Afternoons With Mrs K. Ch. 01

Do you find that in this sometimes painful sometimes wonderful world of ours that life's pleasures are best enjoyed when they come unexpectedly? I do. That's how it was with me and Mrs Kellerman. Unexpected, and fine, very, very fine.

I met Mrs K when I was staying at my aunt's house one summer. At the time immediately before I met her, I was in a kind of down-hearted frame of mind. Shortly after I met her I was flying high on my own personal cloud. Now, I have a precise, precious memory of this beautiful, curvaceous woman of, I'd guess around her mid-fifties (it is rude to ask I've been told), with a warm smile and a kind heart, not to mention a ripe full figure and accommodating wet and warm mouth, pussy, and asshole.

Mrs Kellerman was a neighbour of my aunt's. I hadn't stayed at my aunt's for many years; she and my uncle had a large, rambling property in the West Country of England and my visit was not out of choice, it was a necessity. I'm in the British Royal Navy; I have been for the four years since I left university, struggling in vain so far to rise from my junior officer rank. I'd just finished a five month tour of patrol duty with no leave in a frigate around firstly Gibraltar, then the Gulf and the coastal waters off Iraq, not far from Basra. Not fun. Routine, mundane stuff, but with just enough possibility of violent encounters to never relax properly.

When leave finally came I headed back to my flat in London and looked forward to a couple of months relaxing playing sports, drinking with my buddies and making up for lost time with my girlfriend Fiona. This was not to be, however. Firstly, Fiona, who seemed to have lost about twenty pounds in weight in my absence making her appear drawn and skinny rather than the full-figured girl I first fell for, gave me rather a cool instead of warm welcoming home, and announced that she had got a "great" new job with an American publishing company and would be working in New York for several months, starting immediately; and secondly, and equally depressingly, a mere 24 hours into my leave I got a call from my ship's captain outlining the charming fact that in one month I would be skippering a motor patrol boat between the dangerous Iraq-Iran waterways for at least six months, and that as from the next day I would be on a three-week intensive Arab language course at a college in the West Country. It was not very welcome news, to put it mildly, although I'd do the best I could. 

After one night with Fiona and an unsatisfactory, quick fuck, which for me was just a brief release of tension and for her a quick break from talking about her bright future, I threw some clothes into a rucksack and caught the train West after my car, my very expensive car, whose rash purchase had left me flat broke for the immediate past and future, had refused to start. With my expenses to be paid, in true fashion, "at a later date," I rang my Aunt, who fortunately lived near the college and I arranged to stay there. 

My aunt and uncle were due to leave for a weeks break in Ireland the day after I arrived which meant I'd be alone with time to reflect on my dissatisfaction with my naval career and my clearly failing relationship with Fiona. Too much time for introspection, is not often a good thing, I've found. The college I was to attend, although a regular civilian, not military one, was on its summer break, so there were not even any fine eighteen year-old girls to admire. Instead, there were only a few language summer courses being run, and my time there was spent in a class with a dozen middle-aged male government employees brushing up their language skills for brief, lucrative postings in the Middle-East. The teacher was an annoying Algerian guy with a particularly sarcastic sense of humour, and I found learning the Arab language simultaneously both tedious and difficult. All in all it was a chore and a bore.

The town itself was small and insular in outlook; the nightlife where I could spend the little money I had seemed to consist of a couple of pretentious, expensive wine-bars full of couples, and scruffy pubs largely frequented by groups of late teenagers resplendent in their baseball caps and gold sovereign rings, swearing and sometimes dancing to loud garage and rap music. Neither entertainment was my thing. It seemed a few really dull weeks were likely, especially as the first weekend found me too short of money to even scrape the train fare home. Saturday passed studying and watching sports on the TV, and eating a bad microwave meal, followed by a couple of hours drinking alone in the local pub.

After a lazy Sunday morning spent reading the newspapers, followed by some lunch, I decided to do some work on the property outside, partly to ease my boredom and partly to catch some sun on a rare hot day. I started by checking the wooden fence which ran at the back and one side of the property, both adjoining a field and separating my aunt's garden from her neighbour's, Mrs Kellerman's. The fence was in fairly good condition, it just needing some panels renailed, and a small section of it begged some fresh paint. I found some tools and paint in the garage and set to work. After a while I began to get the satisfied feeling I have found before when working with my hands, and as I was only wearing a pair of denim shorts I was also enjoying the feel of the hot sun on my body. I was in a welcome kind of contented, dreamy mood.

I became aware of the sound of someone working close by on the other side of the fence, and moving to a part of it short in height I gazed over the panels and saw a very shapely female form tilling the soil of a vegetable plot. I recognised her as Mrs Kellerman, who I hadn't seen for years. I recalled my aunt telling me that her husband Alan had died a couple of years previously, and that her children had now left home. I guessed she must be fifty at least, but believe me she was in seriously great shape. She had that kind of body that carries a few extra pounds well. That is to say, she was a medium height curvaceous lady with very big breasts and a large, though shapely backside, with proportionately fairly narrow waist. She had a seriously sexy mature womanly body, a real old-style full hour-glass figure, which, as she was dressed only in a rather too-tight pair of shorts and a sleeveless close fitting T-shirt, was on glorious display.

My eye-feast was broken by her sensing my gaze and turning to look at me. She had shoulder length fairly wild dark hair with loose curls, and a smooth looking face, which was both very pretty and suggested intelligence. After a second's summing me up she recognized me from my childhood.

"Hello, it's Jay isn't it?" she enquired with a light smile on her face.

"Yes. Hi, Mrs Kellerman, what a beautiful day."

"Indeed it is, and please call me Hazel" she replied, and I became aware that she was looking at my face and bare upper body in an approving manner. 

My eyes met hers, which were a deep, dark brown, and her full lips formed into a really affecting smile, which I returned. My face then felt slightly flushed, and felt a familiar swelling in my shorts, as it hit me that there was obviously a mutual connection between us, a kind of lust at first sight.

We chatted away for a while, a light inconsequential conversation, but one which flowed effortlessly. All the while I could feel my cock, concealed as it was by the fence, hardening as I stole glances at her kind, high-cheek boned face and her ripe, full body. I realised I was turning into a fully fledged milf fancier. Normally I'm not much of a conversationalist but with Mrs Kellerman, things seemed easy and natural. 

Eventually our chat was broken by the sound of a phone ringing somewhere inside her house, and she excused herself, but not before inviting me to come inside in a while for a cool drink.

"Oh, I will," I virtually shouted out at her retreating figure. 

She glanced back over her shoulder and threw me the most killer sexy smile. I idled the next few minutes away, in absent minded fashion tapping in a few nails, receiving one sore thumb and two sore fingers for my lack of concentration. I knew there was chemistry between us, and fortune favouring the brave, I intended to 'try it on' soon.

After what seemed an age, but in reality was probably only a few minutes, Hazel appeared by her back door and gestured me in. I followed her into a tasteful drawing room and sat as directed on a soft leather sofa. Hazel joined me but sat a frustrating couple of feet away. We chatted for a minute or so and to my delight she was coyly stealing glances at my groin. Her expression suggested she liked what she saw.

"Oh, sorry. I forgot myself, what would you like to drink?" she asked.

"Oh anything would be good, but a cold beer would be great."

"I'll join you," she said, and I noticed her voice had taken on a girlish, slightly giggly form.

Hazel moved from the sofa to a tasteful wooden drinks cabinet at the far side of the large room to get the drinks, which allowed my eyes to take in those full, ripe ass-cheeks which filled out the cotton material of her shorts so nicely, and swayed seductively as she walked. It was warm outside, cool inside and burning around my crotch, as I felt a familiar light fluttering in my lower stomach and a hardening in my shorts.