Life was more exciting before the pill allowed freewheeling sex for all. Condoms were called ‘French letters’ in those days (the French called them ‘gants anglais’ – English gloves) and we only used them with prostitutes. The only other form of preventative was a dutch cap and on the whole the only women who owned them were married.

So where was the excitement? Despite the war and rationing, we were fitter then partly because we ate healthier food and partly because we were all broke and didn’t have cars. So we walked or bicycled. Even public transport, though good, meant getting to a bus-stop or station. So we were fit and young and our testicles and ovaries were buzzing away trying to find a purpose in life.

We were all pretty foggy about the rites and rituals needed to mate with one of the opposite sex without getting married. Buggery was still a criminal offence in those days so if you felt an inclination in that direction you kept quiet about it.

There is nothing like denial to fan the flames of desire and what we now call penetrative sex was a rare luxury to most of us. Even when achieved it was often as a result of a girl drinking too much while her partner for the occasion had not drunk enough to be struck by ‘brewer’s droop’. The next day tended to be filled with remorse and embarrassment.

And then I went to Rhodesia.

Southern Rhodesia in fact, when it was still a hugely productive uncrowded territory growing maize and tobacco with a lot of supporting metal working and light industry. I got a job assisting George, a management consultant, who was doing well organising various expanding agricultural and commercial businesses. He was a good instructor and I was a rapid learner so we did well and things were booming for us. I had taken a couple of rooms in a central hotel that had been built on spec for a tourist trade that never quite materialised and the management were pleased to be breaking even on them.

Then disaster. My boss was diagnosed with a form of cancer that then took no more than a couple of months to kill you. He was very stoical about it but his wife Stella had tackled the consultant who had made the diagnosis and was told there was a specialist in London who claimed he had been able to cure the condition using a new technique called chemotherapy. So it was arranged. George would go to London and I would hold the fort for him as best I could. The only problem for me was that George’s treatment was going to be expensive even with his health insurance and it would mean me living on a shoestring. So it was agreed I would move into George’s house with his wife Stella and his 16-yr-old daughter by his first marriage and their 10-yr-old son, to save me the cost of my rooms.

Stella and I saw George, looking pretty groggy, onto the BOAC flight to London at about 8pm and drove back to the Salisbury suburb, stopping for a light meal on the way. I did my unpacking in the spare room then went to find Stella who was sitting with a large glass of brandy and soda looking strung out and on the verge of tears. I helped myself to a drink and sat next to her as a gesture of solidarity. Stella would have been about 40 to my 26, she was of good Dutch origin which is to say fair haired, strong boned and nicely covered. She ws thoroughly organised and did most of George’s office work and typing, so it was new for me to see her looking less than confident.

“Are we going to get through this?” she wondered aloud. “Of course,” I replied “we just have to exude confidence and keep our heads.” I slid an arm round her shoulders and let it rest there lightly.

She dropped her head onto my shoulder and said “I hope you’re right.” We sat there for a while drinking with quiet determination. Then I saw teardrops landing on my shirt and felt her shoulders quiver a little. I took the nearly empty glass from her hand and put it with mine on the table behind the sofa, put both arms around her and squeezed while kissing her temple. She slipped one arm around me and rested the other on my thighs, pressing it between them as our grip on each other tightened. After a while she felt me stifling a yawn, it had been a long and busy day and I was tired.

“You must go to bed.” she said “Can I come and sit with you in a little while? I don’t want to be alone.” Of course I agreed, in all innocence.

So I went to my room, undressed, washed and brushed my teeth and slid under the sheet wearing pyjama trousers and waited. I was just nodding off when the door opened quietly and Stella walked in. I could see by the light of the bedside lamp that she was wearing something light with bare feet below. As she came towards me she seemed to have changed shape – the ample breasts were lower and more mobile – much more mobile and the shadows showed her nipples through the thin material.

She sat on the side of my bed and reached a hand out which I took and raised to my lips. Then she took my face between her hands and, leaning forward, kissed me lightly on the lips. Although her breasts didn’t fall out, they nearly did and it was clear that she was naked under the negligée. So I kissed her back, a little harder and the kiss lingered. It seemed quite natural when she lay down beside me on her stomach and we stroked each other to give and take comfort. When you are 26 and a voluptuous woman wearing next to nothing is lying beside you, you get an erection and the fitter you are, the longer and harder it is, especially if you are not getting ‘it’ half as much as you would like. She turned out the light.

It wasn’t many minutes before we were both naked and clamped together on our sides. My lower arm went round her waist with my hand squeezing her bottom and the other was working over one of her breasts with its nipple hardening and lengthening between my fingers. Her upper hand was on my arse while the lower one snaked its way down my belly and wrapped itself around my erection. She had let out her breath when she first felt it which was encouraging.

A nipple like that deserved a good nibbling so I swung off the bed and, kneeling, sucked the nipple and a good deal of breast into my mouth and kneaded the other with one hand while I stroked her face and hair with the other. She had changed hands but had quickly found my cock again and had started slowly to wank me. I moved my hand from her breast down to her navel and ran my nails across her stomach from side to side which brought uneven breathing from her. Quite soon I widened my explorations until I was brushing through pubic hair. It was soft and surprisingly silky and rose high above her crotch – I longed to see its profusion and wished she hadn’t turned off the light.

I changed position, moving the higher hand to the nipples while I put my tongue in her navel and run the other hand straight through her pubes and onto the insides of her thighs. She opened them eagerly and I teased her for a while letting my hand only brush very lightly against her secret places though my forearm and wrist maintained a steady pressure on her pubic bone. To tell the truth I had never fingered a mature woman and didn’t know what I would find.

I was by now being wanked with considerable urgency so I finally ran the flats of my fingers up her crotch. It was hot and slick and two fingers shot up her cunt as though they had been drawn in. Her grip on my cock tightened and her hips jerked as she whispered “Oh yes, please…please…PLEASE” in my ear. So I swung back onto the bed as she splayed her legs wide and I fucked her. Straight in, without touching the sides. Her breath whistled in my ear as I bottomed out for the first time. Her breasts were pressed out each side of my chest so I was able to hold one in each hand as we wrestled with each other. It took a little while to work out a satisfactory technique for both our needs and in the end I found she was happiest if, after putting a pillow under her arse, I supported my weight on my arms so that our only point of contact was my cock in her cunt. I could see in the dim light from the window that her hands were each side of her head and her knees and hips moved in time with my down drives. After some steady pistoning she suddenly moved her hands down to her groin and pressed her clit down against my accelerating penis. Finally, with some loud gasping, she grabbed both cheeks of my arse with her hands and forced herself onto my cock and I fell back onto her heaving breasts and I could feel her spasms beneath me.

Unlike story books where everybody cums simultaneously, I hadn’t, although I had longed to. Stella obviously had and, unlike most women, now wanted me out and off her. She was gentle but determined, so reluctantly I withdrew my rigidity and lay on my back. Stella immediately rolled over with her back to me so I did the same in the opposite direction and we lay bum to bum. To my surprise I found myself waking up without being aware of going to sleep. There was gentle breathing next to my head, a pillow half way down the bed and a hot round bottom pressed against mine. I recalled the action of the evening and I also remembered that I still had a load I hadn’t fired off. So I carefully turned over and with a couple of strokes had my penis harder than ever and ready for work.

Sliding a hand over Stella’s waist I reached down through her pubic area while I pressed my cock between her buttocks. Pretty soon it emerged between her thighs and I guided the tip into her relaxed and compliant cunt. She half woke and made a purring sound, then moved her hips a bit to make things easier for deep penetration. There was no mistake second time round and it felt like a pint that I squirted deep inside her in the course of four or five muscular spasms. When I had finished grunting and twitching she made a happy noise in her throat, slid off the bed, felt round the floor and put on her robe. She planted a kiss on my lips while I squeezed her swinging tits and she left me, whispering something about the children. Before I dropped off to sleep I wondered what the morrow would bring.

Anyone interested?