About seven years before I would officially be pensionable, I was granted the opportunity to take an early retirement, with a reasonably comfortable financial arrangement. Nowadays a rare phenomenon. After working weeks of fifty hours and more I suddenly had a lot of time on my hands. The famous black hole didn’t appear; I had enough pursuits.
Soon I had made it an almost daily habit to go for a walk in the park-like neighborhood of my house, obviously depending on the weather. Sometimes I went even twice a day. This park gradually turns into a wood. Apart from joggers such an environment attracts of course dog owners.
In the afternoon of a nice summers’ day a woman crossed my path which I hadn’t seen before. She kept a dog on a leach, as I later learned of the fox terrier type that strongly reminded me of Tintin’s Snowy. She seemed around forty years old, possibly in her late thirties. There are women – they are rare – which in passing can throw you a penetrating, sensual, almost hypnotizing gaze that gives you a very pleasant type of shudder. I had met a few women with such an ability earlier in my life. This was the third one. She had a lovely slender figure, rather long legs, a beautiful face with dark eyes and long brown hair. She was wearing a cool, elegant red summer dress that set off her shape very well. An exceptionally female woman with a somewhat Mediterranean emanation. After she had hit me with the first shot of that look, a bewitching smile followed and a satin voice that wished me a good afternoon. I returned her greeting and thought, you can say that again, madam!
I couldn’t put her out of my mind and neither did I take trouble for that. In the days after that casual encounter I caught myself in behaving like an adolescent. I started occupying myself with the usual times for walking dogs and attuned my strolls to them. Slowly I got a picture of her schedule and the route she used to take, and could assess when and where I had the biggest chance of seeing her. Apart from the weekend, that was at the end of the afternoon and at the beginning of the evening. Every time I met her there was that look, that delightful smile, that sweet voice.
Because I didn’t want to show my interest in her too evidently, or so I thought, I deliberately chose an earlier time for my walk. Oddly enough, I then frequently saw an older couple, together or separately, with exactly the same type of dog. That didn’t look accidental; it was simply the same dog. It appeared that my girlfriend, as I had already called her in my mind, had outsourced the care for the dog to acquaintances or neighbors because of her work.
A number of weeks went by during which I was allowed to enjoy her appearance frequently. Moreover she was a continuous inspiration for the games I played with myself.
One evening it happened. I saw her detach the leach of the dog and when the animal had made a dash for it, she went up to me.
“May I ask you something?” For a moment I was literally struck dumb and could only nod. “I have the feeling that I somehow know you.”
“Oh? That is… interesting,” I stammered. This was an unexpected gift that should be handled with care. Pointing at a nearby bench I proposed to sit down. There was nothing wrong with my memory, but strictly speaking she might be right; there are situations in which you see someone, maybe even know who it is, whereas that person does not see or meet you. But I suspected that something else was going on here and loved to join in. I was a bit nervous, but also excited. And walking in the air. An adolescent. As we went to the bench she reached out.
“I am Claudia.”
“My name is René. Very nice to meet you.”
We talked about the many places where I had lived and worked, but a match didn’t come up.
“Maybe you have been attending a performance once in which I had a role. I’ve been a member of a theater group for some time. Or a congress.” No, that was not the case. “Then I think you are mixing me up with someone else.”
“Yes, that seems likely.” It was silent for a short moment and a blush appeared on her cheeks. “I’d better admit that it was a pretext in order to make contact.”
“I am very grateful that you have done it. And I feel flattered that a beautiful young woman like you is interested in an old chap like me.”
“Don’t be silly. You are not old at all. Older, but far from old. I fancy older men, certainly if they’re good looking. I noticed that you’re always alone when I see you and I wondered whether you might be living alone as well. I see you’re not wearing a ring.
“No, I am married, and I may add happily…” There was a slight hesitation. ‘Go on, go on,’ brain and body shouted in unison. “…albeit that since a number of years one dimension is missing. I love my wife dearly, she’s actually the best that happened to me in my life. But love doesn’t mean by definition that there will always be lust as well. To get turned on I need incentives that are not present any more, at least not in my marriage. I don’t wear a ring since a friend lost a finger while sailing, as a result of the fact that he was wearing one. It has remained like that, although I don’t sail anymore.”
“And how do you handle that missing dimension. Do you both talk about it?”
“We have done so, yes. But that hasn’t changed anything. The subject is not on the agenda anymore. So I am solo sexual.”
“I’m too since my divorce. But however much fun that may be, I regularly have a pressing need for more. Don’t you?
“Of course. It’s a rather frustrating situation. But I don’t have the nerve anymore to make an attempt to change it, certainly after a disappointing experience a few years ago. Besides, you are now free to move according to your liking. I am not. Anyway, over the years I have energetically cultivated my solo entertainment.”
“Oh, I would love to hear more about that at a suitable moment. And as far as your commitment is concerned, that doesn’t have to be a show stopper for me. With a bit of creativity very thrilling things can be thought up.
We both considered it better to continue our conversation the next day. On the same spot, at the end of the afternoon. She called the dog that was poking around further on.
“Aha, so it’s Snowy indeed,” I said.
“Yes. She laughed. “But I preferred the original French name.”
She attached Milou’s leach and kissed me on the cheek. “Sleep well.” And away she went. Completely on cloud seven I walked home. The girlfriend of my mind had become a real one.
The next day she appeared in a white top and a denim skirt with a row of buttons at the front, of which the lowest two were not fastened. This reminded me of a girlfriend that I had a long time ago. With her that meant something like, ‘The others will follow later.’ Maybe that was the case here as well. Milou was dribbling behind her. Whereas the scent of her perfume engulfed me we kissed each other on the cheeks and a quick glance into her top made it clear that she was not wearing a bra. She suggested that we would walk in the direction of the wood. “There we have more privacy.”
As we walked I asked her to tell a bit more about herself. She didn’t feel like going into the backgrounds of her divorce, about six years ago. Not now anyway. Only recently she had moved, after obtaining a permanent appointment as an English teacher at a grammar school here. Out of her past marriage she had an eighteen year old daughter, called Michelle, who had just left the house in order to read law at Leiden University. She was very content with her new house and found that she had managed to get her life well on track again, albeit alone. About my situation and background I gave her a brief summary, as I had told her part of it already the previous day.
After we had been strolling for a while along an unpaved track into the wood, we found a bench there too, and Milou was given his freedom. As soon as we were seated she reminded me of her wish to learn more about my solo entertainment.
“Okay, but when I’m done it’s your turn.” She burst into laughter and I realized the ambiguity of what I had said.
“I am enjoying my body from the day I discovered how it sexually works and how delicious playing with it is. In those days I think I already became horny just by looking at myself in a mirror, especially when I had just got out of bed. A blowing up short skirt of a classmate, for example, was also causing an immediate erection, which had to be dealt with as soon as possible. The actions were always fast, aimed at reaching a climax as quickly as possible. Nowadays I prefer to let the game continue for hours and to postpone the orgasm as long as possible. The guiding principle is: the longer the fuse, the more powerful the explosion.”
I told her fairly detailed about the buildup, what I did to bring myself in the mood, like reading and rereading stories on the internet, among them also my own tales. About my large and varied collection of pictures that I called my feminine-library. About my interest in high quality girl-girl films. I described the sort of things I was wearing during the game, based on my preference for half instead of completely naked. And I told about living out my slightly exhibitionistic inclination, by playing the game everywhere in the house and in the garden, if I had the place all to myself. Because my wife still had a job that was often the case.
She listened captivated and the effect of the words were becoming visible. Her nipples pinched into the thin fabric of her top and every now and then she touched them. I also saw her hips moving a bit.
“When I am finally ready for the explosion, I usually initiate it while looking at a few previously selected photographs, or watching a hot film. More than once I’ve made a video of the finale with a digital camera. Exciting to look at it later…”
“I hear similarities,” she said, shifting her position a little and smoothing her skirt. “The stories from the net are more important to me than pictures, but what you call girl-girl films are a turn-on for me too. There are days when I’m already hot at breakfast. No need for the computer nor the internet. I can also wander through the house and the garden for hours, naked or almost naked, amusing myself. I’m going somewhat further in exhibitionistic games. That’s easier for a woman. Before I forget, I’m very curious about your stories. You should tell me later on where I can find them.”
“Would you tell me more about those exhibitionistic games? That fascinates me.”
“Well, to begin with I find it delicious to walk through a busy shopping mall or –street, wearing nothing else than a coat and shoes. From a few of my coats I have detached a pocket, so that I have easy access to my toy and can play with it whenever I want. I have fingered myself many times to an orgasm in the center of the town.”
I listened with increasing amazement.
“Wait a minute, sorry to interrupt you. That sounds familiar. I’ve once read u couple of stories by an English woman, who called herself South-Coast lady…”
“Exactly! How nice that you know that. I came across those stories only recently and I’m certain that they have not been made up. When I read them I thought, that’s something I want to do too. She became my teacher, so to speak.
The other day I went shopping with a vibrating butterfly between my legs. It is being held in position by ribbons around the waist and the upper legs. The toy is very quiet and has a remote control. The orgasms are so intense that sometimes I have to hold on to a street lamp or something else in the vicinity. An elderly lady inquired whether I was all right. I told her she didn’t need to worry and that nobody could imagine how well I was. Amazed she walked on.”
As she was telling this, she had gradually unbuttoned her skirt almost completely. She spread her legs a little and started to slide her right hand along the inside of her tanned thigh, in the direction of her candy. At a good moment I caught a glimpse of her white panties.
I did not wear underpants, as a result of which my full sized erection had worked its way into one of the legs of my jeans. There was a wet spot.
“What a delightful sight.” With her thumb and index finger she followed the outline of the instrument of joy, carefully at first, then with a bit more pressure. But she didn’t go any further.
“It is divine,” she continued, “to slip out of the house sometime after the last walk with Milou, when it’s already dark, only wearing a coat. I walk into the park that is usually deserted at that time, and let the coat fall open, enjoying my naughtiness and the light breeze that caresses my naked body. I’m already soaking wet and feel the juices running along my legs. Every now and then I stop in order to fingerfuck myself and like my teacher I have the most breathtaking orgasms. I haven’t gone any further yet, but before long I will leave my coat somewhere in the wood and play the games she has described.”
“Fantastic. Sometimes I envy you women… The frequency with which you can reach an orgasm…”
“Mmm. There is more, but I don’t want to tell you everything now. Oh dear, I’ve become pretty hot. And that at our second encounter.”
“Take off your panties. I want them.” I threw out suddenly.
She looked at me with a penetrating, Lauren Bacall-like gaze.
“On one condition, well, actually two. In the first place I want it back with your semen in it, and moreover I want you to squirt into it with a picture of me in front of you. I will mail it. Wait, I have one more. I want a separate folder in the library.
“If I get another one in return, one that preferably has been worn too, we have a deal.”
“It’s a promise.”
She rose, kicked her shoes off and began to slowly maneuver the small thing down. As it was hanging halfway her thighs for a second, she allowed me a short glimpse of her flower. It went fast, but I noticed that one of her lips was pierced with a small ring. She let the panties slide down further, stepped out of them graciously and threw them it at me. I caught them in midair and pressed them against my nose to savor her delicious flavor.
“For the time being I want to postpone it to really play with this toy,” she said, caressing the toy once more with her fingertips and squeezing it softly. Before she shut the buttons of her skirt her hand disappeared under it for a moment, after which she let me lick her fingers.
“We have to make a few arrangements.” She dug up a small notebook out of her purse and made me write down where and how she could find my stories. And obviously the mail address. We also exchanged the numbers of our mobile phones. As she would visit her daughter the next day, we made an appointment for the evening of the day thereafter, at a later time than I expected. It was convenient that I would be alone that whole evening.
When she suggested to return to the park, I said I preferred to stay for a while until the wet spot in my pants had dried. After I had got the most intense tongue kiss in years, she put Milou on the leach and walked in the direction of the park.
The picture she sent me that evening put the magic flute immediately into stand-by position. It seemed that it was not taken by herself, unless she had used a tripod and a time switch. Besides the picture looked rather professional. She was photographed at an angle from behind, standing in front of a high mirror with her long legs slightly parted, naked except for a pair of high heeled shoes, her hair tied up and her hands folded behind her head. The shape of her butt and her hips were divine. The mirror showed a pair of delicious, rather small tits, under which you certainly couldn’t hold a pencil without dropping it. Your own pencil between them is of course possible, my horny brain said. She was wearing belly button jewelry and her mount of Venus was depilated, apart from a small, trimmed landing strip.
On the day of our appointment it drizzled every now and then, but fortunately the weather improved at the end of the afternoon. Around half past nine – it was growing dusky already – I was at the place agreed upon, slightly earlier than her. After a few minutes she came with a slow tread, putting her feet down like a mannequin, dressed in a black trench coat and her hands in the pockets, that is to say in the openings where pockets are supposed to be. Her hair was tied up like on the photograph and she had a make-up for a night out, with more eye shadow than she used to apply and glossy lipstick. She had small pearls in her ears and a string of them around her neck. The whole appearance radiated a message like ‘now it’s time for the real work, my boy.’ After what she had told me earlier, I expected her to be stark naked under that coat. There was no sign of Milou anywhere. She glued her body onto mine, drove her tongue into my mouth and pushed a thigh into my crotch.
“Let’s walk further into the wood,” she said, swiftly followed by, “You are gifted! And what an unbelievably delicious, naughty, horny male animal you are. Why haven’t you told me that those sizzling hot stories had been written in English?”
“Eh… thanks for the compliments. I wanted to surprise you. And what does the expert think of my English?”
“There is nothing wrong with it. Native Brits or Americans would sometimes have used another wording or turn of phrase, but as far as grammar is concerned I didn’t find any errors. A few spelling mistakes, that’s it. How on earth did you come up with the idea to write those stories in English? Apparently the first of them was also the first you ever published, and then immediately in another language.”
“When I had joined that site, mainly because of the pleasant and inspiring forum, and jumped into the story section, I thought I could do that too. When I had created the main character, which by the way is loosely based on a real person, the rest followed more or less by itself. Perhaps I will convert them into Dutch one day; translating my own work.”
“Anyway, you have given me a number of delicious orgasms with your words and I am far from done with those stories. I’ve downloaded them and will reread them many, many times.”
“I’m glad. Where is Milou?”
“At home. I have walked him earlier and told him that the mistress would be away for a while. He’s alone more often and doesn’t mind. And… Nicely played with my panties?”
“Nicely? That is the understatement of the year! What an endless joy. Indescribable. Imagine, I feast my eyes on that beautiful body of yours. And from that delightful goddess I have a pair of panties. Panties that she has worn, that have touched her no doubt divine flower of love and that awesome butt. That carries the scent of her juices. And she has asked me, no, ordered me to squirt my cream into it. Off and on I had to look around to check whether I was still on the surface of the earth.” As I took the thing out of my pocket and gave it to her, I added, “There are two loads in them.”
“Indescribable he says. Darling, that description makes me even wetter than I already was. Okay, here’s my part of the deal.”
Instead of taking the exchange panties out of an intact pocket, as I expected, she unfastened the waistband and opened the coat, defiantly wiggling her hips and turning them like a belly dancer. She was simply wearing them and for the rest she was indeed naked. The thing was tied with thin ribbons and little knots on both sides. And it was soaking wet.
“Undo your little present yourself, naughty boy.”
“I’m looking at a lot of presents, naughty girl.”
I pulled her towards me, put my hands on her slender waist and kissed her eagerly. A hand slowly went up to one of her breasts that I caressed and squeezed softly. Taking my time I unfastened the first knot. My mouth then went to that same tit and sucked the hard nipple. She moaned. Then the other breast was in for its turn. Using the ribbon of the second knot, I finally pulled the panties in one move from between her legs.
“Take your coat off.”
Willingly she let it slide from her gorgeous shoulders. I stepped back to admire her stunning beauty in the dusky light. And she was clearly enjoying herself.
“Spread your legs, fold your hands behind your head and remain in that position.”
I went up to her, pushed a finger into her mouth, which she sucked inside and treated with her tongue, and moved that finger very slowly down along her chin, over her neck, between her breasts, with a circle around the belly button jewelry, then over her lower belly and the sparse pubic hair, in order to stop at her clit that I massaged carefully. She groaned. The finger slid into her creamy tunnel of love, first on its own, then accompanied by a second one. The fingers fucked briefly. She would come, but not yet. I lowered myself on one knee and sat partly before and partly under her and grabbing her upper legs I started to indulge her with my tongue. The groaning increased. She was so wet that I could almost drink from her lips. She ought to be close now. A few more licks over her pulsating clit and she came. Her legs were shaking and she let out a high pithed cry. A jet of fluid entered my mouth.
I took her in my arms to let her recover. After a while her mouth sought mine and she kissed me.
I carried her coat while we walked back to the bench.
“I would like to ask you something about that picture you sent me. It seemed to me that it has been made by someone who is skilled."
“That’s true. I have a girlfriend who is a photographer. From the fact that she took that picture, and more like that, you may conclude that the friendship is an intimate one. We don’t see each other very often though; her life is rather unsettled and she is abroad frequently. So I am a little bisexual, like the women in your stories. I’ll send you some more photographs that will appeal to you. And to him as well. She groped into my crotch and squeezed the begging erection that was still kept in captivity.
“For a moment I was tempted just now,” she continued, “to lean against a tree and to let you take me from behind. And also to feel you squirt inside me. But I want something else now.”
“Just like that? Without any precautions?”
“At this moment in my cycle that wouldn’t have been a problem.”
“It wouldn’t have been a problem at any moment; I had a vasectomy more than twenty years ago.”
“Fantastic!” She clapped her flat hands together. “Then we can fuck without restraint whenever we want.”
As far as I was concerned that was now, but she wanted something else. And you didn’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to understand what that was. We had meanwhile reached the bench.
“Let us finally undo this present as well. Do sit down comfortably, naughty boy.” She unbuckled the belt, opened a button and pulled the zipper down. I lifted my butt a bit, so that she could create a larger operating field. The flute swished into freedom.
“Wow! What an awesome toy! And not a single hair in sight.” She carefully caressed the shaft and weighed the scrotum in the palm of her hand. “That feels like silk, so deliciously soft. And what is that scent?
“Déclaration… by Cartier, to be precise.”
“Mmm, nice. In this condition it’s truly an appropriate name. A declaration of love.” She dipped her tongue into the small pool of precum and encircled the squirting hole with it. Then she sucked the fluid. A new supply was smeared all over the top of the instrument of lust that promptly disappeared into her mouth. I felt her teeth pressing into the lower edge of the glans. Then a skillfully executed game started. A combination of licking, blowing, wanking, twisting the shaft with one or both hands and playing it with the fingertips. Every now and then she checked the position of the testicles, in order to establish whether or not an orgasm was approaching, and being in the vicinity she poked in the hole behind. She was an expert.
“Yes, I can feel it, it’s coming… come my love… squirt that hot cream into my mouth. I want to swallow it, all of it.” With her mouth open she awaited the eruption and after catching the first jets she locked her lips around the glans. When all cream had been consumed she sighed with a satisfied smile. Then she rose, took the panties I had played with and put them on.
“Lovely idea; your semen around my cunt and butt and the aftertaste of a fresh discharge in my mouth.”
“Can I make a few bold remarks?” she said, as we walked through the deserted park later on, her coat hanging open.
“I know you only for a few days now, but on the basis of what you say, do, not do, and write, I have formed a picture of how you have been put together, sexually speaking. In my opinion you have a strong sex drive, above average. Moreover I think that in your genes there is a need for what I would call an erotic lifestyle. Just like in mine by the way. In order to satisfy those needs you have to be stimulated, because you yourself are too reserved. If your wife, for whatever reason, does not render that stimulus, you let things go and start flying solo. And subsequently you get frustrated. If I hadn’t started a conversation with you, using a pretext, you might have continued chasing me, but you wouldn’t have taken the initiative for making contact. Then I would have remained a picture, heating you up during your masturbation sessions, a piece of the library living between your ears. Which I no doubt was in the past few weeks. Look at your stories. Your main character is the engine. They are fantasies, but they do tell something about you. And íf you are stimulated, then that reservation suddenly disappears. Then you can decisively demand my panties and be imperious, like tonight. Which I love very much. Please do not take this as criticism. You are who you are and that is above all very sweet. You are a delicious playmate and you seem to be a skilled lover. I’m glad that I made my move. Let’s conclude that I am going to perform the role of your stimulator.”
“Sharp analysis. I think you’re right. And your conclusion is downright fantastic.”
Her agenda for the days to come looked somewhat unsettled. She preferred not to make a new appointment yet.
“I will send you a text message.”
After a long kiss, during which she unzipped my fly once more and grabbed the semi hard rod, we went in different directions. I felt satisfied and happy.