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Another Chance

Category: Mature
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Her passing had been very sudden. We had been sat together watching nothing in particular on the TV and she had slipped into a sleep that I realised, eventually, was death. The family had been caring, the funeral sensitive and then followed the lowliness — that awful sense that something was missing in my life.

Our children had all left home, but living close, they had kept in touch, not oppressively, but supportively.

The house was double the size without her in it although I found keeping it clean and tidy a relatively small chore – in fact it was, sadly, one of the things that distracted me from my loneliness.

I had retired early from a business that I had spent most of my life building and had sold out to my General Manager, a good man, a couple of years before. My life ahead should have been bliss. We had planned visits to long lost family and to parts of the world we both wanted to see, but never had. We were never to do it together.

They say that it takes someone up to two years to come to terms with the loss of a life partner. I had married at 19 and we had been together for twice that time.

I remember my sister-in-law saying after loosing my brother some years earlier how she, in the years after he died, found herself talking to his chair just as she had done when he was sitting in it and receiving, more or less, the same response, but it comforted her!

Slowly but surely I gained a foothold on a new life. I did begin to appreciate a life of my own, one that isn’t vetted and approved by someone else. Morbidity gives way to optimism and you start to think of how to move forward.

A casual conversation with an old working colleague offered one way forward. He spoke of a ‘club’, for want of a better description, that organizes weekly outing to restaurants and the theatre for people such as me. I telephoned the organiser — a chirpy woman who I would estimate to be in her early fifties. It was not a “dating agency of any kind” she was at pains to explain so I arranged to go to their next get-together — a meal at a local gourmet restaurant.

Apart from business functions, it is a lifetime since I attended any function alone, but this first one proved enjoyable, not least that I was sat next to an attractive and, clearly intelligent woman whose conversation I found particularly stimulating.

She was in a similar position to me having lost her husband at the tender age of 40. His brilliant financial career had been terminated by a massive brain haemorrhage and although he had left his widow very comfortably off, she had spent the last fifteen years filling her life with charity works, but like me she was lonely.

I have to say that loneliness has strong magnetic properties, but I was not willing to embrace the first personable female I met just because our paths had run parallel for a few years. We parted cheerfully at the end of the first evening and I pondered our meeting on the journey home. Over the next few weeks I attended theatre trips and more restaurant outings – mostly, but not always, spending them in the company of the woman I had come to know as Beth — she hated Elizabeth.

On one particular week a hill walk had been organised that finished at a country pub where a meal had been ordered. Again, I found myself walking with Beth and, with whom I have to say, by this time, I was beginning to feel extremely comfortable.

Beth and I also ate together at the pub, albeit in a crowd of twenty and enjoyed our usual free exchange of views although our choice of food remained at odds; her grilled salmon salad contrasted with my steak pie and chips. I hated to tell her it was an occasional extravagance and my diet was usually more feudal. As we left we exchanged contact details and agreed to meet outside the ‘club’ environment.


I answered the telephone on the third ring, “Hello”. Out of habit, I didn’t give, either my name or number, when answering the home telephone. “Alistair?” The voice was familiar. “Yes, is that you Beth?” “I though it was your voice. Look, I don’t know whether you are interested or not, but I have tickets for the Leeds – Newcastle match on Saturday. Would you like to come? ” “That depends” “On what?” “Whether you support Leeds or Newcastle.” “Well, Leeds, silly. I hardly have a Geordie accent do I?” “That’s OK then, shall I meet you there?” “I thought that we could have a bite to eat first and then go to the match.”

Her logistics were faultless. We were to meet at a pub a couple of miles from Eland Road and leave our cars in its car park. After eating we would get a taxi to the ground and back again after the match.

It worked a treat! And we won — first time in a while, but we won.

Arriving back in the pub car park around six we, for the first time, felt a bit awkward with each other. “What’s on your agenda tonight?” she said eventually. “Home, slippers, tele and scotch,” I replied rather thoughtfully — if truthfully. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, my itinerary is – home, bath, tele and a glass of wine” “Still sad – but cleaner,” I responded and it raised a short laugh from her.

“I have an unopened bottle of fifteen year old Glen Livet in my drinks cupboard if you would like to sample it?”

At that moment, I don’t know which was most appealing, Beth or the malt whisky but I said, “sounds perfect.”

I followed her small French car to a modern detached house in a suburban cul-de-sac that turned out to be situated only a couple of miles from where I lived, and parked on the road outside.

I followed her into the hall still feeling somewhat uneasy. She had left some lights on which gave the house a welcoming glow as we entered.

Her home was modern, but comfortable and I felt embarrassed to think of my own, rather dated, house. It wasn’t that I was an old fuddy-duddy as my house was just as comfortable as Beths. But, to be honest, I really wasn’t interested in changing things that I had lived with for years.

She sensed my discomfort and took my jacket, “Make your self at home. Take your shoes off and I’ll get us a drink,” then disappeared, leaving me to sink into the fawn leather couch in her living room.

“How do you like your Scotch?” came her voice from somewhere else.

“Fifty, fifty with plain water, please.”

She re-appeared, sans coat and boots, but with a very large malt and a glass of wine. She offered me the scotch and sat besides me.


She proffered her glass, which I chinked before downing a large mouthful of the smooth amber liquid.

“Now what?” I thought.

As a habitual sipper of any drink held in my hand, I put the glass down knowing that sip would follow sip which would be followed – eventually by oblivion — not a good impression on our ( even though I had not thought of it this way previously) first date.

She placed her glass next to mine and said, “Are you hungry? I’m Starving – let’s order a take away. Fancy Chinese? I have a menu next to the phone.”

So organised. I was impressed. After a brief discussion, we ordered something and waited.

In the short time that I had known her we had spoken at length of our pasts, our likes and dislikes and yet, sitting together alone in this living room seemed to reset our relationship – back to our first meeting and I felt a little like a teenager on his first date. She read my mind, “Feels a bit odd doesn’t it?” she said after a short silence.

“My thoughts exactly,” I countered and added, “It’s strange, but I could sit for hours with my wife without saying anything, but now I feel as if I have to fill the silences.”

“Using silence is a well known interrogation technique, I understand.” She smiled ruefully and crossed her legs with an audible rustling sound. I was at a loss as to what she meant. I took refuge in the whisky and took another large sip.

“Loosens the inhibitions,” she nodded towards my glass, smiling more broadly.

“At my age, you don’t so much loosen inhibitions as allowed them to amble freely some time after the gate is opened.”

She smiled again and the door bell rang. A youth with acne brought food and was gone. “You must let me pay for the food,” I protested. “It’s paid for — your turn next time.” She took the food into the kitchen and returned with plates and the food on a tray, both of which she placed on the coffee table in front of me.

“Help yourself.”

We both ate eagerly not realising how hungry we both were. Once finish, Beth despatched our pots to the dishwasher and the food packaging to the dustbin before returning to the couch beside me.

She said, “What would you like for dessert?” and then burst into laughter.

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh! nothing.”

“Yes, there is!”

“You did ask. My husband had a standard response to that question.”

“And what was that?”

“YOU! — he would say”

Our eyes met for ages, each looking for assent in the others’, before I boldly replied.

“And are ‘YOU’ still on the menu?” I asked without really considering my response. She responded equally quickly,

“Yes, I believe I am.”

We leaned towards each other and kissed. As our lips parted she said,

“I have to tell you, Alistair, I do like my sex. No inhibitions, no recriminations, no regrets.”

It had to be every man’s fantasy – even at my age. We kissed again to seal the bargain and then became entangled in a lingering wet embrace.

With her tongue exploring my mouth, I raised a hand to cover her breast. It was firm and pressed itself into my palm as I covered it. Despite the silk top and brassiere, I felt her nipple grow under my administrations.

Her hand was on my inner thigh and moved up to stroke my lengthening penis, captured awkwardly in my not-so-designer underwear.

I faced a dilemma — I could continue to hold her fabric covered breast or, release my grip and undo the restraints that stopped me holding her naked breast. My hand made the decision and moved to the buttons of her blouse, releasing first one then every one down to her waistband. Sliding a hand inside the parted top, I found a bra with a front release — joy! I unclipped the garment and her breast spilled out into my willing hand. It was glorious, it was sublime, and it was firm and warm.

My pleasure was multiplied when I felt the belt to my pants being released and my trousers unzipped. A small hand slipped inside and caressed my now rigid cock through the stretched cotton of my shorts. I wriggled to allow her better access and was rewarded with firm fingers slipping inside my shorts and surrounding my straining length. I tore my lips away from her soft mouth and dropped my head to her right nipple. It was erect and taught and I sucked and rolled it around my mouth until she moaned quietly. The hand that was caressing my penis ceased momentarily before grabbing my free hand to guide it between her legs, which had parted in anticipation.

Her hand returned to my cock as I slid my trembling fingers beneath the hem of her skirt and up the inside her warm thigh. I felt the nylon surface gave way to bare skin — soft, cool skin which fired my soul and added an inch (I like to think!) to my erection. My finger tips moved slowly across this gossamer surface, to the silk that covered a throbbing female organ.

I cupped her mound firmly with a bold hand and squeezed, before allowing just a brief stroke of an index finger along the pouting ridge of her vulva. She pushed forward into my hand and I resisted the forward thrust by squeezing again the overripe fruit between her legs. After minutes of slowly caressing her twin ridges, feeling their silk covering moisten, she pleaded wetly into my ear,

“Eat me, Alistair. Please eat me!”

At the peak of our love making, my wife would also let me ‘eat’ her, but I think she really hated the idea of oral sex despite enjoying the actual experience itself. Unfortunately, she never returned the favour so I had remained an oral virgin.

I dropped to my knees before her widespread legs and sank my face into her cotton covered crotch, gnawing rapaciously at the damp fabric. As I gnawed I struggled to slide the flimsy garment over her thighs and down her legs. Once released her legs flew open to reveal her perfect womanhood, shaven, moist, pouting and waiting. Folds of glistening flesh opened before me like a tropical flower.

Sliding my arms beneath her thighs I held up her legs whilst I dived into her slippery depths. The hairless creases and erotic aroma made the task of pleasing her, a mind blowing experience.

I drew my tongue along her folds and across her clitoris several times before delving deep inside her. I added a finger after each administration to saw in and out of her vagina whilst sucking, her already, well extended clitoris, quickly, in and out of my mouth.

This combination seemed to strike the mark. After several minutes, she gasped and moaned and thrust her pelvis hard into my face before sighing deeply and slumping back onto the sofa.

I stopped and laid my head on her tummy. She held it for several minutes before saying, “Thank you. It’s been too long – I really needed that.”

I looked up and said,” It was my pleasure.”

“Not entirely,” she replied, nodding towards my erection, hanging awkwardly out of my dishevelled trousers.

“Take your trousers off.” she commanded. I obeyed and stood before her. She slipped off the couch and dropped to her knees on the floor in front of me and in so doing brought her face right in front of my cotton clad erection. She extended a hand and rubbed my penis gently up and down, erotically, through my shorts, but after several masturbations she hooked the waistband in her fingers and drew them down to my ankles. My cock flicked, bolt upright when released and I stepped out of my restraining clothing.

“You have a beautiful cock, Alistair,” she said in the same matter-of-fact way that she would say “I like your herbaceous borders”, but then she first squeezed and then pulled it — playing with it until she felt it was as big as it got, then leaned forward and ran her extended tongue along its length. With one hand holding its base, her other hand weighed my balls. By now I was watching transfixed as if it were happening to someone else except that it was I who was feeling the exquisite sensations down below. When her wet mouth engulfed its purple/ red head I gasped and made an involuntary thrust into her mouth.

It had been ages since I had experienced any sexual contact with the opposite sex (or indeed any sex!) and I wrestled with an impending orgasm until I finally said, “You must stop now if you want me for any further business.”

She stopped and looked up.

“Don’t worry. Just let yourself go,” and continued sucking. I felt one hand detach itself from my scrotum and the tip of her left index finger slide around to my anus where it played with my anal ring. When she eventually penetrated it, I felt her finger tip pressure deep within me and I didn’t last much longer. In fact, trying to prolong the ejaculation only made it more intense. It embarrassed me that in the final throws, I had held her head and rammed my cock in and out of her mouth until I was spent. My first ever blow job and it was wonderful. My legs became jelly and I sank down on the sofa beside her, panting like a spent dog.

She nuzzled into me and we cuddled for what seemed ages.

Eventually she said, “So you like sex too?” “I’m tempted to say ‘doesn’t everyone’ but my, albeit limited, experience tells me otherwise.”

“How so?”

“I suppose that we are all brought up to think certain things are acceptable and others are not. I have tried to keep and open mind on most things and concluded that ‘what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’ or rather, in the case of sex, if you enjoy it and your partner enjoys it — what the hell — it’s no body else’s business. It’s so easy to get locked into a certain mind-set.”

“Ooh Err! ” she mocked, “very academic. Do I take it that, as an intellectual you have detached yourself from your primeval taboos?” she continued to mock gently.

“Did I sound so pompous? I suppose what I am saying is that I now think that — ‘if it doesn’t hurt anyone (physically or mentally) and it gives them both pleasure then don’t condemn it.'”

She agreed and said “It’s simply agreeing a line not to cross. The trouble is that, with many couples — myself included, that the line if often not established before a relationship develops and people have already committed to one another. They then find that each has drawn the line in different places”

“That was particularly true of my generation.” I said.

“Equally, people change and develop after marriage. Some hide their changing desires and others look elsewhere,” she replied, obviously from a very personal standpoint.

“So true — and you?” I asked.

She answered, “I guess I’m a late developer. I was well into my thirties before I even saw a porn movie — I mean – a ‘real’ porn movie with oral and anal sex. God knows, I had had a lifetime of missionary sex — and not a lot of orgasms! The alternatives affected me. I suppose my response was arousal rather than repulsion — and you?”

I hadn’t had such a conversation with anyone before, let alone a woman, but, curiously, I felt no barriers. If this woman didn’t like what I said then she could walk away and we need not meet again — no embarrassment and certainly no broken marriages.

I responded honestly, quite enjoying the freedom to express my views. “I think it was the internet that opened my eyes. Stale sex lead me to porn sites and ‘interesting’ new sex. More importantly, the revelation that women could also like ‘kinky’ sex.”

I looked up into her face. Before that, I had had my head on her tummy and I could have been talking anonymously into a telephone, but her smile of agreement reassured me and that made the exchange of views even more real somehow.

She spoke quietly, “I don’t know about you, but your ‘ kinky’ sex means I need a shower. You’re free to join me, but I bags the soap first.”

She pushed me off and stood up.

In half an hour our relationship had moved into hyperspace.

“Get yourself another scotch,” she order playfully as she ambled, semi naked, out of the lounge and up the stairs, “then join me. It’s ages since I had my back scrubbed.”

“I’ll be with you in a moment. I can’t face dirty backs when I’m sober,” I grumbled as I searched out the scotch bottle in the kitchen.

I should have felt ridiculous, wandering about her house in an open shirt and socks with a half-cocked penis swinging before me, but I didn’t. I refilled my glass, added the water and then followed her upstairs.

I homed in on the sound of the shower. She had left the door partly open and by the time I arrived, the bathroom was full of steam.

I shed my shirt and socks, parked the scotch after another gulp, and slipped into the spacious shower behind her.

She was standing still in the shower, letting the water cascade onto to her head and down her torso. I was taken as to how lithe her body was for a woman of her age. She was certainly built for pleasure.

As I entered the shower she gave me the soap which I used to gently rub over her shoulder and down her back, slipping a soap-lubricated finger down the crease of her bottom and between her legs. They parted as I descended and I continued my way into her crevice. She rocked to and fro on my extended fingers sighing softly as the pleasure engulfed her.

Reaching round, I soaped her front, spending lots of time massaging her firm breasts. The pleasure felt from a warm firm breast fresh out of its clothing is a rare treat, but the feel of a warm soap-slicken breast with taut nipples is something special. My penis grew and as she pushed back into me it slipped between her perk buttocks and, as I gently rolled her nipples between my fingers, she raised and lowered her bottom –inflicting exquisite torture on my groin.

Unable to resist any longer, I gently pushed her shoulders forward indicating that she bend over and she complied, parting her legs as she did. A simple retreat and then with a single thrust, I embedded my stiff cock deep into her softest canyon. She gasped as I slid inside her and clamped tightly around me, tight, but at the same time, soft and squelchy – encouraging me to thrust again having withdrawn almost completely before driving forward.

She pushed back into me and I thrust yet again. Within minutes she began moaning softly but this built into a series of grunts followed by ” Oh, yes, Oh, yes, … that’s it – just there, yes, there, there, there, ….Ohhhhh…Aaahh”

I have to say that age can have its advantages. My early orgasm had made my desire to ejaculate secondary to the sensorary pleasure I was feeling and I was able to thrust and thrust for what seemed to be hours.

When she finally came she became limp in my arms, I was left hovering around orgasm without actually having cum myself so I stopped and withdrew my cock, still hard and still ready.

When she regained her composure, she straightened, turned around and embraced me.

“There’s nothing like hot water to revive a flagging penis,” she reached down and pulled my still engorged length.

A final peck on the cheek and I was alone with the cooling water spray and a bar of soap.

When I emerged from the shower, she had gone, leaving a huge bath towel and a ‘visitors’ bath robe.

As I left the bathroom and headed down the corridor she called from a room on the left, “In here.” I opened the door and entered. She too was dressed in a white bathrobe and was draped on a large bed rubbing her hair with a towel.

“Hi there!” she laughed

“Hi!” I replied, “I was looking for a rather attractive brunette who I had just been helping with her ablutions when she disappeared.’

“I have heard it called many things,” said replied, “but never ‘ablutions’,”

“I’ll have you know that I have a PhD in ‘ablutions’.”

“Well, I can certainly attest to more than a basic understanding of the theory!”

She continued, “fancy watching a film?”

“Well, that depends on the film.”

“Well, it’s a rather naughty one, but if you would prefer, I do have the ‘Ten Commandments’.”

“Such a choice.” I joined her on the bed as she pointed the Remote Control to a large Plasma TV and laid back on a pillow.”

I said, ” ‘Decadent’. That’s the word! I’ve been thinking of… ‘sophisticated’…’randy’…’tasty’…but no, ‘Decadent’ – that the word..”

She stuck a sharp elbow into my side. “Judge me after you know me — that’s all I ask.” . The black screen lit up and she snuggled up beside me.

Her choice of porn surprised me. The film had a theme, unusual with this genre and led the viewer tantalisingly into scenes where the gorgeous heroine is seduced ( my euphemism) by the handsome hero. As the explicit sexual plot unfolded, Beth’s hand slipped inside the folds of my bathrobe and grasped my still erect penis. This invited a reciprocal response and my own fingers searched between her legs, finding a rather, unsurprising, moist spot. Actually, ‘spot’ doesn’t accurately describe the large sloppy cavity that my fingers entered and gently fondled for most of the film.

Her own fingers continued to massage me without actually raising my ‘dew point’. It was very pleasant and I could have lain like that all night.

When the film finished she switched it off and dropped her head to fellate me again, manoeuvring her body into a sixty nine position with me underneath. The ‘view from the bridge’ as it were, was a vagina that yawned open like a raspberry sundae – moist and red and which was clearly in need of the oral attention. I was not found wanting.

As her bottom rose and fell on my outstretched tongue I noticed her brown star twitching and I rubbed a fingertip across it. It withdrew inward in a true ‘anal retentive way’ and I rubbed it again. I then dipped the finger deep into her vagina — to tap her ‘font of honey’ and coat it with her slippery dew before placing it again at her rear entrance.

She pushed back onto my finger and its tip slipped in up to the first joint. I held still for a minute and then reamed her slowly, pushing my finger further and further inside her. At the second knuckle I stopped, but then continue to ream her, welcomed by her responsive actions.

Eventually she looked back at me and said, “If you want my rear then we’ll need some lubrication. I’m not being torn to pieces.”

She rolled over and opened a bedside drawer to retrieve a tube from which she squeezed some jelly into her hand. Grasping my still stiff member, she liberally applied the jelly. She then lathered her own anus with the gel and said, ” Frontways or backways? — I prefer to try backways….”

“So be it,” I answered and she rolled over onto all fours with her legs well spread.

I knelt up behind her with my slippery cock swinging free. I was about to have another first in my life when she said, “Please take it slow. Use your fingers first.”

I caressed her buttocks, allowing a stray thumb to slip up and down her crack before letting it penetrated her anus. Once in, I reamed her hole before replacing my thumb with two fingers which I thrust in and out. She gave a deep intake of breath on my final thrust as her sphincter had now relaxed. I offered up my slippery penis to her extended hole and was surprised that my head slipped in without too much resistance. I asked her if she was OK, to which she responded with a rearward thrust that embedded half my cock. I slowly pushed the remaining few inches deep inside her.

The feeling I felt was out of this world and I held this position for some time, feeling the tightness along the whole length of my cock.

It was Beth who moved first, slowly withdrawing her arse and then re-engulfing my cock deep inside herself. She also reached below her to rub her clitoris, a task which I then insisted on doing for her.

The intensity of this lovemaking galvanised me and I fell into a steady rhythm of thrusts and withdrawals into her tight, slippery glove.

I did not last long. It might not have been the full measure but, before long, my reproductive juices flowed and filled my lover adding to the lubricated squelching noises between us.

I didn’t know whether Beth had cum, in fact I didn’t know whether women can cum from anal sex, but apparently she had – especially with the additional clitoral stimulus.

I left my cock engulfed until it was flaccid then let it slip out. It retreated like a beaten army from the battlefield, but I felt that I had done my bit.

We lay together.

“Was that your first anal experience?” she asked when we had both collected our thoughts.

“Yes,” I said quietly.

“Me too.”

Her reply shocked me.


“Yes. It has always been a fantasy of mine. But you are my first … man”

“But you were …..prepared.”

“I know — I have tried it with one of my toys before, but you are my first real man.”

“And, how was it for you?” I asked with a smile that reflected the cliché.

“Well, if I am honest, I prefer straight sex, but it was a great experience.”

“To be repeated?” I asked

“Now and again. Did you like it?”

“I have to say I found it fantastic — if a bit messy!”

“Shall we save it for special occasions then?”

“You would like us to get together then?”

“Of course, don’t you?”

“I should say so. It’s not every day a man finds such a sole mate.”

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