Edna and I had run out of time. Having found in each other a kindred spirit, determined to reconfigure sex as a natural pleasure that could and should be enjoyed without shame, embarrassment or selfconsciousness, we had had a few days of unimaginably liberating animal couplings with the important human addition of conscious affection. I was, as men would say to each other, shagging this woman, who happened to be one of my mother’s friends and therefore twenty years older than me, and it was a totally beautiful experience.
My dick ached around the base, was sore around the head and inside, and throbbed along its entire length. My head swam with recollections of the unspeakable things we had done – unspeakable to anyone else, that is. Talking about it was very much part of the enjoyment for us.
I knew all of this was true for Edna too, because she smiled when she spoke, for instance, about me licking her arse, which I had done several times. We had done, I should say, because when the recipient is not just going along with it but positively loving it and keen to do it again, it is a joint action. Edna talked about it as freely as if she were discussing me massaging her tense neck muscles.
Golden showers, too: we had not just done it to each other, we had loved doing it and having it done. I had pissed down this respectable retired schoolteacher’s body, both front and back, and she had urinated in my mouth. And it wasn’t a sordid little secret; a secret, yes, because you can’t broadcast that kind of thing in polite society, but we didn’t regard it as in any way sordid. We were both what would be commonly described as kinky, but when you’re both into it, kinky just becomes sexy.
It was the kind of situation that can lead the people involved to think they are falling in love because we were sharing more than a bed. We were wrapped around each other in a soft bath of warm, muskily fragrant sensual hedonism, and we trusted one another, respected one another, admired one another, looked forward to our meetings, sent messages that were partly explicit and partly in a sort of shorthand that verged on code.
But we had run out of time. My stay with my mother in the old family home on the Norfolk coast was over and I had to return to my real life in London. The trouble was, Edna and I weren’t finished. We had a list we were working our way through, and there were several important items still to be tackled. We had blithely agreed that anything left over could wait until some undefined point in the future when she would come and visit me, but now that the time had come to begin the hiatus, we couldn’t do it.
We met on Saturday night in the dark on the beach, a cloak-and-dagger tryst in which we clung together like star-crossed lovers, kissing deeply and passionately but with an utterly romantic finish. Even as my finger was as deep as it would go in her hot, eager, mature, loving cunt and her grateful hand was in my underpants, wrapped around my granite-hard cock, our lips were giving each other wispy, loving little touches and our eyes searched their counterparts for reassurance.
“What are we going to do, Philip?” she whispered. I had already worked this out.
“We’re going to check into a hotel,” I said. “Somewhere on the way to London. Doesn’t matter where. Just a nice hotel where we can be anonymous. A family place rather than a business hotel, if we can find one. And we’re going to spend Sunday together as if we belong together.”
“Which we do, in a way,” Edna interrupted.
“Exactly,” I said. “We’re going to be you and me, the devoted couple who still can’t keep our hands off each other. Just for tomorrow. I’ve already told work I’ve got a project here that will be good for them as well as me and I won’t be back till Monday afternoon.”
“I think I know the place you’re dreaming of,” she said, squeezing my right hand with her left. “Shall I book it? I’ll have a good look online to make sure it’s what we want.” I loved this wifely offer to take care of it.
“Who shall we be?” Edna continued.
“Mr and Mrs Mellors,” I said. We had talked a lot about books and shared a love of Lady Chatterley’s Lover.
“Don’t they want to see ID these days?” Edna asked.
“If they do, we’ll be Mr and Mrs me, if you like,” I suggested.
“I would like that,” she said happily. “But between ourselves, we can be Oliver and Constance.” She paused for a second, then spoke again.
“Let’s walk along the promenade. I know you’ve got to spend your last evening with your Mum, but let’s have five minutes in one of the shelters.”
~~~
I left the coast at nine o’clock on Sunday morning and drove up to Norwich, where I got on the A11 to London. Not much more than an hour later I was in Chelmsford, sitting in the railway station, waiting for Edna, who bounced off the train in the bubbliest of moods, a smart leather overnight bag in her hand. We hugged and kissed as if it had been fifteen months rather than fifteen hours since we had last met.
“Mellors,” she said. “Take me to the hotel I told you about. Immediately.”
She kept her hand on my leg all the way and when we finally checked into the old brick building covered in some sort of violet flowering creeper, we could barely walk for standing too close together. Up the creaking staircase we went, feeling as though we looked like honeymooners, although the receptionist probably had a different theory about Mr and Mrs Mellors.
The list, or what little was left on it, would have to wait because we had some genuine lovemaking to do first. We put a few clothes in wardrobes and undressed as though we had done this a thousand times. Then we climbed into the tightly-made king-size hotel bed and wrapped ourselves around each other, kissing frantically. We didn’t have time or even the need for foreplay; we were completely revved up and just needed to get my cock planted inside Edna’s hole. When that happened – as if by remote control – we lay motionless, just taking in the feeling of a man inside a woman, looking deep into each other’s eyes.
“Are we allowed to be in love?” Edna asked softly.
“I don’t think it’s in our hands,” I replied, pushing my knob firmly up her tunnel. “You know, I sometimes think I have a different idea of what love is. From other people’s idea.”
“Carry on,” she said, stroking my back. “Tell me.”
“Well,” I began hesitantly, trying to compose something I had never thought through or attempted to put into words, and hoping it would come out well. “The feeling I have for you, it feels like how love should be, but it’s kind of too… pure. Real love has to be battered and bruised and then healed and… you know. I have a terrible feeling what we have is infatuation.”
“But if infatuation is in fact the first stage of love, which it probably is, or can be,” Edna replied, and I could see her doing the same as me, quickly thinking it through, “Then it is love. We just can’t know yet. But it might be. We just can’t use the word yet, until it’s been ratified by time. But I don’t know what else to call it. I can’t say ‘I infatuate you’. So unless you strongly object, I’m going to use the L-word.”
“How about if we give ourselves permission just for today?” I suggested. “No obligation for the future, because we’re both old enough to know how uncertain life is. But for today, just like we’re Mellors and Lady C, we’re in love. Like they were.”
“I feel we should shake on it,” Edna said, and perhaps the first time in anyone’s life, a man shook hands with a woman while he was fucking her.
With that strangely romantic negotiation out of the way, we resumed our lovemaking and the list was far from our thoughts as we ebbed and flowed together, kissing and caressing as we went, until a tidal wave of emotion swept over us as we had our orgasms. There was nothing even vaguely pornographic about it as my penis bucked and my semen entered this woman’s vagina.
We ordered tea and crumpets from room service and sat, looking out onto the garden, a green, leafy affair with blossoms and flowers and pumped-up grass that needed a trim. Edna wore knickers and a long t-shirt that perhaps she used as a nightie. I had thrown on underpants and the shirt I had travelled in, unbuttoned.
“The list,” Edna said at length. “Not much left on it. Spanking, if you’re in the mood. Yes?”
“Sure,” I said. “But we’ll have to get back in rebel mode. We’re more Brief Encounter than 9 Weeks at the moment.”
“Okay, let’s talk,” she said. “Tell me what’s not on the list that you would have liked to have seen there.” She looked at my eyes and read my thoughts. “Anal,” she said. “We’ve done the oral side of that – and it’s one of our greatest hits – but not the penetrative side. You thought about it?”
“I have, yes,” I said and hesitated.
“Don’t go soft on me,” Edna persisted. “Would you have liked to see that on the list?”
“I thought it would be on any list of that sort,” I admitted.
“You’ve done it before?” she inquired. I nodded. “And?” she continued. “Was it great?”
“She enjoyed it,” I said, somewhat surprised at my own words. “More than me, actually. Have you done it?”
“Once, a long, long time ago,” she said.
“And?”
“And it was… I didn’t get a lot out of it. It wasn’t as terrifying as people make out. Well, that’s not quite right. It was terrifying, the thought of it, the fear of it. But the reality wasn’t so bad. Just not actually that wonderful.”
“So maybe it’s something that would be on many people’s list but doesn’t have to be on ours,” I said.
“Precisely,” she said with a definite touch of relief. “In a way, I would like to do it with you, but not for the thrill, more for the intimacy. Because of what we share, our mutual quest.”
“You’re amazing,” I replied. “You understand things that…”
“I’m a teacher,” she said pointedly. “I have always encouraged students to be adventurous, but I don’t want to wave them off down some road they don’t want to be on and don’t need to be on. And I apply it to myself too. I would love to have your cock up my arse because I want you to have access to the whole of me. And I want to have the whole of you. So maybe one day. Maybe your phone will ring one night and I’ll be desperate for you to bugger me. And you, being such a gentleman, will bend me over on my knees and oblige.”
“At your service, ma’am,” I said, and flourished a cartwheeling hand. “I may get you on your back and lift your ankles way into the air so I can see your face as I bugger you. You are the most wonderful woman it has ever been my pleasure to meet.” We smiled at each other as if at the end of a potentially difficult experience that had ended well. “I await your call, and when it comes, I will be honoured to share that unique act with you.”
Edna stood up to her full, compact, confident five-feet-two and walked over to the bed, where she removed her clothes and bent over, facing away from me. Her buttocks had lost the succulent, rounded bloom of youth and now, beneath the skin where twin beach balls had once beamed out, large oval muscles sat in ample surrounding space. Somewhere in there were the bones of her arse, the unsung heroes that made sitting possible. Her buttocks clung together above the dark valley of hair and the currently unseen mollusc of her woman parts.
I strolled over with the authority invested in me by her presentation and touched her right buttock. I knelt instinctively and kissed the top of her slide and my tongue flickered into the dark recess.
“Later,” she said sharply. “Spank me. Hit me there. It’s the place a man can hit a woman with impunity. You know what that means? Without fear of being punished. So give me some sexual pain.”
I slapped her and she flinched, but said, “Harder.”
I hit her again, this time with a satisfying sporty flourish. She yelped. “Again.”
I spanked Edna and her cheeks turned pink, then red, with pale imprints of my hand as it briefly knocked the blood out of the way. After a minute of this, she threw herself onto her side and said, “You. Lie on your back.’ I did as instructed and she lowered herself onto my cock, her face directly above mine, and rode me for a second. “Spank me at the same time,” she ordered. “Both hands. Hard as you can.”
It’s not a great position for getting any real whip and force into it, but I did my best, my normally pacifist left hand straining to impress. Edna grunted and squealed and yelped and bounced up and down until she was galloping like Annie Oakley and I was struggling to connect with her gluteus maximus, but she had now taken control of her own orgasm and I just contributed what I could until she made what was almost a whinny and ground herself against my pubic bone. Then she laughed and leaned down to kiss me and we rolled onto our sides, giggling like naughty children. That then subsided into a loving gaze before she freed herself and turned onto her front to show me the blushing war zone we had created.
“You may kiss my arse,” she said happily, and I got down there and gave her tender touches of my lips and long, loving licks. She pulled herself up onto her knees and I gave her the most sensual rimming, pouring love into her excited, sated crack.
“I’m reluctant to say this, Philip,” she said, “but I really do love you.”
