That Older Woman

[Cervino]

This isn't a short story, it's the first part of an erotic novel I have written. This may not be the right place to post it, but I'd like to get some reaction from you. There isn't much real sexual activity until Part 2 but, as I say, this is a novel, not a short story. Please tell me what you think and whether I ought to continue or not.
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It starts with the sound of a door crashing shut.

That was Shelley, leaving the flat where we had co-habited for all of ten tempestuous months. We had argued, sworn and spat our way through our relationship in double quick time, mainly because I was unable to appreciate her obvious genius and exquisite judgement, shall we say. Shelley decided that I failed the challenge completely, and had gone off in search of some other poor male to test to destruction.

Me, I just wanted some little tart I could chat up, grope and then penetrate. Oh yes, I hated all womankind because of Shelly, and I wanted my revenge. I sat there in the gloom of a late November afternoon in England and sulked, putting it bluntly. My ego had been badly bruised by Shelley, and I felt like crawling into a hiding place for at least six months. I wanted to hibernate.

But coming towards me like a slow and distant tsunami was the annual torment of the company Christmas thrash. One night of corporate hospitality that could feel like weeks to endure in the wrong company. An opportunity to get pissed and snog the little flossie from Reception, as well as tell the Financial Director precisely what you thought of him. But get it wrong; snog the wrong bird, and your personal standing could take a tumble in the corporate rankings that could take many months to regain.

This year the company had joined a group thrash at a local country hotel. Four or five companies would hold their Christmas do in the same location on the same night. This meant that as well as your company’s totty, there would be plenty of other totty on offer too. Plus the disco would be well-populated and the bars would do a roaring trade. The invite cordially welcomed me and my partner in ‘smart casual’ mode to an evening of Christmas celebrations from 7-30 to 1 am. As my partner had recently left I went alone, and as I hated the totally wanky concept of ‘smart casual’, I dressed in black tie and dinner suit. One of the few skills I had mastered in my twenty nine years was the ability to tie a real bow tie. I learned it not because I wanted to tie a bow tie, but because women seemed to love the display of an untied bow tie towards the end of the evening. I suppose it looked like classic grace turned to self-confident ease, power and implied money all thrown in. Anyway, I wore dinner suit and bow tie.
Shelly would have hated it.

I crunched across the gravelled car park and sprinted up the steps into Reception. I didn’t need directions, I just followed the sound of laughter and jollity to the lounge bar. I was late, I planned it so, and my set of ‘Bats from the Attic’ were well into their third drinks. I bought a hugely expensive round and made small talk over my tonic water with Colleen our Irish Goth and Walter the deadpan German developer. Colleen had brought along her partner, a chap named Clive who seemed to have a full set of wits about him. As we introduced ourselves and chatted, Clive was quietly assessing the gathering.
“Who’s the suit?” Clive nodded over to a smaller table of six or so where our Sales Manager was fawning attention on the MD. I explained; and Clive snorted “Looks like a real tosser!” To my mind, Clive had delivered a detailed and valid critical assessment of the individual concerned; Gary XX was indeed a real tosser.
Clive turned out to be a divorce solicitor, or rather a solicitor dealing in divorce law, and I took his card gratefully in case I should ever require his services.
“And who’s that?” Clive nodded in the opposite direction and I turned to follow his attentions. She was magnificent. She wore a close fitting satin gown in deep magenta satin that displayed her bust beautifully and was split to mid thigh each side. Her shoulder length bobbed blonde hair shone and sparkled just like her gold necklace and earrings. Around her slim shoulders was wrapped a white crochet shawl that was shot through with gold threads and she clasped a gold evening bag. She smiled at all about her and the lights reflected from her gold-rimmed spectacles, Susan from Accounts, in her early forties and almost invisible in the office, now shone out as the most attractive woman in the party that night.

I cannot even begin to explain the effect she had on me. Her slightly retroussé chin, the laughter lines at the corners of her eyes and the fullness of her sleek dress should have made me prefer more youthful flesh, but Susan held my attention; made me catch my breath and seek her out. We mingled in the bar and as she moved left I made sure I moved right and brushed against her wonderful satin clad thighs. “Ooh!’Scuse me!” she called. I turned and smiled, “Sorry Susan, my fault entirely.” Bright and pretty. Firm flesh and sparkling skin. Lively, active and sexy. What’s not to like?

As we started dinner at our tables of eight, Susan sat at the next table and I looked just a little to my left to watch her. She shed her shawl when she took her seat and her pale shoulders glowed above the blaze of her magenta gown. The halter neck fastened just under her hair at the back and I fantasized about unclasping the straps, kissing her neck and fondling her breasts. I was seated between Sam the PA and a lady I didn’t know. ‘Bev’ said her place setting. “Bev! How do you do?” I introduced myself and I peered past her to see whom she was with. Beyond Bev was seated Carol, and in spite of my confusion I realized that Bev was Carol’s partner. Bev was a large and sandy blonde lady in glasses and a brown trouser suit.
“Hello, Bev!”
“Hi, hi!” She responded and stuck out a hand to be shaken towards me. “I’ll probably forget your name before the night’s out, but let’s get pissed and have fun!”
I grinned at her and shook her plump hand warmly. I liked her instantly and she seemed like a kindred spirit.
As the meal progressed we chatted cheerfully, but I couldn’t help but glance across at the back of Susan at the next table. And of course, Bev couldn’t help but notice.
“She’s very attractive, y’know. Have you tried before?”
I shook my head, trying to hide the embarrassment at being found out lusting after (another) woman.
“More than a bit older than you, I’d say too. Who’s she with?”
I allowed my gaze to sweep across her table.
“No one as far as I can see. They’re all normal – I mean straight. Oh fuck!”
Bev rolled to one side and then the other laughing at my embarrassment. I put my head in my hands and Bev clapped her arm across my shoulders.
“Could you ever conceive a language in which there were no sexual pronouns? Where ‘it’ meant she and he at the same time?”
I just bowed and shook my head. “Sorry, Bev . . .”
“Don’t be! Look. She’s lovely, and ‘of a certain age’-if y’ know what I mean, and I don’t fancy either of yer. So get in there and enjoy the nerve endings that God’s given you!”
I said nothing, but raised my glass of tonic to Bev beside me. She grinned and swilled her glass of red.

Next, the disco. We all trooped in to the canvas d****d space outside the restaurant where the deafening disco was set up and dutifully we jigged away.
Susan was up and dancing with the best of them. I loved the way she moved in that dress. The metallic sheen of the magenta satin showed her encased body off perfectly. I was delighted to watch her lovely buttocks, with a pronounced gap between them, jiggling independently as she danced away. Her pretty bottom seemed to dance for its own amusement and for a moment I wondered what it would feel like to have my penis wedged between her buttocks as she danced. Rock after pop after rock bounced around us until, at last, a slow tune took over and I stepped towards Susan. To my unending delight she reached gratefully for my arms. The Drifters and ‘Smoke Gets in Your Eyes’ gave me the chance to embrace her and for Susan to take a breather.
“Gawd! I’m too old and fat for all this dancing! I should be your age again.” She gasped at me as we started to sway to the more gentle rhythm.
“Nonsense! You were just getting going. And, and you are definitely the most beautiful woman here tonight.”
With my arm around her waist, she leant back to look me squarely in the eye. But finding that I was not laughing, she pretended to slap me across both cheeks and then returned to my embrace. I allowed my nose to drift into her hair. Delicious; I could smell the deep notes of her perfume, a little perspiration and the sharpness of white wine. I wanted to tell how much I wanted her, but I did know that it wasn’t the done thing on the first dance. But I lusted after her secret places and her private perfume excited me desperately.
I wanted to just dip my head and kiss her ear, her neck, her lips. But I knew this was not the place, not the company to do so.
And so we danced instead.
Another slow tune followed and we continued to sway, locked together. My left arm encircled her waist and my left hand was aloft, clasping her right. Her breasts brushed my chest and I swear I felt their warmth.
“Is your husband here tonight? Don’t think I’ve seen him.”
I had no idea what her husband looked like, but enquiring after him made the idea of wanting to shag his wife appear less primitive.
“Bloody golf club dinner!”
“He must be a very keen player.”
“Used to be. But he’s a bit passed it now and does all the administration. He’s a committee member, so he’s had to go to that. I refused; said I was coming here for some fun instead!”
She looked up at me and grinned for a second.
“Whatever. I’ve got my taxi booked, so I don’t even have to drive, so I’m going to enjoy myself!” And as she said that the slow dirge ground to a halt and the sound of Louis Prima ‘Apple Blossom White’ took over.
I kissed her hand, span her away, waited for the beat and then we danced, we danced the Cha-Cha properly.

When my grandmother was newly widowed, she overcame her loss by taking even greater interest in her eldest grandson and I spent many happy weekends with my Nona in her tiny flat off the Edgeware Road. And there, she taught me to dance and cook. With her expert tuition, I learnt to Tango, Cha-Cha, Foxtrot and Rumba like a professional, and prepare Canelloni Ripieni, Osso Buco and Conchigli Neapolitana and much more.
I would go to Nona’s flat after school on Friday, and from when I arrived to when Mum and Dad collected me on Sunday we spoke nothing but Italian; and so I learnt to dance, cook and to charm solely in Italian. We would go to Mass on Sunday morning and then take the tube to Leicester Square for a proper Sunday lunch. Mum and Dad and little brother would join us there, Dad would go off and pay respect to the cousins. As we grew, he would take us with him to meet and greet ‘important family and friends’. Mum would just look awkward as she never did understand a word that was spoken in this Italian microcosm. As I learned and understood, I made myself a solemn promise that if I ever had any children, I would keep the faith and teach them the Italian way of cooking: family and a feeling of belonging.
But my darling Nona taught me to dance, and as I used those skills here in my seduction of Susan, I felt that Nona would be tutting, but actually quite proud of me at the same time.

“Where did you learn to Cha-Cha, you’re magnificent!”
She waved my praise away, and as the music subsided, we subsided onto two convenient chairs.
“I’m useless and slow! I learned at Basingstoke Leisure Centre with about forty other middle aged women! I did it just to keep fit and keep lively – anything but bloody gardening and golf, which is all he’s interested in!”
I listened and attended, husband was a bore; she was a golf-widow and actively seeking outside interests. We sat down.
“Anyway, where did you learn? There’s not many people your age who can actually dance.”
I told her about my Nona. “You’re Italian? With a name like XX?” I explained that Dad had changed his name to fit in with English society. After all, you couldn’t be a Soho accountant with an Italian name without attracting the wrong sort of clients and prejudices.

The following disco rubbish died away. Now it struck up George bloody Michael’s ‘Last Christmas’ and I stood and took her hand, intending to dance again.
“No! I’m still too hot.” And she waved her hands in front of her face while pouting at me.
“Would you like a drink?” She nodded vigorously.
“What?”
“Something cold. Surprise me!”
Sue was more than a decade older than me, but increasingly during that otherwise awful evening she was showing me a younger self, happy and enthusiastic to be ‘looked after’. Carefree and irresponsible, being young, feminine and ‘girly’.
I stepped up to the bar, and as it happened I stood next to Bev. She was leaning on the bar, nursing a pint and grinning like a Ford Cortina while Carol gossiped away in front of her.
“How’s it going? She looks happy.”
“She wants something cold to drink, and I have to surprise her.”
I shrugged my shoulders at Bev.
“Well yer not much of a Latin Lover if you have to ask that kind of question!” I looked at her helplessly. “Champagne, you fool! Dressed like that, there’s only one thing you can order.”
I turned towards the bar and as if by magic the barman was there, his chrome deaths head ear stud catching the light.
“Yes mate.”
“A bottle of Champagne, cold Champagne. And two glasses.”
“Right away, Sir”
I paid and carried glasses and bottle back to the table where Susan sat. Natalie the vacuous receptionist was chatting to her and her eyes went wide as I poured two glasses of effervescent joy and handed one to Susan. Natalie melted away open mouthed.
I picked up my glass of light golden liquid with delightfully streaming bubbles and looked beyond it to blonde Susan, her magenta gown shone as did her hair and glasses. From her earlobes, delicate golden pendant earrings hung and I fancied they could make music. She looked incredibly beautiful. Her grey eyes flashed up to me.
“Thank you, this is wonderful.” And she sipped her Champagne and blessed me with a longer look. And while I knew she was looking, I did my party piece. I looked across the room with my ‘steely grin’ and the plucked the end of my bow tie undone and undid the top button of my dress shirt. In one instant I could demonstrate that a) that the bow tie was real b) that I could undo it c) that I was relaxed, powerful and confident d) I was used to wearing formal clothes. Susan took it in, watching me carefully.

Colleen and Clive wandered past. “Who won the Lotto then?” Colleen nodded down to the Champagne bottle.
“As I was explaining to Susan, now that I have been elevated to the Board, Champagne will replace morning coffee, with Pimms instead of tea in the afternoon . . .”
“Y’fool Tony! The only thing you’ll be promoted to is car park attendant.”
Susan sat with her finger on her lips, trying not to grin. Colleen wasn’t wrong unfortunately. I’d hardly distinguished myself since joining the company, but at least my predation on Susan might raise my profile slightly.

‘Under The Boardwalk’ began and I took the glass from Susan’s delicate fingers, kissed them, and swept her up from her seat into my arms. We glided across the floor as other couples just stuttered, Susan followed my lead perfectly. People were noticing.
I allowed my hand to slide down just a little from her waist to her hips, I could feel the top of her tights beneath her dress, but just a little lower than that I could feel the top of her knickers. Carelessly, I swept my hand down as we turned and felt the lower edge of her underwear running across her buttocks. Susan, this beautiful effervescent, exquisite creature was wearing boring underwear: and I bet they were plain white Marks and Spencer’s, too.
As the Platters concluded we separated and jigged through another pop track before Susan feigned collapse and sank into her chair again.
“Wooh. I’m too old for that!” I passed her glass.
“Drink. It’ll cool you down.”
She gave me a ‘who are you kidding?’ look, but drank deeply all the same. I leant over and placed my lips close to her ear. I wanted to kiss it, but instead I bellowed above the deafening music.
“Did I tell you that I think you are the most attractive woman here tonight?”
She pulled away and looked at me as though I was stupid.
“I’m sorry. That was rather crass of me. I don’t normally say things like that, but I really think you are most incredibly beautiful.”
She put her hand to her face to hide her embarrassment.
“You’re just flirting with me for fun. You’re just showing off! Aren’t you?”
I looked at her openly, honestly. I shook my head. She sat back in her chair and her eyes swept the room around her.
“Wooh. And they’re all looking at us! God this is embarrassing!”
She turned to me directly. When she blinked, her eyelashes caused her fringe to flick. I loved that.
“What gives you the idea that I might let someone like you risk my reputation within this company?”
She looked directly and specifically into my eyes as she said this. Her grey eyes twinkled beneath her blonde fringe, her fine gold earrings jangled and she smiled at me.
“Because you already have.”
“Don’t be stupid. You’re not a bloody gigolo”
“It’s about you. I want to know about you.”
She just looked at me, bit her lip, and just looked at me. We danced again, and although we embraced on the dance floor I did not dare kiss her, not in that company. But we danced closely and she was aware that she excited me.

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End of Part 1. Rubbish or not? Let me know.

[E_Stacy]

Cervino. Part 1 is certainly not rubbish. I like the way you are building up toward what I presume will be the action to come in Part 2.
I favor stories that do have a gradual build-up to the sexual action, but have seen too many stories where it's all about 'humping' 'pounding' and........well I am sure you get the message.
As someone who is also in the process of writing erotic literature for (hopefully) publication I am looking to see the different styles that are out there, and I must admit that the gradual build-up which leaves the reader in anticipation for more, appeals to me much more than the 'wham-bam' approach.
Yes, I like.