Would Like To Meet. No Strings Ch. 01

"There's a couple over there who seem to be watching us, Mrs Martin.."

"Actually, David, it's Ms Hodgson now..."

"Oh... oh, sorry to hear..."

"Don't be. He's... a cheating bastard!" she said with some venom. But then she smiled at him.

"Well, as I say I'm sorry Mrs..."

He gave a low laugh. He saw that her face was flushed, and knew that so was his.

"You know, I don't know whether to call you 'Brenda' as in your ad, or 'Mrs Martin' or 'Ms Hodgson!" he said. "But anyway... at least why don't you sit down even if it's just to finish your drink? Just to avoid people looking."

"I... I suppose I could, darl... David." She had been about to call him 'darlin', to her just a fairly routine term she used with a number of people, but now it seemed too loaded, too intimate.

She pulled up her chair and looked at him. He had filled out and muscled up a bit since she had last seen him, not powerfully athletic but not skinny either. She remembered his former politeness and shyness – and his wandering gaze. She smiled at the recollection.

"Here, Mrs... I mean... Ms Hodgson..." he said falteringly, and he held the flowers out to her.

"I... I er... bought you these. As you know. Take them anyway. And... and I'm glad it's you that I'm giving them to! I mean that you're you and not Brenda." he added.

He felt stupid, and cringed. The words sounded corny or maybe even too suggestive, given the way things were turning out.

She still held her sexual appeal for him. Her face was slightly more lined, and her belly seemed a little rounder than previously. Below the hem of her skirt her bare thighs – the fabulous thighs he had admired so many times, years ago – looked plumper, too, and he wondered if she was wearing pink knickers. He felt a twinge in his groin at the resurging memory. Her breasts were larger than he remembered, and through the white cotton her bra looked pretty. She looked very sexy, and to meet her again after all this time, especially in these circumstances, was highly arousing. He couldn't help wondering whether he might be able to persuade her.

He nearly said that he was surprised and sorry that he hadn't recognised her voice on the telephone, but was afraid again that it might imply that he had good reason to have remembered it several years later. He was in fact surprised that his parents hadn't recognised her voice, and that Mrs Martin had failed to recognise any of their voices either, but then they hadn't been on close terms and had simply passed the time of day when they saw each other. And she and her husband had moved away several years ago, too.

"I'm sorry to hear that things with you and Mr Martin didn't work out, Mrs Mart..."

She smiled and looked him in the eye.

"Why don't you call me Joan? At least that name hasn't changed," she said tentatively.

He felt a twinge in his groin at her invitation. It held some prospect of a change in the situation he found himself in.

"Thanks... Joan."

He watched her sip her drink and caress the rose petals.

"These are pretty, David. They're my favourite flowers, roses. Always have been."

She cast her eyes over him. "Surely not!" said one outraged voice in her head. "Not with the lad who used to live next door!"

The other voice spoke temptingly. "You COULD, you know! It would be a bit embarrassing. But at least you know he won't be rough. And, okay, he knows you, but only from years ago! It's not as if he works with you and will gossip about you in the office or neighbourhood or anything!"

She tried to think rationally. Maybe, maybe... she had driven a fair distance, after all. And gone to the expense of hiring an expensive room. And until a few moments ago she had been feeling excited and – well, randy – as well. And she knew he had fancied her - in fact, that was an understatement.

She had seen it, felt it those years ago. She had even teased him once with a view of her knickers, bending over in his sight as he sat in the garden one day. Seeing the expression on his face had given her as much of a buzz as the view had given him. And he still seemed to fancy her – or more accurately, to lust for her – even now. He kept glancing at her breasts and her legs. It made her feel good – sexy, desirable, and strong.

He couldn't be sure but he thought he felt her eyes checking him out.

"I... I'm glad you like the roses – Joan."

To address her by her first name sent a tingle up his spine.

"You know, David. Meeting you like this... it's..."

"It's nice – Joan," he interrupted gently. "So nice to see you again. After... after all this time. I... I don't know whether I should say this, but..."

He knew that a clumsy word could easily tip the balance against his chances.

"I... I always found you... attractive..."

"I know. I often saw you looking at me, darlin'."

"and... and sexy, too. I... I'm sorry..."

"I'm not!" To his delight she smiled. "It... it made me feel good to be fancied by a young lad."

Her admission that she was aware of his desire for her those years ago embarrassed him, but her admission that she had enjoyed his interest – as an older, married woman – made him blush, and he started to get hard-on. He wished he knew what best to say to turn the situation around. He would just have to do the best he could.

He gave a low laugh.

"I never guessed that Brenda would in fact be you, Joan. Your hair's a different colour now. And..."

He just stopped himself in time from saying that whereas "Brenda" stated that she was in her late thirties, Joan must be in her early forties.

"I changed my hair colour when I divorced Paul. They say blondes..."

She had nearly said "blondes have more fun" but thought it sounded seedy.

"You suit it. Really. And still having it short suits you, as well, Joan."

"Thanks."

An awkward silence followed. They each found themselves looking round the bar rather than at each other. He knew he had to do something to retrieve the situation before it slid out of his grasp.

"You know, Joan, I'm... er... intrigued. If this is too personal, tell me. But I'd like to know. If... er... if it had been some other bloke here, instead of me... what were you intending to do?"

She looked him full in the eye.

"Well, darlin'. It would depend on whether I fancied him. If I did..." She looked down at his lap and spottted his bulge.

"Adult no-strings fun?" he asked.

She nodded and blushed.

"BEDROOM adult no-strings fun?" he persisted.

"Yes." She kept her eyes on the roses rather than look at him.

"I.... as I said, Joan, it's.. it's a shame it's me then, who turned up. I'm truly sorry to have spoiled things. Otherwise you might have been free to..."

The atmosphere felt tense, each of them seeming uncertain what to do, whether or how to progress, each looking to the other to take the initiative.

"Yes. Yes I would have been free to... indulge in..." she replied. "And... if I... if I had really been 'Brenda" instead of me, you might have been upstairs with her..."

She gave a low gasp as she realised that she may have let slip that she had booked a room. She felt cheap and dirty.

His heart skipped a beat. He had missed the significance of what she had said until she gave the game away with her gasp.

He picked up one of the bunches of rose, deciding to give it his best shot. He leaned forward and brushed the flowers up her arm, watching her gaze on them, then, seemingly innocently, he brushed them against her breast as he withdrew them.

"Has – 'Brenda' booked a room in case she wanted it – Joan?"

"May... maybe."

She averted her eyes.

"Has... has JOAN booked a room? In the hope that she and the bloke she met might want to... to use it?"

She hesitated then quietly replied, "Yes."

He felt a surge of desire and excitement. He tried to remain calm.

"For 'no-strings adult fun', Joan?"

Still looking at the table she nodded.

"Is it a nice room? I've never been inside this place..." he asked. It was hardly subtle, but it was the best he could manage.

"Yes." She knew what lay behind the question. "Yes, yes it's really nice. It has a lovely view, too. Of the lake and..."

Her mind was in turmoil over the two options before her that were each struggling for mastery.

"You know, Joan, I... I wouldn't mind seeing that view. The view from your room. It sounds lovely."

It was about as subtle as saying "Please take me there and let me screw you, Mrs Martin", but the truth was that he couldn't think what else to say.

"I'm sure you WOULDN'T mind coming to my room! But, David, you can't. I can't..."

He stroked her arm and her breast with the roses again. His boldness excited her. She glanced round. Nobody seemed aware. But he was caressing her breasts – in public. Even if he wasn't using his hand, it was very naughty, very illicit – very arousing!

His mouth was dry. He felt hot.

"And... and... I think the room would offer other nice views too, Joan."

She looked into his face. His expression was intense, and hungry, yet still gentle. She looked away. His double-entendre was fairly obvious, and she could guess the gist of what was to follow even if she did not know the words he would use.

She glanced around. Her head was in a spin. She had come here in the hope of having sex with a stranger. Instead she had met with a former neighbour who had lusted for her years ago and still did. And, in the face of her resistance, he was trying to seduce her in a public bar. She was shocked at the situation – and at her own role and emotions.

"I think, Joan, there would be some nice views... inside the room, too. Even with the curtains drawn there could be some nice views to enjoy..."

He turned the bunch of roses round. He held them just below the flower heads and pointed the end of the stem to her. He leaned forward, partly to hide from the view of anyone else what he was doing, and partly to make it more intimate. He poked the ends of the stems between two of her blouse buttons.

"I think there could be a lovely view in here, if you were willing to let me see it..."

She gave a little shudder of excitement at his thinly-veiled crudity. To think that the shy young lad from next door should be acting and speaking so overtly and in public! She saw his hand drop level with the table.

"...and another gorgeous view up here, Joan..."

She caught her breath as, under the table, she felt her skirt hem lifted up and the dampness of the flower stems on her thigh. Then they withdrew. She blushed, and made sure that her skirt was back in place. She looked at him. His eyes were glued to her breasts.

"Darlin' – you... you mustn't!"

With a thrill he noticed the term of familiarity and the tension in her voice.

"Wouldn't you like to show me the various views in your room, Joan? I think you would!" he coaxed.

She saw his hand reach across the table for hers. His fingers stroked the back of her hand. She watched the tender, sensual movement and luxuriated in the sensation. His hand was trembling a little.

"Besides, Joan," he continued, "it... it's a shame to book a room and not use it. It must have cost a bit. And it was booked with a... a specific hoped-for purpose in mind. Wasn't it?"

It felt terribly hot all of a sudden. She felt that she was still in control, but that the control was meting away by the moment.

"Ye-yes," she replied sheepishly.

"Brenda is seeking some no-strings adult fun. So is Dave. Badly, actually. He's been so excited about meeting the lady who placed the ad. And seeing his former neighbour makes him want that fun even more badly."

"David, I really think we..." she interrupted half-heartedly.

"But it wasn't Brenda who travelled some distance to get here. It was you, Joan. So did Dave. I think we would both be disappointed to go home without doing what we hoped we would. And, you know – I think that if we didn't go to that room, we would both wish afterwards that we had. We would both be asking ourselves exactly what we would have done, how it would have felt. Don't you agree, Joan?"

He tried to hide the excitement in his voice, and tried not to sound too melodramatic. She shrugged her shoulders.

"I... I don't know!"

He brushed the rose flowers against her breast again. She looked down and watched the pink flowers drag across the white cotton of her blouse. She noticed that her nipples were now showing against the fabric. He seemed to have noticed, too.

"Maybe I could help you decide. Dave is between twenty and thirty, just the age that Joan advertised for. And he is considerate. And as randy for her as she is for him. I think we should go to that room, Joan, and explore the views together. And have some no-strings adult fun. Don't you? Hmm?"

She gave no answer. But she nodded very faintly, pushed back her chair and stood up. She picked up her shoulder bag and the flowers and walked slowly out of the bar. He walked beside her. Risking all once again, he reached for her hand and took it in his. He felt it tense, then to his delight it relaxed and he felt her fingers entwine around his.

She felt very conspicuous, a woman in her early forties hand in hand with her former neighbour more than ten years her junior. But his hand around hers was very reassuring and bold, and the public gesture of his desire for her excited her as they left the bar and headed for the stairs.

The young man on the reception desk looked and raised his eyebrows, then followed them with his disapproving yet jealous gaze. Joan cared little now, though, as she made her way up the stairs and the corridor with her young lover who had desired her so strongly and for so long. She felt embarrassed, ashamed and nervous, but also light-headed to feel so strongly desired, and randier than she had for a long time.