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My move to London was the start of a great adventure.
I had been house-sitting in Cornwall for the past few months. It’s a job I normally enjoyed but my last place of residence was a nightmare. The location was ideal, as were its grounds, but the building itself had dark satanic undertones which were slowly getting to me, plus there were a few other things I was running away from; it’s not that I was a coward, just very venerable at that particular moment.
Through father’s contacts I’ve now got myself a little place in Marylebone, again I’m house-sitting but what a difference, it may look an old mews house from the outside but the interior as been exquisitely furnished; I love the freedom that I have and as for the night life its excellent, only thing I found depressing though was travelling on the underground.
I’ve managed to get myself a temporary job in a retail store close to Charing Cross station and the quickest way there is via the underground. I did walk home one evening and it took me over two hours, too many shops and other distractions, so now I always use the ‘tube’.
My usual hours clash with the ‘rush hour’ so I usually have to stand; since its only 4 or 5 stops I don’t mind standing but being only 5’4″ it isn’t easy holding on and keeping one’s dignity, so I always try and rest my body against a bulkhead, screen or if possible hang on to one of the stanchions.
For about two weeks I ran the daily gauntlet of ‘the rush hour’, the wandering hands, and the personal invasion of umbrellas and other objects of a cylindrical nature, you girls know what I’m on about, don’t you. It was over this period I tried using various carriages, then just as I was about to give up something happened that changed my whole life. It occurred coming home one evening; I had just managed to capture a handhold on one of the stanchions forming a screen for the aisle seats, when the train suddenly jolted I was thrown onto the lap of a rather elegantly dressed elderly man.
The quickest way to describe him is as a Michael Parkinson look-alike; I quickly offered my sincere apologises, straighten myself up, and thought nothing of it. The following evening quiet unintentionally I boarded the same carriage and there he was, thinking nothing of it I grabbed my place on the stanchion and anticipating the jolt hung on tightly, several other people got on at the next stop; determined not to loose my position I clung on tight and allowed myself to be rolled around the stanchion so I now faced the old gent, who just sat there liking into oblivion as most of us do using the ‘tube’. As the train accelerated away from the station I became aware of a rubbing sensation between my legs. Looking down I saw the old man was holding a Derby Cane between his legs with its handle nestling neatly between my thighs. Sensing my anger he just looked up and smiled; what was I to do? The train was too crowded to move away, if I complained people would only laugh at me, so I said ‘sod it, its only for a couple of minutes or so, let the old man enjoy his fun’ so for the next few stops I just let it remain there.
Over the coming days the old man and I developed a sought of unspoken relationship, him with his cane, me with my sensitive clit, I no longer blushed, just glowed, often wondering how far this could go, thinking that……. Suddenly the train stopped in-between stations and the lights went out, leaving the carriage illuminated by the exceedingly dim emergency lighting.
Plunged into almost total darkness, some passengers stifled a scream then started chatting nervously, hoping to get things moving. Soon my thoughts were interrupted by a movement, something I sensed rather than felt. I reached down slowly, tentatively, and wasn’t at all surprised to feel the warmth that radiates from human skin.
When our hands met, it was that of the old man’s, thin, gnarled yet very warm; I felt the slightest tremor run through him, knowing that the lights could come on at any second, I briefly held my breath.
Rotating his hand so the palm was facing up, he used his index finger to find my zip, and then as softly as he could, he parted my jeans, hooked his finger over my excuse for panties, and gently stroked the fine gossamer of my pubes before entering my warm, exceedingly moist and welcoming pussy. I began cumming the moment he entered me, and by the time his thumb had reached my clit, I was pushing myself through barrier after barrier of pleasure. Oh! God how I wished I could cry out, to show the old man my appreciation, but alas it was not to be.
An announcement over the intercom warned us that the delay shouldn’t be for too much longer. With his finger resting on my perineum and his thumb working its way into my pussy, he gently pushed forward, past no-man’s land and onto my anus, where he very gently crooked his finger and pushed it past my last line of defence, his efforts were rewarded with wet violent contractions as I came. The most impressive thing of all was this was carried out in beylikd├╝z├╝ escort almost total silence.
Still, with not a word being said, he extricated himself, wiped his hands on a handkerchief before stuffing it inside my panties, located my zip and returned everything back to normal.
For me, a man frigging me has always been a poor substitute to the real thing, but this was different. He was gentle, insistent yet soft. I can’t describe the feeling I had during one of the most intense orgasm of my life.
We still hadn’t spoken when the lights flicked on throughout the carriage and the driver announced that we were on our way once more. I was aware of some inquisitive looks coming from passengers in seats nearby, but it didn’t bother me in the slightest. If I was going to be known as ‘that girl’ from now on, then so be it, I’d earned such a nickname in a truly triumphant fashion. Arriving at my station the old man looked up at me and smiled; in return I mouthed ‘Thank You’ and blew him a brief kiss before quickly alighting from the train. That evening I walked home in a daze, did that just happen or was it a dream?
The following day was a Saturday, giving me the whole weekend to mull over my thoughts and say a proper thank you to the old man. I really beginning to enjoy my weekends in the city, for being a country girl I never realised London had so many public parks and open spaces. Living so close to Regents Park it became a regular habit of mine to spend a few hours there, with or without my laptop composing letters to send to Chris or father, for now I could be in regular contact with my lovers, telling them how I spent my week and so on.
Sat in the private garden at the back of the mews enjoying the early autumn sunshine I decided to write to Chris about what finally happened between me and the old man, how at first I resented his actions, but then began to enjoy his company for London is a lonely place for a single person, ok there’s plenty to do but it costs, the same goes for its nightlife, the clubs, theatres and cinemas.
On Sunday, bored with staying at home, I topped up my ‘Oyster card’ and decided to go to Kew Gardens, where I must have spent atleast 4 hours, before making my way to the ‘Thames’ to return home via a river cruise to Westminster Bridge then the tube from Waterloo to Marylebone. All-in-all I must have be away from home for about 11 hours, all I do know was I was extremely tired and just hit the sack when I got in.
Come Monday morning it was time for work, feeling adventurous I wore a demure black skirt about 6″ above the knee and a white blouse with the top two buttons undone, and as it was autumn my blue puffer which I wore open.
I got on the tube and as it was rush hour I had to stand, I stood near several guy’s in suits, forced into holding one of those handles hanging from the roof the best I could; it wasn’t easy holding on and keeping my dignity, not that I minded the guy sat down in front of me, blatantly looking at my legs and sliding down to see if he could see anymore, so I turned round and showed him my back, I tried to manage a fart but nothing came of it; now I was facing a ‘suit’ who was about 6 feet tall, with two more either side of me, talking to him as best they could in a crowded tube.
Soon I felt something moving along my stomach and realised it was a hand, I tried to pull back but there was no room, with my shopping bag in one hand and the other one keeping me upright, I was defenceless, a ‘suit’ in front of me was reading a folded newspaper, which covered my face so I couldn’t even see who the hand belonged to, slowly it moved up to my breasts, I looked left and right, but nobody was taking any notice of me or seemed to care what was happening.
I felt first one blouse button being undone and then another; after a short while the hand was on my breast, seeking my nipple then began to softly stroke it. Here I betrayed my innocence, I began to be turned on, to the delight of the intruder my nipples rapidly hardened with every stroke, the confused look on my face turned to one of resignation, there really wasn’t anything I could do to stop this happening without falling over; the train started to slow and the hand withdrew from my person, once the train stopped a group of people got off including the three ‘suits’.
I was left standing there, arm in the air, my blouse unfastened and showing more than I wanted, I must have been in shock because I didn’t move, the train jolted as it pulled away shaking me back to life. My station was next, I got off the train, re-arranged my clothing and as I was a little early went to the caf├ę and ordered a latte, and while I drank I thought about what had happened on the train. God it had really turned me on, I had to admit that not knowing who it was, made it even more exciting, and yes, I have to admit I enjoyed it, and I would like it to happen again, yes; in fact I began looking forward to tonight beyo─člu escort and my elderly gentleman.
That evening I watched my train come in and there he sat, attempting to board the same carriage, a fat bitch pushed past me and grabbed my usual place; ‘Fucking move on down’ I swore openly, the old man heard my cussing, looked at me through the side screen and smiled. All through my journey I clung on to the stanchion hoping she would move down the car but it was not to be.
With my station approaching fast I felt something being slipped into my hand, looking down at the old man I saw him nodding as if to say ‘take it’, with the train stationary and the doors about to open I slipped the piece of paper into my pocket, blew him a kiss and stepped off the train. That evening I walked home in a rage, I called that woman no bitch every name under the sun; too ‘pissed-off’ to cook I stopped at the local Thai takeaway and ordered a meal for one, something hot and fiery to match my temper, I was that angry and impatient I even paid for it to be delivered.
Arriving home I quickly changed into my ‘scruffs’ and was about to sit down when I remembered the scrap of paper the old man had forced into my hand, having retrieved it, I opened it carefully, there hand written in neat copper-plate was the following:-
My dear blonde elfin, I shall call you that since I do not know your true name. It has been a couple of weeks since we first met, but we’re form such an important part in each other’s lives. Many people may not understand how deeply we feel about each other, but I think of you every minute of the day, every second of my existence. It gives me great pleasure to know that you are here in my life. Thank you for bringing joy and understanding to my life, and for being a silent but true partner. If you are not offended by this letter, please give me a ring on 020 72xx xxxx, so I can get to know you better. Yours, Jonathan
With that I just sat down and cried, how lonely must this old man be to write me such a lovely letter; how long I sat and re-read that letter I’ll never know, for it took the delivery of my takeaway to bring me out of my trance.
Quickly I answered the door where I literally snatched the bag from the delivery boy then slammed the door shut, in a distance I heard a ‘And fuck you too’ as I ran upstairs thinking of all my options; Do I ring him, has he eaten, where’s somewhere safe to meet, finally the one which makes every woman panic, what shall I wear.
With my mind made up I picked up the phone and dialled the number; Brr…Brr…Brr and so it went on; just as I was about to hang up a deep resonant voice repeated the number I had just dialled. For several seconds I just gasped then uttered something completely incoherent; pulling myself together I finally asked if that was Jonathan and so our conversation started.
“We missed our t├¬te ├á t├¬te today; I so much wanted to know your name?”
“What a wonderful name, have you lived in London long?
“No, I’ve only just moved up, I’m house-sitting for a friend.” And so it went on until a rumbling in my stomach broke my train of thought and I asked Jonathan if he had eaten, lucky he said “No” so having agreed we both liked oriental food we decided to meet a restaurant he used frequently, which was quiet nearby. Being a woman I asked him about our dress code, to which he replied ‘Just be yourself, you’ll know what to wear;’ and left it at that. Oh how I loved listening to his voice, it was a deep resonant voice, very similar to that of Richard Burton’s, who’s renditions of Under Milk Wood and The War of the Worlds, I absolutely adore.
In record time I was showered, dressed and on my way to Melcombe Place, my ‘first date’ since I married Chris, whom I neglected to tell about during my conversation with Jonathan. Upon my arrival at the restaurant I was ushered into the waiting area, where after ordering a drink I sat anxiously waiting for ‘my date’ to arrive. After about 15 minutes Jonathan arrived, his dress was fairly modern considering his age, slacks, loafers, open-necked shirt with cravat, signalling me to remain seated he came over, took my free hand and placed the gentlest of kisses on my knuckles. Stood beside him, we must have seemed a funny couple, for Jon as he liked to be called must be at least 6 foot tall and fairly broad at the shoulders whilst I’m a petite size 4 – 6.
For the next two hours, we chatted away like an old married couple, when I told him I was married, he had already assumed that there was someone special, I learnt he was 63, an Articles Clerk for some law firm near Lambeth and had lost his wife about 10 years ago. The house where he lived was his until he sold out to a property developer who converted it to apartments and now lived there rent free ‘in perpetuity’.
As the evening drew to a close, we laughed about today’s incident on the train; how he had heard my exclamation and how bizimkent escort he avoided antagonising the woman with his cane. I asked him about the cane and to my surprise, for all the years he had travelled on the tube I was his first victim; he had often thought about it but never had the courage until that eventful evening.
With the restaurant waiters becoming increasingly impatient we called it a day, Jon being the proper gent offered me his arm and insisted that he escorted me home even though it was a couple of minutes away. Once outside my front door, he gently placed both his hands on my shoulders then placed the gentlest of kisses on my cheek, he stayed, stood at my doorstep until we said goodnight and I was safely indoors.
Come Monday morning the ‘cycle of existence’ began again: I would join the ‘herd’ on my way to work, be dutiful during the day, make sure I finished on time to catch ‘our train’, then stand in front of Jonathan, hoping for the lights to go out as his cane slowly masturbated my pussy. For a whole week this robotic way of life continued until Friday night, when suddenly I did something totally out of character, I asked Jon if he would like to spend the weekend with me, I left it completely open and told him I wouldn’t be hurt if he turned me down.
It must have been between 10:30 — 11 pm when the door bell rang, wondering who it could be this late at night, cussing I made my way downstairs, the door bell rang again; suddenly a thought came into my head, was it him, has he taken up my offer; with not a care in the world I threw open the door and there he stood.
Leaping up I threw my arms around his neck and pulled him into me, driving my tongue deep into his mouth, trying to say words to him but they just came out as incoherent sounds. After what seemed a lifetime, Jon managed to free himself, gasping for breath he thanked me and asked if he could come in, leading the way upstairs, I suddenly realised that I was wearing my usual eveningwear when I’m on my own ie; the flimsiest pair of panties and a crappy t-shirt which was tight and seen better days. Directing Jon to the lounge, I quickly darted into my bedroom and donned a dressing gown before making my back to the lounge.
“Would you care for a drink…. whiskey, perhaps?”
“No thank you,” Jon said as he shuffled his feet and avoided looking at me.
“Can we talk?” I asked nervously, suddenly blushing.
“Yes, of course,” he replied.
I signalled him to make himself comfortable on the sofa and sat down nearby.
“You appear to be rather uncertain about all of this,” I remarked. “I know that the situation is unusual. Perhaps you have changed your mind.”
“No, no,” he stuttered. “I want to go ahead with this, its just I’m curious.”
“Curious about what” I stuttered
“Why? you, a pretty young girl, if you don’t mind me calling you that; should take an interest in an old fogey like my?”
Sensing an air of uncertainty, I moved and sat alongside Jon on the sofa, pawing his knee softly, I tried to explain the infinity I felt towards him, how seeing him made my body come alive, and oh! How I wanted to cuddle up in his arms. “Perhaps it’s because you remind me so much of my father.” You have the same mannerisms and caring nature.
With that Jon reached out and offered me his body for comfort. After a short while, I drew my legs up onto the sofa and snuggled up against Jon. Casually he drooped an arm over my shoulder then slid his hand into my robe and covered one of my breasts. Gently he began teasing a nipple with his fingers; this induced a warm sensation to radiate from my body. I slid down Jon’s body and lay with my head on his lap whilst we talked the night away. Feeling his cock stir; I suggested that perhaps we should continue this conversation in bed.
Upon reaching the bed, I whispered, “Don’t say a word!”, then lay a firm kiss on his open mouth and buried my tongue. Eventually our lips parted, leaving a trail of saliva to hang delicately between them. Jon examined my eyes, an undeniable gleam of lust evident in them.
“Sarah, I…” he whispered then I pressed a finger to his lips to silence him as we stood in front of the large futon which beckoned us. Jon’s hands ran slowly over my body, my hands reached for and unbuttoned his shirt before reaching for his trousers. As I released his belt and fly he slipped off his shoes.
“What did I say?” I replied then slowly I gently eased both his trousers and pants down then knelt before him.
Jon’s pants bulged to show that he was incredibly aroused. I grinned up at him, and for the first time since we had been together, he saw me in a different light. I took out his erection and caressed it in both hands. A shadow was cast over my face, brought on by the street light shining in through the window. I smiled again then rolling back his rather lengthy foreskin with my lips I took its head into my mouth, then cupping his ass with both hands I drew his erect penis in until his balls buffered my chin.
Jon looked down in amazement, as I held my breath and deep-throated his seven-inch penis without gagging. This was not the Sarah he had dreamed about. Her scent was of sex, her warmth was of sex — it had come unexpected, but it was also the exact thing both of us needed right there and then; we had to fuck each other.
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