A quick recap: in You Can Borrow My Sister we met a lovely, mature woman called Brenda, who had an open arrangement with her husband so they could both enjoy some extramarital excitement to relieve the tedium in their small town. But Brenda had a sister, Jeanette, who was recently divorced and Brenda thought it was time she got some sex again. Would I oblige?
It would be churlish to say no, so…
Jeanette was adamant that she didn’t need a man for sex, or anything else, for that matter, and Brenda knew her sister well enough not to push the issue. But if she were to meet someone by chance, that might be a different matter. Especially if the man knew the score. And even better if it had been established that Jeanette liked the man.
My phone rang one afternoon.
“You busy?” Brenda said.
“No. Why?”
“She’s going for a walk. Right now. She’ll do the circuit from the bookshop across the river and round the new pedestrian path almost to Brindleton and back. You know it?”
“Yes.”
“Go!” Brenda urged and put the phone down.
A WhatsApp arrived seconds later. “Wash your dick just in case”
I darted into the bathroom and gave it a quick soapy rinse. Did Brenda know something I didn’t, such as that her sister could quite happily give you a blowjob up a country lane on a chance encounter? Stranger things have happened.
If Jeanette was starting at the bookshop, I had better do the circuit the other way, so I could bump into her, rather than chasing her like a creep, so that’s what I did. It is about an hour’s walk at a leisurely pace, and sure enough after twenty minutes or so I saw a figure in the distance, heading my way along a path through fields full of sheep.
As we got closer I pretended to look at the scenery, which was no hardship because the hills are beautiful around there. I tried not to imagine her, naked and apprehensive, in her bedroom or mine, but having a good idea of how her body looked because it was probbly similar to Brenda’s, my thoughts were firmly entrenched between her legs, licking her and sucking her long-neglected clitoris as I rode to the rescue, the knight in shining armour, ready to rush her back to womanhood after her season in the sexual wilderness.
Some women really mean it when they say they don’t need sex or a man to make them feel whole, but I thought Jeanette was made of girlier stuff than that, and Brenda had put me up to this anyway, so it wasn’t entirely down to any misguided or patronising sentiments on my part.
She saw me 100 yards away and promptly started looking at the hills herself. Was she having sexy thoughts? If this worked out as I hoped it would, I would ask her, but women are notoriously reluctant to admit that sort of thing. All the same, I found myself thinking about Rosemary, an old song by Scott Walker in which a frustrated middle-aged woman looks back on her unfulfilling life. Something about bringing back the hands of a travelling salesman. She trembles beneath him once again.
I wasn’t doing this as a kindness to Jeanette, though. I wanted to get her into bed for my own purposes, to assuage my own hunger for female company, and the natural lust which we all have. Oh shit, Jeanette. Let’s get naked and rude as nature intended.
I flushed all this out of my mind as we grew close enough to look up and say hello. I feared she might just keep walking, but no. She stopped and stood there, self-conciously fiddling with the zip of her outdoor jacket. We talked about the hills and the sheep and eventually she said, “Seen much of my sister lately?”
You know the reply that flashed through my mind. “All of her.” I had to physically stop myself from saying it.
“No,” I said lamely.
“That’s not what I heard,” she laughed.
“Well…” I said, frantically searching for a good line. Jeanette helped me out by changing the subject, but quickly returned. “She wants me to… she’s quite keen, I think, wants me to get to know you, see if you’re the irresponsible git you seem to be. No offence.”
“No,” I spluttered. “I don’t think I’m that bad. But I’m the wrong person to ask, of course.” We started walking in the direction she had been going and the chat flowed easily once we had tittered our way through a few details of my relationship with Brenda. Because it appeared I did have a relationship with her, or she had given Jeanette that impression. Or perhaps she had given her that idea as a kind of cover so that she could get my relationship with Jeanette up and running under camouflage.
When we got back to town we stood awkwardly at the pedestrian lights. “Aren’t you going to invite me in for coffee?” she asked brightly. “It’s early.” Uncomfortable with my reticence, she added, “I won’t eat you,” and my hesitancy hit me like a blush. We popped into Sainsbury’s for some milk and there was something intimate about it, grocery shopping together. The staff probably all knew us individually and now they were seeing that we knew each other. There would be gossip in the staff room.
Having reached my place with our incriminating litre and a half of semi-skimmed, I contemplated the situation. I had better not move in too quickly, better just use this afternoon as the generally accepted no-sex first date, the innocent foundation that women of our generation usually expected. Was that still the same with couples several decades behind us? I had no idea. Things had changed a lot, but anyway, I wasn’t trying it on with a Gen Z girl, I was going to not try it on with a mature woman of my own age, a so-called “boomer”.
We sat opposite one another at the dining room table and talked politely for a few minutes before Jeanette brought up the Brenda business again. Had I kissed her? She said I had. And if I had, it obviously wouldn’t have ended there, Jeanette mused. I looked at her blankly and smiled.
“Go on,” she urged. “I’m dying for details and normally she’s very forthcoming but this time she’s keeping something from me. Is it something kinky? Is she embarrassed to tell me?” She frowned and shrugged and continued, “No, you’re too much of a gentleman to tell me.” She looked me deep in the eyes. “But you know what they say about gentlemen,” she said, looking down at her knees.
“What do they say?” I asked, a glimmer of wickedness having entered the proceedings.
“Dark horses, then,” Jeanette said, almost forcing the words out.
I gave it a second before answering. “Do you like dark horses, then?”
“It’s not me we’re talking about,” she countered.
“But would you like a dark horse?” I pursued. “Would you like…”
“Would I like what?” she said firmly, having stood up suddenly and now standing with her lap in front of my face. I instinctively put my arms around her, which in this position meant around her buttocks, and pulled her towards me. That meant my face was pressed against her pubic region. She put both hands on my head and then on the sides and gently pulled me up. We stood facing each other and all the politness had gone, replaced by a torrent of lust.
I pressed my package against her and she smirked. “Mmm,” he said, amused and taken aback at the same time. “Have you got something to show me?”
We kissed gently and then, having passed some instinctive mutual test, we did it firmly, properly. I unzipped my trousers, undid the button and placed her hand in there. She felt me through the steamy cotton of my underpants.
“Stay there,” she said, sitting on the settee. “Now pull it out.” I reached in and pulled out my erect cock and full balls and she just stared. “Come here,” she whispered, so I shuffled as best I could to stand in front of her. Just as her pubic triangle had been in front of my nose before, so mine was now close to hers. She seemed to be consciously deriving pleasure from the sight of my excited bits, and the leisurely way she breathed told me she liked the aroma too. She poked out her tongue at the base of my dick and ran it up a little.
“Men don’t know what it’s like to be ogled,” she said quietly. “It makes you self-conscious, doesn’t it? Not revved up or overstimulated. I want you to undress. Completely. Yes, here,” she added as she saw me looking around at the bedroom door.
I wasn’t as proud of my middle-aged body as I had been of the younger version, but when I looked at women like her with their softer, less perfect skin and extra fat I liked it. I presumed she felt the same about men. She was the woman next door taking charge of a sexual situation with the man next door and neither of us was going to get signed up by Hollywood. But here we were on our own little film set and it was real, it was thrilling. It was daunting, yes. But real. I was having an actual sexual encounter with this ordinary, respectable woman. We had hardly touched, really, but our minds were engaged in this wonderful act and soon a cock and a pussy, two tongues and eager hands were going to be up to no good behind nothing more secure than a domestic front door. You never know what is going on in innocent houses.
“Step back a bit,” she said quickly. I found myself fiddling with my cock to keep it hard. Then she unzipped her snug corduroy trousers and pulled them off, not as smoothly as she would have liked, which was just further confirmation that this was real, not a film. Next came her knickers. I thought she might ask me to do the honours with those, but now I saw she was making a point, to herself as well as me. The kinckers were white and old, dull and oddly exciting as I thought about all the times they had been pulled on and off. All the washing and drying. All the secretions they would have absorbed. All the trickles of urine. All the brushes with the area between her buttocks. Forget the clean, washed ones. I wanted Jeanette’s essence.
“I want to eat your knickers,” I said automatically. Jeanette leaned back and parted her legs, showing me her curly brown bush, staring me right in the eyes.
“You’re going to eat me,” she said. “I’m better for you than fabric.” To hurry me along she parted her legs a little further, just briefly, enticing me. I got on my knees between hers and put my face to her furry crotch. I breathed in through my nose and she shivered with excitement as her natural smell was drawn inexorably and obviously up my nostrils and over the sensors that activate our sense of smell. She knew that now I knew exactly how it was in that incredibly private space. I knew how her crotch smelled. She must have hoped it was okay, but my silent lack of reaction told her all she needed to know. I could not have been happier anywhere in the world than I was right then with my nose in front of her cunt, her pubic hair tickling me.
“I want you inside me,” Jeanette said urgently, turning around, taking a cushion from the chair and placing in under her knees as she leaned forward and her beautiful woman’s rump beckoned me. Before I could climb on she grabbed another cushion and handed it to me. Suitably buffered against the carpet, we locked smoothly together like a shuttle into a space station, and fucked like teenagers: wobbly, unprepared, making it up as we went along.
As we settled into some sort of rhythm, Jeanette composed herself enough to ask me the question that had been bothering her.
“So what was it you did to her or she did to you that she won’t tell me about? She kept trying but couldn’t bring herself to. He wanted… I let him…”
“She let me lick her arse,” I finished for her, feeling quite gallant even as I betrayed her sister’s terrible secret. Jeanette went quiet and stopped moving.
“That is something we always said we wouldn’t do,” she said eventually. “Certainly not giving and I supposed we both assumed not receiving either.”
“She liked it,” I said helpfully.
“I bet she did,” Jeanette replied.
Another pause.
“You can do it to me,” she said with something like relief.
“You’d better ask me,” I teased.
“No flipping way,” she shot back. “I’m not asking you to lick my arse. But if you insisted, I might have no choice but to allow it. Especially if you used the words.”
“Jeanette,” I said slowly and salaciously. “I’m going to lick your arsehole.”
I swear she moved down a fraction involuntarily, preparing her back and her backside for my face’s visit. I pulled my cock out of her – both of us knowing it would be back in there soon – and dived between her buttocks. She ground herself against me and moaned and groaned. “Ohhhh. Oooohhh. Aaaahhh.”
I licked her little off-limits aperture and loved what I was doing. After a few seconds, she came to love it too, allowing herself to enjoy something that she and her sister had apparently had misgivings about. i wondered whether Jeanette would bring up the subject the next time the two of them were discussing sex. They had both experienced it now and added it to their repertoire of sexual practices.
We continued our incredible anilingual writhing until she came with a silent shudder, whereupon she dragged me into the bedroom and we barely managed to make it to the bed before I leapt on top of her y-shaped body and plunged into her. Unable to contain myself another minute, I muttered a frantic apology before unleashing my semen into her welcoming harbour. She received it gratefully, wrapping her arms around me like a caring mother who wanted me to feel good about myself even if I felt I should have held out longer.
But there was no need to hold out, because we were to get together many more times to indulge in our mutual passion.
