A Woman Of A Certain Age
It was just after the Sunday morning service had ended at St Jude’s when I spotted her and I thought for a woman of her age she had a particularly nice figure.
She had just come down the steps from the church and had stopped to converse with friends.
At the time I was sat at a table outside the Café Espresso just opposite the church.
I’m not a Christian myself but I often sat outside the Church on a Sunday morning.
I know that sounds very wrong, but in my defence I sit there waiting for the Phoenix shopping centre to open, but I have to admit I do get a kick out of ogling all the Christian women in their Sunday best.
I knew her slightly, her name was Lorraine Lyon and we were both members of the same Golf club.
She was a wealthy woman by all accounts, which was self-evident by the way she was dressed, though her financial status was of secondary concern to me.
Everything Lorraine wore was quality and she was always immaculately turned out.
So I was quite surprised on that day to see her standing chatting on the concourse wearing of all things, leggings, expensive, good quality leggings, but leggings nonetheless.
My surprise quickly abated though as I looked at the exquisite fit and was just thinking to myself that she had a very nice arse when she shifted her body weight from one leg to the other and turned slightly towards me just as a beam of sunlight fell upon her, or at least the part of her I was looking at, and as it illuminated her hind quarters it revealed as clear as day her big black knickers underneath the exquisitely fitted leggings.
It was at that point I decided to chance my arm; after her conversation was over I got up and went over to talk to her.
“Lorraine?” I said
“Oh hello” she replied, “Mr. Scanlon isn’t it?”
“Please call me Michael,” I said
“Michael” she complied
Then we chatted about the Golf club and the upcoming ladies day
“You must be in with a chance of a medal” I said “A player of your standard”
“Oh dear me” she said all flustered “I don’t know about that”
And having duly flattered her to the point of blushing I invited her to lunch which she graciously accepted.
I was confident that she would, after all a woman of her age would always be at the very least flattered by the attention of a younger man especially one 9 years younger.
I’ve always been attracted to older women, not too much older five or ten years normally.
But of course by the time I reached my 50s there seemed to be an overabundance of suitable candidates for my lust, widows mainly, which kept me gainfully employed.
We had had a very pleasant lunch, which consisted of three courses, two bottles of wine and an abundance of flirting, at a very decent restaurant from where after plying her with liberal amounts of wine I drove her home.
“It was a very nice lunch Michael,” she said as I pulled up on the drive outside her very large house. “Thank you”
“My pleasure” I said
I had further pleasure after she’d invited me in for coffee when I liberated her from her expensive leggings and then to our mutual delight I tugged off her classy black knickers.