Meeting Margaret

Long long ago, before there was any internet and when even lonely hearts columns in the small adds of your local paper had yet to be invented I found myself working in a small provincial town, very much on my own, with no social life and no car. Finally, more in desperation than in hope, I placed a simple but silly ad in the miscellany section of the local paper, 'man, early twenties, seeks a woman who seeks a man in his early twenties.' I did not really expect any replies to such frivolity but hating television as I did and having too much time on my hands - I was reading four books a week and still finding I had too much spare time in which to visit the pub - anything was worth a go.

To my amazement I received almost thirty responses, I suppose back then I had no competition whatsoever. Quite a few of my correspondents were over double my age and that felt a bit too much so they were sent a polite yet firm, 'thanks but no thanks.' Several of the replies were clearly professional in their proposals and that was not what I was after either, so they were ignored. Some of the letters sounded just a little too clingy or desperate and they too were given the polite yet firm, 'thanks but no thanks' treatment. Still, even after that initial screening seven possibilities remained.

Now I could write a non-sexual comedy here, there were misunderstandings, there were mix-ups, there were mishaps but then, to compensate, there was Margaret. Her initial letter was brief and to the point, she was in her thirties, divorced, would appreciate a masculine perspective from time to time but did not get the chance to meet many new people and when her friends did introduce her to men they were usually significantly older than her and generally rather smarmy or seriously dull. We exchanged a couple of letters and then spoke on the phone arranging to meet in a local tea shop one Saturday afternoon, she would be sitting wearing a bright yellow straw hat and have a copy of Huxley's Chrome Yellow to hand and I would arrive carrying a rolled up copy of the Times newspaper, sport a red carnation in my button hole and enquire if I might join her: we had already established that we shared a silly sense of humour in common and rigged out like that we could not mistake one another.

Margaret was a bit of a shock. She was considerably older than I had imagined her to be from her voice and her interests. She was still in her thirties, she had told no fibs, but she was not, I was soon to discover, going to remain thirty for very much longer; perilously close to the 'twice my age' barrier that would have earned her a polite letter of rejection. She was short, mumsy looking and very demure in appearance; sweet or kindly were good words. Yes her hat was decidedly flamboyant but her jacket, blouse and skirt were plain, all simple blues and greys. She had little creases around the corners of her eyes, exaggerated by the face powder that clung to them and her laughter lines were already well etched. Still her smile was dazzling, her hair long thick and lustrous and her blue eyes sparkled when she spotted me coming across. But as soon as I saw her I knew that I was going to politely put her off, she was not at all what I was searching for, flirting Margaret would feel like flirting with my Mum. There was, however, no need to be rude about things so I sat down.

Her conversation was the exact opposite of her appearance, she was informed, witty, well read, controversial, vivacious and entertaining. Whilst all amorous thoughts had quickly fled I quickly realised that Margaret was someone with whom I could easily spend a lot of time. We gradually drained our pots of tea and consumed our wedges of cake over talk of Tolkien, Ballard and Powell - amongst many others whose names I can no longer recall. We paid our respective bills, she was most insistent about that, and set off wandering aimlessly around the town deeply engrossed in conversation. As we left the cafe I held the door for her and could not help but notice that, despite her heels, Margaret was really much shorter than I - children raised during the Second World War were not in general very tall at all - and she was decidedly dumpy. Not really fat but well rounded in that way that only short people can be. Still her appearance was no longer relevant to me and anyway I too busy discovering that she hated television almost as much as I did, consequently we spent another very amicable half hour together damming the medium.

It was a lovely sunny day and slowly we gravitated towards the big park on the outskirts of the town centre. The dahlias and roses were in bloom and Margaret proceeded to educate me on a topic about which I knew nothing, gardening. She had a passion for it whereas I could kill plants merely by glancing at them. Margaret considered my confessions of incompetence, interrogated me pointedly and announced that I was a chronic over-waterer. As we conversed we walked right around the park and then, close to the gates through which we had entered, we sat at opposite ends of a bench facing one another and enjoyed the sunshine. We chatted for an age before deciding to walk through the middle of the park and inspect the ornate but totally soot encrusted Victorian fountain that was set there: anything made of stone in those days was totally encased in soot.

At the far gates of the park, having simply kept on going in a straight line, Margaret announced that for her it was tea time, that she didn't live far away, that she was, for a change, enjoying a civilised chat with someone who held their own opinions so I would be very welcome to join her. In case I had any doubts she tempted me with the lure not only of home made scones but also home made strawberry jam. How can anyone resist an offer of homemade jam? And anyway I was really enjoying Margaret's company. She was so determinedly independently minded, so articulate and so very intelligent, perhaps more so than myself. Once home she bustled round her spacious kitchen brewing tea, loading plates with buttered scones and she even spooned the jam from its kilner jar into in a little bowl, clearly a lady of good breeding and considerable refinement. Once everything was prepared we first munched and chatted and, as out tummies filled, next chatted and munched: it was not until around seven that I began to make my excuses and begin my preparations to leave.

Margaret took my hints and led me to the door but as I picked up my shoes - no outdoor shoes on the carpets was one of her little rules - she enquired brightly, 'don't I even get one little tiny kiss before you go' and she tipped her head to one side coquettishly, positioning herself for a kiss on the cheek. Now I would have liked to have seen Margaret again as a friend but the question of any physical involvement was out of the question and I was disconcerted because I had not been raised in an atmosphere of air kisses and false hugs. She was wonderful to talk to but she was just about old enough to be my Mum and she was dowdy and dumpy. Parting on really good terms was never going to be easy but now she was definitely making things far more difficult for me. My plan had been to suggest I phoned her and then suggest we enjoyed another day out together but this was a complication. Naive as I was in those days, I sensed quite clearly that she was testing the waters.

Inspiration struck; attack was my best form of defence. Stood as we were, both in our stocking feet, I towered over her so I placed one hand under her chin twisted her head round to face me, tilted her chin upwards, stared directly into her eyes for a few seconds and then planted a solid a kiss squarely upon her lips. My plan was to shock her into dismissing me and it failed spectacularly. As our lips made contact she thrust her tongue deep inside my mouth and began a vigorous exploration. Caught unawares I responded instinctively, rubbing my tongue against hers and suddenly felt my erection grow so abruptly that I was suddenly as solid as a rock. Worse still Margaret placed her hands behind my neck so that I could not easily break free and then commenced grinding her hips and belly against mine. I was terrified that she might be able to feel my erection through her clothes and, had I thought about it, from the way she was rotating her hips I ought to have realised that not only could she feel my embarrassing stiffness but was actively encouraging it to remain that way. Now in those days I was not so experienced and in the embarrassment and confusion of not fancying yet still desiring Margaret I was still wondering how best to put her off, despite the treacherous behaviour of my throbbing cock.

Attack, I decided, remained my best form of defence: only a fool makes the same mistake twice but that evening I was being very foolish. So, in a further attempt to put her off, I began to unbutton her blouse, starting at the top and working my way down. You have to realise that at this point we were still engaged in that first kiss, Margaret was working her tongue inside of my mouth passionately whilst she held my face very firmly against hers. She had twisted my hair tightly around her fingers, she had not the slightest intention of allowing me to slip away and it would have been quite painful to attempt to.

I popped one button after another, she offering no resistance whatsoever and in the end my hands reached the waistband of her skirt. Finally, in a last desperate attempt to unnerve her, I tugged her blouse free of her skirt and unfastened the last two buttons. Margaret's response? She finally loosened her grip on my head but only freeing one hand at a time and that was only so that she could place a cuff between my hands so I could unbutton that too: she was actively encouraging me to undress her.

At that moment Margaret's persistent grinding against my throbbing, by then almost aching, prick had its inevitable effect on me, pure and simple unbridled lust kicked in: I would no longer have cared if she were fat, ugly and old enough to be my grandmother, I would still have gladly shafted her. Once I'd helped her wriggle her blouse off, all still done without breaking that never ending first kiss, I unclipped her bra and she was soon rid of that too. Dumpy she might have looked when dressed but this was partly because her breasts were more than generous and once free they rested against my chest heavily. In response my traitorous prick proved that it could become even stiffer after all and my hands were soon occupied examining those luscious orbs of warm, malleable flesh.

With my hands so busy and my mind so completely distracted Margaret seized her opportunity to begin to undress me. First a simple job, removing my tie, that took her practiced hands only moments. Unbuttoning my shirt and tugging that from my pants took a little longer but soon I felt her hard nipples first pressing and then rubbing against my bare chest. My already over distended rod twitched all the harder and in response she pressed her belly that bit more firmly against me. I squeezed her breasts in my hands, located her nipples with my thumbs and began to rub the tips of the teats with the fleshy part at the tips. The force of her pelvic gyrations increased considerably and her tongue switched from waltzing around my mouth to dancing a jitterbug in there. Her breathing suddenly became far more erratic, arriving as snorts and pants; Margaret, I noted happily, was clearly possessed of a pair of delightfully sensitive pair of nipples which were hot-wired to her clit.

Whether she released me from my trousers, or I managed to drop her skirt first was too close to call but in almost no time at all we were both reduced to our underwear and she was definitely now grinding her pussy very deliberately up against my aching cock. I was, in fact, starting to panic a little, if she maintained that kind of force and rhythm there was a serious danger of me spurting all over her soft, rounded tummy. Fortunately she picked that moment to release her clutch on my hair, at long last allowing me to break that kiss. But only so she could hiss, "bedroom, right now! Follow me." Her imperative was most definitely a direct order but I didn't mind, that was one command that I was only too happy to not disobey.

Margaret darted away giving me a clear view of her and, for the first time, I began to realise that she had put more planning into all of this than I had imagined. She was not, as I had expected, dressed in tights but had dark stockings on, stockings that were held up by bright red suspenders. Her panties were a matching red scrap of lace that barely concealed the crack down her bottom and did nothing to hide the well-rounded globes of her bum that wobbled deliciously as she scuttled up her staircase. I would have cheerfully crushed her against the stairs and taken her then and there from behind except that she was scampering up the stairs far too quickly for me to catch her, so if I were to have my wicked way with her all I could do was to follow her lead.

She dashed along the landing and darted into the front bedroom. As I burst through the doorway she was already collapsing backwards onto her vast double bed where she raised her legs high in the air and slipped her panties off, tossing them aside with an extravagant gesture that left her arms spread wide and her body exposed and completely available. I wasted no time working off my underpants and my socks - a man in just his socks can never look sexy - and dived on top of her. There was no foreplay, no teasing, no toying I just slipped my twitching cock inside of her and she sighed like the proverbial furnace, swung her legs up to encircle my waist and dug her nails into my buttocks. Still I did not start to slam away with a reckless abandon, despite my cock demanding urgently that I did just that. My brain had not been totally addled by Margaret's seduction and I understood that she was at least as desperate as I. So, whilst wham, bam, thank you ma'am was exactly what I wanted: three or possibly four vigorous humps followed by me pumping seed deep inside of her as I bucked my hips and grunted like a happy hog was a most delightful of prospect, it would not have been fair to her.

The inevitable tease and torment of poor desperate Margaret that arose from my consideration was greater than I had anticipated. Her tunnel of manly pleasures was both hot and moist but also very tight and my cock was literally throbbing in its grip in a manner which meant that anything more vigorous than a long, very gradual, sliding back and forth would immediately trigger my orgasm. So, if I were to make myself last for her, every shafting had to be gentle and protracted. First I would enter her sex, opening it up as the rigid purple helmet of my engorged cock invaded her. Then I would slither cautiously inside of her until my pelvis met hers and my rod was completely embedded in her pussy. Only at that point could I risk three or four rapid jabs of my hips so my body banged against her clit without her velveteen interior stimulating my oversensitive pulsing cock-head too much.

That manoeuvre made her sing with pleasure, low erratic nasal whines of joy. After that little bump and grind I would slide back out of her, all the way out so she felt my cock quit her and then rub its head back and forth over and against her slippery clitty. That made her cry out aloud and sigh with a mixture of ecstatic delight and serious frustration. Just in case that was insufficient stimulation for her, as I pistoned in and out of her I contrived to thumb her nipples and to nibble her earlobes. It took a dozen or so of those long slow glides and grinds before I felt her hips buck, heard her cries and groans transformed into sobs and moans and then she simply exploded with the force of her release and relief. "Oh God, oh shit, Oh Christ," she arched her back and shouted out her pleasure over and over again before finally falling back limp against the bed, panting loudly, her chest heaving, making her ample bosom wobble delightfully.

I was not fooled and rather than speed up and take my pleasure - which required considerable will power on my part - I knew that any woman who had come that hard and with such abandon would soon recover and come again providing that I had the resolve to maintain that steady rhythm. And I was not wrong either. Soon enough Margaret's pants became cries and groans, soft at first but growing rapidly in volume as I persisted with that slow and stoical pounding. Her breathing became increasingly ragged, abruptly she flushed from her cheeks down to the tops of her nipples, started wriggling and squirming and then resumed sobbing and moaning, this time with a far more violent bucking of her hips but without the shouting and crying out aloud of her pleasure. When she was finally spent and fell back limp against the bed for the second time air hissed nosily through her nose, curious soft grunts which suggested that she was attempting to both inhale and exhale at the same moment. After that second body-shaking climax she was now responding to every slight brush of her clitoris, whether from my pulsing cock or my body banging against hers. The noise she was making made it impossible to tell if she were reacting with unbridled bliss or unbearable agony but she was gripping and grasping my buttocks convulsively, her nails digging deeply into my flesh and I could not have escaped her clutches to withdraw from her even if I had wanted too.

God did those nails hurt and she was pulling and pushing, clearly attempting to urge me to go faster. If I wanted to be able to sit down after our lovemaking I had no choice but to do exactly what, by then, I urgently needed to do anyway and comply. I increased the tempo of my thrusting and in no time at all, after perhaps four swings but more probably less, I felt my balls tightening, my cock throbbing and my come welling up to gush deep inside of her. Suddenly, all I can recall is that sweet sensation of great wave after great wave of absolute bliss jetting out of me, every touch everywhere electric. Even the painful grip of her nails was no longer pain but was yet another delightful sensation that was making me pump all the more forcibly inside of her. For her part Margaret was, by that time, wailing and howling like a banshee and bucking her hips like a thing possessed. I had never ever felt so drained and spent as I did when we were finally done, I had blasted every last drop of come out of me, I felt as if Margaret had been milking me, wringing out every last little dribble. Only after I had collapsed heavily on top of her did she at last relax that ferocious grip on my buttocks and unwind her legs so that, at long last, we rolled apart: far enough to gaze into one another's eyes yet close enough to cuddle and fondle affectionately. Lovemaking had never been like that before, the need so desperate, the release so complete. I knew that we had just begun something that we would do again and again, once would never be enough, we were truly, madly deeply in lust with one another.

I suppose we dozed, it had been around seven when, like two over-amorous teenagers with a house to themselves for the very first time, we had charged up the staircase to Margaret's bedroom, and now it was after nine. My cock was hard as a rock once more and it felt wonderful. As I returned to consciousness I realised that the generally blissful sense of well-being and lust that had awoken me was, in fact, Margaret sucking my cock back to life. This was no blow job, no deep throating to have me come for her, this was a delicate working of her lips over the sensitive head of my cock combined with a tongue led exploration of the back of my turgid shaft, all crafted carefully to ensure that I became hard and lusty for her once more. I stretched out lazily and began to play with Margaret's breasts and then to toy with her hairy slit. Initially I was genuinely shocked by how hard I discovered her nipples to be and, judging from her mews and mewls, how sensitive they were and next amazed at how wet and slippery she still was between her plump white thighs. By the time I got around to thumbing her clit she was starting to lose all control of her breathing, sounding as if she were ready for another good solid tupping.