Tart Of Gold Ch.2 free porn video

He showed me into the room next to the one we were in. I should think it was once a dining room. It was as he had described it. The lighting made it feel comfortable, even cosy.

“I’ll leave you to undress and put on the gown that’s hanging over there. I’ll be back shortly.” He went out and closed the door behind him.

When he came back, I had done as he asked, but I said to him “I’m not going to pussyfoot about with this thing if you don’t mind,” and shed the gown.

I saw him swallow hard, and then it seemed as if he was having difficulty holding back tears. I went up to him and put my arms round his neck. “Are you o.k.?” I asked.

He didn’t answer but turned away and said I should get up on the massage table. “There are towels there in the unlikely event that you want to cover any bits up. Can you start by lying on your side facing away from the wall, with your knees bent?” I did as told. He put a thin pad between my knees.

He now stood beside the table on the side I was facing. He must have warmed his hands some way, as they didn’t feel at all cold. He was massaging the lower part of my back, pulling towards him and releasing, his fingers all the while applying a rhythmic pressure, feeling the muscle and sorting out the knots and tangles. After several minutes, he asked me to roll over and face the other way and he repeated the exercise on the other half of my back.

“Now lie on your back, please. Rest your hands down beside you, legs out straight.”

Now he stood behind me and started, with the gentlest of pressure, to massage my neck, stretching the muscles. His gentle touch moved to the scalp and he seemed to be using the same sort of motion that hairdressers use when shampooing your hair, but nothing like so vigorous. When he moved to the face it was to caress it and stroke it, moving tiny bits of muscle by millimetres. I desperately wanted to kiss him, but I was uncharacteristically restrained.

His next move was to stand at my feet. When he’d asked me to lie with my legs out straight he hadn’t said anything about them being tight together, so I had my feet about 40 cm apart, giving him an excellent view… well, use your imagination. His first act was to pick up my feet and move them together!

I have a thing about foot massage – a positive thing, that is. This was one of the best; even better than the pediatrist I sometimes visited. I had each foot massaged individually, and then in unison, and this is the point when I almost fell asleep. Probably to wake me up he began to work on the thighs. Just as I had wanted to kiss him when he was touching my face, I was now almost desperate for him to advance to my vulva, but I suspected, rightly, that he wouldn’t.

Then he turned me over and, hands under chin, I waited for further delights. They were not long coming. He started at the top, and working on the shoulders and neck from behind, his touch became a bit firmer. I knew he was working on those muscles that we all recognise as signals of how tense we are. So he was telling them to relax and not be silly. They seemed to understand, I let out a long sigh.

I was longing for him to get lower, which he did, but only after stretching and coaxing the long back muscles. He’d now got to the lowest part of the back, which had been the first part he’d worked on. I find that bit, just above the point where the buttock cleavage begins, to be particularly sensitive. He somehow knew it, and the mode changed from massaging to stroking. I wasn’t going to sleep now! I raised my butt a few centimetres: no good: he quickly pushed it down again, quite firmly.

However, he obviously felt it was time for a little more vigour: standing at one side of the table, it must be doing his back in, but I realised that having me adopt any position from which he could massage both buttocks at once would have been well… compromising. I decided to make the decision for him and shuffled back until my knees were at the end of the table, with my feet and calves overhanging. Then I opened up my legs so that he could stand between them. Needless to say those bits coyly referred to as ‘private parts’ were on fine display. No shame! Still, hopefully, it saved his back. Anyway, he grabbed a small pillow and placed it strategically between my thighs. Pity.

“Too distracting,” he said, “But thank you anyway.” He proceeded, much more comfortably for both of us, and I gained because he could work on my bottom well - I suppose I have to admit it – until I was dripping. Good job he’d put a nice soft towel under me. Once again I’d have loved him to go further and explore that valley between the buttocks, but I had to be content with the sexiest massage my little bottom had ever experienced. Whether it was because of his excellent technique, or whether it was because I loved the masseur, I didn’t much care.

Goodness, did I say ‘loved’? I told you earlier that the only people I really loved were Mum and Maisie – M & M, as I liked to call them – and Tyler. It seems that Colin had slipped into that very select category.

All told I suppose I had been on the table for about forty minutes. “You’ve definitely earned a rest,” I told him. “Go and sit down. I’ll put some clothes on and then I’ll come and pour you a drink.” I hopped down from the table and out of the corner of my eye, I saw he was watching me. I went to him and put my arms round him and rested my head on his chest. To my surprise and pleasure, he responded by putting his hands round to lay them on my bottom and oh-so-gently squeeze.

“You have a beautiful body,” he murmured in my ear as he let go of me, unwrapped my arms and left the room.

When I came to him in the other room, I thought for a moment he was praying: his hands were together and his head bowed to touch them. I poured us drinks.

“Thank you with all my heart for that,” I said. “It was not like anything I’ve experienced before. Do you ever go further than that with your clients?”

“You mean stimulated them sexually?” I nodded. “A few of them have asked, and there are two women that I have tried it on. I knew both of them fairly well before it happened.”

“Was it successful?” I asked.

“I think so. Both women were very matter-of-fact about it. They said it was much better than the alternative, which was DIY. From my point of view, there is a satisfaction in bringing a woman to orgasm in a sensual and respectful way, and sometimes introducing them to new sensations.”

“Such as?”

“For example, women of my age were brought up to believe that the anus had no part to play in sexual relations between a man and a woman. That fed into and out of abhorrence of homosexuality. I was able to use a little subtle manipulation to convince them that bottoms had a worthwhile part to play!”

“Do you find it interesting that neither of us have had a lifelong sexual partnership, nor been monogamous for long, and yet we are still able to help people to get more enjoyment from their sex lives?” I was curious to know.

“I don’t know if you feel as I do, but it seems like a great privilege.” He smiled at me.

“I’m greedy: I want more from you, and I want to give as well as receive. Will we be able to do something about that?”

“Maybe. Now I must walk you home before I fall asleep.”

***

We walked home, arm in arm, and when we got there I asked him in. “Come in, come and spend the night with me,” I almost pleaded.

“I promise it will happen one day, but not yet.” He kissed me on the cheek and walked away.

Thinking about it later, I wondered if he was just teasing me. But he didn’t really seem the kind of person who would play games like that. He certainly wasn’t shy, but then I realised that in recent times, with the housekeepers and his massage clients, he had kept things entirely under his own control. I was clearly different. He knew that I wanted control as much as him, so perhaps he was just sending a message that we both had to give up some of this need to be in charge – a message as much to himself as to me.

I had to recognise that my own feelings had changed. I started by enjoying the privilege of having a male friend who was just that – a friend, and not a potential seducer. I still wanted this to be a special and different kind of relationship, but I’d like to be able to show him in a physical way how much he meant to me. Although he was still a physically attractive man, he was eighty, and I would be lying if I said I lusted for him. So what I was feeling was new for me: a complicated mix of body and heart.

***

I felt quite pleased with the explanation of his behaviour I’d come up with, and next time we met up I was determined to talk about it. We were at my place, and I had just cooked a risotto, which I had taught myself to do after I’d eaten it at a local Italian restaurant with M & M+. We had no more life history to cover, so we were at leisure to talk about us.

“I’m sure you realise that I’m wanting to make love to you in one way or another. I want to try to explain why,” I started a bit tentatively. “This is a new thing for me. You may find it difficult to believe after all the sex I’ve had in my life. There have been blokes that I’ve lusted for; some I’ve felt sorry for; some I’ve really liked without wanting sex with them. With you, some of the feelings I have for M and M are involved. It’s a warm, comforting feeling, and knowing that they are there is reassuring. I don’t mean that I need them in a practical sense, but I feel they are part of what makes me who I am. It’s the same with you, and there is the added thing that I want to show my feelings in the way I know best, with my body. I want to give that to you, and I want you to have the chance to give it back. Of course, I don’t know whether you feel anything like this, but I trust you enough to ask.”

When I looked up I saw that he had tears rolling down his face. He pulled a large white handkerchief from his pocket and mopped up. I had the urge to go and comfort him, but I resisted, because I hadn’t finished.

“That is the most beautiful thing that I’ve ever had said to me. Thank you,” was his reply.

I started again before he could say any more: “I thought a lot about your reluctance, and I think I may have an answer, which you might not have admitted to yourself. I think that in your relationships with women, for many years, you have been in control. Whether it’s housekeepers or clients, you have called the shots. I’ve been the same. I haven’t for a moment allowed myself or my sex partners to get out of control. You had a business that you controlled even to the extent of deciding who you would employ and delegate to. I haven’t had quite that control, but in the supermarket, I was a team leader, and as a tart, I always chose who I allowed to fuck me. I think what you are doing by keeping me at arms-length – literally – is telling us both that we may have to lose a bit of that control.”

I was taking a gamble here. Perhaps he really would rather I faded out of the picture, but I somehow didn’t think so.

“That’s brilliant,” he said after thinking for a moment, “I’m tempted to say you’ve been wasted, but who am I to judge that? I don’t want to lose my independence, and I’m sure you feel the same. But you have become an irreplaceable part of my life, and I couldn’t bear to lose you. So we must find a way of staying as we are and adding to it. I need a bit of courage to let go some of a shield that has become like another skin. But I’m happy to try.”

***

That’s how we came to move on. His suggestion was that we tried another massage session, and this time, he was prepared to do anything I asked. I thought that was a good compromise, as we both had an element of control.

So next week, I was even more excited. I was impatient to get beyond the eating, but he always produced such lovely food that I was seduced into eating slowly enough to relish it properly.

When we got to the massage, I let him follow the same pattern as last time. I was allowing myself to be relaxed in a delicious way. Besides his fingers were sexier than most of the cocks I’ve met in my busy life!

While I was on my back, I asked him to include my boobs this time. I was a bit sad that they were not the lovely perky little creatures that they were thirty-five years earlier. No matter, he made the most of what was there, and being an engineer, he understood the structural limitations of my twin peaks.

By the time he’d finished with the second breast, I had to ask him for a towel under my vulva, which had started to shed tears of joy.

“Please, can you let your lovely hands whisper to my cunt’s ladies-in-waiting?”

I was trying to be a bit poetic so he wasn’t put off by unnecessary crudeness, or too much medical jargon. Anyway, he understood perfectly. He reached for a little oil to add to the party down there and began to stroke my pussy lips, oh so tenderly. I was beyond enjoyment: I think I was moving to another life and I asked God could it please be like this if I got to heaven?

The time came to turn me over. Again, he repeated what he had done the last time. When it got to the point where I had ‘opened up’ and he had shoved a pillow up my crotch, he let me expose all that I had there.

After he’d finished massaging the buttocks, I asked him to explore the valley between them and show me how the anus could be brought into play. Soon he had found the target and, with a little bit of oil to lubricate, he began to circle the wrinkled ring as softly as a goose feather. It made me tingle. Gradually, he increased the pressure until his finger entered and slid in to the first joint.

I rolled half over to face him as he stood at the side of the table. “I’m open to you now. Go where you will. Just bring me to a climax. Make me cum for you. Please.”

When I had rolled over to face him, it had occurred to me that in this position, all bases could be covered, except, of course, the breasts – he only had two arms, unfortunately. He was obviously aware of the same possibilities, so I finished up with a finger in my arse (left hand) two fingers in my cunt (right hand), and the right thumb rolling round my clit. Now, I ask you, can a girl ask for more? All these digits were not idle; each one moved in an appropriate manner, in and out, up and down, round and round, all with the appropriate vigour or gentleness.

You don’t need to be a genius to work out the result. What you don’t know is how long it took, or how long it lasted. Neither do I; I had long since lost any track of time. This man was a master of his craft, and the fact that I had decided I loved him made it a moment for mind, body and heart to come together joyfully. It wasn’t as complicated as I’d thought.

Colin left me lying on my back, after he’d gently rolled me over. Then he found a blanket, so soft that it must have been cashmere, and covered me over before quietly leaving. I don’t know how long my little cat-nap lasted, but when I came back to full consciousness, I got off the table and put on the gown. I really wasn’t ready to get dressed, so I wandered next door in the gown, to find Colin sitting reading.

“Hello,” he said. “You were my best ‘subject’ so far. I’d like to lend you to some of my other ladies to teach them relaxation and how it isn’t necessary to be entirely passive during this sort of sensual massage. I loved the way you moved your legs and bottom subtly and minimally to join in without spoiling my rhythms. I was hoping you wouldn’t try to put your arms round me, which would have been awkward.”

“Oh, how I wanted to! And how I wanted to kiss you when you were touching my face!”

“Do you want to adopt your usual position on my lap?” Silly question, as I demonstrated. He looked at me in a way that I was sure meant ‘kiss me now’. I put my lips to his, my tongue to his. We were properly joined for the first time, and I made the most of it. I don’t want you to think that I raped his mouth, because what I did was matched by his response. It was entirely consensual and very erotic. Bear in mind that in this position my vulva was resting – or wriggling around – on his groin. If he became erect I would certainly feel it – but I didn’t.

“Please, may I stay the night?” Long pause.

“I’m anxious not to disappoint you. I’ll be honest; I don’t know whether I’ll be able to fuck you or not. My penis, who you should know was once named Benjy, appears to be an anarchist. He accepts no rules and decides for himself what he’s going to do, and when he’ll do it.” He looked me in the eye when he said this, and I thought I saw just a tiny bit of a smile.

“Listen to me now,” I said in my best school-mistressy voice, “I’ve been fucking regularly seven or eight times a week for thirty of the last forty years. By advanced mathematics that works out at about 12,000 fucks. On the other hand, apart from Tyler and Maisie on the odd occasion, I have never spent a night in bed with anyone. So which do you think is going to be more important to me: my 12,001st fuck, or my first night sharing a bed with a bloke of my special choice?”

“You’re very clever. If you’d decided to extend your evil empire it would by now stretch from Land’s End to John O’Groats and you’d be a multi-millionaire. Speaking entirely selfishly, I’m so glad you didn’t.”

“So what’s the answer?”

“Of course, you can stay the night, and welcome.”

“It just so happens that I slipped a few things into my shoulder bag, but I didn’t bring a nightie.”

“Do you need one?”

“I don’t, but you may.”

“I haven’t worn one for years.”

***

Reading this you probably think “O.k. so they’re going to bed together; what’s the big deal?” Well, it was. I hadn’t done this before, and he had doubts about how his elderly body was going to perform. No pressure then? Strangely not, but that didn’t mean that what was to follow was anything but extraordinarily special.

The first thing to do was show me his bedroom which was spacious like the rest of the house and without much ornament, except for two enormous paintings of jazz scenes by a friend of his. They were full of bright colour and lots of movement and I loved them, they were so full of life.

Colin said he didn’t really like so-called en-suite bathrooms, but he showed me into one of the two bathrooms near the bedroom. Remember, I’m still in the gown, with nothing on underneath. He went into the other bathroom to undress, and I brushed my teeth and combed my hair and had a pee. I also thought I’d better wash my nether regions, which had been active participants in the massage. Then I went back into the bedroom and sat on the bed. It felt very odd. I usually undressed my clients. Most of them wanted sucking off, which I could do while they were still partly dressed. In fact some of them remained that way for the full session, but others liked to show off what they thought was a magnificent body!

When Colin came back into the bedroom he too was wearing a gown, so our first act was to remove each other’s gowns. For an eighty-year-old, he had a loveable body. It didn’t have the attributes of someone younger: there were no well-formed muscles showing, and the skin had lost some elasticity. To my mind, this was compensated for by the fact that he was so comfortable in his body. Although he had a lovely bush, still golden brown, around Benjy, the rest of his body was almost without hair, and what there was seemed more like down. He still had a discernible waist, without a belly sticking out. I looked him up and down and then into his eyes.

“I love what I see,” I said, and put my arms round him and gave him a big hug. I think it was the first time I’d been able to do that to a naked male without a rampant cock digging into me. I had to get used to the idea that if Benjy stubbornly refused to join in, it wasn’t my fault. You can’t tell anarchists what to do.

We got into bed. It was still warm enough not to need the bedclothes over us immediately, so we could enjoy each other’s bodies freely. I liked Benjy. He was a good practical size (as far as I could tell), easily accommodated but not insignificant. Sounds quite posh that – like a very up-market furniture salesman. I thought Benjy would expect that sort of recognition.

“Would you rather I didn’t do this,” I asked as I fondled his rather lovely cock.

I don’t mind at all. I’ll tell you if it changes. Will you come and lie across me?”

I shuffled over and lay diagonally across him. Access to Benjy denied. He put his arms round me, and kissed my hair, then found an ear, clearing a way with his tongue until he could push it into the cup of my ear, then nibble with lips at the outer edge. I was at first startled. I remembered that Mum had told me how some people loved their ears to be gently played with, but this was the first time I’d discovered that I was one of them! His free arm now began to stroke my bottom; he sought the wrinkled ring and played with it; slid his hand between my legs and found the slot between the lips but didn’t attempt to enter. He withdrew and started to stroke my back from neck to buttocks.

If I tried to describe what I was feeling at this time, I would fail. The stroking had the same slightly hypnotic effect that I had felt on the massage table: the difference here was that we had full body contact, and what a difference!

Now his arms were wrapping round me again, hands quietly moving up and down my spine. I was drowsy and fast falling asleep.

I’ve no idea how long I slept. I apologised for dropping off.

“Why apologise? I may have intended for you to do what you did. I’m really happy that you felt so relaxed. I should apologise for myself and Benjy.”

“Please don’t do that. You know what I said about what was most important. Turned out to be absolutely true. I couldn’t be happier.”

I lifted myself off his poor squashed body and started to caress the skin as lightly as I could. On his back, he was open to me, and I took advantage, but leaving Benjy to make his own mind up. I worked on all the other bits, though. The softer sides of his arms and thighs seemed particularly happy to get attention. When he began to look as sleepy as I had felt earlier, I got over him and sat down over his cock, trying to ignore it. I took hold of his feet and massaged them. Then I lifted my bottom and shuffled back so that my bum was only a foot away from his face. I lifted his sleeping cock with fairy hands.

“Can you give my bottom some loving please?” I asked. I felt hands and fingers soon doing all the right things. I cradled the reluctant cock in one hand and stroked with the other hand, treating the object of desire like a softly purring cat. I detected movement. I continued for a few moments, then, when I was sure that interest was aroused, I took it in my mouth. I suppose what I did with my mouth, teeth and tongue was like we’ve all done many times with a particularly delicious ice cream cornet. As Mum wasn’t watching, I could slobber away as much as I liked, swirling my tongue round the gradually hardening lollipop: the opposite of ice cream, which always gets softer – didn’t want that.

I was getting excited. Yes, I was aroused, but more excited by the fact that the reluctant Benjy had decided to join the party. I kept telling myself, “It doesn’t matter if he collapses.” In fact, I became convinced that I had already achieved what I wanted.

Nevertheless! “Please keep working your end. I’d really like a well-lubed finger shoved up my arse please,” I called to the rear guard.

That took a few moments and while it was happening, I was finding the space in my mouth around the stiffening cock was shrinking. Now or never, I thought, like a battle commander, I summoned resources. The fingers on my right hand encircled the base of the now-impressive weapon and squeezed firmly. Keeping a hold on ‘things’ I took my mouth away, sat up, lifted off a bit, shuffled into strategic position and lowered myself and the target area which reconnaissance by the left hand had located and prepared for entry. Only when dear Benjy had found a new home, did I release the right handhold.

The sense of achievement was immense! Battle honours were awarded.

“How are things back there?”

“Brilliant, delicious, fantastic.” With the aid of some nifty wrist-work he’d managed to keep my bottom-hole part of the action. ‘Command and control’ was suitably appreciative. Mention in dispatches.

“The next bit may result in premature withdrawal,” I warned, “But it’s really worth a try. I want you to prepare to roll onto your right side, keeping Benjy right where he is. You might want grab hold of me, and I shouldn’t try to leave your finger where it is. We can always replace it.”

So we rolled. “Bring your knees up and give a good thrust to make sure the lad is well and truly home and not dry.”

After that, instructions were unnecessary. We were fucking!

Best ever. Truly, I’ve never felt such electric energy. If we’d been made of metal there would have been a storm of sparks. This position is great for people losing mobility because the body is supported along its full length and the hips and pelvis are free to rotate with the thrusting movement.

Colin started very respectfully: the tempo was leisurely.

“It’s really delicious, lover. Don’t think you have to but if you’d like to go at it a bit more vigorously feel free.”

He began stroking my back; his finger found its way into my bottom again, and a hand reached round to search for the clit. With all that arranged he began to increase the speed and vigour of attack until there was a loud slapping sound as belly and buttock collided. Still he pounded on. I was amazed at his stamina. I could cum any time now. From the feel of his cock it seemed like he too would cum quite soon. A final quickening, and accompanying sighs and cries from us both, finished with a shout – no, two shouts! – as we came almost simultaneously.

I wanted to cry with joy. It seemed that the twelve-thousand-and-first fuck had turned out better than expected, in fact better than all the other 12,000.

I turned to him and tried to say how wonderful it had been: that I’d never understood how sex could be other than a means of selfish pleasure, but now I did: that I felt joined to him as to no-one else apart from Mum and Tyler.

“You were brilliant. Had you worked out how you were going to do it in advance?” he asked, obviously curious.

“Dropping off to sleep helped! It made us so much more relaxed. I didn’t plan that,” I confessed.

“I thought you were just tired or bored. Then I realised that you had simply done what I had hoped you would and relaxed. Hadn’t quite expected you to lose consciousness, mind you.”

“So we both had a strategy to try to get the other one to relax. What a great master plan! We might have been so successful that we didn’t wake up ‘til dawn.”

“I think it would be an excellent plan to sleep now don’t you?” he asked.

“Ah dear, no stamina these eighty-year-olds.”

We arranged ourselves as spoons and fell asleep almost immediately, waking up about six hours later, immediately started stroking each other in the places we were learning were most liked. Strangely for me, I wasn’t itching to get fucking again: but then I’d never woken up beside a bloke that I’d been with for the last twelve hours, and who’d already massaged and fucked me. The sensual pleasure of simple touch, skin to skin, was a novelty. I thought, but didn’t say, that I wasn’t sure I minded if we never fucked again, so long as we could lie together like this.

***

This began a period which I look back on as amongst the happiest of my life.

I would never have been able to write this but for him because he got me reading again. He first handed me a book by an author called Sarah Dunant called ‘In the Company of the Cortesan’.

“I don’t want to turn you into an academic, or even a bookworm, but you haven’t had time to read much,” Colin explained, “and now you’ve got a little more leisure, I think you’d find it stimulates your imagination to take you to new places and new experiences. The book I’m giving you now seems like a good starting point because it’s about a tart; a very up-market one, but nevertheless that’s what she was!”

I read the book, and I confess I was tempted to give up a couple of times, but having got into it I found it exciting and the characters weirdly attractive.

Colin had introduced me to the guy who ran the bookshop in town, and suggested I went to see him when I’d finished reading the book he gave me. I could talk about it to him, tell him what I thought of it, and get some suggestions about what to read next. I did that and chatted to Will, the tousle-headed thirty-something who ran the shop. I liked him – and he seemed to like me, because he spent ages suggesting books based on my comments about ‘In the Company of the Courtesan’, and my long neglect of reading proper books.

I started to read quite a lot, and as I read I looked up the ‘Good Reads’ website and compared my reactions to those of other reviewers. Sitting down to read was quite different from watching telly. Reading appealed to my need to control: you can stop and start when you want and you can partly create the characters for yourself. Watching telly, you can feel as if you’re being led by the nose – which you’ve probably gathered I don’t much like.

Colin took me walking, too. He introduced me to The Ramblers Association, a group of walkers that had started officially in 1935, the year that Colin was born. Their local branch was a very mixed bunch by age, sex and occupation, but they all loved to walk, and I joined them. I had always walked a lot; remember, I never had a car. I walked the parks because I loved the greenery and the changes with the seasons, but I’d never walked in open country.

I soon got a real taste for it, and I actually enjoyed the physical tiredness I felt after a day’s walking. I was lucky that Colin took me to the meeting points a few times, and depending on the length and difficulty of the walk he would walk too. When he didn’t feel like walking, or had other things he needed to do there was another couple who seemed happy to take me in their car. Mr and Mrs Baker lived not far away, and became good friends.

I didn’t have much of a garden – not much more than 20 ft. wide and about 50 ft. long. I decided that I was going to make something of it other than a dirt patch. I talked to Colin about it, and he suggested that I could do without grass, and put in a slightly winding gravel path that got narrower as it got further away. Then either side I could plant small trees and shrubs with other flowers near the front of the beds. One of my neighbours up the road had recently retired and was a mad-keen gardener. I went and asked him if he’d like to help me, and offered him a generous hourly rate. He was delighted. I didn’t consider payment in kind as he had a lovely wife that I certainly didn’t want to upset!

You may be wondering about my second line of business: the supermarket had invited me to do a job-share as assistant manager, so I did three days one week and two the next. I was earning about £1000 a month before tax, and that was plenty to keep me going in the lifestyle I had adopted, now that the mortgage was paid off.

So aged fifty-seven I decided that I’d had enough shagging to order, and I closed my doors to clients. Some that I’d known for years were quite upset and several even brought me flowers. I thought about making exceptions, but decided it best to make a clean break and I was careful to thank them all for their custom and offer them a free fuck if they had been regulars. It seemed little enough: buy 20+ and get one free!

Colin and I continued to enjoy each other in bed and we spent three or four nights a week together. I always liked to give Benjy a little attention, and occasionally he responded by lifting his head, although he didn’t often stand up straight. I had no difficulty at all in accepting that was the way anarchists behave, and the unpredictability made it all the more interesting. When he did decide to play we joined together so happily as our bodies seemed naturally compatible in every way. We both liked to massage and be massaged, so that was another lovely thing to share.

Sitting one evening in my workroom – now turned back into a dining room – Colin asked me if I had reservations about hooking up with someone so much older.

“Only one,” I said.

“Which is?”

“The statistics say that I’m likely to be left without you.”

“I’m aware of that, and sometimes I feel guilty that I’ve allowed us to get so close in the knowledge that I shall probably leave you at some point.”

“You’ve allowed? Wasn’t I involved? I thought what we’ve done has always been what we both wanted.”

“You’re right, I know and I apologise.”

“Accepted of course,” I said.

“Do you remember the first-time massage, you took your gown off and stood there in all your beautiful nakedness, and I cried? It was partly selfish grief that I’d lived so much of my life without you. But also that this was the moment when we were committed, like it or not, and that death would probably take me from you.”

“But you’ve made my life so much more interesting. It won’t compensate for losing you if that’s what happens. But I shall still be a much happier and more fulfilled person than if we hadn’t committed to each other.”

I stood up and held out my hands to pull him up too. I kissed him, a serious kiss, lips to mouth to tongue and then a kind of swimming pool with two swimmers determined to explore each other in every tiny detail.

I took his hand and led him upstairs and into the living room. I marched up to the desk and leaned over it.

“I’d like to have use of your special tool, Mr Harwood. I wonder if you could have a look and see if everything is in order round the back there,” I asked, remembering Mrs Sharp’s request.

I was wearing a dress, no underwear.

“I’ve been a naughty girl, wearing no knickers. Do you think I need a spanking?”

“I’m afraid so, Jan. My special tool won’t work unless you’ve paid for your naughtiness.”

I felt him lift my dress. I wiggled my bum. He landed a wallop on my right buttock, then left, and continued until I felt beautifully warm. I felt fingers on the tight little hole that must be staring at him (I’d secretly pulled the buttocks apart). I passed him the lube oil which just happened to be standing on the desk! A few drops were all that was needed to let him do as he wanted round there.

“I just need to feel around inside a bit, Jan, to make sure everything’s alright.”

The fingers very cautiously entered reserved areas, front and back.

“How’s the special tool doing, Mr H?”

“It’s just about ready to get to work. In fact, here it comes…”

It slid into my cunt beautifully. Benjy was my cunt’s most welcome visitor ever, and when his politics, or whatever fuelled his anarchy, didn’t get in the way he certainly qualified as a ‘special tool’, working with craftsmanship and energy.

Today was such a day: rare but highly valued.

I was royally fucked. Colin and I carried on a running commentary, using the rudest words we could think of, which made it extra good.

*

Mum was getting frail. She’d had a hard life, always going the extra mile for her work and other people. She’d gone on doing locums at the care home until she was pushing eighty. Fortunately, the manager was huge fan of Mum’s and she made sure that Mum did the easiest shifts. When Mum showed signs of fading the Manager gave her retirement and a big party. Mum still went up to the home to see some of the residents who didn't get many visitors.

Now it was my turn to repay some of the debt I owed to Mum. I called on her every day or two, did shopping for her and paid for a taxi when she needed to see the doctor or go to the hospital. I cooked some of her meals and put some in the freezer, and I cleaned the house once a week. Tyler was brilliant too. He made a point of visiting her every week and did odd jobs round the house and garden. They had a lovely relationship built on the affection they felt for each other which started when Tyler was born. Mum used to tease me by calling me ‘the tart of gold’. I didn’t mind, in fact, I loved it!

In different ways, I was as busy as I’d ever been, but I loved my life. I felt completely independent, and yet I had these two elderly people who relied on me in completely different ways. My only cause of sadness was the fact that I was probably going to lose them both before too long.

My dear friend Maisie had lost her live-in lover, who’d pushed off to live with someone much younger. To be honest, I’d never really taken to her. It was simple, really: she seemed to me one of those people who took a lot more than they gave, and Maisie was the opposite, so she often got exploited.

Maisie was another one who often visited my Mum, who described Maisie as ‘a good-hearted soul’. I also introduced Maisie to Colin, who sometimes invited her to supper when I was there. I can’t say that they were ever going to be close friends, but as far as Colin was concerned a friend of mine was a friend of his. I bet if I’d fallen under a bus Colin would have looked after both Maisie and Mum.

Colin and Mum were an unlikely couple, but they adored each other! They spent hours, it seemed to me, exchanging yarns about their childhoods and working days. Often when they were together and I was doing a bit of housework, I’d hear roars of laughter coming from the two of them. They teased each other too – she called him the Professor, and he called her Florence – not sure if that was as in Florence Nightingale or Florence on ‘The Magic Roundabout’, but it amused them anyway!

****

Colin and I continued to share a bed for three or four nights each week, but fucking became an infrequent occurrence. Did I mind? I couldn’t imagine doing it with anyone else, so if he wasn’t up to it I was content with his company and the lovely cuddles and strokes we had in bed together. He was also fantastic at giving me orgasms with hands or toys, and some of the best I ever had were with one of his arms round me, a butt plug where it belonged, and his fingers working their magic with the whole of the vulva: clit, labia and cunt, played like a musical instrument, with me enjoying the changes in tempo and the sweet finale.

On the occasions that we did decide we wanted to fuck, he took a blue pill before we got going. That made it less spontaneous than it had been, but amazing when it all worked. I was really content and, as I’ve explained, this was new territory for me.

We managed some fantastic holidays too: Scotland, Snowdonia, Pembrokeshire, York and the Yorkshire Dales. We’d discussed the possibility of going abroad, but the problem was that I had never been anywhere outside UK, and he was losing confidence as he got older. Then I had a brilliant idea! Colin’s daughter Mel, who was only a few years younger than me, had become a good friend. She had been abroad many times, so we asked her if she’d be our minder for a trip to Italy. She was delighted. So was I.

Our Italian holiday was a huge success. I loved flying and decided that when I came back for my second life I was going to be a pilot. We got on really well together, and with Colin’s Italian, and Mel’s organising ability, and my talent for flirting with waiters, hotel managers, taxi drivers policemen and street cleaners, we made an impressive team. We visited Florence, Rome, Venice, Sienna, Perugia and other places I can’t remember. We hired a car, which Mel drove most of the time, and thank goodness she wasn’t a mad driver or I’d soon have been puking.

We were away for nearly three weeks, starting off a week after Easter at the end of April. By the time we returned, Colin was tired, even though we had been careful to pace things and give him plenty of resting time. He was in his mid-eighties now, and although he was well, he confessed to lacking the stamina he’d once had. For me, it had been a lifetime experience. I loved Italy, and the Italians and the language. When we got back, I was determined to find classes and learn to speak some Italian. I was encouraged that, by listening very carefully, I had been able to pick up a few words.

***

As I had feared and predicted, Mum and Colin died within a couple of years. Mum went first. She was eighty-three, and she got pneumonia, quite possibly from a resident in the care home she still used to visit. I looked after her, with help from nurses and so on, at her home. She had told me that she didn’t want to be revived if she lost consciousness. She was worn out, really, and the idea of ‘eternal rest’ was very appealing.

I wasn’t prepared for how hard it hit me. I had been half-expecting it for some time, and I thought I had dealt with it. It was a real sadness that I felt: it seemed to me she had deserved a better life than she had. When I got over that initial feeling I realised that we shouldn’t try to guess at what other people wanted in their lives. Mum was a great carer: of me and Tyler and everyone she came into contact with. I think it gave her a kind of happiness, and sense of achievement to make peoples’ lives better.

Colin’s death was simpler. He died beside me. I woke one night to find him sitting up in a state of confusion. He said he didn’t feel well, but couldn’t explain how. He kept asking for people he’d never even mentioned to me, and rambling on about he didn’t want to leave me. I tried to calm him. I kissed his forehead, which was cold and clammy and held his hand. I wouldn’t ever be separated from him, I told him. He carried on in a more and more disjointed way and then stopped. He was looking straight ahead of him as though he could see something that I couldn’t.

“I love you, Colin Harwood,” I said. He seemed to half-smile then tried to take a deep breath, making a curious noise, then a long sigh.

He was eighty-eight years old. With him, I had begun to live a life so much more rewarding than I could ever have imagined. I could have called this story, tongue in cheek, ‘Tart of Gold’: it could equally well have been called ‘Eyes Wide Open’.

I cried a lot over the next few days, but there was an awful lot to do, and I couldn’t allow myself to go to pieces. Besides, I told myself, he died having achieved so much, and with loving people around him: that’s a lot more than most of us manage.

***

Amongst the things that I had to do over the next week or two was to visit his solicitor. I had applied for the death certificate, but I had to find out what else I needed to do. Mel was coming to stay a few days to help with the sorting out.

A week later, Mel and I had arranged valuations and begun to clear stuff from the house. I was glad that she and her brother were to inherit. She’d told me that Colin was quite a wealthy man, but she really seemed more interested in handing money on to her children than looking forward to a lavish lifestyle herself.

Mr Watts, the solicitor, was efficient but kindly – as all good personal solicitors should be. He first handed me a letter addressed to me in Colin’s hand.

“When he gave this to me,” said Mr Watts, “he said it was personal, and did not need to be read in front of witnesses.” I put it in my bag.

“Mr Harwood’s wishes in respect of your good self were fairly straightforward. He and I had known each other for a long time, and I was a great admirer. I want to do everything he wanted as he wanted it done. He has left you a bequest of £500,000, free of tax.” I gasped. “He instructed that you should have £100,000 immediately. The remainder he wanted invested on your behalf to produce an income for the rest of your life. At the moment that should yield about 3%, meaning an income of about £12,000 a year. I have made enquiries of a few firms of independent financial advisers, and I have selected one for you. Of course if at any time you want to change them, or if I think that they are not doing a good job, we can talk about it and perhaps change. I have no legal status as far as this money is concerned, but it was Colin’s wish that I should keep an eye on it for you. Do you have any questions?”

“I’m almost speechless. I’m more than happy for you to help me look after this fabulous gift. Thank you. One question: what happens to the £400,000 when I die?”

“Well, first remember that it won’t necessarily be the same sum. It might be less, or it might be more. You may want to go into a private nursing home, or be looked after at home: then we would need some of that money to help the finance. £12,000 a year would not be nearly enough. Whatever is left when you die is yours to leave to whom or what you want. Colin was at pains to make me understand that this money should not become a burden to you, which is why he asked me to help.”

“Thank you again. Sorry I can’t say more at the moment.” Up to this point I’d been able to control the old waterworks, but at this moment, it was touch and go.

“One more thing,” said Mr Watts, taking a small, long package from a desk drawer, which he handed to me. “I have no idea what it is, but he asked me to give you this. I’d rather you didn’t open it now. If I saw what it was I might feel I should include it as part of the estate.”

***

I walked out of the office in a state approaching trance. I’ve told you that I never set out to be stinking rich, and Colin had judged it perfectly. The £100,000 would allow me to have some fun now, and the rest would give me security for life.

I went home on the bus. As I looked around, I wondered how many passengers would believe that I was now quite well-off. But I mustn’t think like that, I should try to forget it, which was what Colin wanted, and why he’d asked his friend Mr Watts to look after things for me.

I got home. I opened the package. Inside was a beautiful leather case, and inside that was a necklace which I saw immediately was Italian. Of course. It was a simple rope of gold made up of hundreds of links that made it flexible. It had a centre piece of three rings just large enough to slide on the rope: the two outer ones were polished gold, and the centre one platinum or white gold studded with diamonds. I thought with a lump in my throat what a stunning gift this was, so carefully selected to be simple and stylish. I put it on and looked at myself in the mirror. Magic. Then I saw that there was a printed card in the lid of the box.

FOR JAN, THE TART OF GOLD

Friend, Mentor, Lover

With Gratitude and love – Colin

You don’t blame me for shedding a tear, do you?

I’ll end this story with the message that was in the envelope. I think it says as much about Colin as about me: I’ll leave you to decide.

Dear Jan,

When I met you, or rather ran into you, I couldn’t have known what you would come to mean to me. Fate had me standing at that window. I ran into the road in fury.

I loved hearing about your life: so impressed with the way you had managed it. I laughed with you and I sympathised with you, but you never made me feel sorry for you. I decided to take you under my wing, so-to-speak. It was a very patronising thing to do, except that it wasn’t, because I could see that you wanted to reciprocate and take me under yours!

It worked quite well, didn’t it? I introduced you to a few new interests, and you reconnected me with a real world, where I had to recognise that people around me were not just extras there to complete the scenery. You were so real! All flesh and blood, heart and brain. If we’re going to love each other, you seemed to be saying, it has to be full-blooded, the real thing.

That night when we made love for the first time: you’d worked it out and you weren’t going to let me slide out with excuses about my ageing body. I knew then that it was for always.

I’m so sorry to leave you. You will recover and have fun again, and with my heartfelt blessings!

Always,

Colin

THE END