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Mrs Aspley loves the Moonlight. A story by Aahlu.

It began as a joke, a challenge if you like, one of those lazy, disparate discussions you sometimes have after a particularly satisfying fuck.

She, Tricia that is, had made some comment about getting old. She’d found a wrinkle or so she said and got herself all worried. Anyone would have thought she’d one foot in the grave to hear her speak – but only if they hadn’t seen her body. That was perfectly immaculate but she didn’t believe it even though I’d told her so for years and years. Now she’d found a wrinkle for goodness sake and so far as she was concerned that was the beginning of the end.

“Will you still want me when my tits sag?” she asked plaintively whilst squashing said tits with her hands.

Well they already sagged a little when she stood a certain way but I did my best to reassure her anyway.

“What about when I get piles and stretchmarks from having kids?”

She smoothed her hands down her belly which was as tight as a drumskin and as smooth as a glass of one of those dark Irish beers.

I could only nod sagely while her pussy leaked lightly, a mixture of stuffs onto the rumpled sheet on her bed.

“What about……?”

We were going right through the whole list apparently, from arse to teeth to wooden leg.

I patted her pussy, still ripe from our fuck, then kissed her lovely little breasts, first the left one and then the right and told her, as I’d forever done, that no matter what she’d the bestest body in the whole wide world, no matter what.

“But when my toenails get that horrid complaint and go all yellow and flaky. You……you won’t want to put them in your mouth then, will you?”

Well that was a new one on me and for a moment I had to think what she was talking about.

“You won’t get that!” I told her “You go bare footed too much”

It was only a guess but it appeared to work, at least momentarily. Then: “But I’ll be OLDDD!” she wailed. “Old and dried up and grey haired and……and wrinkled!”

“Yes you will!” I said “And so shall I, and there is nothing we can do it about it!”

“You’re no help!” Tricia snivelled “Look at you……lying there like Lord Muck!”

“Only like Lord Muck because I’ve just fucked the best girl in the world……”

“You! You’re just saying that!”

“Would I lie to you?”

“Yes……”

And so it went on, back and forth for at least half an hour, never quite an argument in the strict sense of the word more of a stiff, hard hitting discussion with a lot of sniffs and sulks thrown in for good measure. I wanted to get up, make some tea, have a shower, anything to get away from her impossibilities for a few minutes.

“I’ve got a story to write” I told her.

“Have you?” she asked.

I nodded, thinking of my laptop lying downstairs in its rucsac unused and unloved.

“At least one! You know how Vi gets worried if she doesn’t get new stories sent to her regularly?”

“Yea……”

“Well I am all behind with the ones I am doing at the moment so I really think I should get up and try to finish at least one of them”

“Yea, alright…...”

“I’ll read it to you if you like. The one that’s nearly finished I mean”

Tricia sighed, pulled a face, sort of half looked at me, her breasts jiggling in that soft loose way which suggests to me she really was quite relaxed. Her body was quite perfect, or at least as perfect as anyone’s body could be, a natural body with no exaggerations of proportion of scale, her legs being neither too long nor too short nor her feet too small. And that was the problem, the major one, I think. Too many people had paid her too many compliments over the years in order to get their wicked way with her that by the time she realised that she also realised that was why they did it. By which I mean that if her body had a fault at all it was in the way Tricia herself had used it.

She came to me down a long chain of friends. Workmates and acquaintances all who’d well and truly fucked her. I’d no problem with that; I like a girl who is experienced anyway even if, secretly, sometimes when the mood took me, I hoped, where boyfriends were concerned I’d be the end of the line.

Yes I would have married her, made a decent woman out of her, if you know what I mean. I don’t mean that in any sort of chauvinistic way at all, believe me. More in the way that a……”

“It’s a sex story is it?” Tricia asked abruptly.

“Wha……? Of course it is!” I said.

“With lots of screwing in it?”

“Well……some. Eventually!”

“And what else?”

“Well there is also a bit of clay pigeon shooting in it, and the pattern codes for a hand knitted pullover and towards the end it touches on the correlation between effluent and affluent……”

“Cunt! I knew you’d take the piss!” she spat.

It took me a moment or two to recover from that. A moment or two in which Tricia’s pussy pouted at me invitingly. She’d no shame really. No shame whatsoever.

“I was trying to be serious” I said.

“Yeah?”

“Yes!”

“Really?”

“Really!”

Tricia was quiet for a minute. A whole minute. She even closed her mouth and put her legs together so I couldn’t see her pouting.

“Tell you what” I said eventually.

“What?”

So I told her about the old lady I’d met the previous week. Mature is the word I think I have to use to describe her and she is certainly that. She is an old age pensioner and Mrs Aspley is her name.

I was working in her house you see, rewiring an extension after some bad weather damage. It was an insurance job and should only have taken a couple of days. Well it took a day and a half to be precise but I was still going back there after a week, on the pretext of correcting a fault initially which both she and I knew to be non existent.

And why? Simple! She was a very attractive woman and she took her clothes off for me.

No I said simple didn’t I? And that’s what I meant. A simple which became complicated quicker than I could say Ohm’s Law.

Mrs Aspley is a widow, I can tell you. She is not short of a bob or two but she is short of a companion. No, I’ll be truthful, she is short of someone to fuck.

“Bloomin’ great house with on’y me in it!” she said to me wryly, not long after we met. I was at the top of a stepladder at the time with my head and shoulders through the attic trapdoor and when I looked down I discovered I could see straight down the front of her dress.

She asked me if I’d like a cup of tea and of course I said yes. Its good to have a break and to talk to people. I said yes and looked down at her, down at the patterns of wrinkles on her breasts. It was quite distinct, even the pale line where the suntan ended was visible and I realised then she wasn’t wearing a bra.

I couldn’t keep my eyes off her when I got down the ladder because she’d stepped into the doorway to the kitchen and was waiting for me there and made no secret of her intentions.

Yes I know she is old enough to be my grandmother. In fact she is actually older than the one granny I have left but I don’t care. After a couple of misunderstandings were pushed out of the way Mrs Aspley and I got along like a house on fire.

“You’ll like her” I told Tricia firmly

.

“Will I? she asked dubiously.

“You will” I said. “And if I can finish this story in time I’ll take you to meet her”

“……ok……”

“And she will tell you all about getting old and what it feels like!”

Then without bothering to put any clothes on I scampered downstairs and fetched my laptop.

………………

Iron gates creaked closed behind us as Tricia and I walked into Mrs Aspleys garden as arranged. Darkness and trepidation heightened our senses, attuning us to the whisper of the wind and the call of Earth’s spirits dancing lightly on the drum tight membrane of a morning still so far away beyond any mortal man's avaricious reach that it remained a myth to be savoured.

Manicured lawns and dew damp grass and a giggle from Tricia when I began to take my clothes off.

“Are you……?”

“Be quick and get undressed!”

I unhooked the tiny scrap of a bra that she wore without her asking, cool air shuddering across belly and breasts and when midnight chimed in the church tower a thistledown breeze arose to tickle us, arousing apple trees which whispered and wove, sharply indistinct against a partly moonlit, partly overcast sky. Velvet softness cushioned us, muting silly secrets about the way our arms moved when we undressed other and the way we draped a bush with this or that bit of clothing.

Tricia giggled again, self-consciously, a little bit worried, a little bit afraid.

“We’re to meet her on the patio at the back of the house” I said.

“But why can’t we just go in by the front door?”

“Wait and see!” I told her.

I hadn’t actually told Tricia we’d be naked until we were on our way and I hadn’t told her what I intended to do either; daren’t tell her that it was in fact all arranged.

“Why don’t you bring her to me in the dark” Mrs A had suggested when we were last together and that is what I’d agreed.

She wanted to watch me fucking her. That was what she said. Watch us doing it and then, if the mood took her, she would join in.

“How would she take it do you think?” she’d asked.

“She’ll be so turned on by that time she probably wouldn’t care!” I said.

I had that much on good authority at least. From Michael the plumber who’d dated Tricia regularly for almost a year before she came to me.

“She’s a right little raver and no mistake!” he’d said.

“Good show!” Mrs Aspley chortled “I’ll put some cushions and things on the patio ready!”

We went over some of the finer details while we screwed leisurely, not needing, either of us, to prove anything. I know her well enough by now and she most certainly knew me.

It had been my idea to meet naked, for added excitement on my part and, I hoped, to get Tricia in a randy mood.

“I’ll just get on with it shall I?” I’d asked and with a little quiver or pleasure Mrs Aspley had nodded.

So I pulled Tricia’s itty bitty knickers off while she hopped and giggled around on one leg, breasts bouncing this way and that as she did her best not to fall over. Why she couldn’t have simply stepped out of them like she usually did I didn’t know. Why indeed she had to put any on at all was beyond me. We crossed the lawn when we were ready and the moon tried to hide our nakedness, bringing both shadows and flashes of inspiration to illuminate momentarily a horizon we did not recognise, at once aflame and then, of a sudden, jet black darkness, thick as a highwayman’s cloak, swiftly falling to cover each and all and everything.

The gloom halted us like a barrier, like a wall, windowless, doorless, access locked in which Tricia said nothing, did nothing, save press herself against me and quiver.

I had to grope her didn’t I? Had to! I was feeling randy enough by that time and so, I expect, was she.

Randy and shivering with frightened excitement we stood like statues and waited for the moon to reappear. And Mrs Aspley was there, on the steps of the patio, waiting for us exactly where she said she’d be, a smear of paleness in the gloom when the moonlight shone out again.

“Well met!” she murmured and Tricia laughed nervously, already aroused beyond anything she’d ever imagined.

“It’s a wonderful evening isn’t it?” she went on lightly. “Warm and……delicious, don’t you think?”

Tricia giggled, embarrassed by the sudden realisation that, like us the woman in whose garden we were standing didn’t have any clothes on.

The moon, now in glory again emphasised that fact.

Mrs Amelia Aspley held out her hand to Tricia.

“You must be Tricia……?” she says.

“Y……yes……”

“Ooooh you are very slim, aren’t you?”

“I……”

Then before she could protest Tricia found herself in the woman’s embrace.

Their bodies were as familiar to me as mine was to them no doubt. Hard and soft by contrast, rough and smooth likewise, Tricia’s hard little breasts lost in the softness of Amelia’s generosity and I moved quickly to embrace them both together, one warm lump of comfortable sexuality as, unresisting Tricia returned Amelia’s kiss.

Mrs Aspley brings grace with beauty, patience with knowledge and a careless, seen it all attitude towards sex. She wears her age with pride, is comfortably, casually aware of her allure and allows herself to be assured by it. In her own far from ordinary existence she wrings sexuality from life’s dirty dishcloth, sprinkling starlight onto the mundane with one soft sweep of her elegant hand and her body, when explored carefully, lies like some lost continent, an Eldorado of available, waiting sexuality exactly like the person that, someday I am convinced Tricia will be.

“I’ve brought some things out to make up a bed……” Mrs Aspley said.

Tricia looked at me and grinned.

“You had it all planned didn’t you?” she said.

“Yeah!” I said.

And lucky me! They cuddled while I groped them, both of them together and made them writhe and gasp and kiss each other again and again.

© Aahlu. 021611.