Chapter Six
A year or after Paul moved away I had got into the habit of taking a cab to the upmarket Waitrose supermarket store in South Woodford, on a Wednesday to do my grocery shopping.
I enjoyed interacting with a group of women who spent some time in the coffee shop putting the world to rights.
On one such visit I was struggling to get a tin from a higher shelf, every time I thought I had it, it moved further back on the shelf. I was getting a trifle exasperated. Looking round I saw a young black man standing near me and smiling. He was very smart in his suit, tie and shiny shoes. I presumed him to be staff, perhaps one of the trainee managers.
Just casual racism on my part, but in my defence, this was Waitrose, and South Woodford, the area that had returned Winston Churchill to Parliament for 40 or so years.
I was quite short with him and told him to stop gawping and help me. He handed me the tin and smiled again, I stalked off without thanking him.
A little later I was sitting in the coffee shop when he walked up with his tray and asked if he could join me. I said something to the effect of ‘Shouldn’t you be working’, he laughed and told me he wasn’t a Waitrose staff member.
I was so embarrassed, I couldn’t stop apologising, but he was very forgiving and soon we were chatting like old friends over our coffees, until the other single old ladies parked their trolleys and came over with their coffees.
There were the expected ‘He’s nice, where did you find him’ comments, until they got onto the important business of their delayed hip operations and how useless young people are today.
A couple of weeks later I was waiting in the store to use the dedicated cab phone when he came up and asked if I would like a lift home as he was just leaving. He put my groceries in the boot of his shiny black car and took me home.
We had a nice little chat. He worked for a computer company who were hoping to get a contract with Waitrose and he visited all the stores in Essex and north London assessing shopping patterns and how people chose the queue they would join at the checkout. He was usually at the Waitrose store Wednesdays and Thursdays.
Wednesdays and Thursdays became my shopping days and I looked out for him, he wasn’t always there but if he was he bought me coffee and took me home, often sitting in his car outside my house just talking.
He told me some of his story, and I told him how I had come to move from Staffordshire to London. He had assumed I was widowed or divorced and was surprised to find I was neither.
His name was Micheal.
One Thursday he dropped me off at home and drove off.
I sorted out my groceries, putting stuff in the freezer and into the larder cupboard, kicked off my shoes and slipped into a comfortable t-shirt and jogging bottoms.
I had just put the kettle on for tea when there was a knock at the front door.
Michael was standing on the step holding a box of eggs which he handed to me.
I ushered him into the hallway. I think I burbled something about having tea, but he just stood there looking at me.
Suddenly he reached out and cupping my face in his hands pulled me to him and gave me a wonderful kiss. I could feel my heart pounding as I stood there like a fool clutching my box of eggs.
I stood on tip toe and kissed him back.
He gently peeled my hands off the egg box and put it on the bottom of the stairs and grabbed me pulling me against him hard and then his hands were all over me while he kissed me again.
I am 5 foot 3 inches tall, he towered over me, he was over six foot, so when he kissed me in his arms I had to bend my neck right back, so even when I kissed him it was as if I was surrendering to him.
I felt his hands under my t-shirt and felt my bra being unhooked, all the time I was thinking that it was going to happen, he’s going to take me.
,
When he let go of me I grabbed his hand and more or less dragged him into the living room, where he pulled off my t-shirt and bent me over backwards while kissing and nibbling at my nipples. When I could I tried desperately to undo his shirt, I managed to loosen his tie, but he was wearing cuff-links and I just couldn’t work out how to undo them with my trembling hands. That was when the laughter started, He playfully shoved me backwards until I collapsed naked to the waist onto my trusty sofa.
He began to undress very carefully. He took of his tie and rolled it up and placed it on one of my armchairs, His cuff-links went onto the side table, his shirt neatly folded onto the chair, his trousers again folded to preserve the creases went over the back of the chair, his shoes neatly side by side with the sock neatly rolled and placed each inside the appropriate shoe. His underpants were grey and moulded his buttocks perfectly, these were folded and placed on the arm of the chair. I thought He either has OCD or he was teasing me.
He was so beautiful, tall and slim, not over muscular but not skinny, and well defined. Paul's penis had been very thick and quite stubby. This penis was what I had expected from the talk of the pot bank girls at home in Stoke on Trent forty years ago, snakelike. Slender like him and at least a couple of inches longer than Paul’s, and instead of sticking straight out like Paul’s, Michael’s curved gently upwards from a little patch of curly hair. As I say beautiful.
As he walked towards me I thought he was going to use my mouth, but he grabbed the waistband of my jogging bottoms and pulled them and my panties up and off and threw them onto the floor, no OCD there then. he stood for a while looking at me holding my ankles up and wide, telling me all the things I wanted to hear and what he was going to do to me,
Then very gently and slowly he began pushing his penis into my vagina. I must have been very wet down there, because although it had been more than two years since I had been last used by Paul, there was no discomfort at all at first. There was a moment when he must have pushed my cervix up when I felt a twinge but that soon passed as my body got used to my new master.
I was totally lost to the sensation of his penis pushing backwards and forwards inside my body and became disoriented. Suddenly he pushed my arms around his neck and then putting his arms under my thighs he held my buttocks and stood up still wearing me.
He stood there pushing and pulling me backwards and forwards along his penis.
It struck me afterwards that he had been using my body to masturbate with. As for me, with my whole body weight on my clitoral area which was being dragged up and down his penis, the sensation was beautiful and magical.
I could feel a huge orgasm building up, and I am sure I was getting quite noisy. Just as I reached orgasm he bent forward and settled me back on the sofa, with my legs in my armpits and was pushing into faster and faster.
Of course, after a few thrusts I was gone. I was in another world filled only with the sensations flooding through my body. I was vaguely aware that he was groaning on top of me, and suddenly I felt his semen surging inside me and I had another smaller orgasm.
He was holding my face and kissing me and I realised he was still inside me. After Paul had ejaculated into me, his penis would shrink away almost immediately which always upset me a little because I wanted to hold him inside me as long as I could, but Michael had just softened slightly and wasn’t slipping out of me. I managed to wiggle my legs free and locked them behind his back holding him inside like a cork or stopper, until his semen had worked it’s magic. Sure enough, after a minute or so I felt that lovely wave of affection and love sweep over me.
We must have laid there for ten minutes or so, with my legs and arms holding him to me and so inside me. He eventually gently unwound me, stood up and walked out of the room.
I lay there with one leg hanging off the edge of the sofa and the other on some cushions on the arm, listening to him as he went upstairs. I could hear him opening the doors up there and he obviously found the bathroom as I heard the shower running. After a while he came downstairs and as I lay there in the same position,
I watched him get dressed, check himself in my big mirror above the mantelpiece and then without a word, or even looking at me, walk out of the room. I heard my front door open and close, and heard his car start and drive away.
I just lay there as he had left me, soiled and used; abused and thrown away like a dirty rag doll. I knew it served me right, it was what I deserved for responding to him.
It was a most glorious feeling.
As I lay there revelling in the emotions flooding through me. I could feel his semen leaking out of me onto the sofa that had cost me almost a month's wages.
Never mind, I would deal with that later.
