Ancient and Modern
If you want to catch up on my adventures to date, you’ll find the list of all 118 blogs here: https://medium.com/@TracyTrouble
If you want to catch up on my adventures to date, you’ll find the list of all 118 blogs here: https://medium.com/@TracyTrouble
Cast your minds back to a couple of weeks ago. You may recall when I was out with Chris and Lizzie we went to a country pub and there was an old man there who, though having seen Chris playing with Lizzie, wouldn’t join in. Well, he’s been in my thoughts ever since.
I’d overcome my ‘man phobia’ with a virgin teenager and I wondered if I could do it with someone at the other end of the age range. Then perhaps converge on the middle.
I contemplated the idea of going back to the pub on my own and trying again. He had given the impression of being a fixture at the bar, so I was confident I’d meet him. Also, he’d seemed pleasant enough and looked fit, even if he had used the excuse of having a heart attack if he got more excited for not joining us.
So it was that by Tuesday, having had a relaxing weekend and feeling randy, I put my idea to the test.
He was there! Standing at the bar in exactly the same spot, propped up by a bar stool, his pint glass half empty in front of him. He looked up as the door opened and I thought I saw a spark of recognition in his eyes, but his facial expression didn’t change and he spun his head back to the bar. Probably thinking, ‘That sex mad woman’s back’.
I walked over to him and stood close. Not as close as I had before. Not invading his private space, but close enough to have a private conversation.
“Hello. Remember me?” I asked.
He turned his head slowly towards me and looked me up and down.
“Aye, you’re the lass who’s trying to do what government’s failed to do. Kill me.”
I laughed. “That’s right, but dying at my hand would be much more fun.”
“Aye. Proper laugh. Where’s your friends?”
“I came on my own. Looking for a strong, handsome man to rush me off my feet.”
“That’d be me then. I’m often mistaken for Clint Eastwood.”
I suspected when he stood up, he’d just reach my shoulder. His stomach girth probably matched his height, and I could count the hairs on his head with the fingers of one hand. “Yes. I can see the similarities.”
“When you was ‘ere ‘tother week I thought you was a bit do ally. Seems I was right.” I hoped his comments were dry humour. There certainly wasn’t any in his tone.
The barman arrived to take my order, the same surly character that was there last time. I asked what wines they had, and he reeled them off by heart — “red or white?”
I looked at my friend. “Can I get you one, Clint?” He actually laughed. “No love, if I exceed me quota, two things will happen. I’ll spend more time in loo than in bar, and I’ll start singing.”
The barman served my wine — white — and disappeared.
“So you really don’t want to have a bit of harmless fun?”
I have to admit the banter had rather taken the edge off my sexual appetite, but it was quite fun talking to the old boy.
“Lass, it might be harmless to you, but it could be the death of me.”
“Oh, come on, you look as healthy as most men half your age. I bet you can still get it up.”
“Not had any requests to get it up in a fair few years. No idea if it still works.”
I saw a glimmer of interest in his eyes, though, so I pushed on.
“Wouldn’t you like to find out?”
He didn’t look in my direction, but he watched me via the mirror on the wall at the back of the bar. The one behind the optics he’d used to watch the three of us before. He took a sip of beer. I guessed he made the pint last all evening.
His reply was not what I’d expected. “You wearing stockings again?”
“Yes, want to see?”
“P’raps. In a bit. Don’t ‘spect many girls stills wear them, dos they?”
“Not every day, no.”
“Why do you?”
“They make me feel sexy and a quick glimpse of stocking top has an effect on men.”
“You like affecting men?”
“Very much so.”
“All men?”
“Pretty much.”
“Why choose this old bugger, then? Plenty of younger blokes available.”
Since he’d asked, I explained my ‘man phobia’, its cause, and my attempts to work my way through it. Briefly, as I didn’t want him to die of boredom.
“So’s if I accepted your offer, I’d be doing you a favour rather than me? Helping with your mental state sort of thing?”
Quite why, I couldn’t work out, but he was clearly trying to find a reason to justify enjoying what was on offer. I was tempted to laugh, but kept it serious.
“Absolutely.”
“Well, in that case, go ahead.” I didn’t bother looking around the bar. It was busier than on our previous visit, but I wasn’t bothered and didn’t want to lose the moment. I pinched my skirt between my finger and thumb and drew it up my leg until the welt and suspenders appeared.
He was looking, but there was no indication that anything special was on view.
“Want more?” I asked. His lack of reaction perplexed me.
“Not here. Kev behind the bar would go ape shit.”
Letting him have a grope in the bar was one thing. Being alone with him outside or in my car something altogether different. He kept indicating he wasn’t capable, but I wondered. He was old, and as I’ve said, he looked fit enough. Was I prepared to go as far as I had with John? I told myself that had been the entire purpose of my visit, so I decided to plough on. See where it led.
“Outside then? In my car?”
“Bleedin’ cold outside.”
“The car’s got an efficient heater.” I countered.
“I ain’t very flexible.”
“I don’t want the part I’m interested in to be flexible.”
That got a reaction! He guffawed. It was a good job he didn’t have a mouthful of beer. It would have been all over the bar. His noise, (I couldn’t describe it as a laugh), was guttural and deep, and very loud, causing heads to turn in our direction.
He didn’t reply, simply quaffed his remaining beer, stood up, and called out to the barman, “Night Kev. Early bath tonight. See you tomorrow,” and led the way out.
Once outside, he turned to me, and I had a moment's panic. Was he not the harmless old man I’d taken him for?
“This is all down to you, luv. I might be eighty-four but I ain’t never done nothing like this. Not this side of the swinging sixties, anyway. Lead on.”
His comment calmed my nerves.
I led him to my car, unlocked it, switched the engine on, and said, “Your choice, Clint. Front or back?”
“What’s the difference?” Reassuring question!
“In the front, you get to watch me strip off and I get to give you a hand job or blow job. In the back additionally, you can give me some oral and if you’re good fuck me.”
Did I really say all that? What a tart!
“Where’s the catch?”
“There isn’t one. I’m not here to demand money. I’m here for a good time and help with my phobia.”
He was thoughtful.
“You likely to be back, or is this, as they say, a once in a lifetime opportunity?”
I laughed. “Depends on how much fun I have.”
“Not on how many old codgers you kill?”
“I’m not keeping count.” He went silent again. Then, “If I were younger, then I’d definitely be in the back, but even then that’d be the death of me, certainly if me wife, god rest ‘er soul, found out. Think I’ll play safe. Have a front row seat.” He opened the passenger door and clambered in. He kept saying he was decrepit but his movements so far had seemed supple enough. Getting in the car showed he wasn’t lying. Standing erect, he seemed okay, bending to get into the car I could see the pain on his face. Probably why he used a high stool at the bar.
I got behind the steering wheel and started the engine. “Er, luv, where’s we going?” There wasn’t concern in his voice, almost a child like excitement at an unexpected trip. “Sorry to disappoint you, Clint, just want some heat. By the way, what is your name?”
“Ha, wondered if you’d ask. It’s Geoff; with a G in case you plan on sending me a Christmas card.”
I was taking a liking to Geoff with a G. He had a great sense of humour and was clearly enjoying the unusual evening he was experiencing. With luck, he’d enjoy the next bit even more. I switched on the interior light, gave sufficient illumination for him to see what I wanted him to see, and swivelled round on my seat so I was partially facing him.
Things felt a bit contrived. Almost like being a stripper. I couldn’t just take my clothes off in front of him. I needed some interaction. I leant forward found his hand, placed it on my knee and helped it travel up my leg. It didn’t need much help and was soon moving under its own steam. First stop, my suspender snap. “Gawd, that takes me back.”
“To the swinging sixties?”
“More like the frilly fifties. Can’t remember quite when those passion killing tights came in. Might have been early sixties I suppose.” While he spoke, his fingers were exploring the outline of the clasp and then started working their way up the strap.
I undid my blouse and pulled it out of my skirt. “Have a feel if you want to.” It was almost like a rerun of John's visits, me coaxing him on.
The offer created a problem for him. Continue his journey up my skirt or have a feel of my tits? You’d probably do both, but he wasn’t able to twist around enough to do that. I wished we’d gone in the back.
I detected a slight tremor in his fingers under my skirt. That could have been excitement or age. I was sure it wasn’t nerves. His fingers arrived at my knickers and found their way in. Suddenly, everything changed. Until then, the evening had been lighthearted and the sexual element almost secondary. Now it became the only game in town. His fingers touching my lips threw a switch. Now it wasn’t an eighty four year old feeling me up. It was a man with a cock and it wasn’t my phobia’s warning bells that had changed everything. It was my need.
My hand went to his crotch. A bulge. I found the zip and yanked. My need was urgent. His fingers had opened taps and desire. My hand burrowed in. The bulge was growing. A solid mound hiding. I found the waistband. My hand went in, found the bulge and freed it. I don’t know if he had been lying about not knowing if it worked, but it stood to attention like a well drilled soldier. As tall as a grenadier guard. Without doubt, without a shadow of doubt, it was the longest I’d come across in this debauched spell of my life. Not as thick as John’s, but hardly pencil thin either.
He still seemed composed. I was sure he was joking about his heart condition, but kept one eye and ear on his breathing. It sounded normal. Almost too normal. I’d have thought having a woman’s hand touching it for the first time in years would have prompted a bit of an effect.
I wrapped my hand around it. Held it still. Savouring its length. I looked at his face. Perhaps I was wrong about the lack of effect. The look was one of sheer bliss. Like having an itch scratched you couldn’t reach yourself.
I moved my hand up and down its length. A marathon journey, no hundred metre dash. Now I heard a change in his breathing. “Oh, Luv. That’s magical.”
I took my time. Slow wanks. I didn’t want another John, unloading before I was ready. He seemed in control, so after a while, I bent my head down to take him in my mouth. His hand had long gone from my cunt, but now found a breast. I was cursing we weren’t in the back. I was uncomfortable, and he had his arm at an awkward angle, but too late to change. Too far down the road. His hand was doing its best. Kneading me. Pinching my nipple. I sunk my head the rest of the way. Took his cock. No way was I going to cope with his whole length.
After John's short sessions, this was a welcome improvement. I was now sucking and wanking hard. I had no nerves. No nasty phobia induced panicking. I was loving the feel and the taste. I couldn’t wait for his explosion. Anticipating the hot sticky substance filling my mouth.
He went ridged. I felt his cock twitch. I anticipated his cum. If it was relative to his size, I might drown!
He grunted. I waited. He sighed. I still waited. I felt the hardness going out of his cock. Nothing. I took my mouth away and looked up at him. He looked sheepish. “Sorry, luv. I should ‘ave told you. I ‘ad an op a few years back. Buggers up me sperm, or at least it made it a No through road. Sorry, but thought you might not want to go ahead knowing that. I feel guilty. False pretences, an all that.”
He looked crestfallen. Poor sod. He should have said. I’d have known what to expect. I told him so.
“It’s not a problem Geoff with a G. You’ve done me a great service. I know I can go ancient and modern now.” I leant over and kissed him. I did it lips to lips but intended it to be platonic. Father-daughter sort of thing. Intentions are one thing. As our lips touched he put his hand back up my skirt, burrowed his fingers into my pussy and started my feelings whirring. I held his lips to mine but poked my tongue out. He reciprocated. There was something about the kiss that I couldn’t place. Somehow different. Sexier. I put it down to the age disparity. We eventually broke and I said. “Okay, now your turn. That tongue is needed elsewhere.”
Ha. If there was ever a case of easier said than done, this was it. Luckily I have a spacious car, but having a geriatric sitting in one seat and wanting his mouth and my cunt in the same place proved a logistical nightmare. He didn’t have the flexibility to bend across and lick me out, so the hole had to go to the snake. I clambered over him, got my feet in his footwell, and then hiked my left leg up and over his seat back. Sort of doing an inelegant split. It worked. Perfect positioning. As long as I ignored my head hard against the roof, keeping my neck bent at an awkward angle.
I’ll be honest though. His tongue technique was out of this world. The extra sexiness I had experienced in my mouth seemed multiplied ten fold. I suppose, in theory, he could have had seventy years of practice behind him and it showed. It did things to me. Magical things. Don’t ask how. I don’t know. Perhaps he had an unusually long tongue. Whatever, what with his fingers in there earlier and my yummy munch on his cock, his lack of cum had faded into ancient history.
I would have happily let him lick me all night, but my body had other ideas. Bad ideas. Orgasming in the position I was in was not the brightest.
I’m not sure what I hit. What banged against what when I came. Not that I cared. The whole scenario was half deviant sex, half high farce. I’d soaked Geoff with a G, but he didn’t appear to mind. As my climax subsided, so did I. Eventually untangling myself and getting back into the driver’s seat.
“Wow, that tongue of yours is something else.”
“So’s I’ve been led to understand. Glad you enjoyed it. Hope it made up for being a lying old bastard.”
I leaned over and kissed him again squarely on the lips, but didn’t linger.
“Forget it. I can live without that. Not sure about your tongue, though.”
He squinted his eyes. “What? You proposing to cut it out and take it home then?”
I laughed. “Not quite. But I am going to insist on a rerun.”
“How’d you mean?”
“We’ll, doing this clearly hasn’t killed you. I guess you enjoyed it. I certainly did. I want to do it again. You up for it?”
“Bloody ‘ell luv. Getting up for the first time in god knows how long you can’t expect a rerun this side of Christmas.”
“No, I’ve had enough of your fibs, Clint. I know you’re capable. I bet you could be a five-a-night man.”
He snorted. “How’s you know that? Ain’t done that since before you was born I shouldn’t think.”
The light in the car wasn’t brilliant, but I could tell his eyes were twinkling.
“Now you're boasting. Look, joking apart, how about I come over in a couple of weeks and we do it again? This time somewhere comfortable.”
“I know a good hayloft.”
I laughed again. “No, no I’ve had enough straw getting where it shouldn’t. I could collect you and take you home. “
“Bit like a puppy, you mean?”
“Exactly. I could pat you and tickle your tummy and you could sleep curled up in a basket near the fire.”
“Sounds perfect. When?”
So that was it. I had a date with an eighty-four year old who shot blanks but had a tongue like nothing I’ve experienced.
