt like she had looked right inside me and had a good butcher's at my cock too and said to herself 'that's a bit of prime pork that'll do me.'

So, game on, I thought, and she had barely sat down before daughter and Grandma were having a look over and all three together going straight into come and get me overdrive immediately. I stayed at the bar initially, looking back; not hiding it, and not playing hard to get, but finding my angle. I'm as obvious as the next man when it comes to sex fantasies and the first picture that went by my mind was all three of them together, pussies fresh and pussies well used and wrinkled around the edges, tits firm and tits that hang and painted faces and pouting red lips everywhere, and the whiff of cheap perfumes with names like Midnight Seduction hanging in the air around our writhing bodies.

As it would turn out, I did have all three of them together; though the way it all unfolded turned out to be a lot more complicated than I could have imagined standing there expectantly at the bar; but then again it was a lot more interesting too.

I never did find my angle, there were just too many permutations, but the moment came when I had to move before the moment past, so I went and sat at the table next to them. I would just have to see how it all was with them and what ideas they had. A lot of men, no doubt, would have gone for Daughter, regardless of their own age. They probably would not even have noticed Mum's charms, and for such a man, Grandma was well past her sell-by date. I never got that. Why narrow the field? Why close off possibilities? Every woman has something to offer; something that only she has. It might be a certain look, the curve of her back when she lies on the bed in a certain way; it might be the muscle control she has in her loins, so that screwing her you feel like her pussy is sucking you off, or a very particular way of flicking her tongue over your shaft, or maybe something in her voice or the way she holds her cigarette. Fat, thin, old, young, in the middle, every woman in the world, for every man, if only he knew it, is worth having a piece of.

They knew I was coming; they had known since the moment they all looked over, and I was drawn into their triangle round their table before we had exchanged more than a couple of sentences.

'Alright, luv!' said Mum, 'I ain't sin you dahn 'ere before.'

'No,' I said, 'I've never been here before.'

Then Daughter piped up 'you talk a bit posh, dunt ya?' and laughed.

'Not from rand 'ere, are ya?'

'No;' I said.

'E's come dahn 'ere to get close ta the peepal, ain't he?' said Grandma, with an arch look, though there was warmth in it.

We chatted away without learning much more about each other, and as we chatted I was trying to weigh them up; and getting a better look too at their physical charms. While I was at that, they were trying to size me up. I guessed they were wondering which of them I would go for, but I was discreet enough to keep them guessing. Truth was I didn't know myself yet. Mum was the obvious choice; she was the closest to me in age, 37 to my 31, and she certainly looked like a lady of expertise. Sitting there opposite her I could admire her cleavage; which was what she wanted me to do, and the half of a tattoo that was exposed above the low neckline of her top on her left breast. I was casting my eye over the material of her top as it stretched over her knockers and trying to see if there was the shape of any nipple piercings on their peaks. She was the kind of woman I thought who would have a few intimate piercings and more tats too. She would enjoy being asked about her tats and tell you with relish where they were and when she had had them done.

Daughter was sitting to my right and she wasn't a bad looking young bird, in that council estate way. She said that she worked in a cafe as a waitress and Grandma seemed quite proud of that. Mum was non-committal on the point of the prestige of her daughter's employment. She was quite tall and thin; almost painfully so, with her hair ripped back making for a classic Romford facelift and she smoked incessantly. She was warm-hearted though, and fairly pretty and only the fussiest of men would have kicked her out of bed. And as I said before, I reckon the majority of blokes would have gone for her, just because she was the youngest.

But to tell you the truth, even though Mum was past her prime, even at only 37, she was hotter than her daughter, and you could see when you looked at her that she would have been something really special when she was Daughter's age. She would have had the tattoos already by then, and she smoked her fags with the same eager intensity as her daughter, as her nicotine stained teeth attested. But that got me going too; I've always had a thing for women smoking, and I don't mean elegant long cigarettes and cocktails and all that, either. She would have been a London cabbie's wet dream, and she was still close to it now. I'd be sure that a few cabbies had done that dream in the back of their cabs with her back then, maybe for the price of the ride home. Me; I would have climbed over a lot of more refined looking women to get to her, and not only because you just knew that she would know how to do things with her tongue and her pussy that they had never even dreamed of.

And what about Grandma? Well, let's say she certainly still had the right to think that she could draw a good few men, including some a good deal younger than herself; at least the younger ones who had the imagination and the balls for the adventure. I knew I did.

They had all begun from the belief that they all had a chance, things to my making sure that I was not giving too much attention to one of them and neglecting the other two. It was Grandma's turn. I told her I liked her dress, thinking I might need to start with a little flirtation, just to let her know she was still in the running. She smiled, but a little cautiously. Once we got chatting, with the other two putting in this and that in the pauses, I saw that she was the reticent one; she just gave a little less in conversation, but she noticed I was sure a good deal more. That was her age. And the more I directed my attention at her and the longer we chatted, the more attractive to me she became. It was when I was talking to her that my cock hardened; enough for it to be noticeable to anyone who looked, and Mum was looking and a quick glance at her showed that she had noticed and that she did not like it.

There was competition, and perhaps worse things than that, between them. It was the first thing that I saw that told me that there was more about these three generations of ladies than meets the eye. They were not quite the happy family of good time girls down the pub for a Saturday night out that you would take them for when you first saw them.

Grandma was the quintessential glamorous granny of lore; the classic old mutton dressed as lamb. The dress that I had complimented her on was a mini-dress, and it was...wait for it...leopard skin. I really hadn't believed that any women, and especially any of her age, really wore those outside of sitcoms; but there she was; life imitating low art. She was shapely and only slightly fleshy, with a bit of a roll or two of stomach. The tits had no doubt been majestic in her salad days; big and round and shapely, and her plunging neckline revealed a tremendous cleavage. No doubt though, the bra she wore had its work cut out to keep those knockers up and perky, and you knew that the moment that bra came off they were going to tumble down heavily and reacquaint themselves with their sisters, the rolls of flesh on her stomach. She had peroxide blonde hair with hints of grey at the roots. It was long and tied back tightly. She had good cheekbones and nice big brown eyes and full, pouting and painted lips, red as a post box. Her make up; well, you have to slap it on at her age, but she had the balls to pull it off. I imagined that she probably had a couple of tattoos, though fewer than her daughter. Her accent was thickest cockney, just like her daughter's, and her shot at sophistication was a cigarette holder, which she held with some poise between her long and heavily manicured fingers. Last, but not least, she had great long talons for fingernails and I couldn't help but imagine the delights of those wicked looking claws grazing up and down the length of my tool.

'Ya gonna buy us a drink then, darlin?' she asked.

I had my orders and off I went to the bar.

When I returned with the drinks, Mum had moved her seat a few inches closer to mine and as soon as I sat down she engaged me in conversation. There was something conspiratorial in her tone, and as we chatted she grew more direct until she got to the openly suggestive. Then, after five minutes or so, I noticed that her fingers were brushing the side of my leg. If my hard on had retreated when I had got up to go to the bar, it was back with a vengeance now, and didn't she know it.

If they had been working as a team at the start, it was every woman for herself now, and it was Mum who had been bold and it looked like it was going to be Mum whose delights I was going to sample that night. All three together was too much of a cliché and too much of a long shot too. And I had been hedging my bets. I hadn't wanted to go too overtly for any one of them, because I did not want to ruin my chances with the other two. I guess all along I was only going to get one of them on the first night, but the tactic I had chosen meant that the decision was going to be made for me. And so it had. Mum had gone for it. It made sense. We were the coupling closest in age and to me she was one hot piece of cunt. I just knew, when she moved in on me, that fucking her was going to be close to the top of the list of best evers when I was old and limp and only had my memories left. And If I'm honest, I would have to say that if I had been offered all three, one at a time that night, I would have gone for Mum first, Grandma second and Daughter third. That's just me; young meat is sweet, but I always liked my steaks well done, and even a bit leathery round the edges can be very tasty when you are in the right mood. I guess you could say I was having mine medium tonight, as Mum was the middle one, but I will say medium rare, because even though she didn't look a young 37, she was going to be a rare good fuck. As we talked and she smiled and laughed and looked into my eyes, I was already anticipating a long night of love that was going to include deep throating, facials, anal action and maybe even some kinkier stuff. But I kept that to myself for now.

It was clear now that Mum had won the evening and Grandma, whose seduction had been lower key, though would definitely have succeeded on any other evening, sat back and left the way open. There was just one moment when a hint of displeasure showed. She looked over to her granddaughter, as if to say, why didn't you stake your claim. Grand daughter shrugged with her eyes. I don't think I was supposed to have noticed that little exchange, but if you play my games, you have to be observant. I understood now though, why Grandma had kept on steering conversation towards her grand daughter and tried to bring her into the conversation herself too, despite the fact that Grandma was keen to be desired herself. So I began to wonder, if Grandma was seducing me, had it been on her own behalf or had she been trying to line me up for her grand daughter?

Had things gone that way, it would have got very complicated. I would have wanted a taste of Grandma's rougher and tougher, older meat, but to oblige I would have prudently gone for the veal, and enjoyed it too, but at the same time a drop of the Beaujolais nouveau could never be more than a perky little prelude to the more refined 1950 vintage. Refined! Truth to tell these fine examples of feminine sink estate trash were more cheap vodka and Red Bull than fine wine, but that's the way I luv 'em; and when it comes to intoxication, cheap vodka gets you there just as fine wines do, and I can tell you from experience that you need to drink a lot of Red Bull to raise the necessary energy to give those three sex machines what they need.

As the landlord called time, Grandma invited Grand daughter to stay with her for the night, clearing the way for me and Mum.

We were barely inside the front door before she was one her knees with my knob in her mouth, treating me to a cock sucking that can only be described as electrifying. Man, I thought that filthy slut had plugged my dick into the mains, but it was really just her mouth and her lips and her tongue that was sending those pulses through me.

I had been right about the tattoos. We lay on her bed afterwards and she was stretched out like Cleopatra herself, smoking contentedly, and glowing with post-coital calm and in the knowledge that I was quietly admiring her naked body. There must have been a good ten tattoos on her; tit, arms, back, bum, her leg, and one above her pussy. And there were a few piercings too, as I had hoped; her left nipple and one in each of her pussy lips. They had come in handy when I had eaten her.

And there was no use in my trying to hide my desire for her. We had only finished ten minutes before, but my cock was standing to attention again, just from my looking her over. She laughed and said

'Ya like me then!'

I just smiled and said 'he does!'

'Well, that's wot counts, ain't it?'

When she said that, she didn't laugh.

'Wot d'ya do?' she asked, after a pause.

I told her and she said 'nice. I bet ya get good money doin' that, and I bet ya got yer own 'ouse.'

'I have,' I said.

'Nice. That'd be nice.'

'What about you? What do you do?' I asked her.

'Nuffin,' she said, 'eat, sleep, watch the telly, drink, fuck...'

'What do you do for money then?'

'Dole, me mum helps out a bit sometimes, when she can.'

'What did you do before, then?'

'Never really 'ad a proper job. This 'n' that.'

'Are you married?'

'Nope.'

'Divorced?'

'Nope. What's the point? Men; they never stick around. I just take what I can while it's there to take. Usually, it's gone tomorra.'

'Got a boyfriend?'

'Looks like I have now!'

'Yes!' I replied.

'I'll believe it when I see it,' she said.

There was nothing to say to that, so I said nothing.

After a silence; a comfortable one during which I went on admiring her beautiful but worn body; while she continued to tease my erect cock with her foot, she said

'Can I ask you summat?'

'Yes, of course,' I said.

'Be honest.'

'I will.'

'Last night, which one of us were you after?'

'Well, I saw you first, because you saw me first:'

'Yeah, but when you came over. I mean, I made the move on you at the bar, and you came, but then you talked to all of us. If you had been after me from the start, you'd 've talked to me, wouldn't ya?'

She was far too canny to buy any line, so I had to tell her part of the truth.

'Well, to be honest, I wasn't sure. I mean, I thought you were the one for me, but I wanted to see how the land lay with you.'

'You mean me daughter?'

'Well, yes, maybe.'

'She's pretty, ain't she?'

'She is, but you're more my type,' I said.

'Yeah, right!' she said.

'I'm serious,' I said, 'and I'm closest to you in age. Young girls are pretty and all, but not really my thing. I like experience.'

'And you reckon I'm experienced!'

'I reckon you are!'

Then her face lit up in revelation.

'Ya not tellin' me you'd 'a dun me mum, are ya? Christ almighty. She's a bleedin' granny.'

There was that in her voice that told me that I had better say no, so I said 'no.'

I couldn't be sure that she believed me.

'Men,' she said, 'fuck anything, even a wrinkly old slag like 'er.'

I must have looked shocked, because she said

'I shouldn't have said that. She is me mum, after all.'

I would have liked to hear more, but though better of asking.

She asked me more about myself and I told her and then I asked her about herself.

'If you stick around a bit, I'll tell ya more, but I only just met ya.'

'We just did just about everything a man and a woman can do together last night and this morning.'

She laughed. 'Well, that's sex, that's fun. Nah, telling ya stuff about meself. That's private, innit? I don't know ya enuf yet, do I?

I left it at that: a lesson in modern morality.

'Anyway,' she said, 'why d' ya come dahn 'ere?'

'Change of scenery,' I said.

'Yeah!' she said, you must fink I was born yesterdee!'

'What do you mean?'

'Well, you ain't the first posh bloke who's come over here on the prowl. I know.'

'I'm posh, am I?'

You are 'round 'ere.'

'Maybe,' I said, 'but I'm not a snob.'

She raised her eyebrows and said

'Well, you can't afford to be, can ya, knowing what you like.'

'You're very direct, aren't you,' I told her.

'Call a spade a spade, I say. I know what I am, and I ain't ashamed of it, and if some posh bloke like you likes it, it can't be all bad, can it, eh?'

I suppose not,' I said, 'but I don't think you need posh blokes to make you feel good about yourself. I think you are far too tough to need that.'

'I reckon I am,' she said, 'but I'd rarva get it for a gentleman than the usual scumbags.'

'I'm a gentleman too now then,' I said, laughing.

'You made sure I 'ad a good time too, didn't ya?'

'I thought you would be worth it.'

'And was I?'

'You certainly were.'