Introduction: This short story was inspired by the 1978 romantic comedy film starring Alan Alda and Ellen Burstyn. The two strangers meet accidentally while they are both away from home. They strike up a friendship and agree to meet at the same place every year. Their relationship grows more intimate as the years go by.
I was heading for The White Swan Hotel. My wife and I were actually staying at The Anchor Inn at the other end of town. We come each year for the annual flower show. To be honest I can’t tell the difference between rhubarb and rhododendron. That’s the wife’s department, so she goes to the flower show while I have a little wander around town. I usually start at The White Swan. They serve much nicer coffee than the rubbish they hash up at Starbucks and the other high street outlets. They have a good selection of daily papers and I can spend a couple of pleasant hours before wandering further afield. My steps quickened as I thought about the other reason I was heading there this morning. I had a very special reason. But perhaps I need to go back a couple of years.
It all started on one of my visits, just like today. My wife had gone to the flower show and I had found The White Swan for the first time. I asked the waitress for a coffee and then picked up one of the newspapers. I looked round at the tasteful décor and when my coffee arrived I took a sip and made an appreciative ‘Mm mm’ sound as I tasted their delicious blend.
‘Good, isn’t it. I understand that they import it exclusively for the hotel.’
I looked up and took in the attractive woman who looked about half my age, seated at a nearby table.
Soon we struck up a conversation. It turned out that we were more or less in the same boat. Elizabeth (as she is called) came to The White Swan with her husband, who was a keen gardener. He went off to the flower show while Elizabeth did some shopping.
Oddly enough, despite the difference in our ages we seemed to have some sort of chemistry. I have never been one of those smooth types who seem to be able to charm the birds out of the trees, but somehow this was different. We chatted like two old friends about anything and everything. I got the impression that things in the marital department were not what they might have been – nothing specific, but I just got that impression. Elizabeth said she was enjoying our chat, more than going round the flower show. I agreed and ordered us two more coffees.
Then something quite remarkable happened. Something that had a lasting impression on me. Elizabeth casually crossed her legs revealing an impressive expanse of thigh, stockings and a neat pair of white knickers. It only lasted for a second, but it was delicious. Elizabeth carried on talking, apparently oblivious to the little treat she had given me. I wanted to see her knickers again, but the chance did not come up. I kept wondering if it was an accident or whether Elizabeth had intended to show her panties. Surely it had been an accident. Elizabeth was such a nice, respectable lady. There was no way that she would deliberately flash in front of a total stranger.
As the morning wore on we realized that we were both likely to be here for the flower show the following year.
‘Perhaps we will meet again for coffee, ‘ smiled Elizabeth.
‘I would like that, ‘ I said. Then on a sudden impulse I suggested we exchange email addresses. To my surprise Elizabeth agreed and then we went our separate ways. ‘Same time next year, ‘ I said.
‘Yes, ‘ replied Elizabeth. ‘Same time next year.’
After I got back home, I sorted out a couple of photos I had taken of the town near to the White Swan and a shot of the exterior of the hotel and emailed them to Elizabeth, with a little note saying I had enjoyed our meeting and sent the pictures as a souvenir. I did not truly expect a reply, but I hoped very much Elizabeth would reply.
To my great joy, I saw in my In-box a message the very next day from ‘LIZ48’ My heart skipped a beat. I opened it and the note thanked me for the pictures of the hotel and then added ‘I thought you might like this picture.’ There was an enclosure which when I clicked on it showed a very nice picture of Elizabeth. Elizabeth added ‘This is me being very naughty. I am eating a choccy biscuit andI really shouldn’t. please don’t tell. he he.’
My cock gave an involuntary twitch. Yes, Elizabeth was eating a chocolate biscuit, but my eyes focussed on her legs. In the picture she was wearing a short skirt. Her legs slightly apart and her white panties were just visible.
Her message ended by her adding ‘I hope you don’t think I am too naughty!’
Naturally I replied quite quickly, telling Elizabeth that I had enjoyed studying the nice view and No, I didn’t think she was being too naughty as I too enjoy the odd chocolate biscuit.
So, as you may imagine we continued to exchange emails on a regular basis. Soon Elizabeth revealed that she was a very respectable married lady, but she did harbour a secret fetish – one that she had first thought of as a school girl. She had an urge to show men her underwear. Elizabeth found the idea of flashing her knickers erotic and arousing. Up until our encounter at The White Swan, Elizabeth had managed to resist the temptation, but there was something about the intimate atmosphere on that day that made me a very lucky man.
‘Why me?’ I asked Elizabeth in an email.
‘Well you seemed fairly harmless and not a threat.’ I was not sure that I felt flattered to be considered to be ‘not a threat, ‘ but hey ho, I was not complaining if it meant occasional glimpses of Elizabeth’s pretty undies.
So our emails continued through the year, getting increasingly naughty, exchanging fantasies about masturbation, flashing and Elizabeth’s other secret fetish of tossing men off. Receiving an email from Elizabeth always led to me unzipping, taking out my cock and stroking it as I fantasised about what our next meeting might lead to. Would our next encounter lead to more than a glimpse of Elizabeth’s pretty knickers? Might I actually see her lovely cunt?
I dropped quite a few hints to Elizabeth that I would love to see what was under the panties. Did she shave her hair or did it grow wild, or perhaps trimmed into a ‘landing strip.’, or what ever other names the ladies had for their intimate hair styles.
Elizabeth did not respond immediately, but you may imagine my delight when, a few weeks later I opened an email which showed Elizabeth wearing a pair of French knickers under her dress. She had allowed the leg to pull to one side showing a glimpse of her hairy slit. Her hand was tucked down the top of her skirt, allowing her forefinger to just touch her clit. As you may have guessed, my hand was busy stroking my hard penis.
.... There is more of this story ...