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It hadn’t occurred to me when I danced with him at the club in Ayia Napa. It hadn’t got through to me when we danced several times with the last two being pretty dirty dancing. It didn’t register when we went outside for a cigarette and we kissed and he felt my breasts. The penny didn’t even drop when he slid his hand up my, fashionably at the time in 2002, short skirt and he fondled my bare bum in the little thong. And it still hadn’t hit me when I was on a bed with him in the flat he and several other Brummy boys had rented. Most certainly the penny hadn’t dropped when he stripped me naked and fucked me twice within an hour. It was only later, around five am, when I was getting dressed to go to my hotel and he said.

“I just love older women,” that it got to me.

For the rest of the holiday as the three other girls and I cruised the bars and clubs at night and sunbathed usually topless during the day that thought kept coming into my mind. At 33 I was to many of the guys we danced with or who chatted to us round the pool and on the beach an older woman! God it did hit home hard.

*

Although I had married when I was 25 neither of us took our vows on sexual faithfulness all that seriously. We didn’t have an open marriage as such and it certainly wasn’t one where we told the other about our extra marital activity, we just got on and did it and kept our mouths shut. I had been fairly promiscuous during my early twenties having brief flings with 4 or 5 guys. My philandering activity picked up more during my thirties. Why? Well John travelled more on business, the children were growing up; Peter was born when I was 25 and Sara 2 years later and I went back to work. I think that was the main catalyst for the increase; available men who wanted some fun on the side seemed to be everywhere. Having said that, although my flings became more frequent, I certainly turned down far more opportunities than I accepted. The other factor, I often jokingly thought, that increased my opportunities was that after the children were born my boobs swelled up and never went back to their pre-child sizes but stayed at 36D. Those, my blonde, spiky hair and glasses, good legs and ‘great ass’ as I was told several times made for a pretty sexy package. I was and still am a sucker for such compliments.

So, the opportunities to be unfaithful were around largely with men my age or older, the typical ‘my wife doesn’t understand me’ brigade.

It was about then when my son Peter was 18 or so that I began seeing him in a different light. At the time my marriage was getting stickier by the next infidelity by either of us. Peter realised that things were not going well between bahis firmaları his mother and father and naturally I suppose, but rather worryingly in some ways I was pleased that he took my side. That meant us becoming closer and him consoling me when he saw I was upset and sometimes crying. Nothing really happened, apart from us cuddling during those comforting sessions, well I didn’t think so but on reflection maybe things did happen at least on our sub- conscious levels. Nevertheless, I got lovely feelings and sensations from being held and cuddled by him and in truth deep down I wanted more.

Probably the first instances of me seeing my son in a different light occurred when I was out and about shopping, at the gym or the pool and I would see young guys and compare them to him.

‘He’s not as good looking as Peter, he’s not as well built, his hair’s not as nice and so on’ started going through my mind.

Although my thinking about him was yet to become sexual, I found myself becoming more and more attracted to younger men. I put it down to the BIG four O syndrome that was rushing towards me! It may also have been the memories of Ayia Nappa and being fucked four or five times in a night, something that had never happened with John!

My always fragile relationship with my husband was deteriorating about as quickly as 40 was getting nearer and the frequency between sex was lengthening. So, circumstances were combining to make a fling with a young guy very appealing and I guess inevitable, unless of course the ‘older woman’ was sensible, with strong resistance and those qualities I do not possess!

*

That inevitability became a reality when I was in Devon on business staying at a B being a woman, blonde at that I couldn’t even find the spare let alone find and use the jack. The landlady said her neighbour’s son, Ellis, who did odd jobs for her would come out and help.

I had seen him at the B motherly instinct I thought at first until I began thinking about him sexually.

After he had been cleaning the cars for maybe 3 months I started inviting him in for a cup of tea or a cold drink when he had finished and I had to pay him. Then we would chat and whilst he was rather reticent at first he began to open up and we had some nice conversations that eventually got around to girlfriends. Standing in the kitchen one afternoon he said something about him being shy and not good at chatting or kissing. I told him that he seemed pretty good at the former and jokingly added.

“But of course, I have no idea on the latter do I?”

He mumbled something and I told him that like most things being good depends on practice.

“But kaçak iddaa how do I get to practice?”

“Well with girlfriends, I guess,” I replied filling his glass with lemonade.

“But I don’t have one.”

“The someone else I suppose,” I said as our eyes met, he raised his eyebrows and we both smiled.

“Come here,” I grinned.

Then we kissed and as it happens he was not that bad.

I was ready to go to the gym and was wearing a zip up track suit top and cropped ‘pedalpushers’, this was before yoga pants became the rage.

The kiss went on and became more intense as my tongue probed his lips open. Our hands wandered with mine running up and down his back and in his hair and his around my waist, on my back and marginally on my bum.

I told him that he was quite good and then when we kissed again I felt his erection. He apologised and I said not to worry and actually squirmed against it. He groaned. I pressed harder and then took his hand and put it on my breast.

“Squeeze it gently,” I told him

He did and after a while I pulled the zip down on the track top and he slid his hand inside onto my breast through the thin tee and bra.

I was now very worked up and into the idea of seducing him and told him to take my track top off. He did. We kissed more and he slid his hand inside my top and onto my bare skin just above my waist; it felt good.

I whispered. “Higher.”

He got the message and cupped and squeezed my breast.

We were standing in the kitchen and although it was safe as it was at the back of the house it didn’t feel right so I suggested we go into the lounge where there was a large sofa. We did and we sat on it. He told me that he loved my breasts and I asked if he wanted to see them. Not surprisingly he said yes. I took my top off and asked him to undo my bra which he did and gasped when he saw my bare, D cup sized tits telling me that he had only seen one pair before and they were very small. I pulled his face onto them and told him to suck my nipples. Then I unzipped him and slid my hand in. That’s where it all went wrong as he exploded into my hand and his jeans.

He started to cry. I consoled him, said it didn’t matter and asked how long before he would be ready again.

“When I jerk off I can do it again in under an hour.”

“Mmmm lovely.”

“And with you Jayne probably quicker.”

“Ok give me your jeans and underpants and we’ll give them a wash as we wait for the magic to return. Come on let’s go upstairs.”

I have no idea why but instead of taking him into the spare room or even the marital bedroom, I led him into Peter’s bedroom.

“Best here Rob,” I said explaining kaçak bahis that Peter was away and adding. “I don’t want to have to wash my bedsheets do I?”

Within half an hour we were naked in Peter’s bed and he was fucking me. Once more Peter was in my mind as groaning, grunting and moaning I was again mortified to realise that I was thinking that it was he who was in my arms and inside me.

The next couple of times Rob and did it pretty much followed the pattern of the first time, fortunately without the premature ejaculation but with the addition of him shagging me two or three times.

Then I spiced it up a bit by being pretty much undressed when he came in for a drink. The first time I was in a bikini as I genuinely had been sunbathing and the next, as there was no sun, bra and panties and then one of the last times when I opened the door I was naked. He reacted so well to my little sexual playacting with our record being four times in about three hours.

Rob and I didn’t do it every time he cleaned the cars, which was probably most weeks so, on average we probably had sex twice a month but each time two or three times. But as he got used to me and became less nervous what a sexual feast it became for me. It was years since I had been fucked twice in a session let alone three and even four times;.

The more we did it, the less Peter intervened until by the time we finished I was able to keep him out of the picture almost completely.

My flings with young Rob, he was 19 when we started, went on for over a year until he went to university. What a car cleaning service that was!

*

The ‘seeing’ Peter when I had sex was worrying. For some reason I found it easier to cope with him being my favourite masturbatory image and to continue comparing other young guys to him than having him come into my mind as those young men fucked me. It hadn’t happened with my husband or the few other older guys who had got into my knickers over the years. So why Peter was the question to which I could find no answer. However, as fate treats us that came along in the most unusual circumstances.

One evening just after I returned from the gym, the intercom buzzed.

“It’s me Jayne.”

“Hello Jack.”

“I assume you’ve heard?” he asked as I saw him on the tiny screen.

“Yes.”

“Can I come in?”

Without thinking, I replied. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”

“What do you mean?”

“Er nothing.”

“Then can I come in I want to pick up my stuff?”

“Ok” I said pressing the button that unlocked the high wrought iron electric gates that guard the ‘compound’ as the residents call it. Feeling edgy and a little nervous I watched him on the screen as he walked across the cobbled courtyard and approached the front door of the apartment. As he got near I pressed the button to unlock the front door and went to it and pulled it open.

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