A Man And A Maid free porn video

This was written because I wondered 'what if...' I was living next door to an elderly woman who, I was told, had been a man when she first moved there. I didn't get on very well with her and I wondered whether this was due to sex 'problems'. Talking to other people I realised that what we had here was someone who (for whatever reason) had been a grumpy old man and was now a grumpy old woman. The story is written from both sides, that is the man tells his version and then the woman tells hers. It is in no way autobiographical, but if the opportunity arose... who knows? THE OLD MAN'S TALE Drink and vanity have always been my two besetting sins; well vanity usually made worse by drink. Oh, and lechery but... I'll explain. I'd been for a drink with my mate James one evening and as usual, after several pints of bitter, we had gone back to his place for a drop of scotch. Well, there I am, stretched out in a chair in front of the fire, single barrel malt in hand, when he tells me that he has a bit of a problem that I might be able to help him with. Ha ? that's something new! It seems he has a business interest that is coming to fruition, but the agency handling the publicity is just not coming up with the goods. They're fairly local he tells me, having kept it that way so that he could keep an eye on it. "Change them," I say. "Too late now," he replies, "they've less than a fortnight to get it all together." "So what do you want me to do?" I ask. But, of course, I've already worked it out. What he wants me to do is go and stand over them and get what he wants done, he assures me that he has every confidence that I will get it just right. Manipulative old bastard. And I tell him so. "You don't spend your life working for big corporations without learning a thing or two, especially about creatives," he tells me, grinning from ear to ear. Creatives are basically artists and that is what I am. I started out in graphics, but, since being left on my own, I have been eking out an existence as a full time artist. Piss artist if I take this one on; but the vanity is already piqued. So the following Monday, bright and early - God knows, I just hate that - I am talking to the partner in charge and feeling very much like a pork sausage at a bar mitzvah. I am feeling my way very gently, because he isn't a happy bunny. Neither would I be. "How about showing me what has been done," I suggest, "I been briefed on what's required." "I'll take you along, and introduce you," he says, "although what you can do at this stage, I really don't know." Nice to start on a positive note, but what did I expect? We go along a corridor and into a large office. "This is Michelle," he introduces us. "She has had charge of the project and will show you everything. She's very experienced and has done a lot of excellent work." I am stunned, not that you would notice, of course. I've had many years selling, plus some of the old amateur dramatics, and it all counts in the instantaneous recovery. If I am fazed, it doesn't show. But nevertheless... I am introduced to the most gorgeous creature I can remember seeing in many decades of lechery. She is thirtyish, quite tall; with a slim almost boyish figure; she has a face that I feel I could paint and paint time after time set on a long neck. She has a pale complexion over a superb bone structure. Her auburn hair is pulled back and forms a mass of curls on the back of her head. That description doesn't do her justice, but neither would my painting. I have little doubt that she could launch several thousand ships. She is young enough to be my daughter. But she isn't. Dream on old man and concentrate on work. Well, she isn't going to make me very welcome either. We spend the rest of the morning going through all the stuff and I can see what James means. Oh, it's all top quality work; it just doesn't quite fit the bill. Just a degree off. And I need time to think. First a word with the partner to clear what I have in mind, to which he reluctantly agrees and I return. "Lunch," I say, "I know a nice little place just out of town." You might think that I had suggested attending a public hanging for all the enthusiasm she displays, but the job is important. So she comes along. I fire up the tart cart, well ok, maybe that's putting it a bit strong after all I have had it several years and only paid two fifty for it, but it's black with leather and everything is electric; some of it even works. Anyway we leave town, and my little way out of town turns into twenty miles, and I am turning on as much charm as I dare. I want to get her away from her own environment, so that I have the best chance to get her on my side. Don't, for one minute get me wrong, all this is in the interests of the job, I did say this girl is young enough to be my daughter, and whilst I can dream, that is all it's going to be. During lunch she begins to thaw, still not happy but the old magic (ho, ho) is starting to work. That and a couple of glasses of quite expensive wine, bear in mind that I am not paying, and James never drinks rubbish, so why should I? Oh, and the food is excellent. "You've met James I presume?" I ask "Oh yes, he seems like a nice guy," she replies, rather noncommittally. "OK," I say, "we'll go and see him at home, walk the dogs, you'll get more of a feel for the guy, and don't worry, you're not expected back." "Oh." Is all she says. By the time we get back to town it's well past knocking off time and the thaw seems pretty well complete. James has helped to relax her, and tea in front of the fire is something that seems new to her, and she really enjoys it. The dogs like her too, but then they like me; so that's nothing to go by. We agree to start work at eight the next morning and get things on the right track. Unfortunately, I have still no idea what that track is, but I have all night to think about it. So I get home and head for the pub. The next morning I am there at eight, and ready for a brainstorming session. I have ideas, not too radical, it's too late for that, but they need knocking into shape. A word with the partner, who now seems quite enthusiastic (I have a suspicion that he had a phone call last night, but as long as the job gets done, I don't much give a monkey's) and we are under way. At the end of the following week it's all done, all on time, James is ecstatic, and everyone at the agency is very happy. So a good job jobbed, and shall we go for a celebration drink? Too right we will. An hour or so later we all head off for our respective homes. As we leave Michelle asks me if I will give her a lift home because she had a problem with her car that morning. I am only too delighted to extend my stay in the company of a girl, who has become a friend for whom I have considerable respect. She really is very able, very clever, great company, and, oh yes, still gorgeous. I'd have thought that conversation with someone that much younger would be difficult, but it never seems to be. When we arrive at her home she asks me in for another drink. Now, if I am honest, out around the back roads of the countryside at night I have been known to drive when I perhaps didn't ought to, but in town... I happily accept an invitation for coffee. Home is an apartment that occupies the top floor of a large old house in a part of town which was once exclusive, and today is still desirable. It is partially in the roof, and largely open plan. It is a proper conversion, and judging by the space, and the furniture this young lady is very well set. It is all very tidy, a total contrast to the tip that I infest, but like me she has lots of pictures, some originals, and some are signed prints. None of mine but there you go. Actually most of my work is three dimensional, although some of it could hang on walls. Michelle puts the kettle on and fusses around with mugs and filters and things, whilst we chat about the pictures, and whatever. Then she disappears to the bathroom. She returns a few minutes later, and finishes the coffee, whilst I lean against the kitchen units behind her. Milk ? yes, sugar ? no, she turns with a mug in each hand and looks so kissable that I lean forward and do just that Did I not mention her mouth? How very remiss of me. She has the most beautiful full lips, with a perfect cupids bow and they are clearly delineated without the need for the little lipstick she uses. She returns the kiss. I break off after a few moments because it really isn't fair to make her stand there with a mug in each hand ? not fair, but it makes it very difficult for her to resist. She looks at me and smiles. She sets the coffee mugs back on the countertop, and we are immediately back into a major clinch. This seems to go on for ever, but after perhaps half an hour, half a lifetime, or possible only a couple of minutes, I scoop her up and carry her to the couch in the sitting area. I settle beside her, and as I put my arm back around her to continue the kiss, I brush my hand across her right breast. Through her blouse I can feel a very nice small firm breast without the benefit of a brassiere ? funny I would have sworn she had one on earlier, I notice these things ? and a little while later, who knows how long, I tease the hem of her blouse from the waist of her trousers and slide my hand up to encase these magical manifestations of femininity. With firm upstanding nipple, and just the right resilience this is something I could play with for hours. Well, a few minutes anyway, before we head further south. A little later, and I have opened her blouse, and I am, after a moment or two, contemplating visual perfection, bestowing kisses to these objects of my great admiration and delight, and teasing her nipples with my tongue. I now decide that the time has come for my left hand to explore a little further. As my hand goes to her waist, she is hugging me tightly to her. To be honest it is somewhat close to a death grip. But; she hasn't stopped me; so I undo the button, and gently slide the zip down. I caress her tummy, and slide my fingers under the waistband of her knickers on my way down to heaven... s above what's this? Well I'm buggered ? something that now takes on a distinct possibility - because what I have encountered is a cock, and just a little further, yes, there's the rest of the family jewels! Ho hum... Like I said earlier, I never show when I am fazed, but this was a difficult one. I probably deserved an Oscar, but I swear I never flinched! Now what? I was still in a vice like grip; I really wouldn't have thought that she was that strong, but she was beyond any shadow of doubt, scared stiff. This is not surprising because I have an idea what most fellows would be doing now. And it wouldn't be very nice. Now, although I say it myself, I have considerable experience of playing with willies, in fact I have been doing it all my life, well ever since my arms were long enough, so I decided that the best course of action was to gently play with it. I was sure that the reason why it was soft was due to fear, and if I could relax her then we would see where things went. After a minute or two the grip relaxed a little. I carried on, and hey presto, just as I thought, we had a little stiffy. Nothing to write home about in these circumstances, but stiff anyway. I slowly prised myself away from her and raised up so that I could look at her. She was staring straight at me, tears rolling from those great green eyes. Goodness, I didn't mention those either did I? They're not really enormous, or in anyway out of proportion, but they are a prominent feature and yes, you've guessed it, they are gorgeous. I leaned forward and kissed the tears on her cheeks. She closed her eyes. Then I kissed her eyes. All the while I kept gently playing down south. I had some thinking to do. I decide against saying anything. What was there to say? Almost anything would be wrong. What I had been attracted to in the first place was purely visual. And that hadn't changed. What I fell for was a mind. And that certainly hadn't changed. What had changed was what I expected. I suppose you could say that it was dishonest not to inform me that my expectations were incorrect, but what had I expected? Whether it was love or infatuation, and anyway did I know the difference, the person was still the same. Tomorrow is another day, but tonight, carry on with what you started. Virgin territory for me, but I kept my left hand occupied with gently stroking her willie, kissed her eyes, her mouth and down past her breasts. They were still as beautiful as when I started. She tensed slightly when I kissed the end of her now rigid cock, and then I leaned forward until it hit my throat, slight gag and then I withdrew. Not so difficult, after all, women do it all the time (well according to other guys), and it can't be that difficult can it? I wriggled her trousers and knickers down and she kicked them off one foot. Then I kissed her cock again. I reached up, and caressed her breasts and then settled on gently milking her nipples. This was not quite what I had intended doing originally, but then it wasn't so very different either. A very few minutes of this, and with a loud gasp she came. I swallowed. Well, it saves the carpet and it really doesn't taste that bad. A gentle clean up to the now wilting willie and then I worked my way up to the top again. She looked exhausted, and I suppose that her emotions must have been drained. "You look ready for bed" "Mmm..." She smiled and nodded. I scooped her up in my arms again, she kicked her trousers off completely and I carried her into the bedroom, turned back the blankets and laid her on the bed. "Stay with me," she whispered. I shucked my jumper and jeans and laid beside her. She cuddled in and fell asleep ? just like a bloke really! Yet I was unable to think of her as anything but female. I tried to reconcile this anomaly but after a few minutes with no conclusion, I joined her in the arms of Morpheus. It must have been some time later that I was awakened by a delightful sensation, caused by a warm mouth engulfing my rigid and so far unsatisfied cock. Within moments it was no longer unsatisfied. After a few minutes cleaning up which were most enjoyable, the perpetrator of this delightful wake up call looked up and grinned. "I hoped you would like that," she said. "I do like a girl whose hopes are so easily satisfied," I replied "I've never done that before," she said, as she crawled up the length of my body, and planted a kiss on my lips. "Well, that makes two of us being fast learners then, you were certainly very good," I smiled. "And, I've never done that before either." She snuggled down. "You were very good too." She reached out and switched off the light. Ho, hum. Well, what fella doesn't want compliments on his performance? Might be me actually, but right now... We kissed again. By golly, but she did feel good, just that one little thing. Was it a problem? That would have to be sorted out in the light of day. We both drifted off to sleep again. THE MAIDS TALE I was furious. I'd been working for this agency for several years, producing top quality work on a variety of projects, and in line for a directorship. This particular project had never seemed to go quite as smoothly as it should, but to have the client send in a no account nobody to 'put things on course' was just too much. I was called in and told this just before lunch on Friday, which was, I later found out, about twelve hours before he knew. I was having lunch with one of the heads of department at the local art college whom I had known for some years. We often did this to compare notes on some of the students (I lecture in the evenings), and see if any of them might be suitable for a placement with us. When I arrived it must have been obvious that something was wrong, and after we greeted each other and got a drink, we sat down she asked what the problem was. "Is it really that obvious?" I asked "You look like thunder," she replied. "I was in two minds whether to ask, in case I got my head bitten off!" We laughed and I proceeded to tell her all about it. She provided a sympathetic ear, and 'Oo'd' and 'Aah'd' in the right places, and in no time I started to relax. After all it couldn't be that bad. After a while she asked me who this dreadful person was. "Oh! Didn't I tell you," I asked. "No, you seem to have made him out to be a sort of enforcer for the mob," She laughed. "I expect he'll turn up dressed in black and wearing shades." So I told her his name. "Didn't mean a thing to me, some sort of artist and writer," I said. "I know him," she replied. "I taught him several years ago on an evening course. They were a brilliant group that year, sparked of one another, all older students, but they really worked hard, and produced good stuff. He was very clever, but always had an oblique angle on things. You should get on well with him." "You have to be joking, of course," I said. "He's coming in to rip my work apart, and I am supposed to get on with him? Huh!" Then we passed on to other business and lunch, and then as we were finishing... "You know, I don't think he will rip your work apart," she said thoughtfully. "If I remember him rightly, he will be very pleasant and just add a little something, you'll see." Yes, indeed I will, I thought. And, on that note, we parted. Monday morning I was at pains to look extra business-like and efficient. Adrian, who is one of my team and as gay as they get, looked up as I came in. "Ooh my, you look good enough to eat," he giggled. "Are you going to seduce the monster or are you going to the block in style? I told him to, umm, well, go and make love elsewhere, and stalked over to my desk. "Not very ladylike, I must say." I heard him mutter. I didn't feel very ladylike. It must have been getting on for mid-morning when my boss came in. With him was the ogre himself, except... well she was wrong, he wasn't wearing shades. And he was only about average height; balding; had spectacles, and a beard. What hair there was, was short and curly, as was his beard. He was very broad shouldered with only a slight paunch, and could almost have passed for one of those archers on the Mary Rose, you know, built like brick outhouses. He did a double take when he saw me; well recovered, I'll grant him, but a double take nonetheless. So the power dressing had scored; he gave me a very nice smile as he shook my hand. "Call me Greg," he said. If they weren't his own teeth he certainly had a good dentist. And, his hand was warm and firm, a big powerful hand and... if I wasn't careful I was going to like him. And, I just refused to do that. We got down to work, and I showed him everything we had done, which took us pretty well to lunch time. I supposed I was going to have to take him to lunch, when he excused himself and left me. A few minutes later he returned, and said, "All cleared, we'll go for lunch. I know this little place, just out of town where the food is simply wonderful." Not a lot of choice then. I didn't get a say, and lunch would be on his ground not mine. I surmised that I was about to be softened up, tenderised before he decide to barbecue me. Right, just wait and see how tough I am. We went out to the car park, and he led me to an elderly black thing, which was crouching in one of the visitor's spaces. I suppose it had central locking but I was quite sure that when he opened the door for me it had been left unlocked. Well, no one in their right mind would want to steal something like that! Greg got in and started the beast. Hmm, well at least something worked and after a couple of minutes I realised that the whole thing had risen several inches, at which point he selected drive and we were away. He slotted into the traffic and I began to hope that the brakes matched the engine, but he never seemed to use them. I asked where we were going, and was somewhat surprised when he told me. I knew the restaurant, but it was miles away! Nevertheless, with some neat work through the traffic we were soon out into the country. Very little had been said to this point, and I felt impelled to start a conversation. It's a bit like the police interrogation; they don't say anything, so the suspect feels obliged to. "How does your wife feel about taking other women for lunch?" Did I really say that? Oh my god, I have a shovel in my hands and I am digging a great big hole right in front of me and... A slight frown, and then, "Amused," he said, "We used to go to craft fairs to sell her stuff, and she always knew where to find me. A stream of attractive girls would come to her stand, more or less checking if it was ok to talk to me. Cherchez la blonde" "Oh." I decided on neutrality. "Do you know what these acid yellow flowers are?" looking at the fields we were passing with amazing rapidity. "Oil seed rape," he replied. "The farmers grow it because they get the best subsidy from the common market. Half the fields in this county shouldn't be ploughed up, but with the CAP still in place..." And I found I had touched a raw nerve. It was actually quite interesting, because, over the next few minutes he gave me a lot of good reasons why we should trade globally without restrictions, and that the problems lay with farm subsidies, governments, and companies that, whilst pretending to be capitalist and free market were in fact very anticompetitive and believed in closed markets, that favoured only themselves. And, then we were there. He was greeted with hugs and kisses, so I assumed that he was well known. "And who is this?" Asked the lady he had greeted as Sally. We were introduced, and he explained that this was strictly business and we were just getting to know how each other worked. Yeah, right. And Sally gave me a knowing smile. He excused himself, and I sat down, Sally got me a mineral water, and when she came back we chatted. "Greg's been very lonely since his wife died." she said, "He's thrown himself into his work, but every so often turns up for supper with a lady. He's such a nice guy but none of them seem to be right." So, that would account for the frown, and the rather non-committal answer earlier. I felt worse than when I just thought I was digging a hole, but really, he should have said. Then I realised, that he had in fact taken the shovel way, without embarrassing me by telling me just how big the hole was. Hmm... did he ever stop being nice? "Do you know his work," Sally asked, "I've several pieces here, come and have a look." She pointed to an amazing piece of pottery. Abstract in form it nevertheless gave the impression of being extremely sensuous. Sally must have been watching my face, because she laughed. "Yes, that's the kind of reaction that I get from most people when they first see it, but I've got one in my bedroom that makes this look quite staid. I get quite enough comment from people about this without putting that one on show." We went into the dining room and she pointed out a couple of paintings. They were very good. Greg returned. "Sorry, old men always have the same problem," he laughed. "As you get older, you get to know where all the bathrooms are." Lunch was simply wonderful. The conversation flowed, although looking back it was me who did most of the talking, but I just relaxed with him and enjoyed it. I don't normally drink at lunchtime but he insisted that I have a glass of wine ? you just can't appreciate the food without, although he managed - and then another. So I was quite mellow when it was time to leave, and since by this time I had no real desire to return to the office, when he suggested visiting our client I acquiesced quite happily. We had a fast run across rolling chalk downland, to a small market town, the 'Black Pig', as I discovered it was named, could eat miles in an amazing fashion. Through the town and over an ancient river bridge we left the main road and took to narrow lanes. After several miles we arrived at the most amazing village I had ever seen. People talk about picture postcards and chocolate boxes but this was the grandmother of them all. We pulled up outside one of the cottages and as we crossed the grass in front the door opened and three large border collies came rushing out. They all greeted Greg with great enthusiasm and immediately started to investigate me. Although I have never had that much to do with dogs, I apparently passed whatever test they applied, and was allowed into the cottage where James was waiting. "The dogs thought you'd never get here," were his first words, "Come on, we'll go up through the woods." So we were expected; not just James who could manipulate then. "Um... bit of a footwear problem," said Greg. James surveyed my feet. "Righto, spare wellies, play hell with your tights though," said James, with a grin. They're stockings, but I'm not telling. And off we went, with the dogs rushing ahead. I thought the climb up thorough the garden would never end, but eventually we came to the last step and out into woodland. This was fascinating, so much to see, so many different plants, flowers, even the grass wasn't just grass but many different kinds, they explained. We walked on through grass with clumps of bushes, nettles and curious ridges along the hill side apparently formed by animals walking along one after another ? if you look at sheep tracks in snow they are anything but random, I was told - the trees with flat undersides where cattle had stretched up as far as they could, to eat what ever was within reach, James and Greg laughing and joking and telling stories, until eventually, we walked full circle, and came back down the many steps through the garden. I slipped off the wellies. Quite right, they hadn't done my stockings any favours. We sat down in the sitting room and had tea in front of the fire. The dogs, having been fed, were lying in various different places according, apparently, to their status in the pack. Fed or not, they were still up for scrounging cake. This was all a complete novelty to me; my upbringing, living with my aunt, had included nothing like this. We had an easy run back to town, during which we discussed various aspects of the job, and Greg dropped me off at my car saying that he would see me in the morning. He waited for me to get in and start the engine, and then left. When I got home I phoned my boss, and had a lengthy conversation, telling him that I felt that things would be ok, and that we would most likely require only slight alterations. Well, I hoped that that was the case. The next morning, Greg is there, bright and early, and we are straight into the brainstorming session. There is surprisingly little alteration required, and I can see that what he suggests is very effective. So, then we are into getting everything finished, and ready to go. There is a large amount of work in this, and Greg works with anyone who needs help or assistance. All the girls seem to think he is just wonderful, and Adrian is besotted. In a quiet moment he tells me that I have to 'stake my claim there girl'. "He's old enough to be my father," I retort, "and anyway, I'm not interested." "Well, he isn't your father, and you are jealous of the attention he gives the others," he tells me. "Your eyes aren't just naturally green girl, you are very interested." I make a suggestion as to where he might go, and what he might do when he gets there, but he just smiles knowingly. Hmm... The problem is, that when I stop to analyse how I feel, I realise that Adrian is right, and this puts me into a real quandary. I now have a problem that has never been a problem before, because neither sex, male or female, has held any particular interest for me. I have always thought of myself as a woman, and no one alive has any idea that I am not. I have never had any great interest in any aspect of sexuality. But, now I am being forced to face it. Although I am physically as I am, I have never had any interest in women, but neither have I had any interest in men. I had assumed that this was because of the drugs that I take, or because I have a very low sex drive. And to be honest, I didn't think I had the 'hots' for this guy, well, not to start with, I simply had a tremendous feeling of attraction, to the point where I really didn't want to part company with him. Love, I suppose, and that was something new to me. By the end of the second week I was definitely having problems and sex had quite definitely reared its head. And I didn't know what to do. There was no one I could turn to, I had no idea how to go about getting what I wanted, or even if what I wanted was available. All the signs were that he was heterosexual, even Adrian, despite flirting with him, said that he was. It was the very fact that he would flirt with Adrian that gave me some hope. I ought, I suppose, to fill in some of the blanks, and answer a few questions about myself that I am sure are now buzzing around your mind like a swarm of bees. I was orphaned when I was three, my parents being killed in a car crash, and I was taken in by my mother's sister. I was, apparently, a small and very pretty boy, which suited my aunt, who hated men, very well. She was a widow who had been married to a very wealthy man. Until his death he had treated her very badly, and as a rich widow she had naturally been the target of many men. This had reinforced her feelings towards all of that sex. She dressed me as a girl, and to all intents and purposes that is what I became. I saw a documentary on the subject of transsexuals, a year or two back, that suggested that there was actually a small physical difference in male and female brains, and that some men, despite their outward appearance, had female brains, and that that was why they wanted to change. Perhaps by lucky accident this represents my own case. Whatever, I have always been perfectly happy as a girl. I was brought up quite strictly, my aunt being quite the lady, so dogs, walking in the country and contact with men was quite out of the question. My aunt had a wide circle of feminist friends, obviously including doctors, so it was no problem for her to start me on the appropriate drug treatments as I got older, and we had intended that I should have a full operation when I was old enough. However, her untimely death had rather put that out of my mind, because it wasn't as important to me as I believe it was to her. I had, as I have said, always felt that I was a woman, so what did it matter. Of course, sooner or later it might become a problem, but that had been something for the future. The future had, unfortunately, arrived. By the final day, I had determined that I should do something. I still didn't know what, but I was sure that if I did nothing, he would just disappear back where he came from, and I should be unlikely to see him again. I agonised over what he might think of me, but my hope was pinned on his reaction to Adrian, whom he really did treat just like the girls. And Adrian loved it. So on that fateful Friday I decided to take a taxi into the office, reckoning that I might be able to persuade him to take me home, and then we would see what would happen from there. I still hadn't thought in terms of sex, stupid I know, but I just hadn't. I sort of imagined that we might just sit and chat, and then make a date to meet up again, or something. Considering that I keep my life very well ordered in every other respect, this seems, in retrospect, quite bizarre. I realised, of course that he liked me and found me attractive. How strong that attraction was, I was not in any position to judge, but it proved to be much stronger than I could have foreseen. I say that, because having no experience what so ever, how could I judge? I was completely out of my depth. That I would, before the day was out, have my first sexual experience, never occurred to me for one solitary second. Bizarre? Complete, blind, barking madness. At the end of our Friday drink, I was just one complete flutter. Butterflies? I was just one big butterfly. Adrian came to my rescue ? he'll make some man very happy one day. "Something up with your car today, 'Chell," he asked, grinning. "Oh, oh, yes," I stuttered, "I um... I was short of petrol, and I didn't have time to get any, so I got a taxi." OK, so that was a total lie. It didn't even sound convincing to me, but I had been put on the spot. "Greg goes in your direction perhaps he could give you a lift," even bigger grin. "I'd be delighted," said Greg, "I'm sure it isn't far out of my way." I could have given Adrian a kiss, because unless Greg had asked someone, he could have had no idea where I lived. I realise now that, of course, he knew precisely where I lived, because Adrian had set me up! Having seen that my car wasn't there, Adrian had suggested to Greg that it would be a good opening for him, and from that point on I was no better than a rabbit caught in a car's headlights. Adrian knew of our mutual attraction, and he was determined to play the matchmaker. Kiss? There was even a point later, when I would cheerfully have poisoned his tea, but fortunately that passed. A few minutes later and we were in the 'Black Pig', and I started to give Greg directions. He seemed to know where he was going, and I now realise that he did. When we arrived at my apartment, he got out and opened my door for me, and I suggested that he might like to come in for a drink. I was feeling better now. I suppose that having committed yourself to a course of action you do feel more settled, and in any case, I still had no inkling that anything other than a chat, and a drink would take place. Well, coffee would be nice he said, because he had to drive, and whilst he might not always be the perfect citizen out in the sticks, there was no way he was going to tempt fate. Fair enough, coffee it would be then. We went up to my apartment and I started to get coffee going. Knowing that he hated instant, I got out the filter and boiled the kettle, whilst he was looking at my pictures and chatting away. I then excused myself and went to the bathroom, and while there took the opportunity to remove my bra, which for some reason had been cutting in, and make myself more comfortable. OK, I know that this sounds horribly na?ve, but it never occurred to me that this was, in effect, an invitation to seduction. I simply had no idea what I was doing. Back in the kitchen I finished off the coffee and picking up a mug in each hand, turned around. He had been standing behind me, and as I turned we were suddenly kissing. It was just like that. One second we weren't, and the next we were. And, I had no idea just how good being kissed was. No, it was better, much better than anything else. Ever. And I didn't want it to stop. After a moment or two it did. He took the coffee mugs from me and put them down behind me, giving no opportunity to escape ? not that I wanted to. I wanted more kisses and that was exactly what I got. The passage of more time... who knows how long... my brain in free fall; I hardly realise that he has picked me up and carried me to the couch. I still don't realise that this couch is the place of my seduction, that what passes for my virginity is about to be lost. Forever. I fleetingly wonder about the coffee, but the sensations I am receiving are too strong for me to concentrate on anything else, the hands caressing my breasts, for a moment I realise that the caress is on my skin, and then kisses, nibbles and oh! Oh my! Lips, tongue, teeth so gently nibbling nipples. And then I feel the button at the top of my trousers being undone, and I do not know what to do. I am holding on tightly, frozen, just like that rabbit, and I am so scared that I cannot speak or move. His hand moves slowly down, creeps under the elastic of my knickers, lower, lower, and suddenly he is aware that I am not as other girls. The next few minutes are just a blur. I know tears are flowing down my cheeks, I know that he is comforting me, I know that he is kissing me and I know that he is caressing me. I cannot say that I can remember any of this in any detail, just that everything seems to be better than I expected. But I am suddenly well aware that he has taken me into his mouth. And that the sensation is indescribable. If I thought that kissing was good, then this is... just... so much better. After a few moments it gets even better. Can it? Oh my, oh my, it can, it suddenly feels as though my entire being is draining out of me and into him. It is just out of this world, I am out of this world; and then it gradually subsides; and I am totally relaxed. I feel him pick me up and carry me to my bedroom. He puts me down on the bed and, he tells me later, I ask him to stay with me. I sleep, emotionally exhausted. I don't remember asking him to stay, but if I did, then I am very glad. It was quite early when we ended up in bed and about midnight I wake up needing a drink. Never did get the coffee, and it is still on the kitchen counter. Stone cold. I go to the bathroom and clean off my makeup, and back in the bedroom find myself a nightie. Only the bedside light is on, and I can see that he has thrown the duvet off and is lying there, naked. I am still a little dazed by what has happened, but feeling very happy. But I do remember what has happened, and that I didn't do anything for him. And standing there looking at him, I decide to return the compliment. I carefully lean over and take him into my mouth. He seems to go from soft to hard in the twinkling of an eye, although it could have been measured in seconds, it seemed that as my lips travelled down, the other end shot towards my throat and the girth increased in proportion. A few minutes of sucking, and gently moving my head up and down, and as he comes, he comes awake. A minute or two to finish and I look up and smile. "I hoped you would like that," I say. "I do like a girl whose hopes are so easily satisfied," He replies "I've never done that before," I say, and crawl up the length of his body, to plant a kiss on his lips. "Well, that makes two of us being fast learners then, you were certainly very good," He smiles. "And, I've never done that before either." I snuggle down. "You were very good too." I reach out and switch off the light. We kiss again. Oh my, but he does feel good, I just hope there won't be any problems in the cold light of day. We both drift off to sleep again.