“Tell me a story” Little Jean asks.

She loves my stories. Loves them she says.

“I’ll have to read it to begin with” I tell her “For a while, until I get going”

“They turn me on” she tells me “When you read them. Make me all wet between my legs”

She goes all silly when she says this. Shy and silly, squirming like a little girl when I look at her. She is a little girl really. Little as in small in stature that is.

So I put a light on, a blue one, press a button and get the old PC thing working, bleeping its way through noughts and crosses, plusses and minuses, those tiny ticks all the way down the front of Turing’s chest. They killed him, you know. Because he was Gay. Everyone knows that now but its too late to go on about it. Besides, everything has already been said.

Little Jean has waist length hair and the longest legs anyone could possibly have who is not either a ladder or a giraffe. She likes my stories she says, running the point of her little pink tongue over her lips, turning to warm her bottom in front of my fire, delighting in the sensation she gets through her jeans.

This one is a wood fire, as you can see, and mostly my own. I’ve over fifty trees left, still not cut down. That would be about fifty winter’s worth, if I calculated it right, if I wanted to be realistic, fatalistic and cruel to those trees that have more right to be here than I do. At least they provide while I only take. They facilitate while I do nothing. I don’t even hug them any more. Don’t even hug them but I do derive some satisfaction, and some warmth, from their deadwood as it burns. And that got me thinking, that warmth, ‘cos there is more to it than a simple flame, however complex a phenomenon that is. Theres the smell and the noise, both slight, the movement, but most of all there are the transformations that take place.

“Heres a story called ‘Walking!’” I say “How about that?”

“What’s it about?”

“Its about walking” I tell her. “But later on there is a little fucking in it”

“You tell lies!” Little Jean accuses softly “Sometimes, in your stories, don’t you?”

“No……” I shake my head “But all sausages have sawdust in them”

She snorts. Its only a for instance and she knows I am making it up.

“You can synchronise your periods with the moon” I say.

“Yes I know!” she says.

“I want to fuck you” I inform her.

“That would be nice” she says.

Ordinary thoughts and words, desires made manifest. Transformations then and oh yes come on little Jean, transform – undress!

I turn away from the keyboard for a moment in order to attend to the last glinting sparks of the fire. After a moment, with bellows and half a dozen tiny sticks I persuaded a small flame to straggle forth again.

Little Jean smiles at me contentedly. She’s warm, very warm and, even with all her clothes still on she is very, very cuddly.

“All good things come in little packages” she tells me, sensing my mood and my thoughts exactly.

Like about five foot three, like an original Eve in miniature.

“I piloted a seven oh seven today” I tell her seriously. It was on a flight simulator but I don’t mention that.

“Liar!” she sniffs “You don’t know how to fly”

She turns her back on me, crouches and as good as disappears into the glare of the fire. All I can see is her hair, masses of it, falling like a waterfall right down to the floor.

“Go on, tell me a story!” she urges.

“Let me think for a moment” I say.

‘Walking’ was one or two ideas but none which could really be brought to a sensible conclusion, one I’d been telling myself, telling other people even, all about for years and absolutely bloody years. Perhaps half jokingly to them but seriously to myself, the story was that, before I was very much older I’d walk that long stretch of footpath on my own, at night, wearing nothing more than hiking boots.

Getting there and back again would be no problem, none that I could see anyway. Someone could take me to the starting point in their car, to the crossroads at the bottom of the hill where I’d set off and a couple of hours later they’d collect me at the finishing point, that little clump of trees where the footpath meets a minor road at the place where the railway crossing used to be.

“I’ll tell you the one called ‘Walking!’ ” I tell her

“Go on!” Little Jean says.

“It was going to be so easy” I said “And it was, walking naked!”

Turning to face me again Little Jean grinned.

“Were you really naked?”

“Yes I was” I said.

“Didn’t you get cold?” was her next question and no I hadn’t, because walking warmed me once I got going and the first part of the path, between hedges, was out of the wind. It had been easy going too, much easier than I thought. For a start I was lighter without clothes, more streamlined it seemed.

Little Jean giggled.

“Wish I could have seen you” she said.

“I wish you had been with me” I told her “It would have been much easier for me if you had been. Too bloody easy because at two in the morning I hadn’t reckoned on meeting anyone else along there!”

“You met someone else?” Little Jean tittered “Who was it? A scarecrow looking at you over the hedge?”

“I could have handled that!” I told her “No this was a real live person coming the other way!”

“Gosh!” Little Jean said.

She loves my stories, really loves them. I only wish some of those other readers did. Because you know I’ve written stuff about this particular footpath before. Most of my Introspective stories are based either on it or around it and oh yes, it does exist in reality, all eighty odd miles or so of it. Some of it is tarmac highway now and some of it is farm tracks, but the parts nearer my home are as wild and as grassy as it all used to be.

“Gosh!” Little Jean said again, fidgeting. Obviously the urge to undress and make love was getting the better of her.

“It was a woman with a dog on a lead” I said “A yellow Labrador with a reflective collar but the woman herself was naked just like me!”

“Go on!” Little Jean scoffed “You’re pulling my leg!”

“Scouts honour she was!” I told her.

“When were you ever in the Scouts” Little Jean chortled.

“I’m coming to that!” I say.

Little Jean has waist length hair, I think I already told you that. Waist length, maybe longer. That’s only one of perhaps two hundred or so really sexy things about her. She let me unbutton her blouse and didn’t say anything, even when I nearly fainted at the sight of her perfectly shaped little breasts.

“No……bra!” I wheezed dramatically, so she hid them both from me effectively and utterly with a shake of her head.

There was a round silver coloured button at the front of her jeans, with a stiffly sewn buttonhole surrounding it. Her hair covered that too so I had to concentrate; my hands were shaking and I’d still not got over the sight of her breasts.

I think she breathed in or out or something, to make it work for me you understand. I pressed the button and somehow it came undone easily, much easier than I had expected. Then before I could do anything more Little Jean was peeling down her jeans.

She is a small girl, I think I’ve told you that already, small enough I reckon to fit into the palm of my hand. It felt like it anyway! No skinny she is not! No way. She is simply a perfectly shaped woman in miniature.

“Go on with the story” Little Jean said as, drooling slightly I stared at her legs. “Was the woman really naked or are you making it up to impress me?”

“Scouts honour!” I croaked once again.

“You can tell me about the scouts next time” Little Jean told me. “This time I want to hear what you did on a footpath with a naked lady”

You will only accuse me of lying, I wanted to say, but the story, if it is a story, goes something like this:

The woman’s dog barked at me even before I could see her clearly. She stopped and called out and I, stupidly, forgetting I hadn’t anything on, called back to her saying it was alright.

I’d stopped only briefly, paused if you will but the woman and her dog were there, right in front of me when I stepped out again. We gasped together, in unison; yes even the damned dog had a bit of a gasp.

“What……?” I began.

“I might ask you the same question!” the dog woman said.

Clearly she was no spring chicken and no doubt she could see I wasn’t either so it wasn’t long before we’d both got to laughing. Out there, miles from anywhere in the middle of a blooming great field.

It turned out she was doing the same as I was, almost exactly, fulfilling a bet she’d made with herself, getting on with a task she’d long wanted to achieve.

“Shall we stop for a breather?” the woman suggested.

Her dog had already made itself into a carpet so I agreed. We sat on the bank under the hedge.

She was fifty five years old, she informed me talkatively, and walking this path with no clothes on was something she’d always wanted to do.

“My husband thinks I’m mad!” she said “Made me bring my phone with me. I told him it wouldn’t work up here, so he gave it to Rover to carry”

I could see the phone clipped to the dogs lead when I looked past her for a second. Only for a second mind you! She may have been fifty five years old but she was still naked and I wanted to have a look at her.

“I’ll be sixty five next birthday” I told her truthfully and, like you this is something I’ve wanted to do for a very long time”

Prone on the grass the Labrador snuffled sleepily. He needed a bone and his basket and I……I? What did I need? I needed to see what a fifty five years old naked woman really looked like! So I looked and I saw the way her breasts drooped and how the flesh of her thighs and upper arms sagged. In turn I am certain she looked at my fried breakfast belly and cool shrunken prick.

“You don’t look sixty five” she said.

“And you don’t look fifty either”

“Fifty five!” the naked woman corrected.

There was enough light to see the shape of her body but not enough to really see any detail. Breasts and belly and a sundry smattering of wrinkles and ridges with a spare tyre of fatness around her hips. Her kept together legs denied me the rest.

“Something else I did recently” she went on, conversationally “Well if you like I copied what my daughter in law did……”

She paused there, looked along the path beside us as if expecting somebody else to appear.

“She’s a bit of a goer is my daughter” the woman went on.

“Is she?” I asked.

The woman nodded, “Yeah! I can tell you, can’t I? I let her shave me, just for a dare!”

For a moment I wondered what on earth she meant. Then it dawned on me what she’d actually said.

“We shaved each other actually!” the naked woman admitted “Then, while my old man was at work she let me screw her boyfriend……”

Little Jean stepped out of her jeans daintily leaving only the smallest, whitest pair of cotton knickers in place. When she stood upright again she rearranged the concealing position of her hair.

“I am going to fuck you in a minute” I told her firmly.

She pulled a face and told me I’d already said that.

The naked woman unclipped her phone from the dog’s lead and opened it with a snap.

“There you are!” she exclaimed “what did I tell him?”

No signal, a little message said.

“I’ve a picture of my daughter if you’d like to see it” she offered.

“Oh, yes I would!” I said.

I’d an idea what sort of picture it would be and I was right! It was a close up picture of a freshly shaved cunt.

“Nice!” I said, making appreciative noises for the naked woman’s benefit while I waited to see what she was going to do next.

“Do you think it was wrong of me?” she asked suddenly. “screwing my daughter’s man like I did”

“So long as you both enjoyed it” I shivered, suddenly feeling decidedly chilly. I didn’t know what else to say or do, the situation was so unexpected.

“That wasn’t my daughter” the woman confided “That picture. That was me……”

“Didn’t you fuck her?” Little Jean asked.

“Of course I did!” I said “But I wasn’t going to mention that”

She’d been as loose on the inside as she was on the out but a most enjoyable screw nonetheless due to its unexpectedness. Neither of us began it really, not with the usual fumbling and fiddling, it was more an unspoken, understood agreement.

“Did you get a hard on alright in the cold?” Little Jean asked knowingly.

I nodded grimly “She warmed me up first!”

“Ah! And did you warm her up in return?”

She jiggled gently when I put my right hand between her legs and gasped everso slightly when my fingers traced the line of her slot through the material of her knickers.

“I licked her cunt!” I told her plainly “It was stubbly and tasted of piss”

Little Jean writhed.

“Mine is perfectly clean shaven!” she said.

We made love on the sofa in front of the fire while blue lights flickered and danced on the screen of my PC. Little Jean is a perfectly formed miniature and by that I mean she is a perfectly proportioned five foot three with palm of my hand sized breasts and the tightest, most exquisite little pussy you could ever imagine. As opposed to the fifty five year old woman who was loosely open even before I’d sucked her and who, when she squatted on my prick, managed to make her tits sag right onto her knees. I didn’t care by then because a fucks a fuck and I enjoyed her immensely! Why I even promised to meet her again.

“What was her body like really? she asked, right at the point where we were both starting to cum.

“Old and tired but still enjoyable” I told her.

“Was it?”

“Oh yes……”

“That’s a good story” Little Jean told me as we jerked convulsively together.

© Aahlu 060911.